Author Archives: So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

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

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I'm a bookworm, nature lover, kick-boxer, candy fiend, sci fi geek, home body, progressive Christian and part-time student. I love my crazy life and the messy, fun, stubborn, silly, brilliant people who populate it.
September 4, 2011

Extreme Parenting

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

I was watching T.V. and accidentally skimmed through some sports channels (that would never happen on purpose). I actually stopped when I saw a man (an overgrown boy-child most likely) riding his bike down the mountainside and off a cliff, at which point his parachute opened and he plummeted into the ocean below. Apparently mountain biking wasn’t thrilling enough for him, he just had to add that extra oomph of sky diving. Some people call it pure stupid, but officially it’s extreme sports.

I’ve realized lately that my blogs often include graphic descriptions of my youngest daughter’s habits and issues. Not the most upbeat portrayal of one of the loves of my life. There are so many upsides to being her mom too.

When I’ve tried to explain what it is like being a special needs parent the best phrase that comes to mind is extreme parenting: we have higher highs and lower lows. We go through all the same phases and learn most of the same stuff as other kids, just at a different pace and with some unique twists along the way. Parenting my “typical” children can tie me in knots too, but everything I’ve gone through with her is more – more intense, more time, more guilt, more fear, more pressure, more celebration, more affection…

Up – She gives hugs with her whole body – head snuggled under your chin, arms tight around you with a little pat, pat on your back while her whole body relaxes right in, until you peel her off.

Down – Everything takes longer for her to learn. It is frustrating and discouraging, and that’s just me, I can’t imagine how she must feel. She has to work so much harder than everyone around her and she will never completely catch up.

Up – One of the highlights of my life is her first step. Sure, it was a long time coming (she was 3 1/2) but the celebration is worth the wait. Our whole family danced around the house laughing and cheering. Every accomplishment is a party!

Down – She will always need me. Everytime someone makes an empty nest comment I feel a little pang. Oh, I expect she will live somewhat independantly and have her own life, but she will always need hands-on parenting. She will never go to university, tour Europe with her friends or have children of her own.

Up – She will always need me. My baby will never outgrow us. I will always have unrestrained laughter, silly dances and the best hugs in the world.

Tired of boring old “normal parenting”? Sick of being just like everyone else on the block? Bring a disability into the mix and you’ll meet interesting new people (therapists, doctors, teaching assistants and more), learn new skills and become an expert researcher. You’ll learn to navigate complex government systems and you’ll get an awesome tax break (Glen likes to call B “our little tax write off”). You’ll wrestle with God; you’ll have to trust Him with your future, and hers. But best of all, you’ll realize that your child is worth every little bit of effort and more.

I’m not going to lie, if we were given the choice we would eliminate Down Syndrome from the face of the planet, both for her sake and ours. But I wouldn’t trade my girl for the world! Besides, I’ve always been a big fan of rollercoasters.

So here’s me, enjoying the ride!

3 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in parenting, special needs

September 1, 2011

**it Happens.

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

I was in fine form this morning. I lurched out of bed and a curious smell wafted down the hallway. Nothing says “Good morning” quite like this: something our family fondly (okay, not so fondly) refers to as a “craptastrophe.”

And it was all downhill from there. The big girls fought about absurd and unimportant things for hours on end. The checkout lady at the grocery store was the slowest moving land mammal on the planet. My usually attentive husband was watching a mind-numbing golf tournament all day.

I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase “if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” Well, they don’t call them truisms for nothing. I was selfish, resentful, impatient, angry and altogether ugly today; so the whole family followed suit.

As my 9 year old stood before me weeping, I kicked the rant into high gear. The yelling was beyond a tone of voice. It felt good to embrace the rage. When I was finally done dressing her down, she hiccupped, “Can… I .. uh… just… uh… say… something?” Grudgingly I allowed her to speak.

This happens often when she’s in trouble. Regardless of how clear the situation, she launches into her version of events, hoping to explain her superior perspective. I suspect she may end up becoming a lawyer like her aunt.

Usually, this only gets her in more trouble. Today, however; at the end of her halting explanation, I was appalled to realize that the entire thing had been a misunderstanding on my part. She hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

That was the low point.

There’s no other way to say it: shittiest parent in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this two weeks ago and haven’t quite brought myself to post it. What would be the point? Not only is it an exceptionally un-flattering peek into my world, it is just so depressing.

But then I remember how that day began:  Craptastrophe. For us, this goes beyond a poopy diaper. Thankfully, what was once a bi-weekly experience is now a rare opportunity to test our parenting metal. Our daughter occasionally dabbles in something the developmental psychologists call “smearing”. Perhaps it is a convenient medium for her artistic endeavors. Perhaps she is trying to clean it up. Whatever the reason for this bad habit, when things are very quiet and very smelly, we know what to expect.

I’m sure you have the mental picture: it’s on the sheets, on the walls, on her clothes, in her hair… And if that’s not disgusting enough, she gives us her usual toothy grin. Yep, it’s in her teeth too.

Even now, when we gag and complain and offer each other outrageous favours to do the clean up, she’s still cute and sweet and altogether wonderful to us. We love her just as much even when she’s covered head-to-toe in shit.

Cause that’s what family does. They love me, not matter what: even the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad version of myself. Whatever clean up needs to happen – an apology, several apologies, an anger management course, a time out… I know that they’ve got my back and I’ve got theirs.

So here’s us, shovelling it together.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting, special needs

August 28, 2011

You talkin’ to me?!

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

Today I sat through a terrible sermon. There was no outline, no sermon notes, not even points on the screen (staple ingredients in any contemporary church experience). While the speaker seemed kind and genuine, he was afflicted with the most greivous of all pastoral sins… he rambled.

Round and round it went and it was often hard to discern what his point was. The object lesson may have been interesting, but he forgot to explain it and we couldn’t see it anyway (we were sitting in the third row). I was torn between annoyance that he didn’t plan his talk properly and sympathy that he was floundering in front of all these people.

I wish I could leave it at that. A few mocking comments about the haphazard preacher and a self-deprecating confession about my tendency to play the critic. Perhaps some observations about their children’s program or the interesting art on the walls. Keep it light and impersonal: a humorous recounting of a visit to my cousin’s church.

But, then he had to go and say it – that thing I’ve been chewing on for days. In “Christian-speak” I would say: “the Lord has laid it on my heart” which sounds a whole lot more spiritual than “I suck and I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.”

Apparently, God doesn’t need an eloquent speaker, an eager audience or even (gasp) a sermon outline to make His point. Ya, he was talking to me this morning.

It started last week when I spent the day with my sister. I was telling her, yet again, one of my ‘they done me wrong’ stories. It’s a doozy.

I was right and they were wrong.

I was hurt and it was their fault.

I come out looking like a hero and they are the heartless villains.

It really happened. It’s dramatic and interesting. It’s one of my favourites. And she’s heard it… several times according to her.

Modern english has a word for this:  the habitual retelling and reliving a hurt. It’s called a grudge. I don’t have many, but I keep this one in pristine condition. I am ready at the drop of a hat to pull it out and polish it up again.

Despite what pop psychology may teach, the bitter diatribe is not a healthy venting of emotion. It is the bread and butter of unforgiveness. Telling this story has reinforced my negative attitude towards people I honestly care about. It colours my perceptions of everything they say and do, until they really can do no right in my eyes. Even worse, I spread the poison to others. I come away feeling validated and leave their reputation in tatters.

Unfortunately I am not perfect. This fact often irritates me, but it is one of the theological concepts I am not remotely fuzzy about. I am in constant need of forgiveness. What a hypocrite I am to refuse to give what I have received myself. Forgiveness, not in theory, but for real and for good.

“…and forgive us our sins, as we have forgiven those who sin against us.” (Matthew 6:12)

Forgiveness is not a warm, fuzzy feeling you try to manufacture. It is an act of the will. Often it is something that must be done over and over again. Perhaps that is because we love to tell our stories over and over again.

As hard as it is for a life-long chatterbox like me to admit, there are some things that don’t need to be said out loud… ever. Even though I know you are dying of curiosity, you will never hear the story from me again. And that’s a promise.

So here’s me, finally shutting up about it.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in spiritual

August 24, 2011

Rejection

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

I was rejected today. It wasn’t personal and it probably wasn’t even about me. But I’m disappointed, and discouraged, and I made my husband go out and get me a carton of Ben and Jerry’s.

I know, it’s horrifying to me too… those tiny little containers hardly have any ice cream in them. A thrifty, Brethren gal like me would normally steer clear, but it seems like the kind of outrageous splurge that girls are supposed to make when we get dumped. It’s in all the movies. And who am I to question pop culture?

I never actually went out with that special boy. I didn’t work up the courage to talk to him and I didn’t ask him to the dance. I didn’t even know his name. But I wanted to be his Mom.

About three weeks ago our social worker e-mailed us some information about him and we were intrigued. He could be “the one”. Even Glen was excited about the possibility – his emotions when it comes to adoption usually range from tolerance to mild acceptance. This seemed like such a good match.

She passed our homestudy along and we were being considered. It was early days – we knew that. We were flirting with the possibilities, not making plans. We didn’t even tell our kids about it.

But I started to imagine a jungle themed bedroom. And I may have peeked at the “boys” section in Wal-mart, something I’ve only ever done for nephews and friend’s children. I opened my heart up, just a little bit.

So when they chose another family we weren’t devastated, but we sure are disappointed. I wonder if we will lose a little piece of our heart each time. Because this is how it works. It’s like a bizarre dating service with extensive questionnaires, personality profiles and government appointed yentas (a.k.a – social workers) trying to find the perfect match between child and family.

So here’s us, still waiting for that special someone.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in adoption

August 23, 2011

little Grown Up

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

Last year your new teacher asked us to describe you to her. Brevity is not a virtue of mine and there is nothing I like to talk about more than my kids, but I had mercy on her. I simply told her you are “the oldest child of two oldest children” – enough said.

Birth order theories are widely disputed in psychology circles. Research results are mixed and the theory is often thought to be inaccurate and misleading. But so is trying to explain an entire person with something as clumsy as words on a page.

Be that as it may, these words fit you to a tee: responsible, conscientious, organized, accurate, rule follower, nurturer, worrier, respectful… The teenage years are sneaking up on us, but I’m not worried about you, because you have such a good head on your shoulders (your dad however – he’s going to be a mess). You are already becoming an amazing young woman.

I hope that you will continue to tell me, in exhaustive detail, everything about your day (but not movies – because frankly I need the summary to take less time than the movie itself). For everything else I’ll take all the details, laid out in proper chronological order with glimpses of your quirky humour. Not only because I like to know about your life, but because your perspective is so kind and positive. You truly believe the best about people and find the good in them.

It warms my orderly little heart when you write your schedule on the white board in your room (even during the summer when the hours are filled with tasks like: wake up, go outside, read, play with Paige). You also have a habit of writing “notes to self” all over the place. If I can’t remember the date or what we have planned, you can outline it all for me.

You went to overnight summer camp for the first time this year. Although your dad was crying in his soup (literally), I was proud of you for being so independent, but I can’t believe how much we missed your help while you were gone. We try not to rely on you too much, but you’re just so dependable and helpful. I know whatever career or life you choose, you will make yourself indispensable to those around you.

Far too soon you will be grown and gone, but you’re still my little girl now, so here’s my “advice to an eleven year old”:

Get Messy – From one control freak to another, life is full of interruptions and changes in plans. It’s not fun for people like us, but sometimes the best stuff comes this way. Enjoy the moment you are in and let the future take care of itself. A schedule is ALWAYS a good idea, but only as a guideline not a strait jacket. With God’s help you can handle whatever life throws your way. So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today. Matt 6:34

Stand Up – It’s almost impossible to offend you, except for your sister who can do it by breathing in your general direction. Apart from C’s special gift, there is very little that ruffles your feathers. More than any of your qualities, I think this one will serve you well in life, since the most miserable people in the world are over-sensitive, victim types. Being that easy going you are able to maintain genuine friendships with kids who struggle to get along with everyone else. But there is a time to stand up for yourself. You deserve to be treated with respect and sometimes you need to demand it (in a gentle, respectful way I’m sure).

Speak Up – You are not shy in the traditional sense. You aren’t afraid to try new things, even when you don’t know many (or any) people. You are quiet and prefer to stay in the background, especially in a new situation. There is nothing wrong with quiet – I married quiet – and I could probably stand to embrace quiet a little more in my life. But I worry that people will miss out on knowing you, because you don’t speak up. Remember the Hoos Rules for social situations: smile, look them in the eye, speak loudly and make the first move. It’s like dance, the more you practice – the better and easier it gets.

So here’s to my oldest – I’m so proud of you!

Happy 11th Birthday L!

1 Comment   |  tags: , | posted in parenting

August 20, 2011

BIG

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

Doctors speculated she was a result of undiagnosed gestational diabetes. I called her Buddha Baby. Her dad called her “The Rock.” However you want to say it, our girl was substantial.

Both her sisters were rather scrawny babies, so I look back fondly on all those baby rolls. There’s something about a chubby baby – you just want to squish them (but in a good way). While my back and arms may have protested, we thoroughly enjoyed our large bundle of joy.

I can’t believe it’s been 9 years since we first saw that enormous head (it’s called back labour – so yes, I have every right to complain). A lot has changed: I now have to beg, borrow and steal hugs from her, she’s more likely to try and pick ME up than consent to be carried around, AND she is now on the small end of the growth chart (3rd percentile I believe).

Although she is by far the shortest kid in class, but she’s still BIG in all the best ways. She has a BIG personality, a BIG laugh, and a BIG imagination. Sometimes it seems like our house can barely contain all the drama and emotion (cough – diva – cough), much less such a petite body.

Last month, she found a thick pair of “nerd glasses” and Professor Oogen Shmoogen was born. We were to refer to her as that at all times. When asked, she informed me that her full name was “Oogen Shmoogen the Unknown”, Professor of Awesomeness. I’m a little sad that the professor has faded away, but I know that with this girl, there is always something crazy and hilarious just around the corner.

When C’s name comes up in conversation with other adults (teachers, coaches, friends parents, et cetera…) the reaction is almost universal. A shake of the head, a chuckle and a comment like “what a character” or “she’s so funny”. At her soccer awards ceremony her coach said it well, “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”

My daughter’s larger than life temperament can be hardship – both to her and to those around her. It can be overwhelming, dealing with all that emotion and determination. But most of the time, she uses her powers for good. And all the time, the world is a better place because she is in it.

So here’s my “advice to a nine year old”:

Be brave – I know you feel shy when you are in a new place or a new situation, but you are a leader and you can choose to act like one. If you focus on how other people are feeling,you will know what to do. Act friendly and confident and before you know it, you’ll feel that way too.

Be generous – You are a collector extraordinaire (read: pack rat), a shopper and a money magnet. Your stuff matters to you, and that is what makes it such a gift that you are able to share with others. You have a great capacity for kindness. Never forget that people are always more important than stuff, always.

Be kind – You have no idea how much power you have to do good. It takes a BIG heart to treat others the way you want to be treated (Luke 6:31). I know you have it in you.

So here’s to my BIG 9 year old – Happy Birthday C!

Every year we write a birthday letter to each of our kids – both memories of the past year, things we appreciate most about them and encouragement to become their best selves. This year C gave me permission to post it on my blog.

In case you are wondering, I don’t use names or recent photos of my kids for privacy reasons. We are trying to adopt from the foster care system, so confidentiality is an issue.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in parenting

August 19, 2011

The Swingers Club

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

Dear Swingers,

I read all about your club in the newspaper this morning.

http://www.theprovince.com/Raucous+club+parties+rock+Delta+neighbours/5276978/story.html

I’m sure you’ve gotten all sorts of feedback from horny, fascinated teenagers to shocked and horrified religious types. Once upon a time I would have fallen into both of those categories, but today my reaction went something like this:

Meh.

Honestly, I feel sorry for you. Clearly, you aren’t doing it right.

I’m not talking about the mechanics of orgasm, no doubt you have that down pat. I’m talking about intimacy, connection, sex that not only blows your mind, but touches your soul. Chasing after the next empty thrill seems like a pathetic alternative.

Perhaps it’s old fashioned to use the words “cheap and tawdry” but they fit. It’s cheap because it costs you nothing. It’s cheap because it is worth so little.

You can do better. You should expect more.

So here’s me, wishing you would raise the bar.

3 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in marriage

August 15, 2011

the CAKE

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

Every year, since time began, the women in my husband’s family have prepared a 4 layer, boiled icing, chocolate drizzled, MADE FROM SCRATCH German Chocolate Cake in celebration of each person’s birth. It is tradition.

In my family of origin that means something we sometimes do, if we feel like it. In in-law”ese” it means, a task or experience which is absolutely required and essential. If you don’t do it, you are out of the family. Or will wish you could be.

Shortly before I was married my Mom-in-law sat me down to have “the talk”. No, not sex; I wish it were that simple. This was about the legendary family cake and my new responsibilities as both a wife and, someday, mother.

You have to understand. I am not what you would call “kitchen friendly.” I think it’s a complex recipe if it calls for a can of soup AND shredded cheese. As for baking – someone like me is why God created Duncan Hines cake mixes (or why God created Duncan Hines in order that some day he would create cake mixes). Why, oh why, couldn’t the family tradition be DQ ice cream cake?

I can regale you with tales over the years of my many struggles with “the cake.” There have been tears, muttered profanity, botched attempts hastily thrown in the garbage, desperate calls to my mother (what does “fold in” mean?) and some years it just hasn’t worked out. But I keep trying. I even sift the flour for pete’s sake.

This year was no exception. A clue as to how it went… here is my husband’s facebook post:

The more my wife curses the cake she’s making for me, the more I appreciate her for making it. She’s very appreciated at this moment…

The cake layers were uneven and gaped. So I put a lot of icing on. The icing didn’t work quite right – perhaps cooled too long (since last year it wasn’t not long enough). It was super sticky, so I piled extra on. It slid down the cake, pooled on the edge of the plate and onto the counter. So, I put more on.

Every year without fail, this project causes me stress and frustration. So I’ve been asking myself – why do I do it?

Because, he makes me laugh…every day, at least once, but usually more.

Because, when we argue he talks in outline format (A…, point 1, 2…) and it’s strangely endearing.

Because, he is crazy about his girls and enjoys being their dad so much he wants another daughter.

Because, he is brilliant (don’t tell him I said this – but he’s way smarter than me).

Because, he is sexy and makes me feel that way too.

Because, he is the first person I want to tell when something good happens.

Because, his is the hug I need when things go bad.

Because, he really, really, really likes the cake.

Marriage is about loving that other person in the way they actually need and want – not the way that is convenient or makes sense to me. Now, I may still moan about this cake with my sister-in-law and I doubt it’ll ever be my favourite thing to do. In 364 days I will re-read this post and hopefully I will have a better attitude for that cake, because he really is worth it.

So here’s to Glen – a better man than I deserve. Happy Birthday G!

16 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in home-making, marriage

August 12, 2011

Hmmm… think, think, think.

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

If you ask my youngest daughter a question, her answer will almost always be “NO”. It doesn’t matter what the topic is or even if you’ve asked a yes/no question. Do you want more? What’s your name? Do you want ice cream? Is Daddy right? (This is a very convenient way for me to recruit a supporter on whatever issue we happen to be discussing.)

Lately she’s upped the ante – now she prefers to shout “NO WAY!” It was cute… the first 300 times. Now, not so much. The problem isn’t stubborness (although she certainly is). The problem isn’t intelligence, as she is quite bright. The problem is slower cognitive processing.

If I were to ask you a question – it would take approximately 3 seconds for you to hear what I’ve said, process the meaning of it, formulate a response and signal the muscles in your body to respond appropriately. Some studies have shown that most people with Down Syndrome take about 45 seconds to do the same.

Now, on paper that doesn’t seem like much, but if you actually count it out – it is a socially unacceptable lag. In a world that moves so quickly, she is constantly bombarded with questions or requests. Not only does it take her longer to understand, but when she actually does respond often people can’t understand what she’s saying. So, the “NO WAY!” reflex was born.

A strategy we are using to try to counteract this habit is saying “Hmmmmmmm!” while tapping her finger on her mouth. It’s a thinking sound and hopefully communicates that she has heard what is asked, but needs some time to process it. We got the idea from our favourite bear with a potty nickname.

I don’t have this problem – in fact, I often speak without thinking. I’m pretty sure this habit of mine causes even more trouble than the “NO WAY!” reflex. I’ve decided that I need to use the “Hmmmmmm” method myself.

I often commit to doing things – without thinking. I express my frustration with my kids – without thinking. I vent whatever emotion I am feeling on my husband – without thinking. I make plans, I share information, I give permission, I jump into the gossip session… all without thinking.

One of my favorite ridiculously-obvious-statement-laced-with-deeper-meaning verses is this:

“But your yes is to be yes and your no, no.” (James 5:12)

In other words, say what you mean and mean what you say. Don’t open your mouth if you haven’t got something worthwhile to say. Even if you have to take an extra 45 seconds to hum about it.

So here’s me, learning to think, think, think.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting, special needs

August 9, 2011

The Coolest Grown Up I Know

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

When I was little, I had one adult relative that always had time to talk to me. She laughed at my jokes and made silly ones herself. If you asked her to pass the jam – she’d say “Jam it in your mouth.” Not only was she a comic genius, but whenever I went to visit my grandparents she would walk with me (just me) down the block to Kenny’s. Everyone knew her at the diner and she would order me any drink I wanted, while she drank her coffee.

I never wondered why she was so cool – she just was. It wasn’t until my adult years that it occurred to me to ask about her diagnosis. I grew up around the disabled, so it has always been a familiar world. Our family did respite for the Association for the Mentally Handicapped, though the name changed many times: to Mentally Challenged, to Developmentally Delayed and finally Community Living. Whatever the name, we had kids of all sorts in our house. Autism, hydrocephalus, and Down Syndrome, I know them well. But it never occurred to me to put a label on my aunt.

Occasionally, I teach a workshop for young people in our church. They help with a number of special needs kids throughout the year and are incredibly dedicated. One of the first activities we do is to have each one think of something they struggle with – whether a bad habit or fear – something they just can’t seem to defeat. I have them write it down and stick it to their chest, on top of their name tag.

“Nail-Biter, please hand me that binder.”

“Can Procrastinator and Messy pass these handouts around.”

“Keep your hands to yourself Nose-Picker.”

Okay, so that last one isn’t real, at least not that anyone has admitted to so far.

Frankly, I can’t stick with it very long. Not only does it feel silly, but demeaning and impersonal. Which is exactly the point.

We are not defined by our struggles and problems. No matter how real or powerful they may be – that is not WHO WE ARE. My Auntie Jan is not cerebral palsy or epilepsy or any of her medical problems.

She likes country music and classic books like Anne of Green Gables and Little House. It’s amazing what she can accomplish with only one hand. She loves to bowl and has her very own lime green ball. She still laughs at my jokes and she takes the time to get to know my kids.

Everyone should have an Auntie Jan.

So here’s me, and my Aunt – bowling.

2 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in special needs