Tag Archives: family

April 12, 2012

My Little Possibility

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

Today you are a possibility.

Not even a probability.

A might.

A maybe.

A hope for what could be.

A month ago, I didn’t see you coming. After almost 3 years of waiting and wondering, we were ready to throw in the towel. I was finally prepared to give you up.

“Time to dream new dreams,” I said. I told myself I was ready to stop treading water. It was time to get on with my life. We considered telling them to count us out entirely. But some small shred of hope said, “what can it hurt?”

But I thought it was done. I grieved for you, my little possibility. There were tears and anger and numb acceptance. Some days I didn’t think of you at all. But every time I thought I had put you behind me, the cycle would start again.

It wasn’t pretty.

I choked on the hurt when mother and infant sat in front of us at church. I forced myself to pack up the baby toys, but I couldn’t give them away. The box is still there on the shelf. I put off meeting with an academic advisor or committing to a major. As much as I am enjoying school, it is not what I want to be doing right now.

I started praying again, like I used to during the dark days. Not out of routine, but because I need to. To get through the day. To keep my emotions in check. To remember how much I have been given. This is one good thing about grief. I am never closer to God than during times like these.

I knew it would take a long time to forget.

Then we got an unexpected email from our social worker. And you appeared on the horizon. But we had been there before and nothing had come of it. We threw our hat in the ring and carried on with life.

Then we heard from YOUR social worker. And the speculation begins… what exactly does “very excited about a possible match” mean? Did she say “very”? What percentage of possible are we talking? We have so many questions.

For the first time you have a name. There is a lot to be done. We have to know and understand and make sure that we are the right family for you. And so do they.

I am trying, desperately trying, to play it cool. Is it possible to be cool if you have to desperately try for it?

Because I want to bring you home. I want snips and snails and puppy dog tails. I want happily ever happy. I even want messy, difficult, overwhelming reality. As long as you can be mine.

So here’s me, praying that our little possibility will someday be our son.

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption

April 10, 2012

The Voices in My Head

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

My very first mentor was my Dad’s little sister, my “Auntie Omi”. She was there the day I was born. I was there the day she died.

She stepped in when I was only a zygote and wrote herself into my story. When my Dad was sent out-of-town on business, she stayed. She was the one who drove my Mom to the hospital. She was there when I was born. I could always count on her.

She was my unofficial tour guide to life. Whether it was letting me watch Grizzly Adams and Dukes of Hazzard when my parents didn’t have TV, or taking me to visit her office, she opened up a whole new world to me. She taught me my first joke and then listened patiently while I told it to her 5 million times over the next year. It was only slightly more sophisticated than the chicken crossing the road. It goes something like this:

Why did the fireman wear red suspenders?

To keep his pants up!

ha ha ha ha ha ha…

…ahhhh, good stuff!

When I was a teenager, she did something amazing and totally crazy. She adopted a child. A single women adopting an older child from the foster care system is spelled R-A-D-I-C-A-L, no matter where you come from. But it’s an awesome brand of crazy! It’s also spelled B-R-A-V-E and C-O-M-P-A-S-S-I-O-N-A-T-E.

My aunt was flesh and blood altruism. Her journey was a lot messier, more confusing and more exhausting than she (or any of us) were prepared for. My cousin was 8 when she joined our family, and it was quite a ride for both of them. Watching my aunt learning to love her daughter did me more good than the hundreds of sermons I’ve heard in my life. She wasn’t perfect, but she was faithful and committed. She was a great mom. You could always count on her.

Even as an adult she looked out for me. When we moved halfway across the country, she started sending our family care packages of totally random things she had found in thrift stores or antique markets: a set of tea towels, a weird night-light, blank video tapes, socks, a ceramic bird… Just between you, me, and the entire internet, I didn’t need any of this stuff. Sometimes I wasn’t sure exactly what to do with it. But I loved those weird packages just the same. It was her way of looking out for us. I knew she was thinking about me.

She gave the toast to the bride at my wedding, and I gave the toast to the bride at hers. I dressed all three of my daughters in fluffy blue dresses so they could precede her down the aisle. At a young fifty-something years old, she had finally met the love of her life.

It’s a beautiful story, plus now I can honestly say that “Bob’s my uncle”, which is just as funny years later as when I first said it (obviously my sense of humor hasn’t matured much since the fireman’s suspenders). My girls referred to them as “the bride and her prince”. They were so happy together and it breaks my heart that their time together was so short. Life, and especially death, just isn’t fair!

As I wrote the eulogy for her funeral 2 years ago, I realized that I had, more often than not, written it in the present tense. My aunt is brave, she has a great sense of humour… As I went back to change everything into the past tense it occurred to me – she still is. She still is all those things and more. Like her, I trust the promise that heaven is a place where weaknesses fall away and we fully become our true selves.

I’m not exactly sure what the afterlife will be like; none of us know, really. But I do know that my Aunt loved God faithfully all her life. The bible talks about us having a great cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 11), and I can’t imagine anyone better suited to watch over us, pray for us and cheer us on. She was always taking care of us. It’s what she did best, and we miss her terribly.

My memories of my aunt may grow hazy as the years go by, but I will never forget who she was. I know I am a better person for all her support and her example. Her death was a terrible blow. But I did not lose her, not really. She is one of the voices in my head. Because our best mentors never leave us.

So here’s me, knowing someday I will be the voice in someone else’s head. I hope I have a Scottish accent.

Who are the voices in your head? What kind of things do they whisper to you?

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in grief, spiritual

March 7, 2012

Parenting is a Made Up Song

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

Tonight I took a peek in B’s room while Glen was putting her to bed. She was sitting behind him with her little arms wrapped as far around him as she could, rocking him back and forth, back and forth, for all she was worth. She was singing “lullaa-byyyy an good-niiiiight. i loooove you. good sleep daaaaady. naaa-night” She then proceeded to rock and sing a personalized song to both her blankie and her stuffed Pluto.

Most nights we sing a few songs with her before prayers and good-night kiss. Twinkle, Twinkle and Jesus Loves Me are the perennial favourites. For the past month she’s also insisted on the “Lulla-bye Song” which, apparently, requires us to scoop her into our laps and rock her vigorously back and forth. There’s only one small hiccup…

neither of us know the words.

We know the tune and the opening line, but that’s about it. I tried to entice her with other songs, funny songs, sweet songs, songs I know the words to. I even tried the somewhat disturbing Rock-a-Bye Baby where the baby is strapped to a branch in a windstorm and is sent hurtling to the ground – very relaxing.

No dice. It’s the “Lullabye Song” or bust. So we did what parents have been doing since the dawn of time: we faked it.

We make up the words as we go. It’s become an intensely personal experience. I’ve included such phrases as “no more snotty nose” and “I hope your hic-cups get bet-ter”. Mostly we sing that we love her. We serenade her with our hopes for a good sleep and a fun day the next morning. It’s as much a blessing as the prayer that follows.

I’ve often lamented the confusing state of modern parenting. We no longer have the clear standards and uniform expectations that families in centuries past took for granted. Everything is up for debate:

homeschool, private school or public school

babywise or attachment parenting

limited screen time, immersed in technology or Amish

healthy food, vegan food, gluten free, organic or whatever you can scrounge off the floor of the McDonalds play structure…

There’s such a wide range of “good parenting” practices, with each one claiming to be the most successful/psychologically sound/biblical way. Usually there is some value in that particular philosophy. Usually I know at least one family whom I respect that embraces it. Usually I am left feeling confused and overwhelmed.

I don’t know the words to this song. And it kind of freaks me out.

We’re making it up as we go along. The harmonies change from one child to the next, because they are each so different. We find what fits the rhythm of our family and each situation. And most days the melody works.

Parenting is a made up song. It is a one of a kind composition. The tune is familiar, but each family is unique. So why should I worry if mine isn’t exactly like the book or that Stepford family at church? It’s not supposed to be.

So here’s me, a little bit off key most days, but still singing.

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

February 29, 2012

10 Ways to Celebrate Leap Day

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

Sometimes it’s more of a curse than a blessing to have a child with a long memory. My, now 11 year old daughter clearly remembers celebrating Leap Day last time, when she was 7. Those were my homeschooling days when I spent a lot more time coming up with fun and “educational” things to do everyday.

Today, I have a sick child at home, 2 papers due for school (now that I’M the student) and a backlog of household chores that make me want to cry. But I’ve decided that they will still be there tomorrow.

February 29th only comes around once every 4 years. It hardly ever happens. I’m always complaining that I need more time, and here I have a whole extra day! Of course, it usually gets eaten up with the ordinary hustle and bustle. Just one more day in the rat race. What a shame! What a waste!

Why not take advantage of this bonus day to do something special?

Or, if you can’t think of something special, here are 10 silly ideas the girls and I came up with to celebrate Leap Day:

1. Play Leap Frog. The girls remember doing this last Leap Year with our friend Shannon, who was quite pregnant at the time. They were impressed!

2. Sing and Dance to “Jumping Songs”. If you have children, you can let them join in too!

    • 5 Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed
    • If You’re Happy and You Know it Leap Around
    • Jump Your Jigglies Out
    • Jump for my Love – Pointer Sisters
    • Jump Jump – Kriss Kross (remember them!)

3. Declare this to be EXTRA day – and give everyone extra. But only the good things: extra hugs, extra game, extra ice cream, extra Wii time…

4. Hide frog gummies all over the house. These are always fun, because you find candy in weird places for months to come.

5. Buy a box of EXTRA gum and hand it out to everyone you know.

6. Serve food that LEAPS: Kangaroo Steak, Bunny Tail and Jumping Beans for dinner. I suggest steak, mashed potatoes and green beans, but you can be as realistic as you like.

7. Watch Annie and try to work “Leaping Lizards” into every conversation.

8. Make a frog cake, then sing “Happy Leap Day to you!” Or you could be like me and buy an ice cream cake instead!

9. Write letters to yourself for next Leap Day, then put them in a time capsule to be opened in 2016. Futureme.org allows you  to e-mail letters and photos to yourself, and will send it to you at some future date. You can even include pictures. This is so much easier than trying to keep track of it myself!

You can even get an app for your iPhone or iPad – only $0.99!

10. Watch Larry’s Leap Year Lesson. I must admit that I floundered when they asked me why we have leap year, something to do with the earth’s rotation and how we calculate the calendar… Larry the Cucumber cleared it right up for me.

 I’m always looking for more ways to build memories and embarass my children. How do you celebrate Leap Year?

So here’s me, celebrating my made up holiday, because that’s how I want to use my extra time. I wonder what my kids will remember 4 years from now.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in home-making, parenting

November 16, 2011

Everyday Adventures

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

20111116-225159.jpgWe almost gave up. The wind was picking up and I could feel the damp seeping into my wool socks. We had slid down icy embankments, skirted the semi-frozen river and scrambled up the snowy hillside half a dozen times. All we had to show for it was frozen fingers and scratches from the thorny branches.

While their baby sister cried from the cold, the two big girls started bickering and I began to seriously question whether I was even fit to parent. I know Glen was wondering the same thing. Whether it was kindness or survival instinct that prevented him from voicing it I will never know, but I could see it in his eyes. This expedition into the snowy wilderness had been my idea… for fun… on our holiday.

Then it happened! The moment that changed this train wreck of a morning into a cherished family memory. Stories will be told through the ages about the greatness of this moment. It will long be lauded in poetry and song.

She found it! Nestled amongst the roots of an evergreen in the middle of the forest. A small weather-proof tube wrapped in green duct tape. C has an uncanny ability for finding things, and she cemented her place in family legend by finding our very first cache.

I have always wanted to try geocaching, and for some reason a trip to the mountains in the middle of winter seemed like an ideal time. We have tagged along with friends before, but this was our first attempt at the hobby. Basically, it’s a treasure hunt using a GPS and co-ordinates you can find on the internet. (Or, download a totally cool app onto your totally cool iPhone and it will walk you through the whole process.) Enthusiasts have hidden caches of all kinds all over the world. When you find one, you sign the log, take a “treasure” and leave a token of your own behind.

A small plastic frog is hardly booty to write home about, but to my kids it has inestimable worth. We did that! Together! Against all odds! Through rugged terrain (if you’re 7-years-old) in a harsh climate (if you are a west coast wimp like us), undertaking the daunting task of navigation with a team leader who has the directional ability of a… (what is something really dumb?).

We were so excited, we decided to keep going. While Glen and B went back to the cabin to prepare hot chocolate and compliments for my brilliant, brilliant idea, we found two more caches. The girls and I have caught the bug!

Why do something as mundane as take a walk, when you can hunt for hidden treasure? It may seem a bit silly, but that’s the beauty of it. Sometimes we get so caught up in the serious business of living that we forget that adventure lurks around every corner.

Suddenly, getting lost is a chance to explore a strange new land. Who knows what you may find? I explore a lot. See above re: directional ability.

My mom used to say that only boring people get bored. I may have repeated this a time or two thousand to my own kids. I think it’s time I took my own advice. Life is mundane only when I forget to look for the magic and the miracles.

So here’s me, finding treasures in normal life.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in creativity, parenting

November 5, 2011

Imagine That

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

When I was a child, one of my best friends was a girl named Casey. She looked just like me; she had short red hair and even a matching jean jacket. She was tiny; in fact, she only came up to my waist. She didnt speak much at all, but she always thought my ideas were great and played with me whenever I needed her.

When I was a child, there was an elevator in our downstairs bathroom. I was the only one who ever used it. It took me anywhere I wanted to go. My favorite destination was Mrs. Kangaroo’s highrise apartment, which seemed like an exotic locale to a suburban kid like myself.

When I was a child, I lived a double life: mild mannered school girl by day, crime-fighting dog in the afternoon. It was hard work defeating the forces of evil, so when Mom starting doing afterschool care I recruited a whole team of yapping police puppies. Together we brought villians to justice and imprisoned them in the guest room closet.

One of the best things my parents ever did for me was to nurture my imagination. They did not dismiss my flights of fancy as childish and unimportant. Instead, my mom set a place at the table for my invisible playmate. She overlooked my damp socks from playing in the shower stall downstairs and holes in the knees of my pants from crawling around the house for hours at a time.

They fed me a steady diet of books and unstructured free time. My mom freely contributed old blankets, sheets and clothespins to the fort building cause. Somedays I ate my lunch in a cave of wonders than bore a striking resemblance to the underside of our dining room table. I remember her packing snacks in the backpack of this intrepid explorer and listening patiently to the blow-by-blow of my adventures.

While I grew up with fond memories of imaginary friends, my sister Esther had an imaginary enemy. We used to choke back our laughter as she would angrily recount her latest fight with The Girl. “You won’t believe what the girl did now!” I remember watching her stomping around the backyard, yelling at thin air.

My other sister Colleen played pretend in her own way – fashion shows, tea parties and impromptu concerts. She spent her childhood decked out in lace and jewels, wobbling around the house in my Mom’s shoes. There was no such thing as too fancy in her book.

I’m sure there were times it was inconvenient and downright messy, but my parents knew that this was the important work of childhood. We were flexing our creative muscles and practicing the people we were going to become: me, bossing folks around and making up stories; Esther (the law student), railing at the injustices of society; and Colleen (the musician), bringing beauty into the world.

I’d better go now. There’s a little tiger in my living room and she’s getting hungry for lunch. I hope she doesn’t eat me!

So here’s me, years later, still talking to myself when there’s no one around.

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

October 20, 2011

Snake Lover

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

She was four years old. A tiny little thing with curly pig-tails and big blue eyes. We had enrolled her in a program called Wee College. It was a weekly program for preschoolers to teach them the bible, kind of like a beefed up Sunday school for overachievers. The system was pretty old school, but the teacher was dedicated and creative, so it worked.

We coasted through the lesson on the creation of the world, but when it came to the garden of Eden we hit a snag. It wasn’t that she was uninterested in the story, in fact, she was fascinated by it. Satan in the form of a serpent tempts Eve to eat from the forbidden Tree of Knowledge and the innocence of humanity is lost. While all the other children learned important lessons about temptation and sin, she had a completely different take on the story.

“Mom, I like the sneaky snake. He’s my favourite.”

We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but settled somewhere in the middle. No amount of discussion or explanation could convince her that the snake wasn’t the BEST part of the story. She drew pictures of him, talked about him and dug through her children’s bibles to find pictures of him. Was this a sign of things to come? Did my precious daughter have a rebellious streak a mile wide? In a word, yes.

The year before, we had enrolled her in a community dance program. She disliked being ordered around and preferred to literally dance to her own rhythm in the corner of the room. In one situation when the teacher instructed the girls to dance around in a circle, she proceeded to pull her tutu over her face and run around in the opposite direction, knocking the poor little ballerinas down left and right. I must admit that after removing her from class and disciplining her, I had to retreat to another room to roar with laughter.

But she is also a free-thinker and a non-conformist. That same year she decided that she was a true princess and proceeded to wear a tiara at ALL times. It was with some difficulty that we convinced her she must take it off for baths and at bedtime (though occasionally we would go back in to check and it would be back on her head).

Lately she’s become more and more concerned with what people think of her. She still marches to the beat of her own drum, but it’s quieter now, less flashy. She’s gotten shy in new situations and less comfortable with being the off-beat, quirky one.

It makes me sad. I know that life is easier if you’re not the “weird one”, but I think it’s better if you are. Conformity to the norm is great for assembling Ikea furniture and making origami, but it’s not a virtue I admire. While I don’t want her to be weird for its own sake (a la Lady Gaga), I want her to find their own voice; to be the unique person God made her to be.

On a completely unrelated note, this same daughter has begun a campaign to get her own snake. According to her, they make great pets.

So here’s me, absolutely refusing to buy a snake, but appreciating the sentiment all the same.

Here’s a blast from the past on finding your own rhythm:

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

October 4, 2011

Embracing the Raggedy Edges

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

We have a family motto that my Mom-in-law finds deeply disturbing: “It’s not great, but it’s good enough.”

It started one year as we tried to put the star on the Christmas tree. The slightly less than straight, but definitely much beloved tree our girls had picked out. Pretty soon we were saying it all the time – hanging a banner, decorating a cake, writing an email…

I didn’t set out to make mediocrity my goal. It’s hardly the stuff inspirational speeches and parenting books are written about. I do want my children to be wholehearted and hard working; to “work as if for the Lord and not for men”.

Yet I can’t bring myself to mold them into ideal Stepford children. Not only does it require enormous amounts of energy, but it sucks the joy out of life. As a recovering perfectionist I can tell you that the mindset is both exhausting and paralyzing. It’s hard to get anything done, when every little thing has to be done with excellence.

Instead I will train them to pick their battles; to save their time and energy for those things that are most important. I want them to know that they can do anything, but they can’t do everything. Hopefully I will teach them this while learning it myself.

It is hard to accept that I have limits and to live within those boundaries. So when the ghost of Martha Stewart (I know she’s not dead, but she does seem to haunt all women from time to time) peers over my shoulder with a disapproving look, I just say that motto out loud. It’s not great, but it’s good enough.

So here’s us, where life is messy and somewhat crooked… and good enough.

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , | posted in home-making, parenting

September 30, 2011

The Flaw

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

I’ve kept quiet for many years about this. Okay, not exactly, but mostly I suffer in silence. Since I started this blog I have taken the opportunity to sing my husband’s praises through it. And he really is the best guy around – a wonderful father and human being. But sometimes he really bugs me.

It’s not a marriage thing; anyone you spend a lot of time with will find it. That thing, that seemingly insignificant, small thing that irritates you like nothing else. Other people may barely even notice, but this thing will drive you batty. Perhaps I am more neurotic than most, but I have quite a few pet peeves.

Thankfully, Glen does in fact understand the correct way to load toilet paper: from the TOP people! He understands the need to put the toilet seat DOWN (which makes my first thing in the morning dash to the bathroom much more pleasant). I am forever grateful to my mother-in-law for raising a son who puts his dirty dishes in the kitchen, dirty socks in the hamper and dirty self into the shower.

However… he does have one dark flaw, and it is something I “have a thing about”. Each week I collect, sort, wash, dry AND fold the laundry. I’m somewhat anal about it. Growing up, wash day was Monday, and I cannot feel quite right with the world if we have dirty clothes kicking around on Tuesday, or heaven forbid – Wednesday. The rest of my life may be descending into madness – dishes to the ceiling, crunchy floors and grimy bathrooms, but we WILL have clean clothes on Tuesday.

After busting my butt to produce this minor housekeeping miracle, I expect the neatly folded piles of clean laundry, which have been conveniently delivered to each person’s room, to be PUT AWAY. Each of my children puts their own clothes away. It was one of the first chores they learned. Even the baby was doing her part (as soon as she was able to stand on her own – I’m not a monster). It could be because their mom is the laundry Nazi, but I like to think it’s because this incredibly simple task is the least they can do to assist me with my Very Important Work (aka: laundry).

We talked about it when we were first married and he agreed. Not a big deal… totally something he could do… he was happy to help, and yet it hardly ever happened. All week I would eye that basket of clothes on the floor while he rummaged through it for what he needed. Determined not to nag, I decided to just ignore it and see how long it took before he actually put his shirts IN the drawer. Five laundry baskets precariously stacked with a smattering of clean clothes in the bottom of each one and STILL he would rather hunt through the stacks than empty the things.

I like to think of myself as a reasonable, peace-loving human being, but this could very well have pushed me over the edge. He really wasn’t trying to be a jerk or disrespect me in any way. He just doesn’t see it. In fact, he floated the idea of doing away with drawers entirely, just living out of the baskets.

Eventually I realized that this little, but extremely crucial issue could cause our relationship serious stress. Relationships can be destroyed by the silliest things. Friends, siblings, co-workers, room-mates… pretty much anyone who is up in your face long enough for you to want to punch them in theirs. Of course, in the end it’s not about how to fold the towels or who is a better driver, but it can start there. The spark that starts the fire doesn’t need to be a big one. I watched a bitter divorce unfold with the major battle being who should clean out the garage.

I know wives all over the world have been putting clothes away for centuries without complaint, but somehow I got it in my head that I shouldn’t have to. And I don’t, I really don’t. But I decided that this would be my act of sacrificial love. It may not seem that romantic, but it is a marriage builder in our home.

For more than a decade I have been putting shirts, pants, socks and boxers away while repeating the mantra “an act of love, an act of love, an act of love.” To be honest, I don’t think he’s even noticed. Every once in a while that irritation sneaks up on me again, but it’s good for me. Glen says it all the time – love isn’t just a feeling, it is an act of the will. And in our house, that means drawers full of clean laundry.

So here’s me, grateful that he loves me by overlooking the garbage I leave in his car, clipping my toenails in front of the t.v. and even peanut butter breath.

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

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