All of us have that moment when a memory haunts you. It can be as simple as a flower evoking the image of your father who passed away. It can be that moment when you should have spoke up and instead sat down. The time you drank too much and (insert embarrassing moment here). It could be passing your old high school and being dragged back through time. We all have a memory that haunts us. Continue reading
It’s 8 o’clock at night. Bridget has been in her bed for an hour. A blessed hour. This is one kid who enjoys her sleep. Usually at 6:30 pm she starts asking for her pajamas and bed. I put her off until 7 pm knowing she will be up at the butt crack of dawn or 7 am as the locals call it. That rain, shine or Apocalypse this child has an internal clock more accurate than my alarm clock. Continue reading
I get asked about the girls relationship a lot. Like A LOT. Asking about how I fostered this relationship between them. The truth of the matter is, I haven’t done a thing. Abby and Bridget’s relationship happened organically. David and I very little to do with it.
I know, just know, that my child would rather I not reveal this but….I do not want her to be me.
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Today’s Throw-back Thursday post is actually a post from a Finish that Sentence Friday Prompt I answered on April 11, 2013. The prompt was: If I could live anywhere I would live…”
Here:
Time for Finish that Sentence Friday. And today’s snippet is….
“If I could live anywhere I’d live…”
Now I know you are expecting me to say a tropical island with a nice cabana boy who brings me wine at regular intervals…and yes that would be super cool (or warm, I guess). But if I could live anywhere?
I would live in Abby’s brain. Ew, gross you might be thinking? Really who would want to live in squishy brain matter….But I think it would be super cool.
I would be able to talk to fairies, sprites and nymphs (and I would also be able to figure out why they are different). I could look outside and see the fairy houses that were created overnight rather than looking at the leaves that have overtaken my flowerbeds. Instead of seeing a messy bedroom I would see a horse farm in one corner, a Barbie paradise in another and the oh so important stuffed animal corral on the top bunk. The only part of Abby world that Boo cannot be destructo baby in.
Then there is the man cave that Abby has taken over. The playhouse that is where the American Girl Dolls live and have high adventures. Under the pool table? That’s not a pool table MOM (exaggerated sigh) that is where Tinkerbell hid the leprechaun so we can get his gold (thank you Auntie Krafty K for that trap by the way). Oh and that dollhouse? That is where Periwinkle lives in the winter. She travels (who knew) between Allie’s room and the man cave dependent on the season.
I don’t have a summer home, let alone a winter home. Yet Abby’s fairies have vacation homes, condos and leprechauns who give them gold. Maybe I can start charging them rent!
Yes, it would be awesome, wicked awesome, to live in Abby’s brain. If just for a day.
Most importantly, my mind would not be concerned with magnets, every day math or math facts!
Life is too short for me to be a helicopter parent. I’m involved. I’m on the PTA. I badger Abby over her homework, her flute practice and cleaning her room. I communicate with Boo’s team (which is another type of parenting, not helicopter). At a PTA event before school started the new Principal asked me if I was happy with Abby’s placement for the next year. I replied, I have no idea. In all honesty I didn’t even know that Abby would have two teachers this year.
I do not place my child in the preferred teacher’s classroom. I do not say she has to have XYZ in her class. When Abby is 15 she will not be able to pick her boss. I think learning in primary school that you have to work for whatever teacher you get is a good lesson. Let her learn now at a young age how to debate, negotiate and comply with the person entrusted to educate her.
Our town is going through an enormous transition in the school system. There have been a lot of changes, from pre-kindergarten to eighth grade. It has in both good ways and bad brought out the helicopter parent in a lot of the community.
In addition to the transition our school system has instituted new security measures and traffic patterns. It’s the traffic management that set my life is too short, snap out of it moment. Here’s the deal:
Previously if you drove your child to school (even though they could walk or take the bus) you would let little Patsy get out of the car and text, email, play words with friends watch her like an Eagle Scout as she walked the 25 feet from your car door to the front door of the school.
You do this because there is an off-chance little Patsy could be abducted by aliens on her way into school.
The new system (which is working at two other schools in town) is that you now drop your child off and drive to work, the gym, wherever you go when your child is at school. A teacher (or two) directs the children and keeps and makes sure no one dawdles on the way to class. You do not stop and hold up the 25 cars behind you who are trying to get somewhere on time. You can, if you wish, park your car and get out of it and walk your child to the sidewalk where you can watch or walk with them walk into the school.
Of course Facebook lit up brighter than NYC on New Year’s Eve with parent comments. One person wrote that they asked the administration “if the school was now taking responsibility for all the kids from the moment they are on school grounds without a parent present, she danced around the question like Sugar Ray Leonard, never actually answering the question”.
Hmm…really? This is a question posed to the school administration? I think they “danced” around the question because they were not allowed to say: Look you fool, we take personal responsibility for every child in our system. It doesn’t matter if they are walking into the school or out of it. It doesn’t matter if they are in gym, the playground, the art room or in the classroom.
Unless you home school (and you are my hero if you do) a parent is not present with their child 24/7. If you are seriously worried that little Patsy is going to come to harm walking from your car to the door of the school there are bigger issues. Just think what could happen while you are not there:
They could get colored on in art! Or worse eat the art.They could fall from the slide on the playground.They could need a band aid.They might color outside the lines in kindergarten.They might make friends, get dirty, learn to negotiate and be a little independent.
Oh the horror, they might make friendships without you. I think that is a more likely fear than the alien abduction, personally.
If you want to become involved in the traffic policy, the transitioning of the schools, school security I say fantastic! At the first PTA meeting of the year we had 18 attendees out of a school of 500+ children. Of those who attended: 3 from administration, 1 teacher, the E-board of the PTA, the past PTA President and VP and 6 other parents. After Sandy Hook we held a school safety meeting 12 parents attended. It takes more to keep your child safe then watching them walk from your car to the front door.
I know the excuses: I work, I do this or that I don’t have time let me wave the flag of BS. I work full-time, I blog, I’m active on the PTA, I take care of two active girls, I attend Boo’s doctor and therapy appointments, I take Abby to her Flute and Riding lessons and I remember to be a wife sometimes. There is time to get involved it just takes creative planning.
My point, to fellow parents, is relax! Life is too short for you to worry so much. If you are a child of the 70’s or 80’s you played outside (alone), you walked to school (alone), your parent did not handpick your teacher (or friends) and you survived. Yes, I understand we live in a different world. A world of 9/11 and Sandy Hook and Columbine. I agree we have to be vigilant, we have to be involved and aware.
You also have to know when to let your child fly.
And if your child is abducted by aliens walking from your car to the front of the school while a teacher watches, I will be the first one to sign up for helicopter lessons.
This was how I answered the prompt Life is too short for….
Dear Dad,
It’s funny. I do not call you dad. I call you Joe. It feels right, to both of us. You met my mom well after I was grown. You gave a woman who is so deserving a new start on life. A better life, for both of you. My mom deserved happiness and security. I am so thankful you were there to provide it. You scared the crap out of her (and us) when you had a heart attack. Made her (and us) smile again when you were able to ride the carousel.
You did not walk me down the aisle when I married. That wasn’t our relationship at the time. But you stood proudly as I made this so important step. When David and built our house, when I went back to college, when we visit one another our relationship evolves into more than friendship. More than respect. A relationship based on trust and love. More father/daughter than step dad/ step monster. That you got to avoid my teenage years is my gift to you this Father’s Day.
Although it wasn’t until Abby was born that our relationship truly began.
I will never forget the day I brought Abby home from the hospital. You took her into your arms and the connection was forged. From that moment on you were no longer standing by in our lives but living the important moments with us. You stopped asking mom if it was okay to go into my refrigerator. You realized you were no longer company but family.
That is when you transitioned from my mom’s husband to my dad. You became Abby’s number one when you both accepted one another as is. She deals with your falling asleep in movies. You deal with her needing your endless attention. You suffer through her planning a Princess Birthday party for you. She suffers you trying to teach her Latin and math concepts. Plus you ate the cake she made so bonus points.
You are not Grandpa but Jampa. Even though she can actually pronounce Grandpa she is quick to correct anyone who dares call you Grandpa. While she might not understand why you are a Joe and not a dad to me, she understands unwavering love. In fact she taught us that lesson early on.
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| Abby and her #1 Jampa Joe |
When Boo was born Abby hoped she would get your eyes. Not understanding that, well you being Asian and us being of Irish descent made that kind of impossible.
You show the same patience with Boo. Involving her in your endless games of Memory with Abby. Even though she cheats (Boo, that is *wink **wink).
Boo might not have ended up with your eyes, but we all win with you as our number one.
Recently at school she showed off a picture of you. She didn’t understand why people were surprised that you were her grandfather. Abby retorted to the teacher: Of course he is, don’t you see how we look alike?
As you are a man who exudes and respects traditions we appreciate your sacrifice to our chaotic, crazy and no way traditional family.
Happy Day from Boo. Happy Jampa Day from Abby who will never see you as anything other than her Jampa. And last but not least, Happy Father’s day from a woman who considers herself lucky to have her Joe.
Love,
Kerri
I have written before (insert too much!) about the importance of creating a village of support when you have a child with special needs. Heck, even with a typical child a support system should be included with every birth certificate.
I began running in earnest about a year ago. I ran to get away from the stress of just, well, everything. Taking 20-odd minutes to focus on nothing but breathing and trying not to trip in public. It wasn’t always pretty, but I finally found my rhythm. I managed to avoid eating any more bugs and discovered the joy of tripping running in the woods.
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| Bailey& I running last fall. Or falling last fall. |
Here’s the thing though, not enough special families know about the program. There are over 3,000 runners looking for their buddy! Buddies are those with physical or mental handicaps. Persons of all ages who are willing to be the inspiration for the runners.
If you are in need of a village, of some support or you are just looking for a way to inspire someone, please consider signing up your child or adult with special needs to be matched. Follow this link: http://www.whoirun4.com/match-me/ to find out more information. There is no cost to join, for the runner or the buddy.
The runners are waiting to be a part of your village. Are you ready to be part of theirs?
The nicest thing some one ever did for me was to be my village and allow me to pay it forward.
And that is how I finished the sentence, the nicest thing some one ever did for me was….
Dear Mom in the Elevator,
I’m sorry. I apologize for leaving so quickly. I saw you and your husband in the elevator at Children’s. You were wearing the badge of the NICU. You had hit the elevator for the respite floor. You looked so spent. So wiped. So scared.
As I left with Boo for her cardiology appointment I turned and said, It gets easier.
Then I left.
I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner. I should explained that it gets easier but not better. That today you are worried about your newborn and tomorrow you will be worried about you toddler.
But I swear it gets easier. You will be hit in the gut many times over the next few years decades. Right now, believe it or not, is the easiest time of your life with a sick newborn. You have the support of awesome nurses and physicians who allow you to nap, to eat, to cry and to ask questions.
Soon, hopefully, you will be discharged. You will be scared. No, you will be terrified. As much as you looked forward to the moment of taking your baby home you are scared to your core. Because at this moment you realize you are parenting without a net. You are taking a child home that just 8 hours earlier was on a cardiac (or other) monitor. The doctors and nurses assure you that they are healthy enough to go home. As much as you (and everyone you know) prayed for this moment in time you are terrified that you are not ready.
But you are. There are just somethings you have to do to make sure you and your child stay whole.
You need to create a village. That friend that says call me, what can I do, I’m here for you. Hold them to it. Call them and say HELP ME I’M SCARED. More scared than you ever imagined. Unless you have been in the NICU you cannot describe the level of terror. They won’t get it, but they will hurt for you. They will be there for you. But only if you let them.
But I get it. I understand the moment you thought your child was going to die. The moment when you realized they would live. The moment you were told they were coming home.
It scared the crap out of me. I mean, like almost threw up I was so scared.
There will be moments in the future when you will worry, when you will cry, when you will say this is not what I signed up for…but they pale in comparison to the moment.
The moment when you go from being a parent in the NICU to a parent without a net.
Here is what you need:
Lastly, and this is the most important, listen to your inner warrior mom. You know your child better than any doctor, nurse or provider. If they smell funny to you then something is going on. I once had a nurse tell me that mother’s instinct trumps doctors order any day of the week. Remember that.
When you gave birth to a child with a medical issue and/or special need, you didn’t just become a mom (sorry to tell you). You became a warrior mom. One who advocates, medicates, does therapy, uses Google to the ends of the research and who loves their child beyond all measure.
It does get easier. Not better, but easier. The caveat to being easier is to have your village. Go find them. Embrace them. Lean on them. I should have done it earlier. I am one of the lucky ones. My village found me.
Dear Mom in the elevator, you are not alone. You are scared. You are terrified. You feel overwhelmed and heartsick. But you are not alone. Create your village. Embrace them. That is what makes the NICU experience bearable. I remember just 5 years ago keeping people away. I missed out on the support I needed. It took years for me to get it. That my village was there waiting to be tapped. Once I understood this journey became easier.
Not better, but easier.
Don’t make that mistake, Dear Mom In the Elevator. Let your support system be there for you now and forever.
Love,
A parent who has been there and has the t-shirt.
A parent that is there for you, if you need.
A mom who wishes she spoke up sooner. That she said HELP. That she allowed those who love her and her child to help them.
PS–I had a different post almost ready for this Finish This Sentence Friday, Dear Mom…but then the elevator happened.
Holy crap I’m a cohost and really hope I didn’t screw this up 🙂 Please link up below!
Just yesterday I gave birth. Just a night ago I rocked a baby to sleep. At midnight I dealt with my baby’s first fever. At breakfast I watched my baby take her first step. At lunch I heard her say her first sentence. At twilight I watched her ride a bike for the first time. At dinner we spoke about fractions. At bedtime she brushed her teeth without prompting.
That is how quickly a decade can go. In a blink of an eye I went from being worried about a pregnancy test to being worried about doing Every Day Math with my child.
My favorite decade was this one. The one when my little girl went from drooling, to teething, to eating to talking non-stop.
My favorite decade was this one. The one when my little girl learned to roll over, sit up, crawl, walk, run and swim.
My favorite decade was this one. The one when an imaginary little sister was replaced by the in real life one.
My favorite decade was this one. The one that led me from reading bedtime stories to watching my child fall in love with the written word.
My favorite decade was this one. The one where princesses and fairies are slowly replaced by horses.
My favorite decade was this one. The one where Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Leprechauns, the Tooth Fairy and Tinkerbell existed.
My favorite decade was this one. The one where Sesame Street was replaced by Word Girl that was eventually replaced by Shake it Up. (I kind of miss Sesame Street)
My favorite decade was this one. The one where the girl who would only wear dresses (that twirled) will now only wear leggings and T-shirts.
My favorite decade was the one that went faster than my 8th grade history class. The decade that showed me what was important in life. The decade where I received not one but two beautiful children. The decade that hasn’t happened yet. The decades still to come where I will watch them grow and flourish and become the best that they can be.
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| Photo Credit: Family Tree Photography |
My favorite decade was this one, what was yours?
(Un)Diagnosed and still okay 