I’ve seen quite a few people upset or irritated by changes in how we refer to people who belong to a population outside their own. Maybe they feel frustrated that they can’t keep up or embarrassed if they’ve used the wrong term. I don’t know, but I just want to offer that it’s common courtesy to call people what they want.
If you’re name is William and your whole life your family has called you Billy, but you decide in college you’d like to go by Will, you have that right. It’s hasn’t changed your identity, but it has changed how you see yourself and how some people view you. And it’s something you have the power to decide.
Simply put, this is what people in marginalized communities face, but people act like it’s a huge imposition. When a person with Down syndrome asks not to be called “Down’s” or “special” some people feel personally attacked.
It’s not an attack. And it doesn’t even mean that those terms were bad. It just means that the individual or community you are interacting with would rather go by a name like Will rather than Billy. They have outgrown a name that worked for a while and are ready for something different.
When the terms that our parents’ or grandparents’ generations used as polite terms no longer feel right to people of color, people of different abilities, people in the LGBQT+ community, it’s our job to listen.
It’s our job to call people what they want.
**There are obviously terms that are not and have never been okay. We all generally know those terms and that is not what I am referring to.
Monday, March 25, 2019
Thursday, June 7, 2018
People First
My 6 year old, Cohen, is a trickster. He can make anyone laugh with a well-timed prank and the contagious giggle he releases at the conclusion of it. He is fiercely loyal to the people he loves. Just try to pick on his little sister or even correct one of his big brothers and he’s in fight mode. He’s known for his mad dance moves and rarely does a day in our home pass without at least one Cohen-initiated dance party. Cohen also has Down syndrome. He is not a “Special Needs Child.” He is a child first: a child with special needs.
This simple shift of language is called Person First Language (PFL). I know it sounds complex and like something geared toward the over-sensitive. I get it. No one likes to have to string together more words or wrack his or her brain for the correct terminology in any given situation. It doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal. Downs baby or baby with Down syndrome- it seems like more work to say the same thing. However, PFL is about far more than semantics; it’s about identity. It’s about humanity. We all long to be seen, to be valued, and to belong.
When we reduce people to their disabilities, we rob them of the dignity we all long for. We set them apart from ourselves without knowing anything else about them.
Cohen is a funny, loyal, dancing boy who has Down syndrome. Down syndrome is a part of who my son is, but it is not what defines him!
When we use PFL, we are acknowledging someone’s humanity over his or her label. This is a gift. Not only to the person we are speaking to or about, it is a gift to ourselves and our communities. We offer ourselves the chance to really see the other person as a person. We might be overlooking or underestimating people in our own circles, because in our minds “he’s just the Down syndrome guy” or “the disabled lady” or “the special needs child.” When we look first to the person we might find a valued coworker, a trustworthy friend, or a hilarious prankster.
By looking beyond disability, we offer our communities access to an underutilized and highly motivated workforce, citizens with more to offer the world than just their disability, and a generation growing up with a can-do attitude.
And while Person First Language is quite the mouthful, actually using it is pretty easy. “Special needs child” turns into “child with special needs.” Instead of saying someone “is disabled”, try “has a disability.”
When in doubt just remember: the person comes first.
You are making our communities more inclusive and welcoming by just recognizing the people who inhabit it alongside you.
This simple shift of language is called Person First Language (PFL). I know it sounds complex and like something geared toward the over-sensitive. I get it. No one likes to have to string together more words or wrack his or her brain for the correct terminology in any given situation. It doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal. Downs baby or baby with Down syndrome- it seems like more work to say the same thing. However, PFL is about far more than semantics; it’s about identity. It’s about humanity. We all long to be seen, to be valued, and to belong.
When we reduce people to their disabilities, we rob them of the dignity we all long for. We set them apart from ourselves without knowing anything else about them.
Cohen is a funny, loyal, dancing boy who has Down syndrome. Down syndrome is a part of who my son is, but it is not what defines him!
When we use PFL, we are acknowledging someone’s humanity over his or her label. This is a gift. Not only to the person we are speaking to or about, it is a gift to ourselves and our communities. We offer ourselves the chance to really see the other person as a person. We might be overlooking or underestimating people in our own circles, because in our minds “he’s just the Down syndrome guy” or “the disabled lady” or “the special needs child.” When we look first to the person we might find a valued coworker, a trustworthy friend, or a hilarious prankster.
By looking beyond disability, we offer our communities access to an underutilized and highly motivated workforce, citizens with more to offer the world than just their disability, and a generation growing up with a can-do attitude.
And while Person First Language is quite the mouthful, actually using it is pretty easy. “Special needs child” turns into “child with special needs.” Instead of saying someone “is disabled”, try “has a disability.”
When in doubt just remember: the person comes first.
You are making our communities more inclusive and welcoming by just recognizing the people who inhabit it alongside you.
Monday, December 18, 2017
The Little Brown Refugee Baby is Coming
Advent is here. All the beautiful, magical moments that come with Christmas have arrived. The tree is up, holiday music is playing everywhere I go, and lights are twinkling all over town.
But it doesn't feel very magical.
I've been down for a while now, fighting to keep my head above water. And all the sparkling and smiling and creating beautiful moments feels like more than I can handle.
Right now, the best I can do is show up.
It sometimes feels wrong to celebrate the birth of a baby who was destined to become a refugee while there are still refugees forgotten in camps and lost all over our world.
There is pain that comes from knowing that the man with "no place to lay his head" has his birth celebrated with extravagance rather than by trying to find safe places for for those experiencing homelessness in our communities.
It's overwhelming to think about people who say they follow the man who honored, respected and lifted the status of women everywhere he went praise a world leader who uses and abuses women and is proud of his exploits.
We spend the month celebrating a poor, middle eastern baby who would not be welcome in many of the churches in my community, because he is poor and a person of color and when he grew up, he did not follow the rules.
I feel so angry and so sad that people fight about "the reason for the season," but seem to understand or care very little of how revolutionary he really is.
I want to rage and cry and hide. I want to do something! I want to yell at someone! SO, I'll yell here into the void:
WE ARE MISSING IT! WE HAVE NOT REACHED THE PEAK! CHILDREN NEED MEDICAL CARE! HUNGRY PEOPLE NEED TO EAT! EVERYONE NEEDS A SAFE PLACE TO SLEEP! THERE IS ENOUGH FOR ALL OF US!
HAVING A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION DOES WITH SOMEONE DOES NOT NEGATE A PERSON'S HUMANITY!
WE ARE THE ANSWER TO OUT PRAYERS, SO START MOVING!
And yes, I know that things are getting better. We are doing better in so many areas.
There's just still so much in front of us.
I'm still showing up, though. I'm baking cookies and making memories, because this is the only childhood my children will have. But I feel the tinge of sadness that colors even our most joyous moments and I know it's okay. The sorrow I carry reminds me that there's work to do. It reminds me to keep fighting, keep loving, keep following the path that started with that tiny baby so long ago.
This advent, I am not just waiting, I'm working.
But it doesn't feel very magical.
I've been down for a while now, fighting to keep my head above water. And all the sparkling and smiling and creating beautiful moments feels like more than I can handle.
Right now, the best I can do is show up.
It sometimes feels wrong to celebrate the birth of a baby who was destined to become a refugee while there are still refugees forgotten in camps and lost all over our world.
There is pain that comes from knowing that the man with "no place to lay his head" has his birth celebrated with extravagance rather than by trying to find safe places for for those experiencing homelessness in our communities.
It's overwhelming to think about people who say they follow the man who honored, respected and lifted the status of women everywhere he went praise a world leader who uses and abuses women and is proud of his exploits.
We spend the month celebrating a poor, middle eastern baby who would not be welcome in many of the churches in my community, because he is poor and a person of color and when he grew up, he did not follow the rules.
I feel so angry and so sad that people fight about "the reason for the season," but seem to understand or care very little of how revolutionary he really is.
I want to rage and cry and hide. I want to do something! I want to yell at someone! SO, I'll yell here into the void:
WE ARE MISSING IT! WE HAVE NOT REACHED THE PEAK! CHILDREN NEED MEDICAL CARE! HUNGRY PEOPLE NEED TO EAT! EVERYONE NEEDS A SAFE PLACE TO SLEEP! THERE IS ENOUGH FOR ALL OF US!
HAVING A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION DOES WITH SOMEONE DOES NOT NEGATE A PERSON'S HUMANITY!
WE ARE THE ANSWER TO OUT PRAYERS, SO START MOVING!
And yes, I know that things are getting better. We are doing better in so many areas.
There's just still so much in front of us.
I'm still showing up, though. I'm baking cookies and making memories, because this is the only childhood my children will have. But I feel the tinge of sadness that colors even our most joyous moments and I know it's okay. The sorrow I carry reminds me that there's work to do. It reminds me to keep fighting, keep loving, keep following the path that started with that tiny baby so long ago.
This advent, I am not just waiting, I'm working.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Twins
Their hair is a similar shade of blonde; light with natural highlights. His has a slightly copper tint. Everywhere we go, people think they are twins.
Sometimes, when I am feeling brave, I correct their assumptions. "No, they're not twins. They get that a lot. He's four and she's three." Sometimes people look disappointed- like they thought they might be seeing a unicorn, but no, just a horse with a horn glued on. Trickery!
They do almost everything together. She narrates their play and he (usually) follows the instructions. They take turns singing and dancing for each other, clapping and cheering wildly at the end of each turn. She often knows what he wants, even when we don't. They look at books, run around the yard, and fight.
Recently she was surprised to notice that he "doesn't talk so much." I know more realizations of this nature are likely as they grow. People will stop assuming they are twins and begin to think she's the big sister. Play will look different and so will the fights.
But today, they are on the floor doing puzzles and they really do look like twins.
9/16/16
Sometimes, when I am feeling brave, I correct their assumptions. "No, they're not twins. They get that a lot. He's four and she's three." Sometimes people look disappointed- like they thought they might be seeing a unicorn, but no, just a horse with a horn glued on. Trickery!
They do almost everything together. She narrates their play and he (usually) follows the instructions. They take turns singing and dancing for each other, clapping and cheering wildly at the end of each turn. She often knows what he wants, even when we don't. They look at books, run around the yard, and fight.
Recently she was surprised to notice that he "doesn't talk so much." I know more realizations of this nature are likely as they grow. People will stop assuming they are twins and begin to think she's the big sister. Play will look different and so will the fights.
But today, they are on the floor doing puzzles and they really do look like twins.
9/16/16
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
Never Enough
Lately I've found myself overwhelmed by the never-enoughness of motherhood. Not the lack of confidence that comes with early motherhood that always asks, "Am I enough? Can I do this?" There are still stages and phases of that question, but not nearly as often as in the baby years.
I'm talking about the real never-enough. The play with the little children on the floor for 45 minutes, then listen to the big kids talk about their new favorite lego designs for 20 minutes, make lunch, start a load of laundry, and then try to go to the bathroom with the door shut so you can text your husband, but now EVERYONE is acting out for more attention kind of never-enough. As the mom of four kids, there really isn't a way for me to give them all of the attention they want. It just isn't possible.
Bedtime: Hug, rock, sing a bedtime song. Repeat. Tuck into bed, give a drink of water and a kiss. Repeat. Now the big kids: talk, hug, say good night. Repeat. Go back to check on the little ones. Kiss a boo-boo, give another drink of water, put them back to bed. Eventually they are in bed and even though I love having some time to myself in the evening, I am in bed shortly after.
It's so easy to just follow the never ending rhythm of being a mom. It's hard and exhausting. It's easier just to ride the flow of never-enough until you find yourself washed out to sea, unaware of where or even who you are. Getting lost in never-enoughness is painfully easy.
But I am finding that I can not allow myself to wash out to sea, because when I do, I am not okay.
Taking care of myself requires real work and creativity on my part and my partner's. I know it looks different for everyone, but I've found several things that help me feel like me. And when I feel like me, I know that whatever they need, whether or not I can meet that need, I am enough.
Here are some of the things that help me feel like me:
Friends. I know, this one is hard! How the heck do you make mom friends?
"Hello, woman with a child that is playing happily with my child. Do you have friends? I would like to have friends and you look like a good candidate."
My first couple of years with small children were painfully lonely. I felt isolated. I am naturally introverted and had no idea where or how to make friends. I've found that the best way for me to find friends is just to keep showing up somewhere. The homeschool co-op we're a part of is where I have made some great friends, but there are lots of places to try: library story times, MOPS groups, volunteer organizations, special interest groups (like knitting, gaming, or mountain climbing clubs), whatever fits your style! The key is to show up and keep showing up. Don't run off as soon as story time is over- stay and play; maybe you won't feel brave enough to strike up a conversation with the mom of the child that is playing with your child this time, but keep showing up and it'll get easier. It takes courage to keep trying, but having people who get you, who understand where you're at in life, and who will help clean poop off your kids' feet are so totally worth it.
An afternoon with a friend and a pile of collective children can be magic for when that never-enoughness takes hold.
Alone time. Okay, I know this isn't for everyone, but introverts know. A couple hours with a good book or some blank pages and my favorite pen helps me find my way back. I feel more alive when I have time to dream. It looks different for everyone, maybe you're a hit the gym kind of girl (more power to you!) or an artsy-crafty pinterest mom (if these really exist?). Whatever it is that makes you feel alive- do it! Talk to your partner about setting aside some time for yourself (once a week, every 2 weeks, once a month- do what you can). If you are a single mama, maybe trade off with a friend or relative. You are so worth a couple of hours!
Bathe. It feels like there is never enough time for everything. I don't really mind going several days without bathing, so this often comes at the end of the list for me. But! If I feel myself slipping away and there's no way to do one of the more time consuming things that I know help me, I'll turn on Netflix and give myself 22 glorious minutes to breath.
Good food. Maybe this means taking care of myself by making food that is emotionally satisfying as well as nourishing. And maybe some days this means hiding in my room and eating a piece of my favorite chocolate. Do what you need to do, I'm not here to judge.
I'm sure other people have extensive self-care lists, if nothing here helps you find your way back to enough, find something that does!
All I'm really saying is that the never-enoughness is real. I'm not crazy. You're not crazy. It's real and we don't have to stay there. I'm just learning that my kids need a healthy mama. That place where I feel lost at sea is not a good place for me to try to lead from and it certainly isn't a place of love. And isn't that the point? I want my kids to know that what I do comes from a place of love.
I know we've all heard it a million times: "You can't pour from an empty cup" or "You have to put the oxygen on yourself before you can help you child." Just call me the keeper of cliches, because it's true, even when it's annoying. We can do this- we don't have to be perfect at it, but we can keep paddling toward the shore. Love is worth it.
I'm talking about the real never-enough. The play with the little children on the floor for 45 minutes, then listen to the big kids talk about their new favorite lego designs for 20 minutes, make lunch, start a load of laundry, and then try to go to the bathroom with the door shut so you can text your husband, but now EVERYONE is acting out for more attention kind of never-enough. As the mom of four kids, there really isn't a way for me to give them all of the attention they want. It just isn't possible.
Bedtime: Hug, rock, sing a bedtime song. Repeat. Tuck into bed, give a drink of water and a kiss. Repeat. Now the big kids: talk, hug, say good night. Repeat. Go back to check on the little ones. Kiss a boo-boo, give another drink of water, put them back to bed. Eventually they are in bed and even though I love having some time to myself in the evening, I am in bed shortly after.
It's so easy to just follow the never ending rhythm of being a mom. It's hard and exhausting. It's easier just to ride the flow of never-enough until you find yourself washed out to sea, unaware of where or even who you are. Getting lost in never-enoughness is painfully easy.
But I am finding that I can not allow myself to wash out to sea, because when I do, I am not okay.
Taking care of myself requires real work and creativity on my part and my partner's. I know it looks different for everyone, but I've found several things that help me feel like me. And when I feel like me, I know that whatever they need, whether or not I can meet that need, I am enough.
Here are some of the things that help me feel like me:
Friends. I know, this one is hard! How the heck do you make mom friends?
"Hello, woman with a child that is playing happily with my child. Do you have friends? I would like to have friends and you look like a good candidate."
My first couple of years with small children were painfully lonely. I felt isolated. I am naturally introverted and had no idea where or how to make friends. I've found that the best way for me to find friends is just to keep showing up somewhere. The homeschool co-op we're a part of is where I have made some great friends, but there are lots of places to try: library story times, MOPS groups, volunteer organizations, special interest groups (like knitting, gaming, or mountain climbing clubs), whatever fits your style! The key is to show up and keep showing up. Don't run off as soon as story time is over- stay and play; maybe you won't feel brave enough to strike up a conversation with the mom of the child that is playing with your child this time, but keep showing up and it'll get easier. It takes courage to keep trying, but having people who get you, who understand where you're at in life, and who will help clean poop off your kids' feet are so totally worth it.
An afternoon with a friend and a pile of collective children can be magic for when that never-enoughness takes hold.
Alone time. Okay, I know this isn't for everyone, but introverts know. A couple hours with a good book or some blank pages and my favorite pen helps me find my way back. I feel more alive when I have time to dream. It looks different for everyone, maybe you're a hit the gym kind of girl (more power to you!) or an artsy-crafty pinterest mom (if these really exist?). Whatever it is that makes you feel alive- do it! Talk to your partner about setting aside some time for yourself (once a week, every 2 weeks, once a month- do what you can). If you are a single mama, maybe trade off with a friend or relative. You are so worth a couple of hours!
Bathe. It feels like there is never enough time for everything. I don't really mind going several days without bathing, so this often comes at the end of the list for me. But! If I feel myself slipping away and there's no way to do one of the more time consuming things that I know help me, I'll turn on Netflix and give myself 22 glorious minutes to breath.
Good food. Maybe this means taking care of myself by making food that is emotionally satisfying as well as nourishing. And maybe some days this means hiding in my room and eating a piece of my favorite chocolate. Do what you need to do, I'm not here to judge.
I'm sure other people have extensive self-care lists, if nothing here helps you find your way back to enough, find something that does!
All I'm really saying is that the never-enoughness is real. I'm not crazy. You're not crazy. It's real and we don't have to stay there. I'm just learning that my kids need a healthy mama. That place where I feel lost at sea is not a good place for me to try to lead from and it certainly isn't a place of love. And isn't that the point? I want my kids to know that what I do comes from a place of love.
I know we've all heard it a million times: "You can't pour from an empty cup" or "You have to put the oxygen on yourself before you can help you child." Just call me the keeper of cliches, because it's true, even when it's annoying. We can do this- we don't have to be perfect at it, but we can keep paddling toward the shore. Love is worth it.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Fun Mom
The morning started out a little rough. My perfect, lovable five year old (you know, the one with Down syndrome), ran out into the pouring rain and splashed in puddles while I was gathering all the things going in public with 4 children requires and since we were already going to be over half an hour late to our homeschool co-op due to literal hail and high water, I just ran back in the house grabbed a plastic bag and a pair of dry pants to change him into when we reached our destination and hit the road.
Things at co-op are a little hectic due to the weather and lots of last minute changes. 5 year old tries to run away multiple times. I can't seem to get out of my morning funk.
My poor unsocialized homeschooled children were not ready to say goodbye to their friends by the time our reserved co-op time at the library expired, so I decide to be a fun mom and make plans!
Side note: This never goes well for me. As soon as the words "fun mom" cross my mind a dark shadow begins to loom and something bad is destined to happen. Why do I even let those words live in my mind? I'll never know.
Let's take our kids to the park and play!
Friends (smarter than me) remind me that it's been raining and will probably rain more and also that it's lunchtime and kids need to eat.
Okay! Indoor play place + lunch with friends = Total fun mom!
I am awesome! A little frazzled, but awesome! Fun mom! I take the little kids to the potty before loading the van, drive to the nearest chicken place, start wrangling tables for 6 adults 12 children, and order while the kids play.
Just as the food comes out, 5 year old comes to me with wet pants. Gah! I take him to the bathroom and put him in the dry pants I grabbed earlier that I had forgotten to change him into at co-op. Toss the wet pants and undies into the baggie and walk calmly from the bathroom. No big deal, it was just a little accident.
As we rejoin our friends I notice that they are closing down the play place. Weird. One of the kids says there's pee in there.
10 minutes later I realize it was my kid's pee the poor teenager is in there cleaning up! Somehow I forgot that pee doesn't just disappear after it soaks through pants. I'm a little embarrassed and feel really bad, but at that point it's a little too late to do anything. One friend mentions this funny story she read about a mom who's kid pooped all over a chicken restaurant to help me feel better about the pee situation. She tags me in it so I can read it when I get home.
By the time the kids are done eating, the play place is clean, so they swarm while we adults talk about adulty things and giggle like children. I'm staying relaxed, you know, fun mom.
The kids play for a while before a really awful smell fills our area. I look over at my friend's toddler expecting him to need a diaper change. Nope, not him. I look the other way and see my 5 year old. No. He's potty trained. I look in his pants. Yes. Kids start yelling and freaking out. There's poop streaked around the floor on the path to our table. There's poop streaked through the play place.
Remember when I changed him into dry pants earlier? I only had pants, no undies. Yeah. You know what happened.
I stand there frozen for a minute, completely unsure of what to do. His feet are coated in his own poo. I feel overwhelmed to get the poop outside away from all the poor people at the restaurant, so I carry my child (holding him away from me, because, poo), to the van and stand outside my van in the rain while I try to figure out a course of action. I realize now, that the most logical place to go would be the bathroom, but that thought did not cross my mind in the moment.
A friend brings me some baby wipes and I take off my kid's pants and do my best to wipe him off. In the parking lot. In the rain. I find a random pair of pants in the van, put them on him and buckle him in his carseat. All the nastiness goes in a bag and I call a friend and ask her to send my 9 year old out. 9 year old is crying because he's (justifiably) mad that our fun day has been cut short and waits with the 5 year old in the van.
By the time I reenter the building for my walk of shame, my friends have bagged up poopy shoes for me, gathered my other kids, quarantined poo streaked areas, and have little packets of sanitizing wipes ready for me. I wanted to cry. I could not have handled all of it without them. Who knew that a poop fest could offer such love?
I sanitize, take my other two kids to the car, and go home.
Only later, when reading the funny chicken restaurant poo story my friend sent me, did I realize that a good citizen would have cleaned up the poop in the playplace! Those workers earned their wage and then some today!
Fun mom.
Things at co-op are a little hectic due to the weather and lots of last minute changes. 5 year old tries to run away multiple times. I can't seem to get out of my morning funk.
My poor unsocialized homeschooled children were not ready to say goodbye to their friends by the time our reserved co-op time at the library expired, so I decide to be a fun mom and make plans!
Side note: This never goes well for me. As soon as the words "fun mom" cross my mind a dark shadow begins to loom and something bad is destined to happen. Why do I even let those words live in my mind? I'll never know.
Let's take our kids to the park and play!
Friends (smarter than me) remind me that it's been raining and will probably rain more and also that it's lunchtime and kids need to eat.
Okay! Indoor play place + lunch with friends = Total fun mom!
I am awesome! A little frazzled, but awesome! Fun mom! I take the little kids to the potty before loading the van, drive to the nearest chicken place, start wrangling tables for 6 adults 12 children, and order while the kids play.
Just as the food comes out, 5 year old comes to me with wet pants. Gah! I take him to the bathroom and put him in the dry pants I grabbed earlier that I had forgotten to change him into at co-op. Toss the wet pants and undies into the baggie and walk calmly from the bathroom. No big deal, it was just a little accident.
As we rejoin our friends I notice that they are closing down the play place. Weird. One of the kids says there's pee in there.
10 minutes later I realize it was my kid's pee the poor teenager is in there cleaning up! Somehow I forgot that pee doesn't just disappear after it soaks through pants. I'm a little embarrassed and feel really bad, but at that point it's a little too late to do anything. One friend mentions this funny story she read about a mom who's kid pooped all over a chicken restaurant to help me feel better about the pee situation. She tags me in it so I can read it when I get home.
By the time the kids are done eating, the play place is clean, so they swarm while we adults talk about adulty things and giggle like children. I'm staying relaxed, you know, fun mom.
The kids play for a while before a really awful smell fills our area. I look over at my friend's toddler expecting him to need a diaper change. Nope, not him. I look the other way and see my 5 year old. No. He's potty trained. I look in his pants. Yes. Kids start yelling and freaking out. There's poop streaked around the floor on the path to our table. There's poop streaked through the play place.
Remember when I changed him into dry pants earlier? I only had pants, no undies. Yeah. You know what happened.
I stand there frozen for a minute, completely unsure of what to do. His feet are coated in his own poo. I feel overwhelmed to get the poop outside away from all the poor people at the restaurant, so I carry my child (holding him away from me, because, poo), to the van and stand outside my van in the rain while I try to figure out a course of action. I realize now, that the most logical place to go would be the bathroom, but that thought did not cross my mind in the moment.
A friend brings me some baby wipes and I take off my kid's pants and do my best to wipe him off. In the parking lot. In the rain. I find a random pair of pants in the van, put them on him and buckle him in his carseat. All the nastiness goes in a bag and I call a friend and ask her to send my 9 year old out. 9 year old is crying because he's (justifiably) mad that our fun day has been cut short and waits with the 5 year old in the van.
By the time I reenter the building for my walk of shame, my friends have bagged up poopy shoes for me, gathered my other kids, quarantined poo streaked areas, and have little packets of sanitizing wipes ready for me. I wanted to cry. I could not have handled all of it without them. Who knew that a poop fest could offer such love?
I sanitize, take my other two kids to the car, and go home.
Only later, when reading the funny chicken restaurant poo story my friend sent me, did I realize that a good citizen would have cleaned up the poop in the playplace! Those workers earned their wage and then some today!
Fun mom.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Oklahoma Legislature Attacks the Disabled
If you live or work in Oklahoma City, chances are, you've seen your Oklahoma City Firefighters on the side of the road collecting money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. The MDA distributes this money to families living with a loved one with MD- they help meet the needs that Medicaid and other services don’t cover.
Anyone remember the new city ordinance that people are not allowed to step off the road or onto the median? You know, the one to keep us from having to look homeless people in the eye as we drive past? The one that makes it easier to forget that humanity comes in lots of different packages and that not everyone has the same privileges we were born with? Yes, that one. Yesterday OKC Firefighters received 15 citations for stepping onto the median to collect money for children and families living with muscular dystrophy! It looks like this fabulous city ordinance will keep us from being bothered by the idea of those “sad little children confined wheels” as well.
Oh well, at least there’s Medicaid to help those kids, right? Today Oklahoma’s state legislature is meeting to vote on a budget that guts Medicaid even further. A huge amount of our nursing homes (many of which house adults with disabilities) will no longer be able to care for their patients, because the Medicaid money won’t be there.
Luckily when the state closed institutions in favor of caring for people with disabilities in their own communities they set up the In-Home Supports Waiver! Families were supposed to receive money each year to help off-set the cost of care and save the state money (Institutions are astronomically expensive to run), never mind that there are more than 8,000 people on the waiting list for services through the waiver. No, the Oklahoma legislature has now decided that these people are expendable and this program is set to be cut today in the budget they have proposed!
And no, they can't just go pan-handling. Remember, the city doesn't want us to have to see those less fortunate than ourselves.
We cannot allow this! We will stand up for the most vulnerable in our communities! Please call your State representative NOW and tell them that the proposed budget is NOT acceptable. We will NOT allow our state legislature to give themselves are raise on the backs of our most at-risk population!
This link will lead you to your representative:
http://www.oklegislature.gov/FindMyLegislature.aspx
Anyone remember the new city ordinance that people are not allowed to step off the road or onto the median? You know, the one to keep us from having to look homeless people in the eye as we drive past? The one that makes it easier to forget that humanity comes in lots of different packages and that not everyone has the same privileges we were born with? Yes, that one. Yesterday OKC Firefighters received 15 citations for stepping onto the median to collect money for children and families living with muscular dystrophy! It looks like this fabulous city ordinance will keep us from being bothered by the idea of those “sad little children confined wheels” as well.
Oh well, at least there’s Medicaid to help those kids, right? Today Oklahoma’s state legislature is meeting to vote on a budget that guts Medicaid even further. A huge amount of our nursing homes (many of which house adults with disabilities) will no longer be able to care for their patients, because the Medicaid money won’t be there.
Luckily when the state closed institutions in favor of caring for people with disabilities in their own communities they set up the In-Home Supports Waiver! Families were supposed to receive money each year to help off-set the cost of care and save the state money (Institutions are astronomically expensive to run), never mind that there are more than 8,000 people on the waiting list for services through the waiver. No, the Oklahoma legislature has now decided that these people are expendable and this program is set to be cut today in the budget they have proposed!
And no, they can't just go pan-handling. Remember, the city doesn't want us to have to see those less fortunate than ourselves.
We cannot allow this! We will stand up for the most vulnerable in our communities! Please call your State representative NOW and tell them that the proposed budget is NOT acceptable. We will NOT allow our state legislature to give themselves are raise on the backs of our most at-risk population!
This link will lead you to your representative:
http://www.oklegislature.gov/FindMyLegislature.aspx
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
The War
The war begins,
Blame and bullets spray.
Both sides broken, dying and still convinced of their righteous cause.
The martyrs cry "STOP!" from their graves, but no one hears their calls
The angry mob shields itself with the poor and the desolate- a shield of disposable lives.
The war continues fueled by the dropping of bombs and propaganda.
A light shines
A child walks into the fray-
Shot down.
To whom does he belong?
More children enter the field of battle, followed by their bleeding mothers.
They stand amidst the battle
They ask "Why?"
Everyone has an answer,a finger to point.
They are raging, burning for vengeance.
The war does not cease,
But the beloved walk toward the guns of their killers
Some fall, but some reach their targets.
They hold the faces creased with hatred and the cracks begin to show.
And now it is up to us
Will we drop our weapons?
Will we join the innocent and wash our bloody hands?
"There is no fear in love, for perfect love casts out fear."
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Riding the Short Bus
"That's so retarded"
Ouch.
"The guy acts like he has Downs or something."
Yuck.
"I'm not smart like [him], you know, I was more like a short bus kind of kid..."
Deep breaths, just take deep breaths...
Words have so much power; power to heal or to destroy, to bring life or death. The words above are just a few of the very painful comments that I have noticed in the last couple of years.
People almost always love Cohen before they even get to know him. It's like one mischievous little grin in their direction and most people are goners. When they get the chance to know him beyond the "he's so happy all the time" phase, they find out how much he loves to play tricks on people, how fierce his love for his little sister is, that he can be incredibly naughty, that he is a crazy good wrestler for how tiny he is, and that he is fantastically strong-willed.
Cohen is a lot of things. He is not a joke.
"I'm so sorry, if I'd have know you had a kid like that I wouldn't have said anything."
It doesn't matter WHO you said it to!
Cohen has had to WORK hard for every skill he posses. He was two before he learned to walk, but every single day he endured difficult physical training so that he could build the muscle tone and the coordination he needed. And now, at three, he runs everywhere with his brothers and sister.
Cohen doesn't speak much yet, but every day he works through our speech therapy program and has an outside speech therapist once a week. It is difficult, but he keeps trying. Is that funny? Stupid? Retarded?
No, it's not. It's brave. It's strong. It's Amazing.
Being compared to this kid should be a complement, not a joke.
Ouch.
"The guy acts like he has Downs or something."
Yuck.
"I'm not smart like [him], you know, I was more like a short bus kind of kid..."
Deep breaths, just take deep breaths...
Words have so much power; power to heal or to destroy, to bring life or death. The words above are just a few of the very painful comments that I have noticed in the last couple of years.
People almost always love Cohen before they even get to know him. It's like one mischievous little grin in their direction and most people are goners. When they get the chance to know him beyond the "he's so happy all the time" phase, they find out how much he loves to play tricks on people, how fierce his love for his little sister is, that he can be incredibly naughty, that he is a crazy good wrestler for how tiny he is, and that he is fantastically strong-willed.
Cohen is a lot of things. He is not a joke.
"I'm so sorry, if I'd have know you had a kid like that I wouldn't have said anything."
It doesn't matter WHO you said it to!
Cohen has had to WORK hard for every skill he posses. He was two before he learned to walk, but every single day he endured difficult physical training so that he could build the muscle tone and the coordination he needed. And now, at three, he runs everywhere with his brothers and sister.
Cohen doesn't speak much yet, but every day he works through our speech therapy program and has an outside speech therapist once a week. It is difficult, but he keeps trying. Is that funny? Stupid? Retarded?
No, it's not. It's brave. It's strong. It's Amazing.
Being compared to this kid should be a complement, not a joke.
Friday, October 10, 2014
beauty
My day has been filled with tiny giggles and big belly laughs, chocolate chip covered faces, wet kisses, arms wrapped tight around my neck, little hands pulling at my apron, water and tears spilled, fears calmed, lessons taught, songs sung, the same three books over and over, more kisses, and four sweet lovies tucked in bed. What could be more beautiful?
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
End The Night
Last night I had a terrible nightmare.
In my dream, two of my children and I were taken from our home and forced to work at a brothel. I begged and cried and pleaded with the woman in charge to let my children leave. I told her that I would be her best employee if only she'd let my children go. She responded with a matter of fact "They are old enough to work. They are cute and they'll sell well."
The next scene I remember is the morning after that first night's "work" holding my little boys in my lap weeping and one telling me "I thought the night would never end, Mama. I thought the morning would never come!" I was broken and so were they. There was no hope for us.
I woke to the sound of the baby crying and after I realized it was just a dream I began to calm down. I nursed the baby, gave her some Tylenol to help with her teeth and walked with her for a while.
Then I put her back to bed and went back to my bed. But I did not sleep.
That dream kept playing in my mind and while I was relieved that it wasn't true and that all of my children were sleeping safely in their beds, I couldn't help but realize that it is true for so many mamas. As I lie in my bed last night, there were women crying, screaming, begging, making bargains they never would have otherwise made in order to protect their babies.
Our world is broken. For so, so many it feels like an eternal night of hell and that morning will never come.
Some mamas just risked it all, they gave up all of their money, they gave their babies to strangers or sent them off on their own and hoped against hope that morning could come for the ones they loved. They sent them off with tears and kisses and lots of prayers. Maybe if they made it to America they'd be safe. And the gamble of "maybe" being safe was worth the risk, because they couldn't deal with the certainty of their baby being forced into the gangs, forced to kill or be killed, forced to become a prostitute, forced to sacrifice humanity for survival.
Some of those babies made it! They survived long treks with little food. They survived the traffickers that were supposed to be taking them to safety abusing and taking advantage of them. They kept moving forward because their mamas told them not to stop until they crossed the border, that when they got there they would have the chance to be children again.
They made it! They did it! They were safe!
But we don't want them. Those children will expose our children to all types of diseases. Think of all of the terrible things they've seen; won't they replicate the terrors they have been exposed to and our children need to be protected from such atrocities. Those children are not our children.
Please, for just a moment imagine that they were our babies. That we had our babies in a place that we could not keep them safe, no matter what we did. That we had to send them off, reliant on the mercy of others and the mercy of God.
I beg for mercy! Please, they may not be our babies, but they are somebody's babies! We can work together to end the night!
If you are interested in being a voice for mercy by calling or writing your congressmen here are the links to contact them:
House of Representatives
Sentate
In my dream, two of my children and I were taken from our home and forced to work at a brothel. I begged and cried and pleaded with the woman in charge to let my children leave. I told her that I would be her best employee if only she'd let my children go. She responded with a matter of fact "They are old enough to work. They are cute and they'll sell well."
The next scene I remember is the morning after that first night's "work" holding my little boys in my lap weeping and one telling me "I thought the night would never end, Mama. I thought the morning would never come!" I was broken and so were they. There was no hope for us.
I woke to the sound of the baby crying and after I realized it was just a dream I began to calm down. I nursed the baby, gave her some Tylenol to help with her teeth and walked with her for a while.
Then I put her back to bed and went back to my bed. But I did not sleep.
That dream kept playing in my mind and while I was relieved that it wasn't true and that all of my children were sleeping safely in their beds, I couldn't help but realize that it is true for so many mamas. As I lie in my bed last night, there were women crying, screaming, begging, making bargains they never would have otherwise made in order to protect their babies.
Our world is broken. For so, so many it feels like an eternal night of hell and that morning will never come.
Some mamas just risked it all, they gave up all of their money, they gave their babies to strangers or sent them off on their own and hoped against hope that morning could come for the ones they loved. They sent them off with tears and kisses and lots of prayers. Maybe if they made it to America they'd be safe. And the gamble of "maybe" being safe was worth the risk, because they couldn't deal with the certainty of their baby being forced into the gangs, forced to kill or be killed, forced to become a prostitute, forced to sacrifice humanity for survival.
Some of those babies made it! They survived long treks with little food. They survived the traffickers that were supposed to be taking them to safety abusing and taking advantage of them. They kept moving forward because their mamas told them not to stop until they crossed the border, that when they got there they would have the chance to be children again.
They made it! They did it! They were safe!
But we don't want them. Those children will expose our children to all types of diseases. Think of all of the terrible things they've seen; won't they replicate the terrors they have been exposed to and our children need to be protected from such atrocities. Those children are not our children.
Please, for just a moment imagine that they were our babies. That we had our babies in a place that we could not keep them safe, no matter what we did. That we had to send them off, reliant on the mercy of others and the mercy of God.
I beg for mercy! Please, they may not be our babies, but they are somebody's babies! We can work together to end the night!
If you are interested in being a voice for mercy by calling or writing your congressmen here are the links to contact them:
House of Representatives
Sentate
Sunday, February 23, 2014
For Kezzi- On The Hard Days
I wrote this for Kezzia last month, but it fits again: with a trip to the emergency room due to a "hair tourniquet" (it's a real thing) followed by our little ER souvenir of uncontrollable vomiting all around. I think the worst has passed and am dreaming for a decent night's rest.
Sweet Kezzi,
You were sick this week. You cried so much and were so uncomfortable. I held you and walked round and round and round the living room with you. Every time I tried to sit and rock you, you threw your body backward with all the force your little 10 month old muscles had and screamed and head butted me until we got back up and walked some more. A few times I had to take you to your bed and let you cry for a minute because I *had* to use the restroom or make lunch for your brothers or just take a breather.
It was so hard.
I cried a lot with you.
Caring for little ones is the hardest thing I have ever done. Honestly, many days I wonder whether or not I can do this mothering thing. It is so hard. Some days I give and give and give and it's never enough. And some days I'm selfish and don't give and that hurts my heart too. The sick days are the hardest, trying to do the every day hard stuff with a little one who is hurting is heart-breakingly hard.
But it is also good.
When you fall asleep in my arms and I feel your soft baby hair and skin against my cheek, I know I can do it.
When you reach for me and open and close your little hands to tell me that you want me to hold you, I know I can do it.
When you and all of your brothers are tangled up together for a bedtime story, I know I can do it.
The love I have for you is fierce and even on the days that are oh-so-hard, it makes me brave.
Little One, you are going to face so many things in your life that are hard. You may think that there must have been some sort of mistake, because the mess you find yourself in is too hard. You will probably find some things that you had no doubt that you'd be good at and then realize that whatever it was did not come as naturally as you had expected.
But Sweet One, almost anything worth doing is hard sometimes. So far my experience is that the experiences I most treasure in this life have been hard. Be brave.
Just because it is hard does not mean you're doing it wrong.
I hope that by the time you are old enough to read and understand this letter I will have been made kinder and softer by all of the hard things I have run into.
My hope for you is that one day when you find yourself in that place where you say "I can't!" you'll find the courage hang on, because nothing lasts forever. Every single difficult day this week came to an end. Even when you cried for what seemed like hours and I could not put you down, eventually you fell asleep and in those moments I held you even closer.
In the shower this week, I wore out this chorus:
"Your grace is sufficient for me;
Your strength is made perfect when I am weak.
And all that I cling to, I lay at your feet.
Your grace is sufficient for me."
These moments, these hard, I cannot do this moments, they can make me more like Jesus.
Sister, I don't know what life looks like for you now, but I sure know that the world can always use a few more people who act like Jesus.
So today, when things are so, so hard- breathe deep and keep being brave.
I love you,
Mama
Sweet Kezzi,
You were sick this week. You cried so much and were so uncomfortable. I held you and walked round and round and round the living room with you. Every time I tried to sit and rock you, you threw your body backward with all the force your little 10 month old muscles had and screamed and head butted me until we got back up and walked some more. A few times I had to take you to your bed and let you cry for a minute because I *had* to use the restroom or make lunch for your brothers or just take a breather.
It was so hard.
I cried a lot with you.
Caring for little ones is the hardest thing I have ever done. Honestly, many days I wonder whether or not I can do this mothering thing. It is so hard. Some days I give and give and give and it's never enough. And some days I'm selfish and don't give and that hurts my heart too. The sick days are the hardest, trying to do the every day hard stuff with a little one who is hurting is heart-breakingly hard.
But it is also good.
When you fall asleep in my arms and I feel your soft baby hair and skin against my cheek, I know I can do it.
When you reach for me and open and close your little hands to tell me that you want me to hold you, I know I can do it.
When you and all of your brothers are tangled up together for a bedtime story, I know I can do it.
The love I have for you is fierce and even on the days that are oh-so-hard, it makes me brave.
Little One, you are going to face so many things in your life that are hard. You may think that there must have been some sort of mistake, because the mess you find yourself in is too hard. You will probably find some things that you had no doubt that you'd be good at and then realize that whatever it was did not come as naturally as you had expected.
But Sweet One, almost anything worth doing is hard sometimes. So far my experience is that the experiences I most treasure in this life have been hard. Be brave.
Just because it is hard does not mean you're doing it wrong.
I hope that by the time you are old enough to read and understand this letter I will have been made kinder and softer by all of the hard things I have run into.
My hope for you is that one day when you find yourself in that place where you say "I can't!" you'll find the courage hang on, because nothing lasts forever. Every single difficult day this week came to an end. Even when you cried for what seemed like hours and I could not put you down, eventually you fell asleep and in those moments I held you even closer.
In the shower this week, I wore out this chorus:
"Your grace is sufficient for me;
Your strength is made perfect when I am weak.
And all that I cling to, I lay at your feet.
Your grace is sufficient for me."
These moments, these hard, I cannot do this moments, they can make me more like Jesus.
Sister, I don't know what life looks like for you now, but I sure know that the world can always use a few more people who act like Jesus.
So today, when things are so, so hard- breathe deep and keep being brave.
I love you,
Mama
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Love
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” ~C. S. Lewis
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Happy Birthday Cohen
Dear Cohen,
Today you are two. People like to tell me that you're an angel (you're not) and that you are adorable (you are). You get a lot of attention. Everywhere we go people have expectations for you, many of them based on the shape of your eye. I have them too. Mine are higher than most, because I see in you such wonderful potential. I want things for you that a lot of people say are impossible. I thought you'd walk before your second birthday, but you haven't yet, and it's okay. I want you to do things your way. I simply want the same things for you that I want for your siblings: to make this world a little kinder and a little more beautiful. And I want you to find joy in the journey, Cohen.
I am so proud to be your mama. If you become the world's first doctor with Down syndrome I will be so proud to be your mama. And if you want to work at the grocery store and bag like a champion I will be so proud to be your mama. Or if you're a fireman like your daddy, or a banker, or a janitor, or a senator, I will be so proud to be your mama. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am going to do my best to give you the tools to move on and then I'll do my best to move out of your way so you can do life your way.
Today you like to toilet paper the bathroom and eat things that aren't entirely edible. Today you are two.
I love you,
Mama
Sunday, October 13, 2013
impressing you
I often, after meeting a new person, spend a lot of time contemplating whether or not I have made a good impression. I replay the conversations over in my head- what went well, what I should have said here and there, and all the times I interrupted or spoke too quickly. Really, it's not just after meeting a new person, it's almost every time I have a conversation with someone outside my own family. I have thought for a long time that I am just naturally shy and that is why I am uncomfortable in social settings, but recently I had an epiphany: The reason social interactions are so nerve-wracking for me is that I am completely focused on myself. My self-absorption keeps me worried: I think this person is really (nice, cool, well-educated, or fill in the blank...) and I want so badly for them to think the same of me that I miss out on the actual relationship! I constantly try to find points that we have in common- it's almost like I'm yelling "See! Look! I'm nice (or cool or well-educated or whatever thing I admire about you) too!
I want to try a new way. I want to find the beauty in others and celebrate it. I want to change my focus from trying to make people like me, to just loving them.
I want to try a new way. I want to find the beauty in others and celebrate it. I want to change my focus from trying to make people like me, to just loving them.
Monday, July 8, 2013
To My Career Mama Friends
I am sorry I judged you.
I'm sorry that I believed that because it was best for my family for mama to be at home, it must be what's best for your family too.
I'm sorry I assumed that the sacrifices you make daily weren't as difficult as the eighty seventh argument I refereed, hundredth diaper change, and endless laundry I faced.
I'm sorry for pretending that I had it all together, so you'd think I was super-noble and want to stay home so you could be awesome like me; I know now that that kills honest friendship.
I'm sorry for not giving you space to exercise your talents, pursue your dreams, or simply provide for your family.
I'm sorry for acting like a bitch in Jesus' name. (I'm pretty sure it wasn't His idea)
Thank you for being patient with me. And thank you for continuing to be patient with me when I realize that I've been a jerk about something else next month. Or tomorrow.
I'm sorry that I believed that because it was best for my family for mama to be at home, it must be what's best for your family too.
I'm sorry I assumed that the sacrifices you make daily weren't as difficult as the eighty seventh argument I refereed, hundredth diaper change, and endless laundry I faced.
I'm sorry for pretending that I had it all together, so you'd think I was super-noble and want to stay home so you could be awesome like me; I know now that that kills honest friendship.
I'm sorry for not giving you space to exercise your talents, pursue your dreams, or simply provide for your family.
I'm sorry for acting like a bitch in Jesus' name. (I'm pretty sure it wasn't His idea)
Thank you for being patient with me. And thank you for continuing to be patient with me when I realize that I've been a jerk about something else next month. Or tomorrow.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Frank and Jesus
Today, while helping my brother and sister-in-law move (well, maybe all I really did was drive my mini-van back and forth), a couple of us stopped off for lunch and after lunch I proceeded to run into a nice man named Frank. I mean, I really ran into him. I put the van into reverse, looked both ways, and backed straight into his very pretty new-looking truck. I looked both ways, but somehow I failed to look directly behind me. Then I swore. Probably about half a dozen times. I returned my to my parking spot and got out to assess the damage. I was met half way by a man somewhere around the age of my parents: he wasn't angry, he didn't shout, he didn't even look annoyed. The first thing he did was to ask if everyone was okay. I was struck by his kindness; he genuinely seemed to care. We introduced ourselves and exchanged the necessary information. Frank seemed as bummed as I was about the whole situation and told me he'd give me a call after he had his bumper looked at. Frank even smiled a little, not a mean, smug smile, just a reassuring "I know you're human too" kind of smile.
When I got back in the van I noticed a sticker for a local church in the corner of the rear window of Frank's truck. But Frank didn't need the sticker to tell me that he was doing his best to follow Jesus, he had already shown me: he had loved his "enemy" by being kind to me. Frank treated me the way I think he would have wanted his daughter treated if she'd have done the same thing. Frank showed me Jesus today.
I wrote this a couple weeks ago, less than a week after it happened, Frank called to tell me that the dealership said the only way to fix the truck would be to replace the back bumper. Then he told me that since it was just some minor cosmetic damage, he didn't want me to have to deal with the insurance or to have to pay to replace the bumper. He wished me well and that was it.
Crashing into Frank has taught me so much.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
The Home Birth of Kezzia Layne
She's one month old today. My daughter! I still have moments of disbelief as I watch her sleeping in my lap. Ten months ago adding another person to our family was the last thing on my mind and now here she is; soft, beautiful, and exactly what we didn't know was missing.
That Wednesday evening one month ago, I was almost 41 weeks pregnant, waddling around the kitchen cooking dinner, having contractions somewhat regular but not at all uncomfortable. We were getting ready for our dinner party. Chris, the boys, and I all dressed up; funny hats, costume jewelry, neck ties, capes and assumed new identities for our party. We had a great time getting ready and a great time playing at dinner. It was especially fun for me because I had a secret. As I drained the noodles in the colander, served the salad, talked about current events with important guests like Super-Firefighter Cyrus, Lord Litzby, and whatever the rest of their funny names were, I felt the gentle surges that meant my baby was coming soon. I didn't tell anyone. It was delicious having such a sweet little secret to keep.
After the guests had been bathed and put to bed, I told Chris that I had been having contractions all evening but kept down playing them because I didn't want to get too excited and make things peter out. They continued to be consistent so I sent a text to my doula, Jessi, to let her know that I thought sister baby might be getting ready. I stayed up for a while timing them; they got to about 3 minutes apart and just slightly uncomfortable and I think that is when I let Gail, the midwife, know. Shortly after that (maybe around eleven or midnight, I can't really remember) they slowed down quite a bit and I was getting tired, so I took a nap. At a quarter till three I had a strong enough contraction to wake me from a sound sleep and as I laid in bed I noticed that they were pretty close together. I consider that the point when my labor actually began. I got up and went to the living room to time them and didn't have one for 10 minutes- so I just decided to go to the bathroom and go back to bed. But on the short trip to the bathroom I had a pretty good contraction and went back to the computer to time them: 2-3 minutes apart for a couple of them. I told Chris I'd wait about another half hour before I called Jessi to come and a minute later I had one that was powerful enough that I had to squat and breathe through. So we called her right away.
Eleven years ago, during my high school years, I went on a trip to Taiwan to visit a friend who was a missionary there. While I was there I met Michelle. She was close to my age and her family was on the same team as the friend I had gone to visit, so we spent a lot of time together that week. I have seen her occasionally during her visits to the States, received newsletters here and there, and, like everyone in my generation, have kept up with her life via facebook, so I knew she was a midwife serving in India. What I did not know was that she was in the US for a year and had started working with the midwives I was using the day before I went into labor! It was a sweet surprise when Jessi sent me a text to ask if I was comfortable having Michelle assist at my birth!
Jessi and Michelle arrived just after Chris finished airing up the birth pool and called my mom to get the boys. After checking my vitals and listening to baby, Michelle checked me. I was a little concerned when she told Jessi that I had a "magic cervix" (I feel sort of strange just typing that). She assured me that it was a good thing and I stayed put through a contraction so she could get a more clear idea of where I was at; 6 centimeters.
They started filling the pool with water and my mom arrived to take the boys. Chris woke each boy one-by-one and brought them to me. It was so precious to have just a moment with each of them. I got to hug and kiss them and tell them I love them. All three of them were so calm and happy, despite the fact that they were being woken up and taken out in the freezing cold at almost 5 in the morning. I love those little moments. I can still almost see the sweet smile on Cyrus' face, feel Caedmon's big bear hug, and smell Cohen's soft baby hair. It was just what I needed before I began the hard work.
Every once in a while I'd feel a little bit of panic rise up in my chest. Fear did it's best to remind me that it was going to get harder and harder. Every time I'd start to feel panicky I'd tell Chris or Jessi, and for some reason just making them aware of it always helped me to calm back down. I remember telling Jessi that I was worried because I knew it was going to get really hard. She told me that yes, it was, but I could do it. And I knew she was right.
After the boys left it was time to get in the pool. I know everyone was there, Gail arrived shortly after I got in, but most of the next two hours were spent in my own world. Occasionally I would notice that someone had stopped pouring water on my back or that someone was using the little hand held device to check the sister's heart rate, but mostly I was focused on helping sister baby move down.
During Cohen's birth at the hospital there had been a lot of fear and pressure from the nurses and the midwife on call and I think that made his heart rate look really scary. I had learned that left unchecked, a little bit of fear can generate more fear, so this time every once in a while I'd remind sister baby that she was okay, that she was safe, that I was working with her to help her come out, and that there was nothing to be afraid of. Her heart rate was great every single time they checked.
I sunk into my contractions letting every muscle loosen up so that my body could focus all of it's energy moving sister baby. I'd rest in between, sipping on water and eating bits of an orange. I remember telling everyone that I was tired and I laid back in the pool for a few minutes and someone rubbed my head and neck. And that's when I had the battle: labor was taking every ounce of strength I had and part of me just wanted to lay there, will my labor to stop, and let whoever was rubbing my head just keep on until I fell asleep. Even though it was completely unrealistic to just quit, I had to decide to keep going, trust my body, and to tap into that inner strength that God has given women. And I did. I got back on my hands and knees and I helped my baby on her journey.
It felt good to give little pushes at the end of my contractions, so that's what I did. My water broke and I could feel sister was ready for me to do some really hard work, so I started really pushing. It was wonderful to just be trusted. No one felt the need to stop me and make sure I was officially 10 centimeters or to yell at me when and how to push. I worked her down when and how it felt right.
After one good contraction I looked at Chris, tired and steady. We've done this before, he and I, he knows how to stay with me, he knows how to let me work and he is so, so kind when I accidentally snap at him for putting his hand on my back the wrong way. I felt grateful for him.
After several more pushes I reached the point of despair. Just like the battle to keep going, I've had the point of despair at each of my births. It's the same every time: everyone is telling me that I'm doing great and that the baby is almost here and Fear creeps back in and tells me that they're probably lying to me and that I'll probably die trying to push this baby out. I started crying and Jessi held my face and said something, I don't remember what, but her voice was calm and sure, it was just the connection that I needed to snap out of it and push out my baby.
I pushed with everything I had, I felt the familiar sting of a new person emerging. Her head was out. I pushed again and again and again, I was wondering what was taking her little body so long to get out, when she finally finished her journey. I flipped over and held her to my chest. I kissed her sweet head and held her tiny fingers. My daughter had arrived! She looked just like I had always pictured her, with a head full of thick brown hair.
She weighed over 9 pounds, which is why it had been so hard to get her little body out.
We decided to call her Kezzia Layne. Kezzia after one of Job's daughters (Keziah), who in a time when women were considered completely valueless, was mentioned by name and was given an inheritance among her brothers! I hope that our Kezzia will grow up in a world that sees what a gift women are, and if she doesn't, that she'll be a part of the change. Layne is a combination of our dad's middle names. I think her name brings hope for the future and gives honor to the past.
I am overwhelmed by how peaceful our little Kezzi's birth was. It was so beautiful and it was the perfect way to welcome her to our family.
That Wednesday evening one month ago, I was almost 41 weeks pregnant, waddling around the kitchen cooking dinner, having contractions somewhat regular but not at all uncomfortable. We were getting ready for our dinner party. Chris, the boys, and I all dressed up; funny hats, costume jewelry, neck ties, capes and assumed new identities for our party. We had a great time getting ready and a great time playing at dinner. It was especially fun for me because I had a secret. As I drained the noodles in the colander, served the salad, talked about current events with important guests like Super-Firefighter Cyrus, Lord Litzby, and whatever the rest of their funny names were, I felt the gentle surges that meant my baby was coming soon. I didn't tell anyone. It was delicious having such a sweet little secret to keep.
After the guests had been bathed and put to bed, I told Chris that I had been having contractions all evening but kept down playing them because I didn't want to get too excited and make things peter out. They continued to be consistent so I sent a text to my doula, Jessi, to let her know that I thought sister baby might be getting ready. I stayed up for a while timing them; they got to about 3 minutes apart and just slightly uncomfortable and I think that is when I let Gail, the midwife, know. Shortly after that (maybe around eleven or midnight, I can't really remember) they slowed down quite a bit and I was getting tired, so I took a nap. At a quarter till three I had a strong enough contraction to wake me from a sound sleep and as I laid in bed I noticed that they were pretty close together. I consider that the point when my labor actually began. I got up and went to the living room to time them and didn't have one for 10 minutes- so I just decided to go to the bathroom and go back to bed. But on the short trip to the bathroom I had a pretty good contraction and went back to the computer to time them: 2-3 minutes apart for a couple of them. I told Chris I'd wait about another half hour before I called Jessi to come and a minute later I had one that was powerful enough that I had to squat and breathe through. So we called her right away.
Eleven years ago, during my high school years, I went on a trip to Taiwan to visit a friend who was a missionary there. While I was there I met Michelle. She was close to my age and her family was on the same team as the friend I had gone to visit, so we spent a lot of time together that week. I have seen her occasionally during her visits to the States, received newsletters here and there, and, like everyone in my generation, have kept up with her life via facebook, so I knew she was a midwife serving in India. What I did not know was that she was in the US for a year and had started working with the midwives I was using the day before I went into labor! It was a sweet surprise when Jessi sent me a text to ask if I was comfortable having Michelle assist at my birth!
Jessi and Michelle arrived just after Chris finished airing up the birth pool and called my mom to get the boys. After checking my vitals and listening to baby, Michelle checked me. I was a little concerned when she told Jessi that I had a "magic cervix" (I feel sort of strange just typing that). She assured me that it was a good thing and I stayed put through a contraction so she could get a more clear idea of where I was at; 6 centimeters.
They started filling the pool with water and my mom arrived to take the boys. Chris woke each boy one-by-one and brought them to me. It was so precious to have just a moment with each of them. I got to hug and kiss them and tell them I love them. All three of them were so calm and happy, despite the fact that they were being woken up and taken out in the freezing cold at almost 5 in the morning. I love those little moments. I can still almost see the sweet smile on Cyrus' face, feel Caedmon's big bear hug, and smell Cohen's soft baby hair. It was just what I needed before I began the hard work.
Every once in a while I'd feel a little bit of panic rise up in my chest. Fear did it's best to remind me that it was going to get harder and harder. Every time I'd start to feel panicky I'd tell Chris or Jessi, and for some reason just making them aware of it always helped me to calm back down. I remember telling Jessi that I was worried because I knew it was going to get really hard. She told me that yes, it was, but I could do it. And I knew she was right.
After the boys left it was time to get in the pool. I know everyone was there, Gail arrived shortly after I got in, but most of the next two hours were spent in my own world. Occasionally I would notice that someone had stopped pouring water on my back or that someone was using the little hand held device to check the sister's heart rate, but mostly I was focused on helping sister baby move down.
During Cohen's birth at the hospital there had been a lot of fear and pressure from the nurses and the midwife on call and I think that made his heart rate look really scary. I had learned that left unchecked, a little bit of fear can generate more fear, so this time every once in a while I'd remind sister baby that she was okay, that she was safe, that I was working with her to help her come out, and that there was nothing to be afraid of. Her heart rate was great every single time they checked.
I sunk into my contractions letting every muscle loosen up so that my body could focus all of it's energy moving sister baby. I'd rest in between, sipping on water and eating bits of an orange. I remember telling everyone that I was tired and I laid back in the pool for a few minutes and someone rubbed my head and neck. And that's when I had the battle: labor was taking every ounce of strength I had and part of me just wanted to lay there, will my labor to stop, and let whoever was rubbing my head just keep on until I fell asleep. Even though it was completely unrealistic to just quit, I had to decide to keep going, trust my body, and to tap into that inner strength that God has given women. And I did. I got back on my hands and knees and I helped my baby on her journey.
It felt good to give little pushes at the end of my contractions, so that's what I did. My water broke and I could feel sister was ready for me to do some really hard work, so I started really pushing. It was wonderful to just be trusted. No one felt the need to stop me and make sure I was officially 10 centimeters or to yell at me when and how to push. I worked her down when and how it felt right.
After one good contraction I looked at Chris, tired and steady. We've done this before, he and I, he knows how to stay with me, he knows how to let me work and he is so, so kind when I accidentally snap at him for putting his hand on my back the wrong way. I felt grateful for him.
After several more pushes I reached the point of despair. Just like the battle to keep going, I've had the point of despair at each of my births. It's the same every time: everyone is telling me that I'm doing great and that the baby is almost here and Fear creeps back in and tells me that they're probably lying to me and that I'll probably die trying to push this baby out. I started crying and Jessi held my face and said something, I don't remember what, but her voice was calm and sure, it was just the connection that I needed to snap out of it and push out my baby.
I pushed with everything I had, I felt the familiar sting of a new person emerging. Her head was out. I pushed again and again and again, I was wondering what was taking her little body so long to get out, when she finally finished her journey. I flipped over and held her to my chest. I kissed her sweet head and held her tiny fingers. My daughter had arrived! She looked just like I had always pictured her, with a head full of thick brown hair.
She weighed over 9 pounds, which is why it had been so hard to get her little body out.
We decided to call her Kezzia Layne. Kezzia after one of Job's daughters (Keziah), who in a time when women were considered completely valueless, was mentioned by name and was given an inheritance among her brothers! I hope that our Kezzia will grow up in a world that sees what a gift women are, and if she doesn't, that she'll be a part of the change. Layne is a combination of our dad's middle names. I think her name brings hope for the future and gives honor to the past.
I am overwhelmed by how peaceful our little Kezzi's birth was. It was so beautiful and it was the perfect way to welcome her to our family.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Blood and Perspective
One day, while Cohen was still in the NICU, I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria alone picking at my [junk]food and I overheard the conversation of the two guys at the table nearest to me. Both wore scrubs and had a I'm-geeky-but-not-in-the-trendy-way sort of vibe; they were heavily involved in a conversation about Magic cards (remember the card game Magic?). They were discussing strategies and what cards were best and a lot that I didn't understand while I mentally laughed at them. Here they were, two grown men seemingly obsessed with the game my brother liked in like 6th grade. I felt so superior.
Then one of them stopped to answer a call on his cell. After he hung up the other guy asked him what the call had been about. It went something like this:
Guy #1, very nonchalantly: Oh, it was just the blood bank. They like to hit me up every couple of months for some blood.
Guy #2, with some enthusiasm: Yeah man, me too. It's cool though, you know, you get a good feeling for helping people. And there's the swag.
Guy #1, now very enthusiastic: Yeah! I love helping people out and I love me some swag!
They go on to talk about the different sorts of "swag" they have received for their blood; t-shirts, hats, tickets to events... Then Guy #1 invites Guy #2 to go with him and give some blood on Thursday. They set the date and move on when their conversation.
Suddenly I didn't feel so superior. I felt really, really small and terribly grateful. Who was I to judge these men for their interests? These were men who I knew 3 things about: they work at a hospital, they like to play magic, and they love to give blood. 2 of the 3 things on the list qualified as pretty awesome and while the magic thing was a little strange in my book, I'm sure there are plenty of strange things they could have pointed out about me. The no-longer-pregnant-but-still-looks-pregnant style I was sporting should have been first one the list.
I think overhearing that conversation may have been a significant stop on my path toward acceptance and respect of all sorts of people. I was feeling so high and mighty about the fact that I had a baby with Down syndrome and I was going to love him and treat him like I would any other child. I wasn't going to let a potential disability get in the way of how I viewed a person. I didn't realize that there are so many more reasons than physical or mental disability that we find to make walls between ourselves. I was not seeing these guys as people, I was seeing them geeks. Embarrassing. I placed their entire value on one piece of information about their interests.
The next morning the resident informed me that Cohen had been given blood in the night. I couldn't help but think of those guys and silently thank them for the gifts they had offered.
Then one of them stopped to answer a call on his cell. After he hung up the other guy asked him what the call had been about. It went something like this:
Guy #1, very nonchalantly: Oh, it was just the blood bank. They like to hit me up every couple of months for some blood.
Guy #2, with some enthusiasm: Yeah man, me too. It's cool though, you know, you get a good feeling for helping people. And there's the swag.
Guy #1, now very enthusiastic: Yeah! I love helping people out and I love me some swag!
They go on to talk about the different sorts of "swag" they have received for their blood; t-shirts, hats, tickets to events... Then Guy #1 invites Guy #2 to go with him and give some blood on Thursday. They set the date and move on when their conversation.
Suddenly I didn't feel so superior. I felt really, really small and terribly grateful. Who was I to judge these men for their interests? These were men who I knew 3 things about: they work at a hospital, they like to play magic, and they love to give blood. 2 of the 3 things on the list qualified as pretty awesome and while the magic thing was a little strange in my book, I'm sure there are plenty of strange things they could have pointed out about me. The no-longer-pregnant-but-still-looks-pregnant style I was sporting should have been first one the list.
I think overhearing that conversation may have been a significant stop on my path toward acceptance and respect of all sorts of people. I was feeling so high and mighty about the fact that I had a baby with Down syndrome and I was going to love him and treat him like I would any other child. I wasn't going to let a potential disability get in the way of how I viewed a person. I didn't realize that there are so many more reasons than physical or mental disability that we find to make walls between ourselves. I was not seeing these guys as people, I was seeing them geeks. Embarrassing. I placed their entire value on one piece of information about their interests.
The next morning the resident informed me that Cohen had been given blood in the night. I couldn't help but think of those guys and silently thank them for the gifts they had offered.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Permission to Move On
I've had a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head that I've wanted to put into writing, but since I haven't yet finished telling the story of Cohen's early days I didn't want to move on. I've decided to give myself permission to move on to what is happening in my head now. I may swirl back to those messy first weeks of Cohen's life, but for now I'm just going to write whatever comes next.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)