And here she is now…

Those metal brackets on her teeth are actually quite becoming don’t ya think?  And for the record, yes: that hair in her eyes drives me batty!

- Have I mentioned that I’m running in a 5K next month?  I am.  Or should I say I’ll be dragging?  Because I will.  I’m attempting to train but it’s too dang hot to run.  This should be interesting.

- I lost my credit card at the Post office last week.  I noticed it was gone two days later and called the credit card company asking that they put a hold on the card.  Guess what.  Some LOSER had already found the card and used it.  I’m appalled that people can be such losers.  Seriously.  And guess what they bought?  $20.27 worth of gas at a Union station at 1:16 in the morning.  Like I said: LOSERS!

- I’m just itchin’ for fall to come.  I’ve got a serious hankering (yes, I just said hankering on my blog) for some pumpkin bread.  And baked ziti.  And broccoli cheddar soup.  Those are all off limit foods for summer months because I’m freaky like that.  When I ask the kids for dinner ideas they always know that they must stick to the correct season or their requests will be turned down.  You know, like wraps, salads and bbq during summer months.  Casseroles, lasagnas, baked chicken and soups are reserved for fall and winter.  You guys do that too right?

- Need. Creative. School. Lunch. Ideas. Help.

- I’m thinking of coloring my own hair.  Not highlights or anything, just back to my root color.  Got any tips for me?

While Jeff and I were grocery shopping last Friday morning I got a call on my cell from the mom of one of the little girls who was in Cassidy’s class last year.  The mom asked if I had a second to talk and then proceeded to tell me that when she was dropping her own kids at school that morning she had witnessed Cassidy being jerked from the playground equipment by her parapro.

Strike one.

The mom approached the parapro and told her that her behavior was inappropriate and that she (the mom) would be calling Cassidy’s mom (me) and informing me of what she (the mom) saw.

You can imagine my reaction to this little piece of news.

Those who know me well know that I’m not one to hold my tongue.

And when it comes to this little girl, well, let’s just say I’m a tad bit protective.

Long story short:

The principal was called.  Our feelings were made crystal clear.  By the end of the school day, the parapro was relieved of her duties (as far as Cass is concerned anyway).  She’ll still be working at the school, only with another child.

I have mixed feelings on this.

I don’t know this woman really well, but from what I have seen she is an older, very gentle, very mild, very nice woman.  I had a hard time picturing her jerking anybody around, much less a child.  But when this incident happened, it seems to me the right thing to do would have been for her to approach her supervisor and let her know what happened.  That way, the supervisor would have been prepared for the call from Cassidy’s parents.

She wasn’t prepared though.  Because the parapro didn’t tell her what happened.

Strike Two.

Then, over the weekend, I came to find out that earlier last week (well before this incident on Friday morning) some of the staff at the school had been asking whether the parapro’s “handling” of Cassidy was appropriate or not.

As in, apparently this type of thing has happened more than once since this school year began on July 16th.

Well, now obviously, that is so totally  strike three.

I’m not sure yet how I’m going to proceed since having acquired this information.  A talk with the principle is definitely in order.  After that though, I don’t know yet.

I can say that I am pleased with the new parapro Little Miss Cass will be working with for the rest of the year.  She is much younger than the original.  That wouldn’t be important but for the fact that Cassidy is wound pretty tight and it takes a supersonic energy level to keep up with her.  The new gal is also very sweet and seems genuinely interested in helping Cass to progress rather than to just make it through the day.

As for what to do about the other stuff, well, I’m thinking on it.  And praying about it.

It’s not something I want to just ignore because that isn’t doing anybody any favors.  But I don’t want to go on a witch hunt either.  It’s proving to be a fine line.  One that I’m not sure how to walk. 

I’m so thankful though for the courage of the mom who did what she did.

And equally disheartened that someone I trusted would treat my daughter that way.

Repeatedly.

What would you do?

Anywho…

The new dining room is a big improvement, no?  One might even call it, oh I don’t know, rich maybe.

I’d heard horror stories, from moms of boys.  They warned of lizards in pockets, rocks in dryers, and bloody skinned up knees.

Perhaps those things are in my future.

I’m okay with that.

For now, I’m enjoying the sweet parts of this perfect little man, the parts I didn’t expect.

I never expected that the smell of boy sweat differed from that of a little girl.  Or that I would actually enjoy breathing it in.

I never expected that shopping for little cargo shorts and polos and baseball caps would be just as much fun as picking out frilly pink dresses and bold striped tights.

I never expected that the fresh discovery of choo-choo trains and garbage trucks and race cars would be invigorating.

I never expected that his determination to “do it” (without help that is) would be endearing.

Or that he’d request songs at bedtime: “Grace” (Amazing Grace) and “Baby” (Rock-a-Bye) among his favorites.

I never expected any of these things, but I’m so very thankful for each and every one.

For his dimpled little tush and his solid, stocky body.  For those big baby blues and the blond locks that curl if we let them get long enough.  For his running and jumping and that irresistible giggle.  For the excited “Mooooooo-mmy” he yells out from his crib when he hears me pad past his room in the morning.  For the way he asks for his “hunt” (milk) at the start of his day.  For the sight of him exploring bugs and lizards in the backyard.  For his love of books and animals and jets.

He’s two today.

And like I always did with his sisters before him, I wonder how my heart will possibly remain intact if my love for him continues to grow with each passing year.

Happy Birthday little man.

Taken One Year Ago Today 

What they’ve neglected to tell us though, in all of their million dollar advertisements, and promotions and movie hype, is that some of the language in this “film” will most definitely be very hurtful to a large percentage of the population.

Do you remember the movie Napoleon Dynamite?  I do, though I’d like very much to forget it, not because it was offensive, but because it was dumb.  One of the reasons I remember it though is because for months after that movie was first made popular, I saw t-shirts for sale that had phrases like “Vote for Pedro,” and “Ligers Rock,” emblazoned across the front of them.  That’s the beauty of marketing I suppose: when done right, it sends an unforgettable message to consumers.

You can imagine then, how completely repulsed I am by the fact that t-shirts are being made to help spread one of the messages Tropic Thunder endorses.  One day soon you too might see someone walking around with a shirt that says “Full Retard” in bold letters.

Because, haven’t you heard?  It’s funny to disparage those with intellectual disabilities.

Or not.

When my daughter was born it was bad enough that I had to worry about the looming possibility of open-heart surgery, leukemia, and countless other potential medical disasters.  What made the situation worse though was the ignorant and hurtful comments from people I trusted.  People in the medical community who took an oath never to do harm, though harm is exactly what they did when they called my sweet baby girl a “Downsie” and hinted that I should consider adoption.

It wasn’t until I researched her condition on my own that I came to a know a wealth of stories, all heartwarming and truly inspirational, that featured an intellectually disabled person playing a starring role.

Throughout history these people we’ve come to know as “special” have been discriminated against in more ways than we’ll probably ever know. 

I think it’s time that we put a stop to that right now.

Please stand with me, with my family, and with my daughter as we demand dignity and respect for people all over the world who were born into bodies with limitations.  People who struggle to accomplish tasks that might seem commonplace to you and I.  People with feelings and souls who deserve far more than the hateful labels this movie has given them.

Please don’t spend your money to patronize a movie that ridicules my daughter, and others like her. 

There is a country song lyric that says it in a way better than I: You’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.

Join me in standing up for people like Cassidy.  Your stand won’t soon be forgotten.

I imagine it will look a little something like this:

Darcie’s Office Visit Expectations

Appointments:
Appointments are made for a reason.  That reason being to save time for both of us.  We mutually agree to take the time out of our busy schedules to sit down for a few moments and discuss the issues that ail me.  Or my children.  And occasionally my husband.  When scheduling my appointment, please do so only after taking into consideration the realistic amount of time it will take to see patients who have appointments before me.  This simple act will go a long way in making both of our days run more smoothly.

With regard to my appointment, please do not ask that I arrive 15 minutes before our appointment time.  That, you see, negates the point.  How about we both are ready at the agreed upon appointment time.  It’s a crazy concept, but I think it just might work.

* Disclaimer - Doctors who keep me waiting past the agreed upon appointment time may be asked to follow me home and wait in my living room until I find a more convenient time for the exam.  This is entirely at my discretion, but it’ll probably be sometime after dinner, and dishes, and bedtime stories.  If you’re lucky I may be able to fit you in before my blog time.

Cancellations
If you scheduled poorly and are suddenly bogged down by a waiting room full of upset patients I kindly request that you call me as soon as you realize your error.  Although 24 hours notice is ideal, if this is not possible, call as soon as you can so that I don’t waste all of my time driving into your office only to be told that you are running really behind and unless I choose to reschedule I will incur a lengthy wait in aforementioned waiting room.

Lengthy Waits
I understand that occasional scheduling oversights can occur for a variety of reasons. When you jam pack your appointment book without regard to the poor saps like me who are forced to entertain toddlers in the waiting room for hours on end, my precious time begins fleeting away like Prozac samples at a depression convention.  I tend to get a tad bit miffed under those circumstances and I do hope you will look the other way when I give up and just let the kids tap on the aquarium glass.  Even if it does give the fish headaches, I trust you will understand seeing as how the fish likely don’t carry health insurance that allows you to bill 60 bucks for a band-aid.

I track doctors who repeatedly show blatant disregard for my time.  I will let the first of such occasions slide.  The second time, I will charge a $25 courtesy fee (and yes, payment is expected at the time of service).  Three strikes and you’re out.  I will let the receptionist know that I am discharging you as a healthcare provider.  You should know that I am not above holding all of your People magazines from the waiting room hostage.  You will have thirty days to turn over my full and complete medical record.  Once you do, I will let the People go.  Unharmed of course. 

I trust that you will make every effort to be respectful of my time and that you agree to the terms and conditions set forth herein.  I look forward to working together to create a healthy and time-conscience environment for the both of us.

Your partner in health,

Darcie

It may be inaccurate to say that I believed those things when she was first born.  When she was first born I had very little faith actually.  Really all I felt in those first few days was despair.

But then she had to go to the NICU because there was a hole in her heart.  She lived there for the first seven days of her life.  And in the neighboring bassinet was a premature baby I’ve come to call Anna.

Anna was very sick.  Very very sick.  The doctors had purposefully given her medication that paralyzed her because every movement she made depleted any energy that might otherwise help aid her growth.

I looked on at baby Anna when I went to the NICU to deliver my milk.  I admired her tiny whisper of a body as I rocked my own baby while she slept. 

One day, when I came for my regular visit, I was denied entrance because of an emergency in the NICU.  I was only permitted to briefly go in and deposit my milk in the refrigerator. 

There, right next to my daughter’s bassinet, I saw a crowd of people huddled around baby Anna.  Her young mother was there, and her father.  There were other people too, one of them, a priest.

That moment changed the way I felt about my broken newborn daughter.  When once I had questioned God’s motive, I now thanked Him for His wisdom.  When once I secretly wished He would just take this burden from my shoulders, I now felt humbled by the blessing He’d bestowed on us.

And that was when I began believing I would turn Cassidy into something incredible.  Something who defied the odds.  A miracle.

For a long time I persevered in my hopes.  Every compliment from her therapists only served to feed my fire, reassuring me that my child would be unlike any that had come before her.

Gradually, the delays in Cassidy’s development became apparent.  She fell further and further behind her peers.

To my surprise, I wasn’t crushed.  What I always imagined would feel like a failure, didn’t.

Over the years my perspective, needless to say, has changed.  Somewhat anyway.  I no longer have my hopes pinned on Cassidy breaking any records, though my goals for her are still lofty. 

What I’ve come to understand is that when it comes to Cassidy, my timeline means nothing.  You can imagine the ways in which her very presence in my life has taught me patience.  And, that, let me assure you, is amazing in itself.

Truly incredible though, are the accomplishments this baby girl has made in spite of the obstacles tangled up in her genetic material.  

Just this evening, I heard a commotion in the backyard and looked up from making dinner to see Little Miss pedaling past the window on her bike.  

As in, by herself.  With not a soul running behind pushing her.  

We’ve been working on and off since Christmas on the concept of pedaling.  Somehow, she didn’t get it.  For the longest time, she just didn’t get it.  No matter how I tried, it didn’t matter.  She just didn’t get it.

And then, suddenly, she did.

Today.

And though it might not break any records, I can attest to the achievement.

Really, I’m not far off of my initial belief that she would be a miracle because, well, she most certainly is.
 

Christmas 2007

A certain someone is having a birthday next week.  I won’t mention any names but I will give you a hint.

And yes, I am heinously biased, but how gosh darn cute is that?!

Last year I found the cutest felt birthday boy hat for him and I honestly didn’t think I would be able to top it for this year’s batch of birthday photos.  But then, I discovered this little number (number, get it?!).

Are you loving the shirt as much as I am?  Because, really, I’m diggin’ the shirt.  How perfect is it for a birthday boy (or girl)?

I got it from Fliggity.  

Fliggity is a mom-owned small business out of North Carolina.  Lisa (the mom) makes some of the cutest custom kids clothing I’ve come across.  In addition to the “How Old Am I Shirt” that Jayce is sporting, she has three other product categories as well: Tiggity Tie Die, Stylish Superheroes, and Shirts That Fliggity Fly.  Could the names be any catchier?  I think not.

Wanna win one?

I thought you might.  Here’s your chance!  Just click your way over to Fliggity and have a look around.  Choose which shirt you’ll get if you’re the lucky winner.  Then head back over here and leave me a comment telling me which of Lisa’s fabulous fliggitys you’d most love to dress your little one up in.  I’ll announce a winner on Wednesday, August 13th.

And…Lisa has offered my readers 15% off a purchase through the end of August.  Just use code 15fliggity for the discount. 

***Here’s a hint for you - Jayce’s shirt is a tad too tight.  Lisa recommends that if you’re ordering for a boy, order one size larger than you would normally.  Girls sizes are standard though***

Clearly it has some issues.

It has good bones I think.  That is, if you consider the mirror, furniture, and words printed on the wall bones.  I like those things.

(Translated from Italian, those words say - It is written: Man does not live by bread alone).  Because you might have been wondering.

I know I would have been.

Moving right along though.

When we moved into the house most of my decorationg dollars went elswhere.  The formal dining room just wasn’t a priority.  It is, however, a very visible room in our house and now that the remainder of the decorating is pretty much done (or done for now at least) this room bothers me.

And when a room bothers me I do what any red-blooded American mom does.  I go to Target.

This is what I picked up last weekend.  (Did I mention how much I love Target?)

I know the flash on the camera didn’t do a thing for picture quality, but work with me kay?  Those two long signs are tin with lots of tin wine labels affixed to them.  That “merlot” picture is a close up of the two long signs so you can get the picture.

Aren’t those cute?  Love them. 

I’m also making a drapery for the bare naked window. 

I made my husband hold the fabric up for me the other so I could see what it would look like when all is said and done.

He laughed at me because as soon as he placed it I said, ”that’s going to look rich.”

I said it out loud.

I’d had a glass of wine and rich was the adjective that the silk fabric brought to mind.

Not rich like money but rich like, well, rich.

He’s been making fun of me for it pretty much all week since.

Whatever.

It will  look rich.

I’ll post pictures when I’m done.

And then you all can tell him just how rich it looks.

He wouldn’t dare make fun of all of us.       

And of course by ‘all of us’ I’m refferring to myself and my six loyal readers.

You ladies do have my back on this one right?