No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

We are blessed with very good neighbors. To our right we have a wonderful lady who doesn't mind it when my kids chase (but never catch) her cats. To our left we have a family that has two girls, the youngest of which is four years older than Emily. They are kind enough to give us first pick of the toys and books that their girls have outgrown. A couple weeks ago, they were in spring cleaning mode and we were the recipients of a huge stack of books, a leap pad, and a Tinkerbell chair. Emily loved the chair. She sat in it every free moment for three days. Jane loved the chair. She and Emily fought nonstop over it during playtime.

But during this time, Emily's allergies started acting up. When people ask me what Emily is allergic to, I think of the show "Fraser" when Niles is asked the same question. He says something like, "It may be easier if we started with a list of things I'm not allergic to". So it is with Emily. When her eyes are red and teary, her nose is running and her skin looks like a burn victim's, it sometimes takes us a few days to figure out what the exact culprit is. If only I would have remembered the neighbor's dogs, I would have figured it out sooner. Instead she suffered for days, her allergy medicines hardly putting a dent in her reaction. It took me three days to realize it was the chair. The chair was thrown out in the middle of the night so the neighbors didn't know we had rejected their thoughtful gift.

We've already established that I'm a lousy parent, but I think in this case I was justified in ordering two new Tinkerbell chairs - one for Emily and another for Jane. I have had to tell Emily no so many times because of her allergies. It was nice to be able to make it up to her if only a little.

The chairs arrived today. We've already had several fights over which chair belongs to whom, we've had fits over the chairs tipping and an enormous fight over who has rights to the box the chairs came in. But there have been no allergic reactions. Hallelujah!

I don't think I'll be accepting any free hand-me-downs in the near future. I'm not sure we can afford it.

Where Everbody Knows My Name

Remember the show Cheers? It was a memorable show with an even more memorable theme song: "Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name". Up until 19 months ago, I thought it would be great to go where everybody knows my name. But now that everybody knows me, or more specifically my family everywhere I go, it's not as fun as I thought it would be. Maybe it's because very few of the people who know us by sight actually know our names. Sometimes I think about how nice it would be to go back to anonymity and have an uneventful outing with my kids. I know isn't possible.

For the rest of her life Jane will be the girl (and later the woman) with one hand. Most of the people who recognize her will refer to her only as that. No matter how much I try to change it. But I still try. And so one of my attempts will be to help my family and friends know how to react when they see someone with a disability.

• Don't stare. At first it may be tempting to try to figure out what is going on, but no matter how covertly people try to be about staring, I still see them. 

• Don't open a conversation with a stranger by asking about their disability. You'd be surprised at how many people come up to me and, without introducing themselves or getting an introduction from me, make free to ask about Jane's medical history. In children this is understandable. In adults it is unacceptable. I admit that if I were to see someone with a condition similar to Jane's I would want to talk to them. It's a rare condition and I would love to meet someone else who lives with it. But I would begin the conversation by introducing myself, not by asking about their arm. When your child does ask, don't be embarrassed. It will teach them to be embarrassed. Here are some questions that children have asked me (after reading these I hope you will realize a well asked question is not reason for embarrassment):

1.  What's wrong with her arm? (this one is very common)
2. Where's her hand?
3. Does it hurt?
4. Why does she have a plastic hand?
5. When she grows up will she have a real hand?
6. The reactions from children that aren't questions: staring, flinching, running away in horror (you may spank them for this with my blessing), grabbing her little arm and feeling it (In very small children this is okay. A ten year old should know better). 

• If your children point and stare (which they often do) don't give them a lecture in public. It embarrasses the person with a disability (and their mom) more than if you were to go up, introduce yourself, let the child ask a question and get to know someone who is different from them. Lecturing them and trying to hush them up only teaches them that a disability is a bad thing, or something to be embarrassed of. 
• Never make an assumption about what a person with a disability can't do. I admit the basis for this post was an incident in which we were at the library and one of the librarians overreacted to Jane being near the stairs because she assumed Jane couldn't negotiate the stairs with her disability. She was wrong. I have all but stopped carrying Jane up and down stairs. When in doubt, follow the lead of the person with the disability or (in Jane's case) their parent. You may be pleasantly surprised. So far, I haven't discovered anything that Jane isn't able to do in the realm of normal toddlerhood. That includes climbing EVERYTHING.
• Educate your child in advance about people that are different from them. We have found Nemo to be a wonderful teaching tool. I tell small children that Jane has a lucky arm just like Nemo has a lucky fin. Sesame Street often has guests that look or sound different. When they come on, use the opportunity to discuss the differences and similarities with your children. They will find that the similarities a disabled person shares with them far outweigh the differences.
• Most importantly: Never, never, never assume that a person with a physical disability also has a mental disability. With Jane, as with most people with disabilities, what you see is what you get. She is a perfectly normal toddler with one hand. 

 

Thanks for reading this self indulgent post. I promise next time I'll have another great story about Emily's criminal acts or something embarrassing I have said or done. But in the meantime, I hope this helps someone to see past a disability and to see a person.

A Summery Summary

Around here, summer is short. So we have to make use of every second. Emily has been around for a few summers and by now she realizes that it won't stick around forever. To her, a warm day not spent running through the sprinklers, playing at the park or sneaking off to the wading pool at the Children's Garden is a wasted day. I'm glad I have her to remind me to seize the summer.

Jane doesn't yet realize that the summer's a-wastin' and thus is more cautious.

 

To Emily, the pinnacle of the summer is the 4th of July. A holiday made for setting stuff on fire.

If you listen carefully you can hear Jane crying in the background. She had to be removed from the area after the snappers scared her nearly to death.

As the evening wore on, Jane plucked up her courage and was able, with the aid of her trusty blanket, to approach Emily as she brandished a sparkler.

(Don't worry, mom, I washed the blanket already and it's as good as new). By the time we were on to snakes, Jane realized the fourth of July wasn't so bad.

Both girls enjoyed the city fireworks to excess. It's a lot of excitement for one day, but we still have a whole lot of summer left to enjoy. Plenty of days for Emily to get wet and find bugs and scrape up her knees and ride her trike on the sidewalk. And plenty of days for Jane to enjoy her favorite part of summer:

Even if I had the heart to tell her corn on the cob is a seasonal treat, she wouldn't understand. All she knows is that for now, life is just about as good as it gets.

Looking for a New Plumber and a New Place to Play

First off, I have to apologize to Emily. This is my third post this week. And also my third post about something unsavory Emily has done. I hate to do it, but this has been an unusually rough week. And blogging helps to take the sting out.

Remember how much I said I love the Children's Garden? Well, that was the scene of our great disgrace today and I'm afraid I can never go back. Double sting.

It all started when Jane and Emily were both playing in the "Secret Garden" area, a super cute little area about the size of  my bedroom walled off from the rest of the garden. You enter it through this charming wooden door. (Note: I am using stock photos today). Well, Emily got sick of the Secret Garden. Then Jane got sick of it. We exited. Emily re-entered. "Fine", I said to myself, "if Jane wants to wander, she can wander for a few minutes. Emily is safe in a walled in garden and I will know if she comes out".

Jane wandered for five minutes, tops. I returned to the Secret Garden to check on Emily. She wasn't there. I checked the area with the little tables. She wasn't there. I checked the sandbox. She wasn't there. I was starting to panic. I ran to the windmill area almost in tears. I spotted a friend and made a beeline for her, praying that she had seen Emily. Before I made it there, I was intercepted. By a many tattooed woman in a tube top. And Emily.

I grabbed Emily, trying to hold back the tears. "Thank goodness! I was so worried about you!" (I was still too worried to be mad). And then, to the tattooed woman, "Thank you so much for finding her. I was searching all over". What happened next I was not expecting.

Miss Tattoo began to scream at me. "Did you know she was naked and almost drownded (sic) in the wading pool?! I realize you have another kid, but you are a bad mom. You need to watch both of your children. If you can't do it, you need to find someone who can. I had to pull her out of the wading pool and put her clothes on! I saw you chatting by the bathroom while she was naked. I can't believe you just let her do things like this. I've got four kids and I would never let this happen".

Let me add a few caveats at this point: 1) I was absolutely not chatting by the bathroom. I hadn't even exchanged one word with anyone the entire time I was there, nor had I been by the outdoor bathroom. 2) I was searching frantically for Emily, not screwing around and, 3) She was most definitely not almost "drownded" because her hair wasn't even wet. Also the wading pool is only about 8'' deep. 4) I had absolute faith that Emily was in the Secret Garden, nowhere near the wading pool. 5)You may draw your own conclusions about the paternity of her four children. I won't say anything about it here. That would exhibit a lack of class.

This is the wading pool. It is a small, very shallow man made pond intended for children to wade in. 

I told Miss Tattoo that I realized she really wanted to yell at me but I was doing the best I could and I thanked her again for putting Emily's clothes back on. Really, I was that calm. I am not exaggerating. Then I went to find Emily's shoes.I wanted to dissolve into the ground after being so embarrassed, but we couldn't just leave the shoes. I tried to sneak past my new friend to get the shoes. That seemed to make Miss Tattoo even angrier so she began to spout again, "You need to leave here because you are making a scene and there are children present!".

 Here I was, a grown woman, in the middle of a crowded garden, trying not to cry and looking for shoes. And then I really was making a scene. The shoes were located and I left as quickly as I could. When I got to the parking lot, I realized Chris had just arrived to meet us for lunch. Then I really started bawling. I managed to get out a bit of the story. "Tube top?", Chris said. "Uh huh". "That woman over there?", he asked, pointing. "Uh huh".

Then he went over to have a conversation with her. He didn't want to leave until she apologized to me. I have never loved him more. Unfortunately, you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can't take the trailer park out of the girl. And we all know there are sorts that can be reasoned with and sorts that can't. Miss Tattoo belongs to the latter group. May God bless Chris for trying, though. The apology never happened.

Miss Tattoo got into a Marv's Plumbing truck and drove away. Yes, folks, that's MARV'S PLUMBING. You know, Marv's Plumbing on Logan? (Apparently they not only fix plumbing there, but also wear wear extremely tight tube tops and scream at women who are frantically searching for lost children).

I don't know whether I am more embarrassed that Emily was naked in the wading pool or that I got a down home white trash style tongue lashing in the middle of my favorite place in town. Both make me want to die. Why, Emily why? Why do you do it? Is this a stage? Can I channel this endless energy into something positive or does it only work for destructive activities? Please leave your suggestions as I am obviously a terrible mother. Also, please leave your recommendation for your favorite plumber. Unless it is Marv's. We won't be using their services anymore.

The Emily's New Clothes

What is it about new clothing? Is Emily the only kid who feels that a brand new shirt or pair of pants is merely a blank canvas for her to express herself? Whatever the reason, it seems as if the most dangerous time for clothing is the first wearing.

Emily got some lovely new shorts from her grandparents last weekend. Yesterday was a nice hot day and the perfect time to try out said new shorts. It also seemed to be the perfect time to discover a forgotten wet erase marker and destroy the shorts.

I threw everything I had at that stain: Spot Shot, rubbing alcohol, nail polish remover, carpet cleaner, bleach, bleach and more bleach. It wasn't budging. I even tried yelling and screaming. That didn't work either and it just made me feel worse.

Time for a band-aid.

No, it doesn't match perfectly, but it makes them once again wearable. Next time Emily ruins something (that will most likely be later today) I am going to try to tell myself, "It's probably not so bad that it can't be fixed. And even if it is, it's not worth yelling". If I say it enough times, maybe it will stick.

Or perhaps I will just be one of those women who are under the impression that I somehow gained complete mastery over my anger right about the time my children left home. Then I will tell all the young mothers that the little things aren't worth getting angry over and they will miss these days. But part of me will always remember that yelling and motherhood are as inseparable as Emily and destruction.

Why No One was Hungry for Dinner

I'm still not sure what happened last night. I don't think I ever will be. The facts, as seen through my eyes are these:

I was fixing dinner. Emily said she was starving. I gave her some fruit snacks to get her out of my hair (I don't normally give her snacks before dinner, but it was either that or make the family eat cold cereal for dinner - she wasn't about to leave me alone.) Emily sees a bird outside. She goes outside after it.  I am happy for the break. I keep an eye on her out the window. She yells back, "Mom! I'm trying to feed the bird fruit snacks!". Okay, whatever. Every time she gets within five feet of the bird she runs away screaming. I am unconcerned. 

More running. More screaming. And then, "Mom! Come quick! The bird is dead!". And there, by our porch, this is what I saw:

And so two great mysteries begin. 1) How did it die and, 2) Did Emily touch it?

She assured me time and time again that she never touched it either before or after it took the great voyage into the beyond. She had lots to say about how it died.

1) It got sick and fell down, down, down from the sky.

2) It flew into the porch/house/chair/playhouse.

3) I hit it with June. (June is a doll. Please oh please don't let this be true).

4) I did NOT hit it with June. It died from hopping.

5) I don't know.

6) It is not dead. It is napping.

Obviously absent from this list is the possibility that the bird choked on a fruit snack. We will never know how the bird died, but I am reasonably certain that if Emily took part in its demise it was unintentional. I am also reasonably certain that she didn't touch it. Or maybe I'm just lying to myself because I can't deal with the alternative.

Sick of Sick

I haven't blogged in awhile. There's a good reason for that. We have been sick. Then sicker. Then a little better. Then sick again. Followed by really sick. And now (knock on wood) we are finally getting less sick. I hope it will stay that way. Rather than take you through the saga of colds, assorted infections and the accompanying antibiotics that have been our lives lately, I think I will blog about the good things that happened between the sicknesses.

First, I got to go to Denver for the day all by myself. I never thought I would want to just be alone for a day, but it really is wonderful to not have to worry about who has to pee and who is sick of shopping and who doesn't like the apple slices you ordered instead of french fries. A day out of town with kids sucks. A day out of town alone is glorious.

That weekend we also had the first smores of the season. Always an occasion for celebration.


And then... sick, sick and more sick. Skip to this past week.

We love the Children's Garden. It is, perhaps my kids' favorite place on the planet. I'm pretty sure I could take up permanent residence in the Children's Garden.

I suspect there must be some kind of magnetic or geothermal anomaly at the Children's Garden because my kids throw 98% less fits per minute within its walls then without.

On the other hand, I was totally sure that taking Emily to the dentist for the first time would result in a huge fit. That's why I put it off til she was 4. It turns out that not only did I have nothing to worry about, she said she LOVED it. Really? Yes. I am not lying.

Hurrah for dentists who cater to kids! Hurrah for the Children's Garden. Hurrah for antibiotics and hurrah for the priesthood blessing that finally helped Jane start to be Jane again!