tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45619333503964077542024-02-22T03:50:25.829-05:00*Results Not TypicalTwo parents, one little one, 139 chromosomes. Yeah, sometimes I talk about that extra #21, but that's just one tiny speck of our life together.Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.comBlogger742125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-39519862683086046622014-10-02T10:28:00.000-04:002014-10-02T10:28:21.329-04:00Two and TwoIt's Down Syndrome Awareness Month, y'all!<br />
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And, I remembered my password to this blog!<br />
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Will wonders never cease?<br />
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I haven't been writing much since...well, 2012? Two kids was a huge adjustment that I'm still working through.<br />
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It hit me a couple of months ago that we have a nice little numerical phenomenom going on<br />
Right now, it reminds me a lot of <a href="http://www.answers.com/Q/What_does_We'll_be_back_in_two_and_two_mean">Chuck Woolery's iconic line from Love Connection</a>: "We'll be back in two and two."<br />
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Unless something changes with Playette's schooling, her grade will match Dez's age. She's in 2nd and he's 2.<br />
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So for all of you wondering what I've been doing for the past 2.5 years, there you go.<br />
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This will be the first year in forever that I'm not going to commit to blogging daily. 31 for 21 is so far outside of my realistic capabilities, but while the kids are indulging in a little sick day PBSing, I figured I could at least manage an acknowlegement.<br />
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Hows about an update?<br />
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As I mentioned, Playette is in second grade. She loves it. It's challenging. She's fully included and tries so, so hard, but we are realizing that she needs more time, more attention, more lots of things. She can do some of the work, but she has areas where she struggles. I created a nightly schedule to try and manage how studying for spelling tests, working on reading (decoding and comprehension), math, daily worksheets, dance class, therapy, dinner, bath, and time to enjoy being a kid gets accomplished. It's a lot. I'm tired. I don't feel "special." I feel almost totally unequipped. We even hired a sitter to come three afternoons a week to get it done. She was great and acted more like a tutor. So of course she got a better job and yesterday was her last day. Yeah. What to do now?<br />
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And then there's Dez. Well. It's very different. He picks things up without difficulty. He's quick. Like, super quick. His speech and memory are amazing. He wants to do everything his sister does and some of it he can. When he surpasses her, I don't know whether to feel proud of my son or perturbed for my daughter. There's a balance that needs to be reached for sure. I'm learning every day.<br />
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But, as a whole, they're both great kids. Funny, smart, unique, and crazy cute. They argue and they play together, just like any other siblings. They love and they annoy, just like any other kids.<br />
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<br />Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-4957905167532359682014-03-10T12:48:00.001-04:002014-03-10T18:05:34.108-04:00Making It Happen: Discover Community SchoolDo any of you watch Parenthood?<br>
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I do. Love it. If you don't, it's totally worth adding to your list of good TV options.<br>
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I used to cry at least a little during every episode. It's just that good.<br>
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Part of what really got to me is that one of the families depicted has a child with autism and the parts about the frustration and the joys and the waiting and the therapy and the...well, almost everything...just really hit home.<br>
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And the love and sincere connections they all have with one another? Yeesh. I'd like some more of that, please.<br>
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Over time, I went from wanting to be any Braverman to wanting to be <i>Christina</i> Braverman, specifically.<br>
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Why that character?<br>
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Well, because she's strong. She's been through a lot. And she doesn't compromise when it comes to her kids. If something doesn't exist, she creates it.<br>
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Which is exactly what my friend, Stephanie Willson, is doing by starting <a href="http://www.discovercommunityschool.com/">Discover Community School</a> in Tampa, FL.<br>
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Discover is an independent private school for children with cognitive disabilities and their typical peers. Their purpose is to support every learner, to meet children at their ability and offer project based learning by differentiating curriculum, playing to students strengths and providing a home school like environment.<br>
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While Steph has the knowledge and the drive, she, unfortunately, does not independently possess all of the funding required to complete such a huge undertaking. She's a wife, mother, friend, and a fantastic photographer (<a href="http://smith-smiths.blogspot.com/2010/10/watch-your-back-martha.html">remember these?</a>) with a huge heart, but that only goes so far when you need a commercial lease.<br>
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For that reason, Discover has an indiegogo campaign going on right now. <a href="http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/discover-community-school">Click here for more info</a>.<br>
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I know there are a lot of really good causes out there and most of us can't give to everything. But if you can, please do.<br>
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Or maybe you know someone (or know someone who knows someone) who could benefit from attending this kind of school? Tell them about it. Tweet it. Put it on Facebook. Every little bit helps.<br>
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Thanks for reading, y'all.Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-33620870022084482422014-02-06T10:21:00.001-05:002014-02-06T14:52:39.393-05:00The StrangerSomething happens to you when you lose a parent. I'm not anywhere near an expert, so I can't speak as to what everyone feels, or even what most people feel, but I can't talk about how it has made me feel.<div><br></div><div>I was 18 when my mother died. I had just returned back to college after Christmas break. We had had a falling out, but had made up by phone a few days before. She was planning to visit me soon. I remember her being upset about me wanting to go out for New Year's Eve to a club with my friends. She told me that it may be her last and I accused her of being overly dramatic. </div><div><br></div><div>I went. </div><div><br></div><div>She died on January 12, 1995. I wasn't there. I was notified in the middle of the night and driven home shortly thereafter. I have not been the same since then, obviously.</div><div><br></div><div>I read a book recently, about how the author dealt with the death of her parents. I found myself feeling so much empathy. I thought about how hard that must have been, and still be, for her, even though our situations were so very different.</div><div><br></div><div>The reason I even bring it up today is because I came across a book yesterday. <i>The Stranger</i> by Albert Camus. The memories came flooding back. I remember having to read this before the start of my senior year in high school. I remember sitting at our glass dining room table at the large desktop computer, typing out the report that was due very soon. I remember tapping into the most creative part of myself as I developed a diary for the main character, based on his actions in the book. I remember being very proud of what I did and I remember being extremely excited that my teacher recognized it, too. It's sparked something in me, getting that "A". I felt like I was finally good at something. It made me want to become an English professor.</div><div><br></div><div>The thing about losing my mother is that I have in my possession so many things, both sentimental and random. There is no family home to return to. We lived in an apartment in 1995 and before I returned to school, everything had to be removed. My address became my mailbox number. Many things were thrown away, somethings were stolen, the rest went to storage.</div><div><br></div><div>I have all of the old family pictures. I have pieces of furniture. I have books from high school. I have my mother's notes from college and her greeting card collection. I have school pictures of people I haven't seen in almost 30 years. I even have that report on <i>The Stranger</i> in a box somewhere, I'm sure of it. </div><div><br></div><div>We move these things from place to place every two to three years. </div><div><br></div><div>I never became an English professor, as is probably obvious by my grammar and sentence structure. </div><div><br></div><div>My mother convinced me to pursue engineering.</div><div><br></div><div>I wonder if she would be proud of who I am today. I no longer consider myself an engineer (I've long since forgotten so much of what I learned), but it was a great experience. I saw the world like she wanted me to. I finished what I started.</div><div><br></div><div>I know that mother-daughter relationships aren't always perfect. I don't tell myself that if she were here everything would be great. But I do miss the opportunity to call her, to have a lap in which to rest my head when the days get so, so hard and I just need to cry and have my head stroked. I want more than anything for my children to have a grandmother in their lives. I think that my mother would have been a grandmother much like her mother was to me and that would be a wonderful thing to have. </div><div><br></div><div>It's amazing what finding an old paperback in a box can bring to mind. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzWOm2fepGYEqp8szcJDxidZ1w9MPN9dDKAdEjkBK0jHiINF9jo5XNPXArHdWCIhKLDvYK9KfgniyqJKbrTVNlRBoQYnuJHS27-dRIZLoqOa4RL9RO_ZGN4atpJoJobe2f5kLuzEKw1Y/s640/blogger-image-1121330940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzWOm2fepGYEqp8szcJDxidZ1w9MPN9dDKAdEjkBK0jHiINF9jo5XNPXArHdWCIhKLDvYK9KfgniyqJKbrTVNlRBoQYnuJHS27-dRIZLoqOa4RL9RO_ZGN4atpJoJobe2f5kLuzEKw1Y/s640/blogger-image-1121330940.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">No wonder I can't declutter. All! These! Emotions! </div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-8184947759088403872014-01-29T11:29:00.001-05:002014-01-29T11:29:51.568-05:00SnortI was just about to put Dez down for nap and stopped to change his diaper. Playette sat on the floor near my feet and was quiet for a moment. Then, she started saying some letters. I quickly realized that she was reading something off of one of the items I was using.<div><br></div><div>P-A-M-P-E-R-S</div><div><br></div><div>"Great job!" I said, taking every advantage to encourage her. "What does that spell?"</div><div><br></div><div>With every ounce of confidence and pride she possesses in her little body, she replied, matter-of-factly...</div><div><br></div><div> "Wipes."<br><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-55374241513317115832013-12-24T11:23:00.002-05:002013-12-24T11:23:37.006-05:00From: Us, To: You<div style="text-align: center;">
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Since last year was a bust in the card department, this year we have two!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilU1WkGpHspxDeNV-n4-dSGb4vzkLEtPyhG906VJ81FZEsarzuh854k2E1V9WZNr2oy5wDzPUaYzdFU5VhU8GDJDQtzRckMDt4WGkEKIIY6Zt9QMD4mRmilMb7aVk0i_h45rwEKQSX5kc/s1600/holiday+2013+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilU1WkGpHspxDeNV-n4-dSGb4vzkLEtPyhG906VJ81FZEsarzuh854k2E1V9WZNr2oy5wDzPUaYzdFU5VhU8GDJDQtzRckMDt4WGkEKIIY6Zt9QMD4mRmilMb7aVk0i_h45rwEKQSX5kc/s320/holiday+2013+back.JPG" width="223" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SX4qQ1e0J8BUGivyx5ZzRIQV8ueXqVHcmxXBIVNZsTjB0oOAW2sDu1h1u2cwPNjLk0OsYwOoz2dOSI4LvpSCL35PbcCY8BzHreqb7CWhPjqaJBcTpdipXMU3LLyBxCIzcieuzxvygF0/s1600/holiday+2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SX4qQ1e0J8BUGivyx5ZzRIQV8ueXqVHcmxXBIVNZsTjB0oOAW2sDu1h1u2cwPNjLk0OsYwOoz2dOSI4LvpSCL35PbcCY8BzHreqb7CWhPjqaJBcTpdipXMU3LLyBxCIzcieuzxvygF0/s320/holiday+2013.JPG" width="228" /></a></div>
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Enjoy this time, friends, and we'll chat more in 2014.</div>
Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-26170796282463718682013-12-09T12:02:00.001-05:002013-12-09T12:59:47.812-05:00The One Where I am a Total HypocriteA little over two months ago, <a href="http://smith-smiths.blogspot.com/2013/10/picture-day-politics.html">I wrote a post about the politics of respectability</a> and how it related to picture day in my house.<br />
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What I never came back to say was that the pictures actually came out horrible. </div>
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I know, I know. How could that be? The one I took it home before school was super cute, right?</div>
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Pardon me for a moment while I laugh and laugh.</div>
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Basically, after all of that reflection I did in October, I had to go through the same multitude of emotions and primping so that I could prepare her again, today, to do retakes.</div>
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What makes it worse, and proves to me that I still haven't learned the lesson, is that the entire process has been a cluster eff of the highest magnitude. Any one of these things would have been reason enough to just say to myself that it wasn't worth it and that I needed to just chill about the whole thing.</div>
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First, our local weather was such that the schools started on a two hour delay today, throwing everyone's schedule off.</div>
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I could lie and say that I decided to drop Playette off to school out of concern for her safety, but that wouldn't be true. </div>
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In my mind, I would take her, ask her to smile pretty, and 30 seconds later she would be on the way to class with nary a disruption.</div>
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Of course that isn't what happened.</div>
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Even though we had about five hours to get ready for school this morning, it was still crazy getting both kids out of the door. I couldn't find the bus dispatcher's number. I was googling and calling and texting, trying to give notice that I planned to take her in myself. Then, I got to the school only to find that everyone else was driving their kids in, too. Or, maybe it's always like that in the morning. I don't know. I like the bus.</div>
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Anyway.</div>
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Got the kids inside the school, got a visitor sticker, and walked Playette to her classroom. By this time, the school day had started.</div>
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I am now officially creating a huge distraction because I have a baby with me. There are many squeals of "Baby Dez!" And "Hey, that's [Playette's] mommy!"</div>
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Oops.</div>
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Not what I had in mind.</div>
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We hustled to the media center only to find out that the photographers were about 45 minutes away from being ready to start taking pictures.</div>
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Oh, but I'm no quitter. Did I take my toddler home and just hope for the best? Of course not!</div>
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Instead, I cried on the inside, knowing that between that moment and noon would be when Playette would have lunch. I also cursed myself for packing chocolate milk.</div>
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I left her in her aide's capable hands and went off to run errands with Dez to kill time. </div>
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This would've been the perfect time to say, "You know, Crittle, it's going to be fine. You really don't need to keep this up. You have plenty of other things you could be doing."</div>
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But, noooo.</div>
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I went back. Got another visitor sticker. Went back to her classroom. Caused another commotion. Smiled weakly and apologetically to her teacher. Went to the media center. Cut the line. Felt extremely embarrassed when they snapped about 20 pictures and none of them had her looking at the camera. Felt the heat rising in my face. Mumbled "Number 24 is fine. Thanks." when it really wasn't. Grabbed my kid. Thanked all of the other children for sharing their naughty elf stories with me while we waited. Dropped Playette off at PE. </div>
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And then I let the office ladies know that I would see them soon because I have to go up there for a <i>third</i> time in a shortened day to pick her up for an appointment after school.</div>
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See? Easy peasy.</div>
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[Insert massive eye roll here]<br />
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<i>Side note: A friend reminded me earlier today about my own retake story. I'll come back and write about that because it is utterly ridiculous. I've been a nut since I was a kid, apparently.</i></div>
Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-61167850871410067712013-11-02T11:41:00.001-04:002013-11-02T12:11:03.015-04:00Special to MeWe supported a 5K today. It was a fundraiser for the two teams with members with special needs on the cheerleading squad in which Playette participates. <div><br></div><div>A couple of friends from my running group joined us, which was great. The three of us did the race while BD, Playette and Dez served as cheerleaders.</div><div><br></div><div>It was a tough course. Lots of twists and turns, lots of hills, in addition to slick leaves on the trail. I also think it was probably the longest 5K I've ever run in my life.</div><div><br></div><div>But we all made it to the end. We had fun and raised money. Mission accomplished.</div><div><br></div><div>It was a bit of a walk back to the parking lot after the festivities had concluded. Playette and I were on one side of the road, laughing and joking around. On the other side of the road, there was a mother with her young daughter. As we approached the car, we crossed the street and ended up right in front of the other mother and daughter. <br></div><div><br></div><div>The little girl spoke up and asked her mother question. </div><div><br></div><div>"Is she special?"</div><div><br></div><div>Her mother didn't respond. I assumed that she was trying to formulate what to say.</div><div><br></div><div>The little girl was impatient so she turned to me and asked the same question.</div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Is she special?"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Her mother apologized, but I told her no it was perfectly fine. This was a great teachable moment.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But...I had nothing.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Crap. Here it was. My chance to say all the right things. My opportunity to teach one small child and, hopefully, make some sort of positive impression</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">. Why didn't I have the perfect words?!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So I said: "She's special to me."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I knew that was a cop-out. So I threatened my brain to come up with something better. Quickly.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I decided to engage her in conversation. I asked her if she noticed that Playette was just a little bit different than her. She said yes.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I asked her if she knew that her body was made up of lots of tiny cells. She didn't know what a cell was.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I took a different approach. I told her that when Playette was born she was given just a little something extra in her body. I told her that she was a lot like her but there was something a little different that made it take longer for her to learn certain things. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That she understood.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I told her that something different is called Down syndrome. I asked her if she knew what that was. She said no. I told her that was okay and it really didn't matter right now. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I asked her how old she was and she told me she's six. I asked her if she was in kindergarten or first grade and she told me first grade. I said,"That's great. My daughter is also six and in the first grade. You have a lot in common already."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I asked her if she was learning to read. She told me she didn't know how yet. I told her that Playette was learning to read and that when we were making all those jokes while we were walking it was because we read them in a book that she has been enjoying lately.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I asked her name and she told me. It was extremely close to Playette's actual name. She really enjoyed that coincidence. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She said, "It's like we have the same personality!"</span></div><div><br></div><div>I exhaled. </div><div><br></div><div>We had reached our destination. The girls happily said goodbye to one another and everyone parted company with a smile on their face.</div><div><br></div><div>Failure thwarted. </div><div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-78504773940644808092013-10-31T09:26:00.001-04:002013-10-31T09:26:34.341-04:00BD's Annual Post: Family<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s not often that I get to jump on the blog
and say my piece. Actually, this is the
only time each year I jump on the blog to say my piece. We all know this is not my thing, but every
once in a while (Halloween), I get overcome by the blogger spirit.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I love that everyone has a place to learn about
our experiences as they are so eloquently expressed by “The Mama”. This blog has done great things for our
family as far as connecting goes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">While our lives are nowhere near perfect, we
still love sharing some of what’s going on with the world. We’ve connected with and met some fantastic
people throughout our time on this journey.
A lot of those folks we met via blogs and the internet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There have been times of laughter and times of
sadness. There have been times were we
were apprehensive and scared about the future and what lies ahead. The support from people all around the world
is amazing. It makes us feel as if we
always have someone who cares about us and what we are dealing with. There are people out there going through
the same struggles, be it ridiculous amounts of medical appointments, school
drama, or just a crazy toddler who likes running into things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">This great Ds community, connected via the
internet, has helped us stay on the path, navigate,and continue to push forward
when life comes at us hard, as well as when things are going well. We would be lost without it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Everyone has “actual” family and “actual”
friends, and our experience and support with them is different based on the
history that came well before our entrance into the Ds world. The added support and knowing that the Ds
community all around the world, families like us everywhere, have our back makes getting out and pushing
forward through the challenges of each day so much easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So for those that read this blog, thank you for
your support. For those who write their
own blogs and share their experiences, thank you for your support.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just know we’ve got your back too, because to us
you all are family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<center>
<a href="http://mdbeau.blogspot.com/2013/09/7th-annual-31-for-21-blog-challenge.html"><img src="http://i185.photobucket.com/albums/x198/wish4rk/TTR31for21-5.png" /></a></center>
</div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://mdbeau.blogspot.com/2013/09/7th-annual-31-for-21-blog-challenge.html"></a></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-17960308466943192792013-10-30T08:37:00.000-04:002013-10-30T08:37:00.891-04:00$21 for 21 DreamsThe International Down Syndrome Coalition has always supported our family, so we have looked forward to the opportunity to do the same for them.<br />
<br />
Now is the time. Their current "Grow with Us" campaign is going on now.<br />
<br />
I've created a team page and welcome your help to reach the goal.<br />
<br />
All donors will be entered in a drawing for a moderately-valued gift card.<br />
<br />
<i>Hey. I don't have an income, remember?</i><br />
<br />
While the goal is at least $21 per person, anything helps! Bonus: it's tax-deductible.<br />
<br />
I explain it in a lot more detail here: <a href="http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/chrystal-smith-1/idsc-grow-with-us-campaign8">Playette's Peeps</a><br />
<br />
Won't you accept this challenge?<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/yYi61ZhSZ74?rel=0" width="420"></iframe></center>
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<br />
<br />Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-63670517079209505742013-10-29T13:26:00.001-04:002013-10-29T19:56:18.195-04:00Scarlet FeverI woke up this morning with every intention to send Playette to school today. She seemed like she was on the mend yesterday.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Instead, I took one look at her and it was a quick decision to take her to the ER. Her regular doctor's office didn't open until 10 today and her appearance scared the crap out of me. Her face was swollen and red, her eyes almost shut. She complained of pain and her trunk had a rash that was spreading.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think there are a couple of reasons I'm so hypervigilant when it comes to her health.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. She just doesn't get sick very often, so I don't have a lot of experience in this area. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. Ever since she was born, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop regarding her health issues. Even though I thought it was probably scarlet fever, part of me was extremely scared that it was something else. Something much worse.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>On top of that, scarlet fever just sounds ridiculously super scary to me because that's what Mary Ingalls had, <a href="http://thechart.blogs.cnn.com/2013/02/04/the-real-reason-mary-ingalls-went-blind/">or maybe not</a>, but I digress.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our hospital has a separate pediatric ER and I figured there wouldn't be much of a wait. Also, with the choice of taking her there or taking her to urgent care, for us there is no price differential to consider. So I figured I'd take her to the place that would most likely be a one-stop shop.<br />
<br />
Remember, I was thinking the worst.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Her spirits were good though, so that helped to keep me from breaking all the way down.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm not going to show you a picture of what her face looks like, because I wouldn't want her posting one of me if the tables were turned. As if to let me know her own desires, this is what happened one of the times I tried to take her picture in the exam room.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrrE7wsWmyvNS1SX33mU-8a1NQt29sdSyhc8RRk-a47M_LrShKe8CjJORTCfW4N11_o2MQR4m79H3K8dLtwW1MWGlLYMiY6C35kiyixVQdFDZp35ymE09fGyLRi9TzdxgYrA3OuJcSfU/s640/blogger-image-585817073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrrE7wsWmyvNS1SX33mU-8a1NQt29sdSyhc8RRk-a47M_LrShKe8CjJORTCfW4N11_o2MQR4m79H3K8dLtwW1MWGlLYMiY6C35kiyixVQdFDZp35ymE09fGyLRi9TzdxgYrA3OuJcSfU/s640/blogger-image-585817073.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Her throat was swabbed because the doctor agreed with my diagnosis. We both had our fingers crossed that it would come back positive for strep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Playette handled that stick to the back of the throat about 100 times better than I ever have.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While we waited for the results, Playette entertained herself by watching our <a href="http://smith-smiths.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-fam-bam.html">family picture slideshow</a> over and over again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
BD arrived and kept Dez occupied, thankfully. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The test came back positive. She immediately got a dose of antibiotics and Motrin, we were given a prescription and headed home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It looks like we are going to be spending some quality time together today and tomorrow, at a minimum.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hopefully, she'll be back on her feet and no longer contagious by Halloween. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
In the interim, I am getting more than my fill of Nick Jr.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If only amoxicillin made her sleepy...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-64966660218968895912013-10-28T22:27:00.001-04:002013-10-28T22:27:25.937-04:00"A Special Trip"That's what I told Playette we were going on today. She was home from school because she still wasn't feeling well and I had a mission that had already been planned. I decided to allow it to be a surprise. She was very into it and wanted to pack a suitcase. <div><br></div><div>It wasn't that kind of trip though.<br><div><br></div><div>When we lived in Virginia Beach, we made friends with a family that had quite a bit in common with ours. They lived only a couple of minutes away, both of us are Navy families, and we each had one child with Down syndrome. We even shared therapists.</div><div><br></div><div>The kids got along famously. I've written about how Playette used to call her friend "Pillow" because she couldn't pronounce his name. </div><div><br></div><div>When it was time for us to move, it was a difficult transition.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5w0JTeGl0LXr7CmPGxAnonn0DNq2XDOwQCcVCigVL-oo4S-PCpfiQqSCJELsBRGcJuufBp4XD9LGZebffEuqz9vnlOtE6erjY4dNBwYWY5SKP1U29tTbzmqRp40KRHRQaddcMG9L3Imo/s640/blogger-image--2051693117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5w0JTeGl0LXr7CmPGxAnonn0DNq2XDOwQCcVCigVL-oo4S-PCpfiQqSCJELsBRGcJuufBp4XD9LGZebffEuqz9vnlOtE6erjY4dNBwYWY5SKP1U29tTbzmqRp40KRHRQaddcMG9L3Imo/s640/blogger-image--2051693117.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As recently as Friday, Playette was asking about him. She does that often. She really misses him and will even call other boys by his name.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Before we did move, we added Dez to our family. And then this spring, their family added a new son as well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As a matter of fact, a couple of other mamas who also had only children welcomed boys to their families as well. Must've been something in the water down there. It's nice that we can share this new experience together, even if only virtually. It is hugely different having a typically-developing child after your first child has Down syndrome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So, while talking to my friend a while back, I realized that I could very easily pass along baby clothes to her as Dez outgrew them. The only problem was that we no longer lived anywhere near one another and the amount of clothing was growing by the week.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since she was visiting family about two hours away from where we live now, we decided to meet in the middle to do the exchange today. While it wasn't part of the original plan to bring Playette, I was really glad that she'd be able to participate after all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All I needed to do was make it across a bridge that scares the everloving crap out of me. Twice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I did it. Twice. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That's how you know these folks are special.</div><br></div><div>It took the kids a little time to warm up to each other again, but it went well. We sat at a rest stop picnic table and the kids shared snacks while the mamas talked. </div><div><br></div><div>I needed that. </div><div><br></div><div>And they're just too cute together. </div><div><br></div><div>Doesn't he look like a mack?!</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXPJ143oNPPF7u6s1fSRtVJ4uajmPCMk4leFJadwKzUfwHRd0DjVbIElv8e9YJSYVVOBymHUvcKEH0tQdlMOPxFPoPy5nsCShSguPmGq-7cb4o68Iroi_AqQvtjXGg92YigH8K-SJDnE/s640/blogger-image--131432364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXPJ143oNPPF7u6s1fSRtVJ4uajmPCMk4leFJadwKzUfwHRd0DjVbIElv8e9YJSYVVOBymHUvcKEH0tQdlMOPxFPoPy5nsCShSguPmGq-7cb4o68Iroi_AqQvtjXGg92YigH8K-SJDnE/s640/blogger-image--131432364.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The whole gang.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRC1TsxLYwTv8WqpD-U1IpGryBLOGPo1awjdCJf5-zNMdZlDKTx9AdPGQNG6_XWdJ0PiUSH1Sp6DmQ753SqHyCE-FnCnukS6EUlUGx33wS9tUy7vsDOoKFbRQv1OllVi_hmfxigc-0cxs/s640/blogger-image--812442210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRC1TsxLYwTv8WqpD-U1IpGryBLOGPo1awjdCJf5-zNMdZlDKTx9AdPGQNG6_XWdJ0PiUSH1Sp6DmQ753SqHyCE-FnCnukS6EUlUGx33wS9tUy7vsDOoKFbRQv1OllVi_hmfxigc-0cxs/s640/blogger-image--812442210.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-24359414205579891482013-10-27T20:25:00.001-04:002013-10-27T20:25:13.401-04:00Final StretchI can't believe it's already the 27th. <div><br></div><div>Usually, by this time in 31 for 21, I would have posted at least once about not having any ideas or would have been asking for suggestions.</div><div><br></div><div>I don't know if it's different this year because life is so crazy or what. It feels like I've just had plenty of things to talk about. Or, maybe I'm just a lot more relaxed about sharing what's on my heart?</div><div><br></div><div>Nothing earth-shattering to report tonight. We stayed busy this weekend, as usual. Friday, BD and I went to a social meeting hosted by our homeowners association. </div><div><br></div><div>Saturday morning, Playette had cheerleading practice and I went on my first long run in quite some time. After those two activities were completed, we all piled in the car and went to a college football game. The kids had a great time tailgating. Dez was not happy being confined to a seat, so after the first half I just walked circles with him around the stadium, hoping he would eventually fall asleep.</div><div><br></div><div>He didn't, but no worries. It was still a nice afternoon.</div><div><br></div><div>Playette, on the other hand, did fall asleep at the tailgate party and we recognized that something must be amiss so we came home shortly thereafter.</div><div><br></div><div>She went right to bed, but gave us a courtesy call at 2 AM, letting us know that we had some cleanup work to do. She hardly ever gets sick, so it's hard to complain.</div><div><br></div><div>This morning, our wonderful sitter came over so that BD and I could go cheer for the Marine Corps Marathon participants. I had a great time and was happy to be able to be there for some people I know personally, in addition to approximately 30,000 strangers. The energy was amazing and I may have shed a few tears.</div><div><br></div><div>I was super excited for them all, but I still don't want to run a marathon.</div><div><br></div><div>Speaking of running, I've been doing okay lately. I haven't stayed as consistent as I would like, but I am making improvements along the way. I have a 5K coming up on November 2 and a 10K on November 9. That will do it for 2013 for me. It's already time to start planning for next year.</div><div><br></div><div>Tomorrow, I'm hoping to get the chance to set up a team for the IDSC Grow With Us Campaign. When I'm done, I will post a link here so you can read more about it.</div><div><br></div><div>I cannot thank you all enough for following along on this journey. I know sometimes I'm quiet, and other times I'm boring, but I appreciate each and every one of you and your support. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm tired, so now that the kids are in their beds and no one is screaming, I think I'll crack open one of our 96 treasure chest beers and hang on the couch with BD for a bit.</div><div><br></div><div>Until tomorrow…</div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-34833035887137155652013-10-26T10:18:00.004-04:002013-10-26T10:18:56.224-04:00The Fam BamThis made me smile...and cackle.<br />
<br />
I hope you enjoy.<br />
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<a href="http://video214.com/play/iAtCpL6U44fs0UPZZ0wGZg/s/dark">The Smith-Smith Family Photo Shoot, 2013</a><br />
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<i>Courtesy of <a href="http://www.thecapturedlife.com/index2.php">The Captured Life Photography</a></i>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-70836720110936576052013-10-25T22:58:00.001-04:002013-10-25T23:02:02.322-04:00UpdateSo, about today's meeting...<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC29A29NGFN11IAMqES4dQx4GHIMIa-eV-rpRd6K5EjvGo4RcshHXflUZOfmFxQrsSFY4rtCThAraOQhsg0peATL_FcCxrXkdS_nb2T78gjyff1uiZtZ7oPMa9g_3Rvgl0iWVbH6U05OA/s640/blogger-image-9723895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC29A29NGFN11IAMqES4dQx4GHIMIa-eV-rpRd6K5EjvGo4RcshHXflUZOfmFxQrsSFY4rtCThAraOQhsg0peATL_FcCxrXkdS_nb2T78gjyff1uiZtZ7oPMa9g_3Rvgl0iWVbH6U05OA/s640/blogger-image-9723895.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Good tissues! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But, thankfully, I didn't need them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'd like to, again, thank everyone who offered advice and a virtual shoulder to lean on. I went in with a sense of confidence, ready to listen objectively to what was going to be said. I was prepared in my mind to not replace anything I knew to be true about my daughter with a label or a percentage.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In a nutshell, it went about as well as it possibly could have. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Within the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), there are a thirteen categories under which a student can qualify for special education services. For the purpose of this discussion, I will use the word "label" when referencing the category.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I was fighting against the "Intellectual Disability" label prior to the testing because I didn't want it to possibly pigeonhole Playette in the future (some people form an opinion of a person upon seeing that label and can't move past it, impacting placement, level of support, expectations, etc). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I had suggested "Other Health Impairment" or "Speech or Language Impairment" but the rest of the team wasn't convinced.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As it turns out, based on Playette's scores, the ID label isn't the the most accurate option after all. It's not clear which one best relates to her situation and that doesn't surprise me a bit, knowing my kid the way I do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We will discuss further and decide on the most appropriate label at the next IEP meeting in two weeks. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Seems like a lot of time and effort for a label. The services won't change. She's still the same kid. And I hate the whole label deal, regardless. But I kinda get it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I do feel like I'm missing something though. Is the label just a means to an end? Label drives funding, right? If so, what difference does it make which one it is? Does one label secure more funding than another?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It feels like every time one question gets answered, so many more pop up.</div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-22560251031744687152013-10-24T20:16:00.001-04:002013-10-25T11:17:51.408-04:00What's the worst that could happen?I am just a glutton for punishment.<div><br></div><div>Against my better judgment, I consented to having Playette submitted to cognitive testing.</div><div><br></div><div>For years, I always felt like I would, and should, give an emphatic "no!" when asked.</div><div><br></div><div>And then I caved. </div><div><br></div><div>In our last meeting, I was convinced by the team that everything would be fine. It was simply her time to be evaluated and I also recognized that in this state to avoid doing so would mean going through a lot of hoops. And fighting.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm just not of the mindset to fight right now.</div><div><br></div><div>So, I said yes. </div><div><br></div><div>I came home and filled out my part. One online assessment tool and another paper packet that seemed ridiculously obsolete and irrelevant.</div><div><br></div><div>Before I get myself all riled up, the point of this post is to share that tomorrow morning I'm going to meet with the school psychologist and learn the results.</div><div><br></div><div>Needless to say, I'm not looking forward to it.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not used to asking for help,</div><div>but tonight I am. I need coping techniques. I need to know what to do when faced with scores on a paper that try to tell me all my daughter <i>isn't</i> when I know in my heart all that she <i>is</i>.</div><div><br></div><div>Do I cry or do I remain stoic?</div><div><br></div><div>Do I try to make a joke out of it or do I sit quietly?</div><div><br></div><div>I'm guessing that running from the room screaming is out of the question.</div><div><br></div><div>I hate this part. </div><div><br></div><div>And then there's the feeling that I brought it all on myself. I could've bucked up and said no, but I didn't. And now it's too late and whatever those tests concluded will be in her file forever. This will be the first thing that many people learn about her and base decisions and placement on (even through they shouldn't).</div><div><br></div><div>Oh, what a pessimist I am, huh?</div><div><br></div><div>For all anyone knows, she may be eligible for Mensa.</div><div><br></div><div>Oh, God.</div><div><br></div><div>That psychologist better have some good tissues in her office. I'm talking extra soft with lotion and everything.</div><div><br></div><div>At least that way everything doesn't have to hurt.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-53184780589214280282013-10-23T22:59:00.001-04:002013-10-23T23:13:09.503-04:00Love NotesPlayette loves a good note. <div><br></div><div>When I put one in her lunchbox as a surprise, she gets very excited when she finds it. She watches me intently when I write notes to her teacher every Tuesday regarding her need for a change in dismissal routine. Her eyes light up when BD leaves her a message on the easel in the kitchen.</div><div><br></div><div>When I need just a little break for clarity's sake and I tell her to sit down with her magna doodle, she immediately will start to write "notes" to all kinds of people, for all kinds of reasons. These are not particularly easy to discern. She knows what they say though.</div><div><br></div><div>This morning, I came downstairs expecting to find her in her usual seat at the counter in the kitchen where BD typically sets her up with a bowl of cereal or oatmeal before he leaves for work. </div><div><br></div><div>My heart stopped for a moment when she wasn't there. I called her name and she answered, but I couldn't see her. I was very confused for a few seconds and then I realized where she was.</div><div><br></div><div>I found her seated on the floor on the other side of the island from where I had been standing. She was quiet and there didn't look to be any chaos or broken items, so I began to relax.</div><div><br></div><div>But then I noticed what she had: a pen. Oh, no.</div><div><br></div><div>The panic returned. What did she write on?</div><div><br></div><div>She proudly held out to me the answer to my question. It was a very small spiral notebook with a purple plastic cover. I recognized it because for the last couple of months I've been using it to record everything I eat. (That's a whole story in itself that maybe I will share later.)</div><div><br></div><div>"No big deal," I thought. Whatever she wrote really couldn't have hurt anything. I felt grateful that the only damage was contained in a $0.99 item purchased from CVS.</div><div><br></div><div>As I began to take out the items I needed for breakfast and her lunch, I casually flipped through the notebook. I had to laugh.</div><div><br></div><div>First, she tagged it. She wrote her name and she wrote the word "Book." I've never seen her write like this before - y'know, spontaneously and appropriately. Usually, she'll just write what one of us dictates. I was actually really happy! </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOIx_lhJ5PxX8kOJVtOn_qsVvOn33-mY7-6F4HjIunLqF-K3gCvkpufUliyrGJ0Eg-_YIBP9oHA8Z1utTr-z4OUAcKTd7R6FYH6yatT_O0592pc_XFHQdxWfPYK9atifbk5QBL2xRKr0k/s640/blogger-image--1155749898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOIx_lhJ5PxX8kOJVtOn_qsVvOn33-mY7-6F4HjIunLqF-K3gCvkpufUliyrGJ0Eg-_YIBP9oHA8Z1utTr-z4OUAcKTd7R6FYH6yatT_O0592pc_XFHQdxWfPYK9atifbk5QBL2xRKr0k/s640/blogger-image--1155749898.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">This is so her though. She is extremely territorial, even with stuff that doesn't actually belong to her.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This next one was pretty cute because when she says that she loves me she says it like "I love-a you."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvdmdSxK2Iv9gMA0HLv9-7HZUOFUrfKOIYEuCgrHEMZZ3HQWq8Wx8XXzmoLnlRzkcJVLzGClD2C2Oaik-hqEOFNEjZjTuaqBauErBRqrgw0JfWm1PavJgYJmQSOUcc7e5XK7SUYHGR7I/s640/blogger-image-303570193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvdmdSxK2Iv9gMA0HLv9-7HZUOFUrfKOIYEuCgrHEMZZ3HQWq8Wx8XXzmoLnlRzkcJVLzGClD2C2Oaik-hqEOFNEjZjTuaqBauErBRqrgw0JfWm1PavJgYJmQSOUcc7e5XK7SUYHGR7I/s640/blogger-image-303570193.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So, either she's writing it the way she hears it or what looks like an "a" is actually a "u".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Maybe I will ask her to read it to me tomorrow and see what she says.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Either way, I love-a it.</div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-90906118591785165842013-10-22T20:32:00.001-04:002013-10-22T20:32:39.393-04:00The Tea PartyThis post is not at all about politics.<div><br></div><div>No, wait. Maybe a little. But not in the way that you may be thinking.</div><div><br></div><div>Since first grade started a couple of months ago, we have been dealing with Playette exhibiting some undesirable behaviors at school.</div><div><br></div><div>She wasn't doing anything horrible, but our situation lends itself to a certain level of anxiety for people like me, even when she does things that aren't all of that different from the average student. </div><div><br></div><div>I've seen and heard other parents of children who have special needs and are fully included share similar feelings. </div><div><br></div><div>I know it's not supposed to be like this, but it's like we are waiting for someone to say that our children don't belong there, that they have done something that prevents them from continuing to earn that seat in the classroom, accessing the general education curriculum.</div><div><br></div><div>I would sit at home the last couple of months and wait for the phone call that requested a meeting or an email that said this placement was just not going to work anymore. </div><div><br></div><div>It happens, y'all. It happens all the time. It shouldn't, but it does. And all of us who live in the world of IEPs are aware of it. So we wonder and we worry and maybe we also put unrealistic expectations out there for our children, hoping that they will prove to everyone just how wrong they really are.</div><div><br></div><div>The fact remains that our kids are sometimes judged unfairly. They are overly scrutinized. They are held to different standards simply because they are not average. </div><div><br></div><div>This topic reminds me of a presentation that I saw over the summer at the last NDSC convention. The session was called "Doing the Detective Work to Create Positive Behavior Change" and it was led by Mr. Scott Shepherd. The following slides truly resonated with me.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEZgQdzgSUXvUxlGDQ80dYtB2-_QBR-dgwqg7T8_hYz5Dqaks5RtedOhgEZn7J1bHoWWxZuD8mVicpE39Gd_4dTpZHI0qM5qR1Lmb9aPxGzGotBF_PRT6Fs1n_-eHn184yM7OD0dgrxo/s640/blogger-image-707421879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEZgQdzgSUXvUxlGDQ80dYtB2-_QBR-dgwqg7T8_hYz5Dqaks5RtedOhgEZn7J1bHoWWxZuD8mVicpE39Gd_4dTpZHI0qM5qR1Lmb9aPxGzGotBF_PRT6Fs1n_-eHn184yM7OD0dgrxo/s640/blogger-image-707421879.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>This was exactly it. I had never seen it put quite this way before and unfortunately this is the approach that many people take when it comes to interacting with people with special needs. There's this cloak of pessimism that is draped over every action. </div><div><br></div><div>So, with all this in mind, I was scared. I was nervous about what that would it would mean for Playette if we couldn't get to the root of her issues. </div><div><br></div><div>I womaned up and crawled out of my proverbial hidey-hole and initiated some conversations. Some modifications were made. Accommodations were put in place. And then it hit me. What was it that she really wanted? What could we use as an incentive?</div><div><br></div><div>A tea party.</div><div><br></div><div>And you know what? It's working. For the past two weeks, she has had more good days then not-so-good days. She is earning all kinds of cute and fanciful stickers. I have every book in our library system that even references tea parties either in our house or on hold. I have supplies waiting to be turned into a large poster where all of her daily awards can be displayed.</div><div><br></div><div>I never in my life thought I would be bribing my child. So, instead I will call it "positive behavior reinforcement."</div><div><br></div><div>Ah, that feels better.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure when or where this party will be. I guess I need to get on the ball with making an actual plan. At some point, she's going to get tired of the stickers and want something to actually take place.</div><div><br></div><div>I am not a crafty mom or a girly-girl, so this is going to really be outside of my comfort zone.</div><div><br></div><div>But, hey, what else is new?</div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-29143792758119292242013-10-21T08:56:00.001-04:002013-10-21T10:13:34.607-04:00SpaceI try to give Playette opportunities to make good decisions. Sometimes it works, sometimes she shows me that she still needs me to stay close by.<div><br></div><div>And then there are other days that she shows me that something she can typically do on her own, all of the sudden she doesn't feel like doing. I try my hardest to chalk that up to her simply being a six-year-old child. I shouldn't take it to heart.</div><div><br></div><div>She'd rather play than get dressed. She'd rather use the iPad than find her shoes. She wanted to wear a coat that just isn't necessary today.</div><div><br></div><div>Those examples are just a glimpse into our morning.</div><div><br></div><div>I was frustrated, to say the least. Trying to manage all of the logistics that go into successfully getting her to school each day can be difficult. And then you add in a very demanding toddler. Things can get hectic at times.</div><div><br></div><div>The thing is, though, I know she's capable. I know that so many things that are going on right now are due to jealousy and seeking attention, which is typical with a relatively new sibling, especially after having us to herself for so long. </div><div><br></div><div>It's just a phase, but it's taking longer to resolve than I had anticipated.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes I need a "woo-sah" moment, a chance to exhale and put it all into perspective.</div><div><br></div><div>So I gave myself that today. And her as well. A chance to work on building confidence...for both of us.</div><div><br></div><div>She walked herself to the bus, looked back to wave, and was on her way.</div><div><br></div><div>That felt good.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oc9S3U2sfnStXfBMADgXnMTT-ZL4Ky_CQXNSrLQXSMeVImkI2ugCAqcIA12IFPNoILniG3D71BtKw0VhoZWCORmEWz8hGnu9kp4nZKd99allnSTHIQ32r2SS-yLciES9OApy5qAv1eo/s640/blogger-image-2089728796.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oc9S3U2sfnStXfBMADgXnMTT-ZL4Ky_CQXNSrLQXSMeVImkI2ugCAqcIA12IFPNoILniG3D71BtKw0VhoZWCORmEWz8hGnu9kp4nZKd99allnSTHIQ32r2SS-yLciES9OApy5qAv1eo/s640/blogger-image-2089728796.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-88118974259356942732013-10-20T15:29:00.001-04:002013-10-20T22:55:02.953-04:00HarvestingDoes anyone else follow Oprah on Instagram like I do? When she's not busy going on safari or hanging with celebs, she's harvesting her bountiful crops of fruits and vegetables. I'm so ridiculously jealous. The money I would save in avocados alone!<div><br></div><div>We have tried out hand at gardening. I guess if I'm being honest, I should say that BD does most of the actual work and I just say what I want to eventually come out of the ground. I'm also semi-helpful at pulling weeds and being a decent companion on nursery trips. </div><div><br></div><div>So far, we've gotten that one big sunflower I mentioned, a ton of mint, a handful of lettuce, a dinner's worth of string beans and...<br><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOjGKutzEAW8hyJA88NBG3mzaAxGQaKW7mjZUojjwMZvmAYWknojd7yB_9aW1Q2vGLYUTYxVkZRjROhd2vZxz9eJKiQrZpU0BwhBgojn-Ojlq7NkWHZhOmYdsulWTqDxONWEVReu8zlQ/s640/blogger-image-1906666570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOjGKutzEAW8hyJA88NBG3mzaAxGQaKW7mjZUojjwMZvmAYWknojd7yB_9aW1Q2vGLYUTYxVkZRjROhd2vZxz9eJKiQrZpU0BwhBgojn-Ojlq7NkWHZhOmYdsulWTqDxONWEVReu8zlQ/s640/blogger-image-1906666570.jpg"></a></div> </div></div><div>Carrots! Today we got carrots! </div><div><br></div><div>Excuse me while I go invite Ms. Winfrey over for brunch. </div><div><br></div><div>Think I won't?!</div><div><br></div><div><i>That reminds me, I've been posting photos more frequently lately because BD told me that he likes the way it comes up in his reader when I do. That's obviously a huge priority for me. (snort)</i></div><div><br></div><div><i>If you're interested in seeing pics after this month, I'd recommend following me on IG. That's usually where I post things these days. It's a private page, so try and give me a clue who you are if you're game.</i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div><i>My handle is the first part of my email address, as seen in the sidebar on the right. Six letters.</i></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-38057968702503293222013-10-19T15:21:00.001-04:002013-10-19T15:21:19.871-04:00Better than ChristmasI love today. <div><br></div><div>IT'S FAMILY PICTURE DAY!</div><div><br></div><div>Anyone who has ever been to our house can tell you, I love and appreciate great photography and I'm fortunate to have some very talented friends who enable me.</div><div><br></div><div>We have just one picture on our Wall o' Faces of the four of us. It was taken at the NDSC Convention in 2012 and Dez is tucked into his sling, his three-month-old face barely visible.</div><div><br></div><div>Very soon, that will change and I'm excited for the new images. </div><div><br></div><div>Here's a peek. BD took this one after we were done and about to pile into the car.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5OAmVcmAmdGW8I_5ImreTNconCnjSmQ_hr3tm-4abJ41fyZQGNEpato4A38Ne70qJ-IzHeDzyAyVambJZz_AlwNeou7DYjjWwwfzd1goswURq9NZfAcAcxOQiT08HUhSagCRYWUS4iw/s640/blogger-image-2044334384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5OAmVcmAmdGW8I_5ImreTNconCnjSmQ_hr3tm-4abJ41fyZQGNEpato4A38Ne70qJ-IzHeDzyAyVambJZz_AlwNeou7DYjjWwwfzd1goswURq9NZfAcAcxOQiT08HUhSagCRYWUS4iw/s640/blogger-image-2044334384.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Next up: pretzel dogs! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Best. Saturday. Ever.</div><br></div><div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-35486540342518823542013-10-18T21:07:00.001-04:002013-10-18T21:07:52.076-04:00Paying It ForwardEvery time I think something I feel like sharing doesn't have anything to do with Down syndrome, turns out it kind it does.<div><br></div><div>It's not like I'm thinking about the extra chromosome all the time, it's just that we've made so many connections that Ds is just kind of part of who we are now. It encompasses our friendships and our activities. Things like that. Not like a cloak, but more like a sheer overlay.</div><div><br></div><div>Today, I was thinking about how my children just don't seem to be getting along as often as I would like. Dez is fiercely independent as is his big sister, and they just seem to want the same things at the same time.</div><div><br></div><div>One thing that they share is their love of all things Signing Time.<br><div><br></div><div>Playette didn't experience Baby SigningTime because we didn't know about it back then. We watched what was on PBS at the time and we ran with it. So, once Dez got to the point of being able to learn ASL, we exposed them both to the series. Playette also took it upon herself to teach her brother some very useful signs. I'm shocked by how many he knows now. It's really cool to see how excited he is with his newfound knowledge. </div><div><br></div><div>Would we, as a family, know ASL, if it were not for Playette's diagnosis and, with it, a strong possibility of a speech delay? Possibly not.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlnVZrRzgqoP6_ovhIYkQAo7x7BXCkCbJWBDvgE3AMPGgxXylo6HoCsq1NQIj1adtv8BdbQsDo1HWsxDIblFpoXS_tOMHPtmuP4tgtDYBkJvNWO0JRD6axXXPiwbacZ2kHb8nwYXjB_s/s640/blogger-image--253067439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlnVZrRzgqoP6_ovhIYkQAo7x7BXCkCbJWBDvgE3AMPGgxXylo6HoCsq1NQIj1adtv8BdbQsDo1HWsxDIblFpoXS_tOMHPtmuP4tgtDYBkJvNWO0JRD6axXXPiwbacZ2kHb8nwYXjB_s/s640/blogger-image--253067439.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Bless Rachel and her two little taped up hands.</div><div><br></div><div>She has given this mama the gift of Exhale.</div><div><br></div><div><i>They actually look like civilized citizens in that picture. That says a lot</i>.</div><div><br><div><br></div><div><br></div></div></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-30642102404964659082013-10-17T21:30:00.001-04:002013-10-17T21:30:56.215-04:00"Nafer"I'm not quite done with speech yet. Please bear with me.<div><br></div><div>So, you know how I have been stressing lately about my child's challenge with articulation? Well, right after pouring my heart out for two days in a row about it, this happened…</div><div><br></div><div>It was early in the morning and I was getting the children ready for the day. Playette was and Dez's room with him while I stepped out to grab something from her room. They were looking out of the window at our neighbor's house across the street. The neighbors were getting some work done so there was a really tall ladder in their driveway.</div><div><br></div><div>My children were oblivious to the fact that they could not be seen or heard three stories up. So what did I hear Playette say? </div><div><br></div><div>"Hi, nafer! (pause) Neigh. Bor. Neighbor."</div><div><br></div><div>She didn't know that I heard her.</div><div><br></div><div>This is huge, y'all. This means that she's paying attention. I always knew that she tries so hard, but this was just what I needed to remind me of how capable she really is in this area. It's all in her own timing, but she's taking it all in, processing it, and making progress.</div><div><br></div><div>Usually, when she addresses or refers to the neighbors when we're outside she says "nafer." I stop and gently correct her and break the word down. </div><div><br></div><div>I know that she knows the sound that a horse makes, so I ask her and she says "neigh." </div><div><br></div><div>I know that she knows the proper reaction to cold temperatures, so I ask her and she says "brr."</div><div><br></div><div>I ask her to put those two sounds together and she says..."nafer."</div><div><br></div><div>This has been going on for quite some time. But, in every instance, we repeat the same dialogue. </div><div><br></div><div>This time though, she got it. There was no pressure, no fear of disappointing anyone. Maybe that's the key? I don't know. </div><div><br></div><div>Does she speak clearly when no one is around? </div><div><br></div><div>If a tree falls in the woods...</div><div><br></div><div>I know the words are in there. It just takes more effort on her part. And so many times, she's so excited about what she has to say, that she doesn't slow down and take the time to parcel out her phrases. It's a difficult lesson to learn…for both of us, I think.</div><div><br></div><div>So when I heard that wonderful word, "neighbor," I ran into her room, picked her up, and swung her around. I gave her hugs, kisses, and high-fives. I celebrated like it was every holiday rolled into one.</div><div><br></div><div>You'd think that after six years that I would get it. That I wouldn't stress out, or cry, or worry so much. You'd think that I would know to just be patient and allow that amazing feeling to happen when it all just clicks.</div><div><br></div><div>Because it does happen. </div><div><br></div><div>I'll keep trying. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not there yet, but I want to be.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-4952580921376178492013-10-16T22:01:00.001-04:002013-10-16T22:01:15.981-04:00Time FliesIt seems like yesterday that Playette was an only child and I would wonder what her life with a sibling could be like. We had nearly five years as a family of three.<div><br></div><div>And then there he was. Late, big, loud. All things that were new and different. Exciting and intimidating.</div><div><br></div><div>He challenges me. He scares me. He surprises me. He loves me. (He told me so!)</div><div><br></div><div>This whole raising a child who lacks a diagnosis? Mind boggling. I have so many things to say about it, but then I wonder if only parents who first had an only child with Ds will be able to relate. </div><div><br></div><div>It's different. Not better or worse, but so entirely not the same.</div><div><br></div><div>I often wonder if it is girl/boy, first/second, M/D, 47/46...</div><div><br></div><div>Who knows.</div><div><br></div><div>They're unique, obviously.</div><div><br></div><div>This second born boy of mine named Dez with 46 chromosomes has been rocking our world for 18 months now. </div><div><br></div><div>Wow. Just wow.</div><div><br></div><div>Love him.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHM4YhJJQr66u4cBwmH-gCBhnUXKQnZQ4taXXcjF1xCtVjIlDgyTHySlA6bSfl76rRYiszapdZHWvYgSJyaojt-mSLazEItWNto9UOruqv88ZBQ_26d5JfRe8Bh8ugwbEUR_-NT1v07NI/s640/blogger-image-647647517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHM4YhJJQr66u4cBwmH-gCBhnUXKQnZQ4taXXcjF1xCtVjIlDgyTHySlA6bSfl76rRYiszapdZHWvYgSJyaojt-mSLazEItWNto9UOruqv88ZBQ_26d5JfRe8Bh8ugwbEUR_-NT1v07NI/s640/blogger-image-647647517.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-28425102775748753772013-10-15T20:46:00.001-04:002013-10-15T20:50:50.673-04:00RecapI thought about skipping writing anything personal tonight. I'm just not in the best of moods. I'm tired and completely at a loss over how to do better when it comes to my daughter. I keep coming up with things I could've done differently. I feel like I'm not equipped to protect her.<div><br></div><div>That's a pretty crappy feeling.</div><div><br></div><div>Anyway. </div><div><br></div><div>Yesterday, while I had BD home for the holiday, we attacked our storage closet. We've lived here for a little over a year and unpacked about 90% of our belongings within the first 30 days, but that last 10%...well, it was behind a closed door, so we left it there.</div><div><br></div><div>It felt good to be productive. I still have some sorting and placing to do, but the bulk of the work is taken care of. I'm excited to have a place to put my stockpile. I've been taking on couponing again as a hobby lately. I probably need to get out more, but this is my version of fun. Plus, I love to save money. Double bonus.</div><div><br></div><div>Playette had an early dismissal day, so we went and picked her up and drove to the ENT. The doctor was really nice and spent a ton of time with us. It was a tight space with a lot of people in it. The four of us, the doctor, her PA, and a medical student from NYU. I asked lots of questions and she gave us lots of options.</div><div><br></div><div>We've always been very fortunate with Playette's health. She hasn't had even a small procedure done. She doesn't have many of the medical issues that are typically associated with Down syndrome. </div><div><br></div><div>This is great, of course, but it does make things slightly difficult when it comes time to address what her challenges <i>are</i>. For example, with this speech delay of hers, a lot of people see improvement in that area once the child has had ear tubes inserted. But she's never needed them.</div><div><br></div><div>Next up, what about tonsils and adenoids? It's pretty common to have those removed. That could decrease congestion, amongst other things.</div><div>Again, not her issue. Nor is sleep apnea. Or reflux. Or a multitude of other things that are really common and have relatively straightforward courses of treatment in a lot of cases.</div><div><br></div><div>So what is it? Why has she not outgrown her aspiration?</div><div><br></div><div>The latest thought is that she may have a laryngeal cleft. When we spoke to the doctor about how this could be confirmed and then treated, we were told that it is a multi-step process and it may not even end up being what she needs.</div><div><br></div><div>At the end of the day, thickening liquid is not that bad. After four years, we're old pros. So we will just sit back and observe and if there's ever another, more pressing reason to have her go under anesthesia, then we can consider also taking a look at the anatomy of her throat at that time.</div><div><br></div><div>Fun stuff, right?</div><div><br></div><div>Imagine having this conversation while Dez is also in the closet-sized room screaming his head off because we (gasp!) won't let him repeatedly throw BD's phone in the trash.</div><div><br></div><div>Playette handled the appointment like a champ. She earned a sticker and was quite happy even though Ariel was not her first choice. Once I started singing "Under the Sea," she became instantly content. It's the least I could do.</div><div><br></div><div>And because on Saturday night, we couldn't find a picture between us of both of our kids standing side-by-side, I was happy to catch them doing so today. </div><div><br></div><div>Happy mid-month to you:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieiZ1Uof5072NTdzYDybWgY0LO8Pgm-IfrVkEqIRmU7VwQhW8UlggTb0kuwnptsqehRTb9-hsVeoU83OmiAFFpgqzJLp5YwVdzEEV8lf4jOuUJpsebCXRyGGhU05a7690N1-Tov7nytu4/s640/blogger-image--1718994599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieiZ1Uof5072NTdzYDybWgY0LO8Pgm-IfrVkEqIRmU7VwQhW8UlggTb0kuwnptsqehRTb9-hsVeoU83OmiAFFpgqzJLp5YwVdzEEV8lf4jOuUJpsebCXRyGGhU05a7690N1-Tov7nytu4/s640/blogger-image--1718994599.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561933350396407754.post-40048240302860656082013-10-14T20:26:00.001-04:002013-10-14T20:26:59.806-04:00MisunderstoodSpeech. It's a biggie for me. It's such a divider amongst children, which is becoming more and more apparent to me.<div><br></div><div>Some kids don't want to play with my daughter because they can't understand her. Her receptive language skills are just fine, but she is challenged by articulation. She has so much to say, but it doesn't come out in a clear manner. It's jumbled and slurred - jargon - mixed in with a sprinkle of words that just happen to be really clear. If you know sign language, sometimes you can put together the context clues.</div><div><br></div><div>She gets speech services in school and we also pay for private therapy. Her struggles aren't due to lack of effort.</div><div><br></div><div>There are kids that don't care and they include her, which is nice. I'm very grateful for them. </div><div><br></div><div>But when she gets run away from or ignored by other children or keeps trying when they don't want her around...it just breaks my heart.</div><div><br></div><div>I don't know how to handle it. I can't be there all the time to act as facilitator.</div><div><br></div><div>One day she's going to notice and it'll break her heart, too. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Crittlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08868628035597050680noreply@blogger.com2