Influenced

Playette has been in a typical daycare or preschool environment for nearly four years now.

Our purpose in going that route was to expose her to other children, since she had no siblings at home, and get some positive influences from her typically developing peers.

For the most part, we've been pleased. She's great at playing and learning amongst other children and has plenty of friends that she asks for by name. She also has friends with varying unique needs. We're all about equal opportunity over here. One of her buddies in her class last year in CA uses a wheelchair and I loved that, to Playette, she was just one of the gang. Which is as it should be.

Many adults could stand to learn a lot from these kiddos.

Along with the great stuff, we get some gems that we know can only have come from being in school.

The latest is the evolution from "uh-oh" to "OOOOOHHHHHHH!"

It cracks me up. Let's say you drop something. She is quick to point and yell, "OOOOOHHHHHHH!"

Like she caught you do something wrong and she's about to tell or as a warning that you're about to get in big trouble.

It's funny because, really...how much trouble am I apt to be in for dropping my keys? And who is going to punish me for that offense, exactly?

I love that little nut.

=====

We just got in from vacation last night, so we're buried in washing tons of warm-weather gear while also trying to put together something that resembles Christmas morning for the kidlet.

Sure it's two days later and after 6pm.

How much you wanna bet she won't care?

More later...

Girls' Night In

BD went out to hang with some work folks tonight, so it was just me and the Littlest.

She ate spaghetti and then tossed some of it back up on the office carpet.

Good times, good times.

Thankfully, it got better after that.

There was some Dora watching and then I convinced her that a movie would be a good idea. She relented and after donning her pjs, we finally snuggled in on the couch and watched Tangled.

First magical thing of the night: She stayed awake the entire time, paid attention, and seemed to love it.

Second magical thing of the night: While walking her up to bed, she ALTERNATED HER FREAKING FEET ON THE STEPS!!! ALL THE WAY UP!!

Man, it's been a long time since we've have a bonafide big-ass milestone around here.

There's gotta be a technical term for this. Where's FNPT when I need her?

So I'm excited.

CAN YOU TELL?!?!?!?!

I don't really know how to calm down about this. I mean, I've never seen her do it. It's pretty flipping amazing. To me, at least. And that's perfectly ok.

I don't know when other kids do this kind of thing, whether they have 46 or 47 chromos, no matter.

BECAUSE MY KID.

SHE DID THIS.

TONIGHT!

All the while saying "left, right, left, right..."

Can you tell I'm proud?

I'm so stinkin' proud.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what having a kid with Ds gets you...

Insanely happy.

Everything happens. Just in its own time.

For My Next Trick...

I've been quiet again, for good reason.

It's not that I try to be busy. Or that I'm looking to win the Craziest Life Award.

Really, I'd be ok with a little boring normalcy, trust.

So, today, I finished my second week at work. I can't really say second full week because week one got a late start due to the hurricane that came through this area and then week two started with a holiday. Add to that the fact that we got out early last Friday and I had to take off at noon today and I'm really not looking forward to the whole five-day, forty-hour work week thing.

To back up a little bit, after the earthquake and the hurricane (we evacuated for 3+ days, but our house was pretty much untouched), I started work and then BD left for Norway.

Norway.

Like, 6-hour time difference Norway.

I have been one super-tired mama.

School did start in the midst of all of that, too, but since we decided to keep Playette at her current school full-time and out of the district entirely, it truly felt like any other day. I really did think about the whole cute outfit and picture thing, but, yeah. That didn't happen. It was more like, "Pre-K! Yay! Ok, see you later."

BD got home late last night. I know this because at some point, I woke up gasping for air, in a state of fear-shock because someone was in my bedroom, and about 10 seconds later, I recognized him.

It was a long ten seconds.

I was really out of it though. I had been feeling bad for about 24 hours at that point, so I think I grunted my muted version of "Babe, I missed you soooo much! Welcome home! Muah, muah, muah!" and went back to sleep.

We talked some in the morning, but not much. I was rushing and he was getting Playette ready since he didn't have to go in to work.

That. Felt. Awesome.

Having help, I mean.

I had missed my parenting partner and dreamed of what mornings would be like with two of us to split the workload.

Anyway, I went to work, suffered through the morning, and finally realized that what was going on with my body could be classified under Not OK.

I drove myself to the urgent care down the street and by the time I got there, I was walking lopsided. When I got to the desk, I broke down in tears.

That was a very bad idea.

Because the stabbing pain in my chest then got way worse and I couldn't breathe or talk.

That's one way to skip the line.

Not that there was one, but still. I had kinda made myself top priority, regardless.

Diagnosis: Walking Pneumonia

This really hurts, yo.

I'm down for the weekend.

Let's hope that's it.

The killer irony in all of this is that I've been placed in a trailer at work for the next year during a remodel. I've been smelling an odor in there and inquired about it right away, based on my past upper-respiratory issues and all I've heard about these things being death traps. I told my boss yesterday that I wasn't meaning to be a pest right out the gate, but that it would really suck if I started getting stabby chest pain and ended up out of work for a week right away. I was poo-poo'd because, you know, Air Quality Tests cost money, and told to come back to them if I had symptoms.

That last convo I had with someone in an official capacity about the topic was this morning.

Right before I left for urgent care.

I think, come Monday, I win.

How bad, exactly, would it be to quit before I get my first check?

=====

And, before I totally forgot, another one to add to that last post: I love how Playette sings and signs songs on the radio. It's super cute. But the one that's currently slaying me is a less-pop'y tune, her old standby fave. When she gets to the third line, she signs it like "Happy Birthday deer _________."

When those two hands go up to her head? Hilarious.

Not that I can laugh right now. Or cough. Or move.

Back to sleep I go.

=====

Oh, and thank God, again, for ASL. It hurts to talk so I'm signing more. What's funny, too, is that BD had to use Playette as an interpreter this evening. I signed "hurt" and he was all, "huh? help?" so I finger spelled "H..." He says, "F?" Oh jeez.

My baby saved me.

I Don't Trust My Brain

So I'll place this here to remember...

I love the way that Playette creates her own signs for people. Unlike typical names signs, given by someone who is deaf/hearing impaired and based on a characteristic of the person being "named", hers are almost rhymes instead.

Her former babysitter, Christy, became "Thirsty." Even though she can say something close to Christy, she'd also sign thirsty while saying it.

That was the first time I recall her doing that with names. She would substitute rhyming-word signs from time to time if she didn't know the appropriate word, and once she used a homophone (principal for principle), but the name thing really intrigued me.

These days, she consistently uses the sign for "pretend" when referring to our friend, Jen. I guess she figures it's close enough. It really has nothing to do with anything Jen has ever done to or around her.

One day, a few weeks ago, after a day spent out with BD, I asked Playette what they did. She signed pretend and baby. I then asked BD, "Did you go to Jen's and see the baby without me?!"

That they did.

Which is really cool, I think. (Not that I didn't want to see the baby.) She's communicating in a way she never has before.

Her new buddy, K, has been assigned the sign for pillow.

I'm actually thrilled to have figured this out, finally, because I could NOT, for the longest time, figure out why she was signing pillow so much.

Yesterday, while talking to BD, I asked Playette to tell her daddy what we did the night before. She signed pillow and ice cream.

Yup, we went with K and his mom to get frozen yogurt.

Now, she is babbling all through this (or is "using jargon" more appropriate?). She's not only using the signs, but also speaking. I just can't always understand her 100%. Some words are clearer than others.

Hopefully, one day, we'll get Speech Therapy again and maybe some help clearing this up some will follow.

But, in the meantime, she's getting her point across, and using her brain in creative ways, and it's awesome.

=====

Oh! And before I forget this one, too, I love how she signs cat for her great-grandparents' dog, Pepper. She'll say Pepper and knows for a fact that Pepper is a dog. She's not confused at all about that.

It's just that Pepper is a schnauzer with a hairy face that reminds her of whiskers.

Like cats.

BOOM!

That there is the sound of synaspes firing.

Teeth Update. Yes, Again.

Ok, so if you've followed along on this saga, you're well aware of my obsession with Playette's teeth.

Just like the scary book said, they have come in out of order, misshapen, and delayed.

I guess that book was right about something after all. Maybe I should go back and read it now that I'm not a complete basketcase like I was around this time four years ago.

You know, that book should come with a warning label:
Not to be read until you know your kid as a person first.

Or something.

So.

Anyway.

The teeth.

She's been missing two on the bottom for a long, long time now.

Things I've read said that children with Ds could have baby teeth come in up to age four.

But is that like 48 months or 59 months and some change?

They don't say.

Ugh.

Actually, I just went back and checked and that source says that the first tooth can come in that late. It didn't mention how long it would take to get them all.

So here I was, fretting that at 3 years and 366 days, my kid still didn't have some of her pretty obvious chompers.

Only recently did I discover that she's not alone in missing those two teeth.

That brought the total of children I knew with that particular smile to...two.

But! Not alone! That was key.

I've asked multiple dentists over the past couple of years, and they all thought they were in there and we shouldn't worry.

I even bugged a friend's husband while we were eating lunch last summer.

"Could you maybe, please, just take a teensy look?"

I also asked for x-rays.

Not at lunch. I mean, at an actual appointment with Playette's dentist.

But the overall consensus was to wait. If she had the teeth, they would come. If she didn't, they wouldn't.

Hm.

Well.

Sure.

I guess that makes sense.

So we sat back and waited and I tried my best to ignore it. I mean, honestly, at one point way back when, I wasn't even sure if I'd recognize my daughter with teeth since she had spent so long without any at all. I figured if we could make it past that ok that this too should pass and become a "remember when...?"

This past weekend, while we lounging and letting the summer soak in, I saw something poking through. I originally thought it was both teeth, but now I'm not so positive. It's at least one for sure.

Huzzah!

This whole teething for 3+ years thing? Tired.

But at least she has never seemed bothered by it at all.

Totally my issue.

And We're Off!

I woke up, dragged myself out of bed, and went to get Playette so that we could start our respective days. This is how I found her:


And, in case you're wondering, that's not how we left her last night. She really does wear pajamas, not her bathing suit, to bed.

I guess it's safe to say that we'll be spending a lot more time at the beach and pool as she's developing a true affinity for the water.

And WOOT! on the self-help skills, huh?

Let's go, 4!

=====

When I dropped her off at school, I had a chat with the Director about the bag of Playette-gear that was sent home with BD when he picked her up on Friday. Was it presumptuous of me to think that their intent was for us to take said bag with her to a new room? Or was everyone just asked to take their cubby items home for the weekend because they had painters coming in?

It really could have been either one.

And it turns out that it was really both.

I didn't know how to take that at first.

You mean, you're moving my kid because she meets age requirement to advance? And that's it? I don't have to fight or cry or go through all the requisite emotions that typically come with such a transition?

That was weird.

They, uh, well, they treated her like all of the rest of the kids in her class.

Damn shame that this is the exception and not the norm.

It actually made me nervous! Like they were trying to get one over on me!

Director was all, "Let's try, if you're ok with it, Mom. Let's give her a chance and see how she does. I have no reason to think that she won't be just fine. She's been doing wonderfully so far."

Whoa.

Isn't this what I've been asking for?

Isn't this in line with my own personal philosophy when it comes to my kid?

And the very thing that the school district refuses to do?

I just didn't know how to receive it.

Story of my life.

Let's go, 4!

=====

I hurt my back again yesterday so I'm off to take some meds and rest. Sitting here really isn't the most ideal situation. Because it hurts.

But I'm glad that I held off on the Percoset for a bit because I did just get a call that I'm being considered for a job I applied for a while ago. They'll schedule the phone interview with me later this week now that they've established that I'm still interested.

Let's go, 34!

Blog Reader, Blog Reader, what do you see?

Totally coincidental, this whole apparent vision theme. This actually happened the other day and I didn't get the chance to post it.

So. Anyway. Here's your riddle:



Click to enlarge if you so desire.

Any idea what it is?


...

...

...

...

...


Give up?

Here was Playette's response, after seeing the step stool overturned. At first, I didn't know what she was referencing, but then it clicked.

It takes me a while to figure things out sometime.

Someone should really label me and put me in a corner. Right?! That's totally what I deserve!

*eyeroll*

Sorry. School stuff has me all stressed and cynical today. I'm sure to rant about that later.

Back to her response...

"Mmmmm! X! Uh-yew!"

Translation: "M! X! W!"

Do you see it?

She was sooo excited to see her letters.

This made me smile, y'all.

I couldn't be more proud of her.

It's not that she knows three letters. She knows them all and so much more. This is just another example of her critical thinking. She loves to learn.

And no one else, NO ONE, on her "IEP team" can know these things about my child. They can't possibly understand why I fight so hard to get her to be considered.

If they did, they'd stop bucking against me for the bare minimum.

It's not fair.

I know...

Life's not fair.

We're not looking for a hand out, just a hand up.

Or a step, if you will.


Whatever works.

I know, I know, but still...

In what was probably the early 80s, I recall watching an episode of Donahue. The topic was surgery that would correct one's vision. I remember being riveted, swearing that one day, absolutely before I got married, I would have this done. There was no way I was walking down the aisle in glasses.

Always a thinker, I decided in my approximately nine-year-old mind, that by the time I was ready, enough time would have passed to ensure that the procedure was safe.

It would be many years later, but when the opportunity arose, I bought myself some perfect vision. 2003. I beat my self-proclaimed deadline by almost 3 years.

And that's how much I hated my glasses.

I say all of that because, as shallow as it may sound, I really, really didn't want my daughter to have to go through those feelings.

I've stated before that I know what it's like to grow up Black and female. In a lot of ways, that's difficult enough in my mind. But I don't know what it's like to also have developmental delays and a diagnosis that's written all over my face.

I don't know...it's little and common and silly, probably, to even devote this much thought to the issue, but...it's just one more thing to add to the pile of reasons for people to look at/treat her differently.

Today, after three hellish hours in The Most Popular Opthamologist in the World's office, we came out with a prescription.

And I ordered my baby some glasses.

I'm not normally mushy about a lot of milestones, but this one got me. It didn't feel good. I felt like I had let her down. She's not quite four. It's so early. I'm the one who passed this on to her. guiltguiltguilt.

The doctor showed me what her vision is like untreated. Ugh. Why didn't we know sooner?

She didn't want to try the frames on and I didn't blame her.

But we did the right thing and in two weeks or less, her world will be that much clearer.

Gag.

#shallow
#movingon

A Dangerous Mind

Sometimes, just for S&Gs, I like to offer a task to Playette for the simple delight of seeing how she'll respond.

I know my kid is bright. I don't care what anyone's random assessment or evaluation says about this percentile or that developmental age, because I know what I know. This kid's cylinders are firing and I love to see them in action.

So, this afternoon, after Playette had completely jacked her shirt up with the remnants of 1-2 bananas (we're still not sure) that she stole off of the kitchen counter and shoved in her mouth faster than we could even notice, I cleaned her up and asked her to go upstairs, pick out another shirt, and put it on.

Sounds simple enough, right?

But this is big. If you have a kid like my kid, I didn't even have to tell you that.

Just so you know, she's not able to say the words I said to her all in a row like that. But I knew that she knew that I said. No question about it. Her receptive language skills are awesome.

And then I waited.

She went upstairs.

Closed her door.

And then a few minutes later, she came down like this.


New pants. Backwards. No shirt. Over the shorts she had on.

I had to laugh.

Honestly, there are times that I get frustrated, sometimes to the point of tears, when she doesn't get something. Or if she's not telling me something that I know she knows. I do let it get to me...sometimes...and usually I kick myself for it afterwards because that has sooo much to do with me and my issues and not her as a person at all.

It's a delicate balance, attempting to keep expectations high, yet realistic. I don't always pull that off perfectly.

But today? It was just funny. And I appreciated what she did know.

She knew to leave me and go upstairs.

When I went up to see if she had destroyed her room in the process, I learned that she knew to go to her closet and open it up.


She knew to grab a new piece of clean clothing from a hanger.


She knew to put the clothing on her body.

She knew to come back to me with a look of beaming pride on her face to show me what she had done.


I really had no idea how she'd come back or even if she would, when I sent her upstairs to get that new shirt. But what I've learned time and time again is that I have to give her the opportunity to impress me. She rises to meet challenges and I think that's the most important thing I need to keep at the forefront of my mind. She won't always get it right away, but what are the chances that she'll ever get it if no one ever expects her to, y'know?

And, by the way, if you're totally amazed at my mad digital art skillz as displayed in that last photo? You're in luck. I'm unemployed and looking for things to do that don't involve cleaning my house or going to doctor's appointments. Hurry though. I expect an onslaught of jobs coming up from this post.

Haikus

Cool, ocean breezes
Meet skunk stench in the window
Sleep on hold again

Last night, after we dined at a restaurant that we've been talking about going to for nearly three years now, in celebration of our 4th wedding anniversary, we were tired.

I had spent the entire day with that anxious, stomach all balled up feeling that only extreme stress can bring, so Tums and Top Chef sounded like an awesome way to wrap up the night.

Plus, BD had carried me over the threshold because I annoyed the crap out of him about not doing it four years ago, so, yeah, content. It was so romantical. Until he took off running across the living room with me in his arms. That was not only impressive, but also funny.

Then, at about 2am, I jumped out of bed and started running towards Playette's room while screaming, "Do you smell that?!"

Sometimes I wish that I had a camera on me 24/7 because I probably am a funny person to watch. I do some really interesting things.

Thankfully, over all my hysteria, I heard my husband grumble for me not to wake up the Littlest and that it was "only" a skunk.

Ok, so yay for the house not burning down like I thought, but skunk?

Yech.

And WHYYYY?

After I sprayed Lysol and lit a candle and closed the window nearest where I decided the skunk had exploded, I tried to go back to sleep.

As it then smelled like a skunk dipped in Lysol that just happened to be sipping on fruit punch, I buried my head in my pillow, gagged, and wrote poetry in my head.

Because that's like counting sheep to me.

The air comes in, whoosh
The skunk drops a nighttime deuce
Will the gagging stop?

Today marks:
Day 3 of "Toilet Learning"
Night 4 of Toddler Bed

HELP.

Dear Diary

Friday, 2 July 2010
Daycare says that Playette has been dry on multiple days. Please bring panties on Monday along with multiple changes of clothes in case of accidents.

Monday, 5 July 2010
Converted crib to toddler bed. Playette hates it because it is made of poison and spikes. We get lots less sleep. Slightly comical at times, but still.

Tuesday, 6 July 2010
Picked Playette up from daycare. Accident total = 3. Sigh. But it's only Day 1!
Playette refuses to go to bed. We try to wait her out. At over an hour past bedtime, she stops fighting enough to allow herself to have her back rubbed and patted until she falls asleep. Success!

Wednesday, 7 July 2010
Playette wakes at 0530 and comes into our room all, "Cockadoodledoo! It's time to get up!". Hey, wait. That's new and Not Cool.
Drop Playette off at daycare. Apparently, 3 accidents is 3 too many for Day 1. Teacher wants to go back to Pull-Ups. That, along with a couple of other irritating things, leads to me storming out of classroom like a toddler. Except I think the toddlers were embarrassed for me.

Stay tuned...

Troisième

When I was younger and unmarried and childless, I had a lot of opinions about things.

I still do, but things change. Some remain the same. Others evolve.

I used to feel very strongly about the "no kid parties" thing. I've seen things done over the years that just left a bad taste in my mouth. Plus, who needs that kind of stress?

So, yeah. I was all, "Not on my watch!"

Until one day. A day that cake started sounding really good to me and I remembered that this lady at work makes reaallly good cakes. Cake. That's easy enough.

Until the cake lady asked me what the theme would be.

Theme?

Crap.

And then I needed people to help us eat that cake I ordered, since it now had a theme and themed cakes need to be eaten. And how would I entertain those people? That's what people do at parties, right? Entertain the guests? They'd need food, too, right? What about balloons and bubbles? Yes, we must have balloons and bubbles. And really cute tableware from the display at Marshall's. Along with about a zillion other little things that all of a sudden became necessary.

Like 3 gallon jugs of margaritas.

Yeesh.

Next thing you know, there was a party.

I know. I did it to myself.

But, honestly, it ended up being pretty fun!

I really was shocked.

There were adults and children and music and food and cake and an extra special guest that took up a good chunk of our driveway.


It was a gorgeous day that Playette will never remember, I know. But, I will, and so will others. I will be able to look back and think about the day that I realized how good it felt to have our friends come together to celebrate a milestone for our baby girl. They were generous and loving and kind and funny and helpful. It was a great moment in time and I appreciate everyone so very, very much.


It's hard to be away from so many people that we love, which makes the days like that of the party feel even better. I don't know how to explain it as eloquently as the emotion deserves, but it has to do with blooming where you're planted and the song about silver and gold that I learned in Brownies.

So much has changed in three years. Some things remain the same. Others evolve.

And it's good.


By the way, I was so happy she loved that cake.

That there was some good cake, y'all.

Another Year

Wow. The time really is flying.

I just realized that if Playette had had another birthday, that means that this blog has been around another year.

Thank you so much to all of you for your support, understanding, kind words, and encouragement over the last two years.

It means a lot to all of us.

When I think back to how I was when I wrote the first post, tears streaming down my face, and then when I included the link in an email to a select group of family and friends, scared to officially share that my child was born with Down syndrome, never did I imagine where we would be today.

As a mother, and more importantly as the mother to my daughter, I've changed a lot. I may have fear of the future hit me from time to time, but it does not consume me. I know where to go when I have questions. I don't keep it to myself. I know that others have been there and done that and are more than willing to give me a hand up when needed. I welcome the opportunity to do that for others.

It's a very good thing for me, this blog.

I hope that you'll continue to join us on this journey.

Again, thank you.

Also

I am loving how Playette has started something new lately. When we put her to bed, she says "all done, all done" as she rolls over and allows the blanket to be placed on her back, tiny butt perched up in the air.

It's the cutest thing. She's worn out and knows that the day has come to an end.

I love seeing the world through her eyes.

About that tooth brushing pic...

Yeeeaahhh...

Welllll...

Ummm...

See, she kinda doesn't brush her own teeth.

The thing about pics is that they capture a moment in time.

And if you have a quick camera, it really can be just a fraction of a second.

Which isn't real life.

AT ALL.

Playette loves the idea of brushing teeth.

She'll go "dih dih dih?"* and sign brush teeth when BD brings her into our room in the morning, just after she's had her breakfast.

She even goes up on her tippiest of toes, opens and reaches into the top drawer of our bathroom sink space to take out her small tube of toothpaste and her toothbrush in the clear, ridged plastic holding tube.

And that's when all forward momentum stops.

Unless we decide to equate sucking the toothpaste off of the brush to actually and truly brushing teeth.

If we were to do that, she would be thrilled.

But we don't so she is Not. Ever. Thrilled.

*sigh*

Hey, she has teeth. I'm happy for that. Not all, but some, and more than before, so YAY.

The brushing thing though? Ick. It's just hard. She fights us and then we end up having to create these contortionistic moves that include heads in laps or legs on tub edges or arms pinned down on white bedsheets that used to be clean, but then somehow become stained with blue gel that leaves a hit of bubble gum smell behind.

I mean, if you look at that last post again, you'll see that the picture prior to the one in question has me demonstrating what needs to be done and her pushing my hand away. Nicely. *snort*

And don't get me started on my work clothes. I came to work yesterday looking like I grabbed my shirt from the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper. I swear it was kinda clean when I put it on.

Plus, her hair? The hair I work so hard on (almost) every morning? Well, after she thrashes around yelling, "Nooo!" and "Ah done!"? It's rather messy. To say the least.

So maybe we should change the order of our routine. Or wait her out and hope one day that she realizes the benefits of good oral hygiene on her own.

Oh, I don't know.

Totally winging it here.

But I wanted to keep it honest.



* "Dih dih dih?" seems to be her universal, go-to question these days. There's inflection and the signs help her to communicate what it is that she wants/needs, but she doesn't have the words, so "dih dih dih?" it is for now.

The Other PT

Or do you prefer TL? Playette's daycare does.

They're all, "We don't say 'potty training' because we feel that it gives the wrong impression. 'Toilet learning' is preferred."

Well, alrighty then. Whatever gets my kid outta dipes.

So.

Lisa was talking about it.

Ds New Mama wass talking about it.

Figured I'd jump on the bandwagon.

I've been learning quite a bit from reading about other people's experiences. In fact, Lisa gave me the term that I think best describes where Playette is currently: schedule trained. And the way we got her there is not too unlike what Ds New Mama is doing with her daughter. Except all I really know about Elimination Communication is that when Playette stops what she's doing and makes the silent grunt face, we know she's eliminatin'. I'm not sure how people catch a child pre-urine. We just seem to get lucky (sometimes) with that part.

Anyway, going back to the beginning, BD started putting Playette on the potty 1x/day (right after dinner) last year. I think I was away on reserve duty so it was May and she was about 22 months old. Since then, she's done awesome and will sometimes alert us to her needs by signing potty/toilet (we say potty with her). She is becoming more and more routine-oriented in many facets of her life, so it's no surprise to us that her post-dinner trip to the potty is the most reliable. Some people have a mint. Playette chooses to cleanse her palette a little differently.

When we addressed what we were doing at home with regard to making the transition from diapers to underwear at Playette's IFSP meeting in July, we got a lot of this:


Ah, blank stares to the sounds of crickets chirping.

Gotta love a good IFSP meeting.

If you've never been to one, feel free to join one of mine any time you want. If you're not stressed out at the end, you're bored to tears. Awesome.

So. Once our "team" came to, there was a lot of stammering which essentially resulted in zero support outside of the home (she's in daycare full-time) until about 6 weeks ago.

In the meantime, we continued with the post-dinner trips and then, one day a few months ago after a trip to Ikea, we upped the ante.

Not able to resist a deal, we bought 2 of these colorful pots at $0.99 each. One for the trunk of the car and one for the upstairs bathroom right next to her room. So with those and the cushy one we'd been using downstairs and the cute little mini-toilets at daycare (I don't know what I said differently one day, but they finally caught on and started offering her the toilet), we started seeing some more progress.

While this has been a long road, it really hasn't been a stressful one. We've taken it verrrry slowly. No pressure.

Sure, we get frustrated when she doesn't ask to go and instead we're alerted by a strange smell in the room. Who wouldn't?

But we enjoy the heck out of the successes. Two weeks ago, when we were out to brunch on Easter, she signed potty at the table and actually meant it. I'm telling you, this little girl is better than me with the whole using a public bathroom thing.

Do I think that she'd be rocking some Dora drawers by now if she were typically developing? I sure do. But she's not and it's just going to take longer. We're ok with that. In fact, good or bad, I never really expected her to be out of diapers by age 3. I mean, when we moved to CA, I learned that diaper reimbursement was available essentially once a child was out of the early intervention program and I figured that's just the way things were. It was going to happen later and that was that. I've seen some really bright kids make the transition later for varying reasons. They all get it eventually and it's so not a race.

Honestly, now what I fear is that we've simply given her options. Diaper, pull-up, or potty? I don't think she minds where she pees so eventually we just need to bite the bullet and give panties a try. Scary thought.

But, our weather isn't very conducive to the run around nekkid approach, so I can't say that we really know how to take the next step anyway.

So we wait. And cheer when there's #1 and #2 in the pot. We dance (our own unique dances). We wash hands and then we play. Until the next time we see the silent grunt face. At which time we grab her and run.

We're totally winging it.

I welcome any and all feedback.

Better than Southfork

First off, how cute are they?!


It's hard for me to write about a trip to Dallas without humming the theme song to the TV show in my head simultanously. Allow me to share my earworm with you:


So, about a month ago, that's where we were. Dallas.

And it snowed. A lot. Like, record breaking, flight-canceling, bring your heaviest coat kinda snow.

See?




I had forgotten that even though Playette was born in Snowville, USA, she hadn't actually lived there long enough to experience it.

Well, she tolerated the Dallas snow. Didn't love it by a long shot, but was interested enough to shuffle through the slush a little. Which was better than her mama. I greatly preferred staying inside near the fire or wrapped up in the nearest blanket. I've been hugely spoiled by our lack of real winters the last couple of years.

We were there for a couple of reasons. My good friend, L, inspired us to want to come and see the NBA All-Star game and we took that as a great opportunity to meet the lovely Wendy and her family.

We arrived on Thursday night, slightly delayed due to the weather. Since it was late and icky out, we stuck near the place we were staying and partook of some Irish Nachos and other delicacies at a local spot. By the way, because I know you're wondering, those're potato wedges under all that cheese and stuff. Yum.

On Friday, we got up and went to meet the fam. So. Much. Fun. The kids enjoyed each other right away and it was nice to sit and talk to Wendy in real life. Because usually she's imaginary and lives inside my computer. I think we stared at each other a lot in the beginning, trying to make sure that we weren't living in the neighborhood of make-believe.

We had pizza for lunch and then went downtown to the All-Star Jam Session. This was all about the kiddos. They played and danced and I chased down taco hats and won sweatbands in a push-up contest. Because that's how I roll.



We wore ourselves and the kids out, so the next day while Dads 1 & 2 were at work and the movies, respectively, the rest of us enjoyed the food court all that the mall had to offer.

Sidenote: What do I miss by living in a small town? The food choices. Can you believe that we don't have a food court here?! No waffle fries, no sweet tea, no cherry limeaid. *sigh*

While watching the kidlets at the play area, W and I decided that we had earned ourselves a nice dinner in Ft. Worth. Because, in case you haven't noticed, it's all about the food company of your friends.

We had fun. Have you ever heard of margaritas? They are good.

After (ahem) sleeping in on Sunday and checking out of our adorable B&B cottage, back to W's we went. There was frito pie there. I almost moved in.

But then I remembered that we had a game to go to, so while W and Crew entertained Playette for us, BD and I went off to the amazing Cowboy's Stadium and proceeded to enjoy a fantastic Valentine's Day evening.

It was The Awesome.

Let the countdown to the next visit begin.

Hurt Feelings

Before I was a mom, I used to play with other people's kids a lot. Three-year-olds were my favorite, followed closely by those little ones with two freshly erupted bottom teeth.

I would play games with them and test their reactions, read to them, laugh with them, try to teach them things.

All in small doses, y'know?

Fast forward to last night. There were were eating dinner. Playette had consumed what she decided was enough to declare herself "ahhhhh done!" but instead of saying so, she swatted the fork I held out to her out of my hand and across the table where it fell in front of BD's plate.

BD explained to her that her behavior was unacceptable and reminded her that she should use her words/signs to express herself instead. He asked her to apologize to me.

She stared at him. She pouted. For a really long time. So long that it made me uncomfortable and right about then is when I decided it was time to cry.

Not in the way that I would pretend to cry with other people's children, fully expecting them to quickly offer a remedy to their wrong.

No, this time I cried because I thought, "She doesn't get it. The synapses aren't firing. We are expecting too much of her. This is always going to happen. Forever."

It wasn't a loud cry or an ugly cry or a cry for the benefit of anyone else at the table.

It was just for a moment and it was just for me.

Playette sat there and looked at me for a while longer.

And then she took her left hand...

brought her four fingers in towards her palm...

with her thumb up...

placed her hand on her chest...

and rotated it clockwise.

She apologized.

Words

I've been posting a lot of pictures lately, but not doing a lot of writing. I actually enjoy writing so I figured I'd give it a try today.

Things have been going fine at our house. We keep busy, which is good for the most part. The next few weeks will be more of the same, with a few special surprises thrown in that I'm looking forward to sharing soon.

For today, though, I feel like exploring Playette's Daycare Experience.

Someone asked me the other day about her classroom setting and how she relates to her peers. It's a very interesting topic, apparently, to people who don't have children with special needs. Those of us that do, well, sure, it's interesting, but it's also a major PITA sometimes because we're the ones working diligently behind-the-scenes to make our children's placement look effortless. There's a lot of thought and consideration put into trying to figure out where and when and who and why and, most of all, how.

Currently, Playette is "fully included" in a typical toddler room setting. Her peers are other 2-3 year-olds, most of whom do not have Individualized Family Service Plans (IFSPs). I think one other kid in there gets speech services, but I don't really have a need to know that information so no one has come out and told me that, which is fine by me. That tells me that they're not going out and telling other parents stuff about my kid either. And I like that.

So.

In her classroom, Playette, well, she plays. She reads, she sings, she dances. She takes things down, she puts things up. She pretends and she communicates.

She goes into the room each day, takes off her coat (with some assistance), walks over to the sink, and washes her hands. That's what all of the children are required to do and she is no exception. This routine started back when she was in the baby room and we had to hold her above the sink and wash her hands for her. That was two years ago. Now, she turns the water on, pumps the soap foam into her hands from the container on the wall, rubs her hands together, rinses, pulls the lever on the towel dispenser, rips off what she needs, dries her hands, and throws away the used paper towel.

Awesome.

It only takes a minute to complete, but when you lay out all of the steps like that, it's hard not to feel proud.

One goal, I think, of having her where she is right now is to get certain things to become second-nature, to expend less effort on certain behaviors.

One day a few months ago (woo, time flies!), I was there in the classroom for lunch. I was able to witness how when the children were done eating, everyone got up with their plates, took them to the trash, dumped the waste items, put the plates in a bin, washed their hands, and went to lay down on their cots for a nap.

Wow.

I mean. Wow.

I was so impressed. There was my little girl, doing the same things as everyone else. No hesitation and full of confidence.

Now, of course I realize that she still exhibits delays in her development. I know that now and always will. But I think there's something to be said for keeping expectations appropriately high. I mean, even with me, I notice that I sometimes get a little too excited about things she does. And when I stop to think about it, I realize that maybe I thought she wouldn't be able to do such things.

*gasp*

Me? Her mother? Underestimating her?

Well, shoot, I'm not perfect. Nor have I ever claimed to be. Enlightened by force, maybe, but I still have a long way to go. I get just as irritated with myself for such behaviors as I do with other people I meet, especially therapists and medical professionals.

But you know I have less grace with them, right? They should know better. Me? I'm just a newbie.

I just want my kid to be given chances to prove people wrong.

This girl is smart, y'all. Really.

She doesn't speak, but she signs more than I can understand. She picks things up quickly. She constantly has conversations through babbling that utilize inflection and even humor.

You gotta appreciate a two-year-old with a fake laugh.

More than anything she tries. Very hard.

And that's why me and my fellow parent peeps work equally as hard to give our kids the opportunities they deserve.

It's all about having options, y'know?

So, anyway, when you put Playette up against her classmates, what differences might an outsider notice?

- Well, she still wears a bib (hate!) because she's the only one still actively teething and, thus, is a drool monster, which doesn't work well when it's cold and her two shirts are soaked through. So, yeah, a bib. (that issue deserves its own post)

- She's tied for last place in the height department.

- She's a slower runner.

Aside from the bib thing? Well, that's pretty much me, too, so whatever.

The Day We Said, "Aw, Screw It."

So, we have this rule, right? It was developed when BD and I were dating and we went to Disney World together. It was a great trip and as single, childless people, we swore that we would never bring a kid there before they met certain criteria. And we would never bring a stroller. Never.

But, well, we got these Disneyland passes from a really good friend and then great-grandma had to work and couldn't watch Playette that day, soooo...

Here ya go:

(BTW, she's rocking a "Genetically Enhanced" shirt, inspired by that of Sheridan and a sweater that we love that was a gift from Gabby and her Phamily.)