OK. Yes. This is my third post tonight. It's pathetic. I know. But...I couldn't help myself.
My tween girls just informed me that I need a cameraphone.
"No, I just need batteries for my camera." I replied.
"No, you need a cameraphone instead of your dino-phone." Where do they get this stuff? "My teacher told me she used to have a phone this big with an antenna attached to it."
"Well, yeah. Everyone had a phone like that. I used to have a phone like that." I replied.
They looked at me like I had just become the UNcoolest mom eh-ver. "Why?" they asked, incredulously.
"That was the thing to have. Just like today everyone has a cameraphone." Except me, that is. "Some day your kids will make fun of our phones. They'll have better phones...or something."
Katie thought a moment and said, "Just like Barbies to Bratz."
"What?" I asked.
"Kids used to play with Barbies. Now they play with Bratz. You know. Bratz. They have big heads and lots of eye shadow. You know, normal stuff like that."
I'll admit, Barbie was hardly "normal." But Bratz???
And, by the way, we have never owned a single Bratz doll here. Never. But evidently the neighbor girl loaned us one because Hailey hurried to the bedroom to bring out one of each, as if I was completely ignorant. "See, this is Barbie," she said, showing me a naked, freakishly-shaped doll who obviously had plastic surgery early in life. "And, this is a Bratz," Hailey said, thrusting another naked doll towards me who obviously suffered from hydrocephalus and a massive hair weave.
"Bratz don't have feet," Hailey explained as she showed me the Bratz' amputated-looking feet. "They have different shoes to put on them."
Bratz still have breasts, but they are more well-proportioned...except for the huge heads. Are the toy manufacturers trying to impress the importance of having big brains...and big hair...and plenty of eye shadow?
Who knows. Barbies to Bratz. What's next?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Life Lessons
When Hailey got home from school today she told me, "I had two embarrassing things happen to me today."
"Oh, really? What?" I asked as I sat by Carl.
"Well, first I chased a ball out into the mud when I wasn't supposed to and Mrs. K got mad. Really mad."
"Oh wow," I said, trying to sound sympathetic, but really. That's embarrassing? "What was the second thing?"
"I accidentally farted in Math class."
I couldn't help but laugh.
Carl, however, turned it into a teaching moment. "Next time look at the boy next to you and say his name like he did it." Hicks. We're becoming a bunch of hicks.
By the way, I promised Hailey that no one from her school reads my blog...so she gave me permission to tell this story. I only hope I told the truth.
"Oh, really? What?" I asked as I sat by Carl.
"Well, first I chased a ball out into the mud when I wasn't supposed to and Mrs. K got mad. Really mad."
"Oh wow," I said, trying to sound sympathetic, but really. That's embarrassing? "What was the second thing?"
"I accidentally farted in Math class."
I couldn't help but laugh.
Carl, however, turned it into a teaching moment. "Next time look at the boy next to you and say his name like he did it." Hicks. We're becoming a bunch of hicks.
By the way, I promised Hailey that no one from her school reads my blog...so she gave me permission to tell this story. I only hope I told the truth.
Oh Deer!
At 6:00, literally at the crack of dawn, Carl drove Hannah and me to Joplin for my EGD, short for esophagogastroduodenoscopy. Try saying that ten times real fast. Heck, try saying it once real slow. As I rode along, gazing out the side window, sipping forbidden coffee (the doctor had ordered no food or drink after midnight the previous night...oops) I noticed how the two ice storms this winter had torn the top branches from most of the trees. The entire landscape looked wounded. My mind began to create a metaphor, when I noticed movement in the ditch.
Grabbing the door on my right and the console on my left, I applied imaginary brakes with both feet as I said, "Oh my. Oh. Oh. Slow down. Oh no." My calm, quiet voice did not match the screaming in my head.
Carl slammed on the brakes and, to his credit, maintained complete control as ten deer darted onto the highway in front of us. Yes, ten. Carl brought the Tahoe to a complete stop and for a moment, I thought one of the stupid deer was going to jump into the front of the Tahoe and dent it despite Carl's excellent driving. It didn't. The deer finished crossing and we drove off, my melancholy mood replaced with adrenaline.
The day continued smoothly after that. The EGD went well, the doctor biopsied my throat (to try to determine why this keeps happening) and I slept most of the afternoon as a result of the anesthesia.
Now I feel GREAT! Seriously. Maybe my winter blahs have been caused in part by sleep deprivation. After my nap I arm-cycled in the sunshine while Carl and Hailey played soccer. The sky was blue, the temperature warm and I finally felt like doing something. Come on spring!
Grabbing the door on my right and the console on my left, I applied imaginary brakes with both feet as I said, "Oh my. Oh. Oh. Slow down. Oh no." My calm, quiet voice did not match the screaming in my head.
Carl slammed on the brakes and, to his credit, maintained complete control as ten deer darted onto the highway in front of us. Yes, ten. Carl brought the Tahoe to a complete stop and for a moment, I thought one of the stupid deer was going to jump into the front of the Tahoe and dent it despite Carl's excellent driving. It didn't. The deer finished crossing and we drove off, my melancholy mood replaced with adrenaline.
The day continued smoothly after that. The EGD went well, the doctor biopsied my throat (to try to determine why this keeps happening) and I slept most of the afternoon as a result of the anesthesia.
Now I feel GREAT! Seriously. Maybe my winter blahs have been caused in part by sleep deprivation. After my nap I arm-cycled in the sunshine while Carl and Hailey played soccer. The sky was blue, the temperature warm and I finally felt like doing something. Come on spring!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
To Everything There is a Season
Today I visited with a usually upbeat, out-of-town friend. Typically she tells me of the latest inspirational book she has read or of her attendance at a motivational seminar. During this phone conversation, though, she told me she feels like she has given and given to her friends and family, so much that she has nothing left to give. As she described her emotions, she specifically refused to call it "depression," almost as if to do so would be a failure.
Upon following several blogs over the past several months, I have noticed that some authors do not share the difficult or negative circumstances they encounter. I'm not suggesting that's bad or wrong. In fact, it's nice to know that I can surf over to specific sites for a guaranteed laugh, or at least a good chuckle. However, that's not me (or "I"--whatever the correct grammar may be).
I pencilled a letter to my out-of-town friend. Following is most of it:
"...I assume that in your profession--and life in general--positive thinking is very important, even expected [she is in sales]. Bookstore shelves are filled with self-help manuals that stress the power of positive thinking and promote the philosophy that what we think about we bring about. And I agree.
At the very same time, though, I think those philosophies and ideals leave a part of us hollow. They ignore our humanity, or at the very least they give me the disconcerted feeling that if I suffer a period of sadness, I must have character defect.
You know the verses from Ecclesiastes:
To everything there is a season
And a time to every purpose under the heaven...
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
The truth is: I'm going through a season of weeping and mourning. I mourn my loss of mobility and I sometimes weep at the challenges Hannah presents on an almost daily basis. I know I haven't been in contact with you much lately, but frankly -- grief is a private and embarrassing thing for me and it's easier to hide here in my small town, behind my computer screen, than it is to show myself openly as I am right now.
I don't tell you this to solicit pity, though I'm aware of how pity-full I sound. Actually, I have hope, because all of the above verses are true. This is only a season, albeit an extended one. Just like the ice-damaged, barren trees and gray skies outside will soon all be greens and blues and visions of healing, so will I eventually experience a season of spring again--a time to laugh and to dance.
Well, maybe not dance.
Then again..."
Upon following several blogs over the past several months, I have noticed that some authors do not share the difficult or negative circumstances they encounter. I'm not suggesting that's bad or wrong. In fact, it's nice to know that I can surf over to specific sites for a guaranteed laugh, or at least a good chuckle. However, that's not me (or "I"--whatever the correct grammar may be).
I pencilled a letter to my out-of-town friend. Following is most of it:
"...I assume that in your profession--and life in general--positive thinking is very important, even expected [she is in sales]. Bookstore shelves are filled with self-help manuals that stress the power of positive thinking and promote the philosophy that what we think about we bring about. And I agree.
At the very same time, though, I think those philosophies and ideals leave a part of us hollow. They ignore our humanity, or at the very least they give me the disconcerted feeling that if I suffer a period of sadness, I must have character defect.
You know the verses from Ecclesiastes:
To everything there is a season
And a time to every purpose under the heaven...
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
The truth is: I'm going through a season of weeping and mourning. I mourn my loss of mobility and I sometimes weep at the challenges Hannah presents on an almost daily basis. I know I haven't been in contact with you much lately, but frankly -- grief is a private and embarrassing thing for me and it's easier to hide here in my small town, behind my computer screen, than it is to show myself openly as I am right now.
I don't tell you this to solicit pity, though I'm aware of how pity-full I sound. Actually, I have hope, because all of the above verses are true. This is only a season, albeit an extended one. Just like the ice-damaged, barren trees and gray skies outside will soon all be greens and blues and visions of healing, so will I eventually experience a season of spring again--a time to laugh and to dance.
Well, maybe not dance.
Then again..."
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
"Cautiously Optimistic" About Katherine
I realize this is post number three regarding Katherine. I promise to find something else to post
about...soon.
I attended a prayer vigil last night at Katherine's church, where they gave an update on her health. They have taken her completely off of sedatives, except when they need to clean her breathing vent. They have dropped her ventilation "down two settings" or something about "down two" and are not supplementing it with oxygen. She is taking some breaths on her own.
They have inserted a feeding tube into her stomach and fed her something like ensure, after which she seemed to do better.
She has moved BOTH sides of her body, including the side that was previously paralyzed, though I don't know the extent of the movement.
When they gave her a sponge bath yesterday, she opened her eyes briefly.
The doctors are discussing another surgery in the future to remove bone fragments from her brain, but did not report anything about the remaining bullet.
The church leader reported that nothing had occurred that could be considered a setback (praise God!) and that Katherine's mother wants us to be "cautiously optimistic."
about...soon.
I attended a prayer vigil last night at Katherine's church, where they gave an update on her health. They have taken her completely off of sedatives, except when they need to clean her breathing vent. They have dropped her ventilation "down two settings" or something about "down two" and are not supplementing it with oxygen. She is taking some breaths on her own.
They have inserted a feeding tube into her stomach and fed her something like ensure, after which she seemed to do better.
She has moved BOTH sides of her body, including the side that was previously paralyzed, though I don't know the extent of the movement.
When they gave her a sponge bath yesterday, she opened her eyes briefly.
The doctors are discussing another surgery in the future to remove bone fragments from her brain, but did not report anything about the remaining bullet.
The church leader reported that nothing had occurred that could be considered a setback (praise God!) and that Katherine's mother wants us to be "cautiously optimistic."
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Update on Katherine
(update: my link no longer works...sorry to those of you reading this late. The local news removed it from their archives.)
According to our local news telecast Katherine (see post below) is in critical condition in a Kansas City hospital. If you click that link, you'll hear more information and see some interesting footage. Yesterday Hannah's teacher informed us that Katherine made it through surgery, but the surgeon could not remove the bullet. As of yesterday, she was paralyzed on her left side.
Two separate people informed me that Katherine was "responsive." I don't know exactly what that meant, but it certainly sounds hopeful.
As a result of Hannah's brain malformation, I have researched the human brain...a little. Children's brains are amazing, constantly changing organs that continue to surprise even the most educated, the most skeptical. I choose to hope and to pray that Katherine's brain will re-route itself and create new synapses and pathways to replace the damaged ones and return her to her former sweet, innocent, whole self.
Between the power of God and the abilities of the human brain, I don't believe I'm hoping or praying for too much. In fact, maybe I'm not hoping and praying for enough.
According to our local news telecast Katherine (see post below) is in critical condition in a Kansas City hospital. If you click that link, you'll hear more information and see some interesting footage. Yesterday Hannah's teacher informed us that Katherine made it through surgery, but the surgeon could not remove the bullet. As of yesterday, she was paralyzed on her left side.
Two separate people informed me that Katherine was "responsive." I don't know exactly what that meant, but it certainly sounds hopeful.
As a result of Hannah's brain malformation, I have researched the human brain...a little. Children's brains are amazing, constantly changing organs that continue to surprise even the most educated, the most skeptical. I choose to hope and to pray that Katherine's brain will re-route itself and create new synapses and pathways to replace the damaged ones and return her to her former sweet, innocent, whole self.
Between the power of God and the abilities of the human brain, I don't believe I'm hoping or praying for too much. In fact, maybe I'm not hoping and praying for enough.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Prayers for Hannah's Classmate
Today I learned that one of Hannah Savannah's little five-year-old classmates, Katherine, was shot in the temple while she played in her yard. (update: her yard is in a rural setting...or adjacent to a rural setting). Yes, you read that correctly. She, along with her six siblings and her mommy, were visiting her daddy in the Kansas City area where he had moved earlier in the school year as a result of an excellent job offer. Mommy and family planned to join daddy at the end of the school year.
Katherine has been life-flighted to a KC children's hospital and the prognosis is not good, but prayer is powerful. Please pray for a miracle.
Hannah's class is small, but I only know three of her classmates on appearance and this sweet girl is one of them. She has a brother in both Katie's & Hailey's classes and they are exceptional students. Katherine is a "model" student, placed in Hannah's class to "model" good behavior to the Hannahs of the class (and, no, I don't mean that as a slam to my Hannah).
When did I become so emotional? I can't concentrate on anything and feel compelled only to pray pray pray for this fragile child. My own emotions are torn--torn between grief at something so senseless; to gratitude for my own babies sleeping safely in their beds; to guilt for feeling the gratitude.
Jesus...help.
Katherine has been life-flighted to a KC children's hospital and the prognosis is not good, but prayer is powerful. Please pray for a miracle.
Hannah's class is small, but I only know three of her classmates on appearance and this sweet girl is one of them. She has a brother in both Katie's & Hailey's classes and they are exceptional students. Katherine is a "model" student, placed in Hannah's class to "model" good behavior to the Hannahs of the class (and, no, I don't mean that as a slam to my Hannah).
When did I become so emotional? I can't concentrate on anything and feel compelled only to pray pray pray for this fragile child. My own emotions are torn--torn between grief at something so senseless; to gratitude for my own babies sleeping safely in their beds; to guilt for feeling the gratitude.
Jesus...help.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
What's Your Favorite Meal?
My favorite: the meal I don't have to cook. Even better: the meal I don't have to plan, cook or clean up. I must've missed this ad when it first came out:
Everyone in my family knows that my favorite meal is "the one I don't have to cook." I can ask my girls, "What's my favorite meal?" and they will roll their eyes and answer in monotone.
Because I have repeated this ad nauseam around my family, I felt obliged to act happy when Carl prepared supper this evening, the girls set the table and I only had to put down my book and sit at my place. Act is the operative word though. Carl dished a plate pleasing to my eyes...but that's where "pleasing" stopped.
He had prepared browned ground venison ("buck burger" he called it...and the buck's head now hangs in our building project...how's that for appetizing???) with purple cabbage, green broccoli florets, sauteed onions, whole wheat cooked macaroni, chopped orange baby carrots and red bell peppers. The bright colors tantalized my eyes, but past experience with Carl's cooking experiments had left me...shall we say...hesitant. He had always included a surprise ingredient.
Tonight was no exception. I took a cautious bite of macaroni (it seemed the least risky) and chewed a few times while Katie and Hailey simultaneously took a bite from their own plates. A few seconds later we all hastily gulped down our waters.
"What kind of pepper did you use in this?" I asked, my eyes watering. Carl knows I don't like pepper. He always tries to sneak some in so that one of these days, when I claim to enjoy his concoction, he can smugly tell me how much pepper he used.
"I didn't use pepper."
"Then why does my mouth burn?"
"Oh, that. I used enchilada sauce. But I only used one can. I had two cans out. Do you like it?"
I paused, weighing the value of honesty against the value of having others occasionally prepare meals in my house. I ate a couple of grapes to cool my mouth before I answered, "It is my favorite meal. Far be it from me to say anything negative about a meal I only had to sit down to."
"Nee pah-ee," Hannah interrupted, informing us that she needed to potty. Saved by Hannah.
When Carl stood to help Hannah down from the table, Hannah asked, "Whuh du-wing? (What are you doing?)"
"Don't you need to potty?" Carl asked.
Hannah looked directly at Carl, lifted her right cheek from her seat and said, "Ppssssssssss."
I have no idea where she got that, but I nearly peed my own pants.
Everyone in my family knows that my favorite meal is "the one I don't have to cook." I can ask my girls, "What's my favorite meal?" and they will roll their eyes and answer in monotone.
Because I have repeated this ad nauseam around my family, I felt obliged to act happy when Carl prepared supper this evening, the girls set the table and I only had to put down my book and sit at my place. Act is the operative word though. Carl dished a plate pleasing to my eyes...but that's where "pleasing" stopped.
He had prepared browned ground venison ("buck burger" he called it...and the buck's head now hangs in our building project...how's that for appetizing???) with purple cabbage, green broccoli florets, sauteed onions, whole wheat cooked macaroni, chopped orange baby carrots and red bell peppers. The bright colors tantalized my eyes, but past experience with Carl's cooking experiments had left me...shall we say...hesitant. He had always included a surprise ingredient.
Tonight was no exception. I took a cautious bite of macaroni (it seemed the least risky) and chewed a few times while Katie and Hailey simultaneously took a bite from their own plates. A few seconds later we all hastily gulped down our waters.
"What kind of pepper did you use in this?" I asked, my eyes watering. Carl knows I don't like pepper. He always tries to sneak some in so that one of these days, when I claim to enjoy his concoction, he can smugly tell me how much pepper he used.
"I didn't use pepper."
"Then why does my mouth burn?"
"Oh, that. I used enchilada sauce. But I only used one can. I had two cans out. Do you like it?"
I paused, weighing the value of honesty against the value of having others occasionally prepare meals in my house. I ate a couple of grapes to cool my mouth before I answered, "It is my favorite meal. Far be it from me to say anything negative about a meal I only had to sit down to."
"Nee pah-ee," Hannah interrupted, informing us that she needed to potty. Saved by Hannah.
When Carl stood to help Hannah down from the table, Hannah asked, "Whuh du-wing? (What are you doing?)"
"Don't you need to potty?" Carl asked.
Hannah looked directly at Carl, lifted her right cheek from her seat and said, "Ppssssssssss."
I have no idea where she got that, but I nearly peed my own pants.
Friday, February 22, 2008
My New Blog
I have started a second blog, The Rheumatoid Factor (http://therheumatoidfactor.blogspot.com), which is devoted to life with chronic illness. I will primarily dedicate this blog, Never A Dull Moment, to parenting and family life...especially as it pertains to living with Hannah Savannah, my Dandy-Walker girl.
I've included a link to The Rheumatoid Factor in my list of links to the right. Today I have posted at The Rheumatoid Factor, and am notifying you of that post here. I won't make a habit of creating "notification posts," but wanted to do it this one time as a sort of kick-off.
Have a great weekend! Spring is almost here!!! Be sure to scroll down and read yesterday's post...if you haven't already.
I've included a link to The Rheumatoid Factor in my list of links to the right. Today I have posted at The Rheumatoid Factor, and am notifying you of that post here. I won't make a habit of creating "notification posts," but wanted to do it this one time as a sort of kick-off.
Have a great weekend! Spring is almost here!!! Be sure to scroll down and read yesterday's post...if you haven't already.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Deciding Not to Decide
The whole Ritalin thing really has me down. I haven't written anything, I haven't started anything, I haven't done...anything. Well, except ponder, then talk to whomever is available: Mom, Sheri, Liz, my sister, the checkout lady at the grocery store.
Instead of dealing with this issue I have worked diligently on our business bookwork in escapist fashion, travelled to Tulsa for my own doctor appointment and avoided Hannah's teachers when picking her up from school. Oh, and I've watched Supernanny on TV and determined that if we were better parents Hannah wouldn't be having these problems. A naughty chair would solve them all.
I've decided not to make a decision, which really means I've decided not to medicate Hannah this school year. I want to learn more details: Does she still do well during circle time? Is she only falling behind in her seat work, or has she regressed in other areas as well? What else is available instead of medication? For what length of time does "seat work" last? If it's only thirty to forty-five minutes, would she benefit from one-on-one attention? Is one-on-one attention available? If it isn't available, could I provide it? Would she improve at school if I provided more structure at home, or would more structure push her over the edge?
In a blog comment Tonya recommended, among other things, that we try a rewards system. In knee-jerk fashion I thought been there, done that, doesn't work. However, after giving it some thought I realized that Hannah has matured since we tried stickers and other rewards. Previously Hannah didn't "get it." No sticker? No big deal. However, maybe now she would respond.
This post has been a train-of-thought entry with no real creative writing involved. I have avoided posting because I didn't know what I wanted to do for Hannah, but that has only resulted in a kind of backlog in my brain. Hopefully this rambling post will release some of that build up and give me a new momentum.
Instead of dealing with this issue I have worked diligently on our business bookwork in escapist fashion, travelled to Tulsa for my own doctor appointment and avoided Hannah's teachers when picking her up from school. Oh, and I've watched Supernanny on TV and determined that if we were better parents Hannah wouldn't be having these problems. A naughty chair would solve them all.
I've decided not to make a decision, which really means I've decided not to medicate Hannah this school year. I want to learn more details: Does she still do well during circle time? Is she only falling behind in her seat work, or has she regressed in other areas as well? What else is available instead of medication? For what length of time does "seat work" last? If it's only thirty to forty-five minutes, would she benefit from one-on-one attention? Is one-on-one attention available? If it isn't available, could I provide it? Would she improve at school if I provided more structure at home, or would more structure push her over the edge?
In a blog comment Tonya recommended, among other things, that we try a rewards system. In knee-jerk fashion I thought been there, done that, doesn't work. However, after giving it some thought I realized that Hannah has matured since we tried stickers and other rewards. Previously Hannah didn't "get it." No sticker? No big deal. However, maybe now she would respond.
This post has been a train-of-thought entry with no real creative writing involved. I have avoided posting because I didn't know what I wanted to do for Hannah, but that has only resulted in a kind of backlog in my brain. Hopefully this rambling post will release some of that build up and give me a new momentum.
Monday, February 18, 2008
What's In A Name?
"Whah du-wing?" (What are you doing?) Hannah asked me.
"I'm getting ready to help your sister with her music paper," I answered and paused. "Who is your sister?"
"Ummm, name Tatie," (um, her name is Katie).
"Who is your other sister?" I prompted.
"Name Hayey" (name Hailey), Hannah answered without hesitation.
"Who's your daddy?" I asked without music, though in my mind I was singing What's your name? What's your name? Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy? from the song Time of the Season.
Hannah answered, "Name Pop Cah" (name Papa Carl.) So far so good.
"What's my name?" I asked next.
Hannah looked puzzled. "Yoh name?" she asked.
"Yes. What's my name?"
"Ummm. Name mom." (no translation needed.)
Hailey piped in, "Her name is Angela."
"Oh," Hannah paused, thought a moment, then phoneticized my name in a way I never imagined. "Name Jajagoo." (no translation attempted.)
I don't think I'll be posting that in Hannah's speech therapy journal.
"I'm getting ready to help your sister with her music paper," I answered and paused. "Who is your sister?"
"Ummm, name Tatie," (um, her name is Katie).
"Who is your other sister?" I prompted.
"Name Hayey" (name Hailey), Hannah answered without hesitation.
"Who's your daddy?" I asked without music, though in my mind I was singing What's your name? What's your name? Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy? from the song Time of the Season.
Hannah answered, "Name Pop Cah" (name Papa Carl.) So far so good.
"What's my name?" I asked next.
Hannah looked puzzled. "Yoh name?" she asked.
"Yes. What's my name?"
"Ummm. Name mom." (no translation needed.)
Hailey piped in, "Her name is Angela."
"Oh," Hannah paused, thought a moment, then phoneticized my name in a way I never imagined. "Name Jajagoo." (no translation attempted.)
I don't think I'll be posting that in Hannah's speech therapy journal.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Bella's Heart on Valentine's Day
en·joy to take pleasure in something; to have the full and satisfying use or benefit of something
We've had a busy couple of days here preparing for Valentine's Day parties and for my doctor's appointment in Tulsa tomorrow. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the amount of things I have to do and therefore fail to remember to enjoy those things. To enjoy the Valentine's Day party I helped put together for Katie's class today. To enjoy Hannah, all of Hannah, who will only be five for a few more months, then six, then seven... To enjoy my healthy, happy, somewhat hormonal tween girls.
Mostly, to enjoy the fact that our life is basically routine. Yes, I have a chronic illness. Yes, Hannah has a brain malformation. But one day in the Solomon life looks rather similar to the next. We don't worry that someone's cancer will return from remission. We don't have life-and-death diseases. My baby won't require open heart surgery any time soon...if ever.
Unlike Bella. Bella just turned one year old and waits in Kansas City for her second open heart surgery. Her mom and dad are there with her while her two older sisters remain at home with grandma and grandpa. Click on the pink "Miracles Happen Ministries" button to the right to read more of Bella's story. Even if you don't click, take a moment to send up a prayer that her family has peace and that Bella's heart is healed--an appropriate prayer on Valentine's Day.
This in NOT to say that Bella's family doesn't enjoy Bella or their life. Actually, her family inspires me with their optimism and faith. But when we watch others endure a difficult time, knowing that we all will have to endure our own difficult times (if we haven't already), we are given a blessed opportunity to regain our perspectives and remember what is truely important...then to enjoy it.
We've had a busy couple of days here preparing for Valentine's Day parties and for my doctor's appointment in Tulsa tomorrow. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the amount of things I have to do and therefore fail to remember to enjoy those things. To enjoy the Valentine's Day party I helped put together for Katie's class today. To enjoy Hannah, all of Hannah, who will only be five for a few more months, then six, then seven... To enjoy my healthy, happy, somewhat hormonal tween girls.
Mostly, to enjoy the fact that our life is basically routine. Yes, I have a chronic illness. Yes, Hannah has a brain malformation. But one day in the Solomon life looks rather similar to the next. We don't worry that someone's cancer will return from remission. We don't have life-and-death diseases. My baby won't require open heart surgery any time soon...if ever.
Unlike Bella. Bella just turned one year old and waits in Kansas City for her second open heart surgery. Her mom and dad are there with her while her two older sisters remain at home with grandma and grandpa. Click on the pink "Miracles Happen Ministries" button to the right to read more of Bella's story. Even if you don't click, take a moment to send up a prayer that her family has peace and that Bella's heart is healed--an appropriate prayer on Valentine's Day.
This in NOT to say that Bella's family doesn't enjoy Bella or their life. Actually, her family inspires me with their optimism and faith. But when we watch others endure a difficult time, knowing that we all will have to endure our own difficult times (if we haven't already), we are given a blessed opportunity to regain our perspectives and remember what is truely important...then to enjoy it.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The 21st Century Question: Medication or No Medication
Hannah's teacher has suggested that I consider medicating Hannah. Keep in mind, that's my summary of a five-minute conversation I had with Hannah's teacher.
Here's the history: Hannah has been easily distractable this entire school year. She seemed to be improving a bit before Christmas, but has consistently regressed since then. The climax of distraction occured Tuesday while Hannah worked on her seatwork assignment which involved identifying which butterflies were different and which were the same. In the past she has been capable of this, but Tuesday she struggled.
During the struggle Hannah stood from her seat and began wandering around the classroom.
"Hannah, come back here and finish your work," Ann, Hannah's teacher, said.
Hannah looked at Ann and said, "No."
Hannah did return to her seat, but didn't complete the assignment.
Her teachers have tried several things this past year. With a five-to-one student-teacher ratio, they have constantly redirected her: "Hannah, finish your work. Hannah, color your picture. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah." They've placed a cardboard cubicle around her, which worked beautifully the first day, then steadily decreased in efficacy. Now she peers around it every time she hears a noise. We tried the weighted vest once. Nothing.
I write all of that to dispel the notion that these particular teachers just want cooperative students and thus recommend Ritalin with a first offense. In fact, Ann was not insistent about medication, but instead insisted that she's not a doctor and is only making a suggestion.
That leaves me with a decision. A big decision. At this point my head is screaming noooooOOOOOOO!!! I'm questioning myself as a parent--is my seasonal depression effecting Hannah at school. If I was more with it would she be more attentive? I feel pressured to "fix" Hannah immediately or else choose drugs to "fix" her.
Several ideas present themselves. First food. Could I change her diet and thus change her bevhavior? I at least want to try. But I've been such a failure at dietary changes in the past, I struggle to trust myself.
Second, candida. Hannah received (to my shame now) many rounds of antibiotics in her first two years of life due to chronic ear infections. All the good bacteria was killed off right along with the bad, leaving her a prime target for a chronic internal yeast infection. What doctor do I see about that???
Third, phase. It could just be an extended phase. Hannah's speech has greatly improved this year. Maybe she's focusing on her speech to the exclusion of her seatwork. That's how she has progressed in other areas: while she learned to walk, she spoke little. When she began to focus more on cognitive skills, her gross motor skills plateaued. Maybe now she's focusing on her speech. Her speech therapist has had less trouble than her classroom teachers, though not NO trouble. (How's that for a double negative.)
This is a rambling post. I have a fifth grade class Valentine's day party to help prepare and my house is a mess. I also have an appointment with a new doctor in Tulsa Friday for which I want to study so that I can convince him to prescribe the antibiotic protocol to treat my arthritis.
To medicate or not to medicate. That's the 21st century question.
Here's the history: Hannah has been easily distractable this entire school year. She seemed to be improving a bit before Christmas, but has consistently regressed since then. The climax of distraction occured Tuesday while Hannah worked on her seatwork assignment which involved identifying which butterflies were different and which were the same. In the past she has been capable of this, but Tuesday she struggled.
During the struggle Hannah stood from her seat and began wandering around the classroom.
"Hannah, come back here and finish your work," Ann, Hannah's teacher, said.
Hannah looked at Ann and said, "No."
Hannah did return to her seat, but didn't complete the assignment.
Her teachers have tried several things this past year. With a five-to-one student-teacher ratio, they have constantly redirected her: "Hannah, finish your work. Hannah, color your picture. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah." They've placed a cardboard cubicle around her, which worked beautifully the first day, then steadily decreased in efficacy. Now she peers around it every time she hears a noise. We tried the weighted vest once. Nothing.
I write all of that to dispel the notion that these particular teachers just want cooperative students and thus recommend Ritalin with a first offense. In fact, Ann was not insistent about medication, but instead insisted that she's not a doctor and is only making a suggestion.
That leaves me with a decision. A big decision. At this point my head is screaming noooooOOOOOOO!!! I'm questioning myself as a parent--is my seasonal depression effecting Hannah at school. If I was more with it would she be more attentive? I feel pressured to "fix" Hannah immediately or else choose drugs to "fix" her.
Several ideas present themselves. First food. Could I change her diet and thus change her bevhavior? I at least want to try. But I've been such a failure at dietary changes in the past, I struggle to trust myself.
Second, candida. Hannah received (to my shame now) many rounds of antibiotics in her first two years of life due to chronic ear infections. All the good bacteria was killed off right along with the bad, leaving her a prime target for a chronic internal yeast infection. What doctor do I see about that???
Third, phase. It could just be an extended phase. Hannah's speech has greatly improved this year. Maybe she's focusing on her speech to the exclusion of her seatwork. That's how she has progressed in other areas: while she learned to walk, she spoke little. When she began to focus more on cognitive skills, her gross motor skills plateaued. Maybe now she's focusing on her speech. Her speech therapist has had less trouble than her classroom teachers, though not NO trouble. (How's that for a double negative.)
This is a rambling post. I have a fifth grade class Valentine's day party to help prepare and my house is a mess. I also have an appointment with a new doctor in Tulsa Friday for which I want to study so that I can convince him to prescribe the antibiotic protocol to treat my arthritis.
To medicate or not to medicate. That's the 21st century question.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Do You See the Resemblance?
Today I read a book with my back to the table where Carl and the girls made "puppet heads" from clothes pins and assorted craft supplies. I heard Carl ask, "What do you girls think of this one?"
Katie replied without hesitation, "It's mom!" I turned to see this.
Please tell me you don't see the resemblance...
A few minutes later Carl, again when my back was turned, used a cartoonish womanly voice to make the puppet head say, "Hi. I'm Angela." Then he used a different womanly voice to say, "And I'm her sister, Ashley." Again I turned around.
This is you, Ashley. Evidently you became Bahamian when I wasn't looking...
This is how Hannah took part...
I hope you all are staying warm and having a giggle at our expense.
Katie replied without hesitation, "It's mom!" I turned to see this.
Please tell me you don't see the resemblance...
A few minutes later Carl, again when my back was turned, used a cartoonish womanly voice to make the puppet head say, "Hi. I'm Angela." Then he used a different womanly voice to say, "And I'm her sister, Ashley." Again I turned around.
This is you, Ashley. Evidently you became Bahamian when I wasn't looking...
This is how Hannah took part...
I hope you all are staying warm and having a giggle at our expense.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Catholicism and my Sensory Girl
We're Catholic. Both Carl & I are cradle Catholics and, if they keep our faith, the girls will one day title themselves the same. Hailey and I went to early Mass this morning, after which Carl took Katie and Hannah to 10:00 Mass. As I tucked Hannah in for her nap today, I asked her about church and came to the realization that ours is an excellent faith for a sensory-oriented child.
"What did you do at church today, Hannah?"
She replied, "I sing 'wain dahn, wain dahn, wain dahn wuv ah pee-pewh (rain down, rain down, rain down Your love on Your people')" in the worst, most-lovable off-key voice I've ever heard.
"Wow. Did you sing any other songs?" I asked.
"Whiz dewh, Mom! (Liz was there, Mom!)" Liz is our friend and the organist at church.
"What color did Father Larry wear today?" Our conversation was a little ADD.
"Puh-puh. And a bwown book. (Purple. And he had a brown book.)" Sadly, I don't recall if the priest wears purple during Lent and I'm pretty sure the book Hannah saw was red, but oh well.
We went on to discuss the blue and white candles, the bells, the holy water into which we dip our fingers and bless ourselves. We talked about the life-sized crucifix hanging on the wall and the statues of Mary and of Joseph holding the baby Jesus who in turn is holding a gold-colored globe that is the world.
Hannah told me that she genuflected and that she kneeled and stood and sat (Catholic aerobics). Because the priest essentially reenacts the Last Supper, complete with chalice (cup) and paten (a little, golden plate), Hannah and I discussed how Father Larry washed his dishes when the mass was complete. At the high point of the mass the altar server rings bells and on special occasions incense is burned. Hannah isn't old enough to receive communion, but those who are old enough eat the Eucharistic host.
The Catholic Mass makes use of all five senses with the intent of drawing the entire person into worship. Some Sundays it proves long and boring for Hannah, but typically the mass engages her. Lately I've been in a spiritual desert, so the opposite has been true for me: most Sundays mass proves long and boring for Angela, but occasionally it engages her.
As I read through this post I realize that, to a non-Catholic, this all sounds very strange: life-sized statues, strange words (like Eucharistic, paten and genuflecting), calling an unrelated man "Father." I know the Catholic church has received much (deserved) bad press over the past few years. Nevertheless, I love my faith and love having a faith to pass on to my children. Unlike some (many?) Catholics, I understand most of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. But my point isn't to explain (though I'm happy to do so if someone asks), or to convert or to apologize.
Today I'm just writing about one more facet of my life, appropriately on a Sunday, and how that piece of my world fits in the puzzle that is Hannah. And not just Hannah, but my entire family.
"What did you do at church today, Hannah?"
She replied, "I sing 'wain dahn, wain dahn, wain dahn wuv ah pee-pewh (rain down, rain down, rain down Your love on Your people')" in the worst, most-lovable off-key voice I've ever heard.
"Wow. Did you sing any other songs?" I asked.
"Whiz dewh, Mom! (Liz was there, Mom!)" Liz is our friend and the organist at church.
"What color did Father Larry wear today?" Our conversation was a little ADD.
"Puh-puh. And a bwown book. (Purple. And he had a brown book.)" Sadly, I don't recall if the priest wears purple during Lent and I'm pretty sure the book Hannah saw was red, but oh well.
We went on to discuss the blue and white candles, the bells, the holy water into which we dip our fingers and bless ourselves. We talked about the life-sized crucifix hanging on the wall and the statues of Mary and of Joseph holding the baby Jesus who in turn is holding a gold-colored globe that is the world.
Hannah told me that she genuflected and that she kneeled and stood and sat (Catholic aerobics). Because the priest essentially reenacts the Last Supper, complete with chalice (cup) and paten (a little, golden plate), Hannah and I discussed how Father Larry washed his dishes when the mass was complete. At the high point of the mass the altar server rings bells and on special occasions incense is burned. Hannah isn't old enough to receive communion, but those who are old enough eat the Eucharistic host.
The Catholic Mass makes use of all five senses with the intent of drawing the entire person into worship. Some Sundays it proves long and boring for Hannah, but typically the mass engages her. Lately I've been in a spiritual desert, so the opposite has been true for me: most Sundays mass proves long and boring for Angela, but occasionally it engages her.
As I read through this post I realize that, to a non-Catholic, this all sounds very strange: life-sized statues, strange words (like Eucharistic, paten and genuflecting), calling an unrelated man "Father." I know the Catholic church has received much (deserved) bad press over the past few years. Nevertheless, I love my faith and love having a faith to pass on to my children. Unlike some (many?) Catholics, I understand most of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. But my point isn't to explain (though I'm happy to do so if someone asks), or to convert or to apologize.
Today I'm just writing about one more facet of my life, appropriately on a Sunday, and how that piece of my world fits in the puzzle that is Hannah. And not just Hannah, but my entire family.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Arsenic Hour Antidote
Have you ever noticed the particular time frame during which every aspect of home life disintegrates into discord? You know, when mom attempts to fix supper, kids do homework and need mom's help, dad isn't home yet, Hannah suffers a meltdown (if you have a "Hannah"), someone bangs on practices the piano. If you have a baby it cries for no specific reason and refuses any efforts made to pacify him or her. We call it "arsenic hour."
Our arsenic hour slowly swelled until it lasted from the moment the older girls began their homework after school until bedtime. A nice glass of wine no longer took the edge off and I became resentful of my hard-working husband's good work ethic, despite the fact that he is our sole source of income. Between Hannah's meltdowns, Katie's need for help with her homework, Hailey's basketball schedule and my desire to feed my kids nutritiously rather than Sonic or Pizza Hut (our only two choices in my small town), I had to do something.
So, I hired another high school girl. At this rate I'll employ the entire female population of our tiny high school, thus boosting the local economy and doing my part to end this supposed recession. B (the aforementioned high school freshman) arrives Monday, Wednesday and Thursday at 4:30 and interacts with Hannah while I help Katie and Hailey with homework, hear about their day at school, taxi Hailey to basketball practice and generally make myself available to my older two. Before B leaves around 6:30 she cleans the kitchen, traditionally Carl's "job."
Talk about a win-win-win situation. Hannah is happy with the special treatment she receives (I've been pleasantly surprised with how quickly B has been able to interpret Hannah's speech and find fun things to do), the older girls have more attention and help from me, Carl is relieved of kitchen duty AND he retains more of his a** because his wife is less of an a** chewer. Not only that but we are actually ahead financially because Carl can work later, earning markedly more money per hour than we pay B.
I hired B two weeks ago. So far so good. There's a learning curve involved--teaching how to load a dishwasher & where to put away dishes, where basic things are located, how to entertain Hannah, what I expect. B has done remarkably well and "fits" with our family's personality. Nothing is perfect, but this has been a good antidote to our arsenic hour, for now, and another key in my quest to find balance and serenity amidst the trials that are mine.
Our arsenic hour slowly swelled until it lasted from the moment the older girls began their homework after school until bedtime. A nice glass of wine no longer took the edge off and I became resentful of my hard-working husband's good work ethic, despite the fact that he is our sole source of income. Between Hannah's meltdowns, Katie's need for help with her homework, Hailey's basketball schedule and my desire to feed my kids nutritiously rather than Sonic or Pizza Hut (our only two choices in my small town), I had to do something.
So, I hired another high school girl. At this rate I'll employ the entire female population of our tiny high school, thus boosting the local economy and doing my part to end this supposed recession. B (the aforementioned high school freshman) arrives Monday, Wednesday and Thursday at 4:30 and interacts with Hannah while I help Katie and Hailey with homework, hear about their day at school, taxi Hailey to basketball practice and generally make myself available to my older two. Before B leaves around 6:30 she cleans the kitchen, traditionally Carl's "job."
Talk about a win-win-win situation. Hannah is happy with the special treatment she receives (I've been pleasantly surprised with how quickly B has been able to interpret Hannah's speech and find fun things to do), the older girls have more attention and help from me, Carl is relieved of kitchen duty AND he retains more of his a** because his wife is less of an a** chewer. Not only that but we are actually ahead financially because Carl can work later, earning markedly more money per hour than we pay B.
I hired B two weeks ago. So far so good. There's a learning curve involved--teaching how to load a dishwasher & where to put away dishes, where basic things are located, how to entertain Hannah, what I expect. B has done remarkably well and "fits" with our family's personality. Nothing is perfect, but this has been a good antidote to our arsenic hour, for now, and another key in my quest to find balance and serenity amidst the trials that are mine.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Doctor's Visit Part 1
Before I give you the doctor details, imagine that this is what we heard from Hannah's "Pixel Chicks" the entire drive to Joplin...over and over and over.
What should we do?
What should we do?
What should we do?
What should we do?
This betteh not happen again!
Doctor's Visit Part 2
Let me say up front: all is well.
Either I misunderstood the receptionist or she misspoke. It really doesn't matter now. I didn't know about a biopsy because there hasn't been a biopsy. However, I need to have (future tense) a biopsy in the future. February 29, to be exact.
When the doctor anesthetized me and pushed the aspirin down my throat (during my January ER visit), I had requested that he do everything necessary that day so that I could avoid future procedures, future dollars and future chunks of lost time. When I discovered he had only pushed the aspirin through, I was more than a little annoyed.
It turns out he had a reason. My throat was so constricted that the little camera would not fit through it and into my stomach. Now we need to know why, hence the February 29 procedure. The doctor reassured me that in 96% of these situations, throat constriction has been caused by something benign such as scar tissue or inflammation. Hmmm, I think I qualify in the inflammation department. I have also taken medicine, then laid down before giving it adequate time to reach my stomach. After several instances my throat burned as if the medicine had dissolved there and scorched it. So, score one for potential scar tissue, too.
The good news: if the constriction is caused by scar tissue or inflammation, he can dilate my throat and send me on my post-anesthetically merry way. He thinks that since the Prevacid improved my swallowing abilities and reduced my pain, this is probably the case.
Sorry for the drama, everyone. I don't know whether to be annoyed at the mix-up or just relieved that it's all probably nothing in the something-versus-nothing scheme of things. Thanks for the prayers! I had more butterflies resulting from the constant Pixel Chicks repeat of "What should we do?" than I did from worry.
Either I misunderstood the receptionist or she misspoke. It really doesn't matter now. I didn't know about a biopsy because there hasn't been a biopsy. However, I need to have (future tense) a biopsy in the future. February 29, to be exact.
When the doctor anesthetized me and pushed the aspirin down my throat (during my January ER visit), I had requested that he do everything necessary that day so that I could avoid future procedures, future dollars and future chunks of lost time. When I discovered he had only pushed the aspirin through, I was more than a little annoyed.
It turns out he had a reason. My throat was so constricted that the little camera would not fit through it and into my stomach. Now we need to know why, hence the February 29 procedure. The doctor reassured me that in 96% of these situations, throat constriction has been caused by something benign such as scar tissue or inflammation. Hmmm, I think I qualify in the inflammation department. I have also taken medicine, then laid down before giving it adequate time to reach my stomach. After several instances my throat burned as if the medicine had dissolved there and scorched it. So, score one for potential scar tissue, too.
The good news: if the constriction is caused by scar tissue or inflammation, he can dilate my throat and send me on my post-anesthetically merry way. He thinks that since the Prevacid improved my swallowing abilities and reduced my pain, this is probably the case.
Sorry for the drama, everyone. I don't know whether to be annoyed at the mix-up or just relieved that it's all probably nothing in the something-versus-nothing scheme of things. Thanks for the prayers! I had more butterflies resulting from the constant Pixel Chicks repeat of "What should we do?" than I did from worry.
What Biopsy???
Dear Pop: If you are reading this before I call you, I apologize. You will be the first one I call at 2:00 today.
I posted somewhere on this blog about my two separate trips to the emergency room caused by my getting medicine lodged in my throat. During the second trip they put me under in order to move an aspirin (yes, a little aspirin) on down to my stomach. The doctor scheduled a follow-up appointment for me in late January, which I promptly ignored.
A few days later I received a phone call from his office to reschedule the appointment. Ok. Ok. I agreed to see him today at 1:00, but didn't write that down anywhere except inside my unaccountable mind.
This morning I called his office. "Hi. I'm Angela Solomon. Do I have an appointment today?"
Without hesitation the lady on the other end of the line said, "Yes you do."
I actually said, "Wow, you recognize my name??? What time is my appointment?" After she looked that up (evidently she didn't have the entire day memorized) I asked her, "Do I really need to see the doctor? I'm feeling fine."
She replied, "Yes, the doctor needs to see you. In fact, when you missed your first appointment he asked about you and requested that we make sure to get you in."
"Oh." I was starting to get a funny feeling about all of this.
She continued, "It seems there was something wrong with the biopsy."
Biopsy? What biopsy? I didn't know they did a biopsy! A biopsy of what?!! Scar tissue? God forbid...a tumor??? My imagination is now effectively in overdrive. No, make that super sonic warp speed beam-me-up-Scotty-drive.
My day has made a sudden U-turn. Carl and Hannah are taking me to see the doctor I had orignally planned to ditch. Carl's presence alone gives this whole experience a surreal quality. This is the same Carl who attended zero--ZERO--prenatal visits and instead allowed me to take my small children to said gyno appointments. Can you imagine what a 2-year-old does during a routine, um, physical prenatal exam when she gets bored?
But, I've gotten off-topic. I'm obviously trying to distract myself. I'm going to sign off here asking for prayers...prayers that peace replaces this flurry of flapping butterfly wings in my gut.
I posted somewhere on this blog about my two separate trips to the emergency room caused by my getting medicine lodged in my throat. During the second trip they put me under in order to move an aspirin (yes, a little aspirin) on down to my stomach. The doctor scheduled a follow-up appointment for me in late January, which I promptly ignored.
A few days later I received a phone call from his office to reschedule the appointment. Ok. Ok. I agreed to see him today at 1:00, but didn't write that down anywhere except inside my unaccountable mind.
This morning I called his office. "Hi. I'm Angela Solomon. Do I have an appointment today?"
Without hesitation the lady on the other end of the line said, "Yes you do."
I actually said, "Wow, you recognize my name??? What time is my appointment?" After she looked that up (evidently she didn't have the entire day memorized) I asked her, "Do I really need to see the doctor? I'm feeling fine."
She replied, "Yes, the doctor needs to see you. In fact, when you missed your first appointment he asked about you and requested that we make sure to get you in."
"Oh." I was starting to get a funny feeling about all of this.
She continued, "It seems there was something wrong with the biopsy."
Biopsy? What biopsy? I didn't know they did a biopsy! A biopsy of what?!! Scar tissue? God forbid...a tumor??? My imagination is now effectively in overdrive. No, make that super sonic warp speed beam-me-up-Scotty-drive.
My day has made a sudden U-turn. Carl and Hannah are taking me to see the doctor I had orignally planned to ditch. Carl's presence alone gives this whole experience a surreal quality. This is the same Carl who attended zero--ZERO--prenatal visits and instead allowed me to take my small children to said gyno appointments. Can you imagine what a 2-year-old does during a routine, um, physical prenatal exam when she gets bored?
But, I've gotten off-topic. I'm obviously trying to distract myself. I'm going to sign off here asking for prayers...prayers that peace replaces this flurry of flapping butterfly wings in my gut.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Smokin'!
I've tagged this entry as "Dandy-Walker" just because it involves Hannah, though it's not particularly Dandy-Walker oriented. My dandy-girl still makes me smile!
Tonight I let loose the eighties girl in me and listened to Boston's Smokin'. OK, so that's seventies. Sue me. Hannah immediately started playing her air guitar & shake-shake-shakin' it, which makes me laugh every time. (thank you, Sheri, for giving Hannah her air guitar roots).
In mid-song I said, "Hannah, can you close the curtain for me, please?"
She stopped, put one air-guitar finger in the air and said, "Mmmm, faking. (Hmmm, I'm thinking)." Pause. "Naaah. 'mbizzy (No, I'm busy)", after which she immediately resumed jammin' on her air guitar...to these lyrics:
Smokin, smokin
We're cookin' tonight
Just keep on tokin'
Holy cow--I'm really mother of the year. I sincerely didn't know the lyrics until just now, when I looked them up online in order to post them. I won't let my kids watch Sponge Bob, but I'll crank Boston.
Rock on!
Tonight I let loose the eighties girl in me and listened to Boston's Smokin'. OK, so that's seventies. Sue me. Hannah immediately started playing her air guitar & shake-shake-shakin' it, which makes me laugh every time. (thank you, Sheri, for giving Hannah her air guitar roots).
In mid-song I said, "Hannah, can you close the curtain for me, please?"
She stopped, put one air-guitar finger in the air and said, "Mmmm, faking. (Hmmm, I'm thinking)." Pause. "Naaah. 'mbizzy (No, I'm busy)", after which she immediately resumed jammin' on her air guitar...to these lyrics:
Smokin, smokin
We're cookin' tonight
Just keep on tokin'
Holy cow--I'm really mother of the year. I sincerely didn't know the lyrics until just now, when I looked them up online in order to post them. I won't let my kids watch Sponge Bob, but I'll crank Boston.
Rock on!
Humility
Word for the day: weary. When I picked Hannah up from school today Ann, Hannah's teacher, said while shaking her head back and forth, "We tried the weighted vest with Hannah today."
"Did she need it today?" Immediately after asking, I realized it was a stupid question. Yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question.
"Yes, she spaced out during her seatwork today. The vest didn't phase her. How did the doctor appointment go Monday?"
"I liked the doctor and left with a good rapport, but I only took Hannah to him so I would have my foot in the door if she should ever require medication. She doesn't need medicated at this point," I paused. "Does she? Do you think I should consider medicating her?" I value Ann's opinion. She's not a doctor, but she's been in the trenches teaching special-needs kids for at least twenty years.
"No," she thought for a moment. "No, we can keep working with her through this year and see how she's progressed when school starts next year. Maybe after the first nine weeks of next year we can re-evaluate that decision. Right now, though, her spaciness is effecting her ability to learn."
Ugh.
Ann continued, "Hannah could make lots of changes before next year, though. It might not even be an issue at that point. Hopefully she'll grow out of it."
Score one for positive thinking. Hoping.
In this blog I've called Hannah The Destroyer and our Barometer...among other things. Today she is my humbler. Katie and Hailey are excelling in school, making friends, adjusting. We've had little issues pop up here and there, but both girls have bounced back quickly. I enjoy talking with their teachers because I know that the report will be a good one. The couple of times that teachers have approached me with a problem, the solution presented itself clearly to me. I feel like a pretty good mom when my mom mirror reflects off of them.
Hannah humbles me. The reports from school are more often negative than positive. Though the problems are not extreme, the rain of day-to-day downers sits heavily on my shoulders like a wool blanket in a thunderstorm. Today I can't seem to wring it out. Hannah forces me to remember that each of my children are little humans unto themselves, gifts from God for me to shape from partially pre-determined molds.
Without Hannah I might be unbearably full of pride, the bad kind. I might still be a my-kid-will-never-do-that kind of mom, even though I like to think I have learned that lesson by now. Hannah reminds me that I am charged with the responsibility of doing my best while being given no guarantees as to the outcome. Do you know how frustrating it is to work towards a goal when the primary reward is the lesser-of-two-evils prize? The imagine-how-much-worse-it-would-be trophy?
On another note: I have an appointment for myself with a new doctor on February 15. I plan to begin an antibiotic protocol for my rheumatoid arthritis, a treatment I began and quit five or six years ago, but have been anxious to begin again. The doctor I see happens to specialize in hormone treatment, a serendipity I didn't expect when making the appointment. My arthritis went into remission with two of my three pregnancies, so I've always wondered if a hormonal connection existed. Not only that, but I've suspected that my mood swings and feelings of being overwhelmed are exacerbated by hormone problems. Now I get to find out for certain.
Hopefully the word for tomorrow will be refreshed.
"Did she need it today?" Immediately after asking, I realized it was a stupid question. Yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question.
"Yes, she spaced out during her seatwork today. The vest didn't phase her. How did the doctor appointment go Monday?"
"I liked the doctor and left with a good rapport, but I only took Hannah to him so I would have my foot in the door if she should ever require medication. She doesn't need medicated at this point," I paused. "Does she? Do you think I should consider medicating her?" I value Ann's opinion. She's not a doctor, but she's been in the trenches teaching special-needs kids for at least twenty years.
"No," she thought for a moment. "No, we can keep working with her through this year and see how she's progressed when school starts next year. Maybe after the first nine weeks of next year we can re-evaluate that decision. Right now, though, her spaciness is effecting her ability to learn."
Ugh.
Ann continued, "Hannah could make lots of changes before next year, though. It might not even be an issue at that point. Hopefully she'll grow out of it."
Score one for positive thinking. Hoping.
In this blog I've called Hannah The Destroyer and our Barometer...among other things. Today she is my humbler. Katie and Hailey are excelling in school, making friends, adjusting. We've had little issues pop up here and there, but both girls have bounced back quickly. I enjoy talking with their teachers because I know that the report will be a good one. The couple of times that teachers have approached me with a problem, the solution presented itself clearly to me. I feel like a pretty good mom when my mom mirror reflects off of them.
Hannah humbles me. The reports from school are more often negative than positive. Though the problems are not extreme, the rain of day-to-day downers sits heavily on my shoulders like a wool blanket in a thunderstorm. Today I can't seem to wring it out. Hannah forces me to remember that each of my children are little humans unto themselves, gifts from God for me to shape from partially pre-determined molds.
Without Hannah I might be unbearably full of pride, the bad kind. I might still be a my-kid-will-never-do-that kind of mom, even though I like to think I have learned that lesson by now. Hannah reminds me that I am charged with the responsibility of doing my best while being given no guarantees as to the outcome. Do you know how frustrating it is to work towards a goal when the primary reward is the lesser-of-two-evils prize? The imagine-how-much-worse-it-would-be trophy?
On another note: I have an appointment for myself with a new doctor on February 15. I plan to begin an antibiotic protocol for my rheumatoid arthritis, a treatment I began and quit five or six years ago, but have been anxious to begin again. The doctor I see happens to specialize in hormone treatment, a serendipity I didn't expect when making the appointment. My arthritis went into remission with two of my three pregnancies, so I've always wondered if a hormonal connection existed. Not only that, but I've suspected that my mood swings and feelings of being overwhelmed are exacerbated by hormone problems. Now I get to find out for certain.
Hopefully the word for tomorrow will be refreshed.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Doctor's Office Difficulties
Yesterday I took Hannah to a pediatric psychiatrist in Missouri. His office staff requested that I arrive at 9:30 for my 10:00 appointment to allow time to fill out paperwork and bring my picture I.D., Hannah's birth certificate, Hannah's social security card, my social security card, divorce papers (only if I was divorced, which I'm not) and a blood sample to prove my identity. OK, not the blood sample.
I awoke yesterday irritable and achy, got around slowly--even more slowly than usual, searched for the abovementioned paperwork and found it exactly where it belonged after fifteen minutes of searching, then left ten minutes later than intended. Considering my morning, I thought I was doing OK.
The psychiatrist was located in the 500 block of 34th street. I expected to drive down 32nd, a major street, then turn south somewhere in the 500 block to hit 34th street. BUZZZZZ!!! Wrong answer. I wasted ten minutes trying to figure out how to get to 34th street, which caused me to arrive "late" for my 10:00 appointment by getting there at 9:45. Those who know and love me know that's pretty da** good for me.
Hannah exited the Tahoe without argument in spite of the fact that I had to stop her movie. Thank God for small favors. Being a veteran mom, I brought a few books and Hannah's leapster, which I carried in my left hand, balanced myself with my cane in my right hand, and basically corralled Hannah through the entryway. After seating Hannah in the waiting room at 9:50, I approached the receptionist. Once she opened her glass partition I said, "I'm Hannah's mom."
The receptionist looked at me like I had offered her anthrax and replied, "You were supposed to be here at 9:30 to fill out paperwork."
"I know. I'm sorry. I had a little trouble finding you. Here's the stuff you requested."
Again with the anthrax look, "It takes thirty minutes to fill out the paperwork. We may need to reschedule you."
"You've got to be kidding me. I drove here from Kansas. Could I fill it out after the appointment? Or maybe I could fill it out real fast?"
"I'll check with the doctor," she said curtly then closed her little glass partition on me.
Wait, wait, wait. Hurry up and wait. The receptionist returned, opened her glass window and said, "The doctor will see you, but he may have to cut your appointment short." It was all I could do not to reach through and throttle her, but I exercised supreme self-control, smiled a pursed smile and took the paperwork she offered me. All four pages of it.
After approximately seven minutes I returned the completed paperwork to her. The time: 10:00. I sat back down with Hannah and waited some more. At 10:05 I approached the glass window. When another receptionist asked if she could help me, I said, "Do you have more paperwork for me? I was of the understanding that it would require thirty minutes to complete."
"No, it is a little tedious to complete, though." Tedious. Her actual word. It dawned on me: the paperwork didn't require thirty minutes from the patient; it required thirty minutes of the staff! They expected me to bring a child with behavioral issues to their office, fill out their paperwork and wait/entertain the child while they processed the paperwork! Could they not mail me the *&! paperwork in advance?
I finally saw the doctor at 10:20 for my 10:00 appointment.
Though his staff sucked (sorry mom, "sucked" really says it all), the doctor was excellent. I never felt rushed. He showed me a poster of the human brain as well as one of those three-dimensional plastic brains to explain the location of Hannah's Dandy-Walker malformation in relation to the emotional center of the brain. When I explained my reluctance to medicate Hannah, he concurred and said he thinks we are doing exactly what we should be doing with the weighted vest, the PT, the OT, the speech therapy and the special school. He would keep her file open should things change. I nearly cried. I didn't realize how badly I needed/wanted to hear an outside party tell me I was doing a good job.
I'm considering lightly editing this post and sending it to the doctor, not to his office. We'll see.
The day ended on a lighter note. The temperature neared eighty degrees with plenty of sunshine. LOVE sunshine! I met a previous homeschool mom for lunch, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I ended my day in the metropolis by washing the Tahoe and driving with the window rolled down.
Happy Fat Tuesday everyone!
I awoke yesterday irritable and achy, got around slowly--even more slowly than usual, searched for the abovementioned paperwork and found it exactly where it belonged after fifteen minutes of searching, then left ten minutes later than intended. Considering my morning, I thought I was doing OK.
The psychiatrist was located in the 500 block of 34th street. I expected to drive down 32nd, a major street, then turn south somewhere in the 500 block to hit 34th street. BUZZZZZ!!! Wrong answer. I wasted ten minutes trying to figure out how to get to 34th street, which caused me to arrive "late" for my 10:00 appointment by getting there at 9:45. Those who know and love me know that's pretty da** good for me.
Hannah exited the Tahoe without argument in spite of the fact that I had to stop her movie. Thank God for small favors. Being a veteran mom, I brought a few books and Hannah's leapster, which I carried in my left hand, balanced myself with my cane in my right hand, and basically corralled Hannah through the entryway. After seating Hannah in the waiting room at 9:50, I approached the receptionist. Once she opened her glass partition I said, "I'm Hannah's mom."
The receptionist looked at me like I had offered her anthrax and replied, "You were supposed to be here at 9:30 to fill out paperwork."
"I know. I'm sorry. I had a little trouble finding you. Here's the stuff you requested."
Again with the anthrax look, "It takes thirty minutes to fill out the paperwork. We may need to reschedule you."
"You've got to be kidding me. I drove here from Kansas. Could I fill it out after the appointment? Or maybe I could fill it out real fast?"
"I'll check with the doctor," she said curtly then closed her little glass partition on me.
Wait, wait, wait. Hurry up and wait. The receptionist returned, opened her glass window and said, "The doctor will see you, but he may have to cut your appointment short." It was all I could do not to reach through and throttle her, but I exercised supreme self-control, smiled a pursed smile and took the paperwork she offered me. All four pages of it.
After approximately seven minutes I returned the completed paperwork to her. The time: 10:00. I sat back down with Hannah and waited some more. At 10:05 I approached the glass window. When another receptionist asked if she could help me, I said, "Do you have more paperwork for me? I was of the understanding that it would require thirty minutes to complete."
"No, it is a little tedious to complete, though." Tedious. Her actual word. It dawned on me: the paperwork didn't require thirty minutes from the patient; it required thirty minutes of the staff! They expected me to bring a child with behavioral issues to their office, fill out their paperwork and wait/entertain the child while they processed the paperwork! Could they not mail me the *&! paperwork in advance?
I finally saw the doctor at 10:20 for my 10:00 appointment.
Though his staff sucked (sorry mom, "sucked" really says it all), the doctor was excellent. I never felt rushed. He showed me a poster of the human brain as well as one of those three-dimensional plastic brains to explain the location of Hannah's Dandy-Walker malformation in relation to the emotional center of the brain. When I explained my reluctance to medicate Hannah, he concurred and said he thinks we are doing exactly what we should be doing with the weighted vest, the PT, the OT, the speech therapy and the special school. He would keep her file open should things change. I nearly cried. I didn't realize how badly I needed/wanted to hear an outside party tell me I was doing a good job.
I'm considering lightly editing this post and sending it to the doctor, not to his office. We'll see.
The day ended on a lighter note. The temperature neared eighty degrees with plenty of sunshine. LOVE sunshine! I met a previous homeschool mom for lunch, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I ended my day in the metropolis by washing the Tahoe and driving with the window rolled down.
Happy Fat Tuesday everyone!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Padded Bathroom
GO GIANTS! We had a little Superbowl party here at the Solomon house: ridiculous amounts of food, a color-confused hostess (were the Giants in white or blue???), and an uncertain moment when Hannah was accused of pooping her pants...but she hadn't. Who was the culprit? No one's admitting anything, though I recall someone "taking out the trash." Wink, wink.
Jeff was the only person I recall using the bathroom that evening (this is a separate topic than that of the first paragraph, by the way). Imagine my dismay when I went into our bathroom after our guests left and found that Hannah had unwrapped 8 or 10, er, feminine pads and scattered them around the bathroom floor. Did she do that before or after Jeff was in there? Please, God, let it be after!
Jeff was the only person I recall using the bathroom that evening (this is a separate topic than that of the first paragraph, by the way). Imagine my dismay when I went into our bathroom after our guests left and found that Hannah had unwrapped 8 or 10, er, feminine pads and scattered them around the bathroom floor. Did she do that before or after Jeff was in there? Please, God, let it be after!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Dandy Update: You Can Help
Tomorrow morning Hannah has an appointment with a pediatric psychologist...or is it psychiatrist? Whichever can prescribe medication. I have no intention of medicating Hannah at this point, but want my foot in the door, so to speak, before the door actually needs opened. We had to wait four months to see this particular doctor, so waiting until the need for medication was obvious wasn't an option.
When Hannah was diagnosed with Dandy-Walker we were told that 1 in 25,000 children were born with a Dandy-Walker variant. Now, partially due to heightened awareness, some claim that 1 in 5,000 children are born with Dandy-Walker. In my personal circle of Dandy-Walker acquaintances (through other blogs, the Dandy-Walker yahoogroup and the Dandy Walker Alliance) I'm beginning to realize that Hannah's autistic-like behavior is more common than I realized.
Autism has received much well-deserved attention recently. As a result, more autistic children are receiving the treatment they need to live their best possible lives. That attention is causing an internal nudge, a growing desire to see Hannah and other Dandy Kids like her receive the attention and treatment they need without every Dandy-Walker parent feeling like he or she needs to "reinvent the wheel" (my, aren't I full of cliche's tonight?)
I look forward to the day when I'm pointed to a pediatric neuropsychologist by my pediatrician rather than by a member of an online community. Great will be the day when the treatment for Dandy-Walker enters the twenty-first century. As it is now, doctors treat it as they did when they discovered it over fifty years ago: by surgically implanting a shunt to drain the fluid buildup on the brain, then treat the subsequent symptoms. Obviously, that's for the Dandy-Walker children with hydrocephalus, of whom Hannah is not one. The emotional issues that arise from a brain malformation near the emotional center of the brain have no specific diagnoses or treatment. Sensory Processing Disorder? Autism? Again, poor parenting? She's my little sweet onion, each layer creating it's own river of tears. Some are tears of sadness. But others are tears of hilarity, accompanied by a growing need for Depends.
The children who receive treatment are the ones who were not aborted at the suggestion of their parents' doctors, a situation that happens more often than I realized. Would those babies be aborted if the parents had knowledge and hope? How many more Hannahs could there be? She's a challenge for certain, but no more of a challenge than some children without congenital brain defects whom I have met.
If you have a moment, check out the Dandy Walker Alliance website at http://www.dandy-walker.org/ . You'll find all kinds of information about Dandy-Walker. More importantly you'll see a section titled "What Can You Do" in the middle of the first column of the home page. A three-minute phone call to your congressman could encourage him or her to cosponsor House Congressional Resolution 163...which would bring Hannah--and other Dandy Kids like her--one step closer to receiving the correct treatment that they deserve.
Thanks everyone! Have a wonderFebruaryful week!
When Hannah was diagnosed with Dandy-Walker we were told that 1 in 25,000 children were born with a Dandy-Walker variant. Now, partially due to heightened awareness, some claim that 1 in 5,000 children are born with Dandy-Walker. In my personal circle of Dandy-Walker acquaintances (through other blogs, the Dandy-Walker yahoogroup and the Dandy Walker Alliance) I'm beginning to realize that Hannah's autistic-like behavior is more common than I realized.
Autism has received much well-deserved attention recently. As a result, more autistic children are receiving the treatment they need to live their best possible lives. That attention is causing an internal nudge, a growing desire to see Hannah and other Dandy Kids like her receive the attention and treatment they need without every Dandy-Walker parent feeling like he or she needs to "reinvent the wheel" (my, aren't I full of cliche's tonight?)
I look forward to the day when I'm pointed to a pediatric neuropsychologist by my pediatrician rather than by a member of an online community. Great will be the day when the treatment for Dandy-Walker enters the twenty-first century. As it is now, doctors treat it as they did when they discovered it over fifty years ago: by surgically implanting a shunt to drain the fluid buildup on the brain, then treat the subsequent symptoms. Obviously, that's for the Dandy-Walker children with hydrocephalus, of whom Hannah is not one. The emotional issues that arise from a brain malformation near the emotional center of the brain have no specific diagnoses or treatment. Sensory Processing Disorder? Autism? Again, poor parenting? She's my little sweet onion, each layer creating it's own river of tears. Some are tears of sadness. But others are tears of hilarity, accompanied by a growing need for Depends.
The children who receive treatment are the ones who were not aborted at the suggestion of their parents' doctors, a situation that happens more often than I realized. Would those babies be aborted if the parents had knowledge and hope? How many more Hannahs could there be? She's a challenge for certain, but no more of a challenge than some children without congenital brain defects whom I have met.
If you have a moment, check out the Dandy Walker Alliance website at http://www.dandy-walker.org/ . You'll find all kinds of information about Dandy-Walker. More importantly you'll see a section titled "What Can You Do" in the middle of the first column of the home page. A three-minute phone call to your congressman could encourage him or her to cosponsor House Congressional Resolution 163...which would bring Hannah--and other Dandy Kids like her--one step closer to receiving the correct treatment that they deserve.
Thanks everyone! Have a wonderFebruaryful week!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Timing Really is Everything
Recently Hailey told me of how a boy in her class kept telling her she was stupid, or dumb, or something along those lines. I asked her, "What did you say to him?"
"I didn't know what to say," she replied.
I tried to hide my surprise. Hailey didn't know what to say??? Hailey, who at the age of three loudly said, "He's got a BIG ol' butt!" about a larger friend of mine (no one from my local hometown, no one that any of my three readers know, don't even try to guess). I swear I had never used that phrase around Hailey...heck, I'd never used that phrase at all. My point: Hailey had never been at a loss for words.
"What should I say to him?" she asked.
"Welllll, why don't you just look him directly in the eye and tell him he's full of it," I instructed her, of course meaning that she could say that to him the next time he called her dumb or stupid.
"I can do that?"
After a quick glance at my moral compass I said, "Sure."
The next day at school Hailey marched right up to the little boy, looked him directly in the eye and, without provocation told him, "You're full of it!"
We need to work a little on timing.
"I didn't know what to say," she replied.
I tried to hide my surprise. Hailey didn't know what to say??? Hailey, who at the age of three loudly said, "He's got a BIG ol' butt!" about a larger friend of mine (no one from my local hometown, no one that any of my three readers know, don't even try to guess). I swear I had never used that phrase around Hailey...heck, I'd never used that phrase at all. My point: Hailey had never been at a loss for words.
"What should I say to him?" she asked.
"Welllll, why don't you just look him directly in the eye and tell him he's full of it," I instructed her, of course meaning that she could say that to him the next time he called her dumb or stupid.
"I can do that?"
After a quick glance at my moral compass I said, "Sure."
The next day at school Hailey marched right up to the little boy, looked him directly in the eye and, without provocation told him, "You're full of it!"
We need to work a little on timing.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Improvements in Wienerdom
I posted my Blues Busters intentions earlier this week, suspicious of my own accountability. After all, I'd come up with some good ideas, right? I'd shown that I knew the right thing to do. Right?
I've recently had a revelation about myself, about which I've already posted, but will repeat: I feel a sense of accomplishment and completion from learning and knowing, from my ability to find information and to share it with others. Therein I have helped someone. Call me Mother Teresa. Disseminating ideas doesn't heal my hip or alleviate insomnia, though. Therein lies the rub. (Does anyone know where that quote originated?)
This time, though, I've pushed past propagation and through to performance. For three whole days! For three days I have arm cycled for thirty minutes! I've taken my Omega-3s two days (forgot yesterday), and purchased spring bulbs to enjoy since Tuesday. Oops--I forgot my happy light, though I took in some real rays before this nasty weather hit.
Results? Even after only three days, I feel improvement! I'm sincerely surprised. Because I couldn't arm cycle rapidly enough yet to raise my heart rate without causing pain to my elbow joints, I didn't expect much. I expected wrong. My mood is slightly elevated. Nothing drastic, but considering this is the "time" when I'm typically ripping off heads and struggling not to behave maniacally, I'll take it.
Added bonus: SLEEP! I've slept seven straight hours, then even fallen back to sleep for two more at one point. Hallelujah! I almost feel (gasp) refreshed in the morning. Almost. Let's not get carried away, here.
Compared to other BlogHer Health blogs in which women are training for triathlons or expressing their desire to be on American Gladiator, I'm a wiener...but I'm an improving wiener!
And today is FEBRUARY! (jig dancing here)
I've recently had a revelation about myself, about which I've already posted, but will repeat: I feel a sense of accomplishment and completion from learning and knowing, from my ability to find information and to share it with others. Therein I have helped someone. Call me Mother Teresa. Disseminating ideas doesn't heal my hip or alleviate insomnia, though. Therein lies the rub. (Does anyone know where that quote originated?)
This time, though, I've pushed past propagation and through to performance. For three whole days! For three days I have arm cycled for thirty minutes! I've taken my Omega-3s two days (forgot yesterday), and purchased spring bulbs to enjoy since Tuesday. Oops--I forgot my happy light, though I took in some real rays before this nasty weather hit.
Results? Even after only three days, I feel improvement! I'm sincerely surprised. Because I couldn't arm cycle rapidly enough yet to raise my heart rate without causing pain to my elbow joints, I didn't expect much. I expected wrong. My mood is slightly elevated. Nothing drastic, but considering this is the "time" when I'm typically ripping off heads and struggling not to behave maniacally, I'll take it.
Added bonus: SLEEP! I've slept seven straight hours, then even fallen back to sleep for two more at one point. Hallelujah! I almost feel (gasp) refreshed in the morning. Almost. Let's not get carried away, here.
Compared to other BlogHer Health blogs in which women are training for triathlons or expressing their desire to be on American Gladiator, I'm a wiener...but I'm an improving wiener!
And today is FEBRUARY! (jig dancing here)
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