My Road to Health

Friday's appointment with my doctor in Tulsa went very well. Although I didn't see him until one hour after my scheduled appointment time, he took me seriously and spent quality time with me. He agreed to the Antibiotic Protocol (AP) and even ordered Minocin at my request, even though he recommended doxycycline. When I told him I had "broken up with my rheumatologist," he wrote a replacement prescription for my prednisone and didn't criticize me for the difficulty I have had in lowering it's dose. He recommended some vitamins and herbs, which lifts him up a notch in my esteem; our bodies need more than man-made chemicals whirling through them. When I requested another blood test that he thought was unnecessary, he still agreed to it. Finally, I'm on a path that will lead to the road I think I should be traveling.

Bottom line: Dr. B. considers himself the "coach" in my health care, while I'm the "team captain." That's exactly what I want. Some people want their doctor to tell them exactly what to do so that they can follow a series of suggested steps with minimal (if any) study or research. The doctor knows best. Not me. I spend hours, days, weeks reading books and scanning the Internet. I make my well-known lists and answer my own questions. By the time I finally see a doctor, I know the route I want to take. I want the doctor to consider that route and give me insight, not dismiss my extensive research.

The rheumatologists I've seen dismiss AP. They only want to prescribe strong medications that knock out my immune system while they gloss over the fact that those same drugs greatly increase my chance of cancer and death. I'm glad to find a doctor who will consider a different route, even if I have to travel two hours to see him.

In all this posturing about my medical decision-making prowess, I recognize that my decisions have not, to this point, led to health. My mobility is severely limited and my stamina is stuck at an all-time low. Somehow over the next year I hope to find a crossroad between idealism and realism. I'm hoping and praying that this new road will be the road back: back to vitality, movement and spark; to living instead of merely surviving.

Welcome Home Katherine!

In late February Hannah's classmate, Katherine, was shot in the temple while she played in her yard. The doctors didn't expect her to live. If she did live, they expected her to be severely brain damaged.

Katherine has defied the odds. Not only did she live, but she has improved to the point that she came home yesterday. A few people from our small town immediately organized a welcome-home parade that hundreds attended with very little notice. Katherine's family received a police escort through town while people waved homemade signs, screamed "Welcome Home Katherine!" at the top of their lungs, and honked the horns on their scooters.

When I first saw the flashing police car lights, the crowd went crazy. A sudden warmth caused by gratitude and a sense of well-being flooded my body--and everyone else's if you noticed the tears flowing. Katherine's family and community turned a tragedy into something good, something that brought us all together and gave us hope and awe. In a world dominated by bad news and negativity, our little story shone like a bright, spring day.

Following are some pictures and news footage from the event:


This picture was taken early. Eventually the background was filled with people.

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This is one small group of people waiting for Katherine's family to drive into town.

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This cutie is a classmate of Hannah's and Katherine's.

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Jenna, Hailey and Katie with their signs.

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Being barely computer literate, I don't know how to embed the actual video into my blog, but if you click the link below you can watch a 3½-minute news video about Katherine's journey and arrival home.

http://www.koamtv.com/Global/category.asp?C=113727&nav=menu657_2

Prayers, Positive Thoughts...I'll Take What I Can Get

I'm leaving for Tulsa in fifteen minutes to meet with my doctor for the second time. He'll tell me the results of the blood tests that were run on the seven vials of blood drained from me. Then he will prescribe the Antibiotic Protocol...I hope.

I'm much more comfortable with the written word than I am with face-to-face contact, so I'm a little nervous about this visit. I'm confident that I could persuade Dr. B. to prescribe exactly what I want if I could complete our entire meeting via e-mail. Unfortunately, I have yet to see a doctor who is willing to do that.

At this moment I fear that he will suddenly refuse what he has already promised, or require that I accept a slightly different medication than I believe I need. So, I'm asking for your prayers, positive thoughts, whatever you believe at 1:15 today. Any time is fine, but that's my appointment time. I want the AP by the book, I want a couple of other prescriptions to deal with Candida and other issues that usually tag along with the AP, and I want it all delivered with a positive attitude and well wishes.

Is that too much to ask?

Silence Isn't Golden; It's Sunny Coral

Katie painted her toenails before school this morning, then failed to put away the Sunny Coral-colored nail polish. The picture below shows what results when Katie's failure collides with my tendency to do too much of number 5 from my previous post and subsequent oblivion to the sudden silence in the house...

Any suggestions for removing nail polish from flat wall paint?

I think I'll close my laptop and read a book. Escape...

Spring Fever is a Pre-existing Condition

No insurance company, no second party, pays for pre-existing conditions. Any expenses incurred must be paid out-of-pocket.

Every year for the past umpteen years I have repeated the same mistakes, in this order:

1. I don't take care of myself during the long, dark winter & struggle with a little seasonal depression.

2. During said seasonal depression, I procrastinate the completion of my taxes.

3. I work like a madwoman from April 1 through April 15 completing my taxes...at the expense of everything else like paying bills, doing laundry, cleaning house, grocery shopping.

4. I mail said taxes on April 15, after which I return to a destroyed house devoid of food or clean laundry.

5. Feeling overwhelmed, I spend ridiculous amounts of time on the computer and complete one or two novels while my house deteriorates around me.

6. On the first sunny, warm day after April 15 I fantasize about a landscaped yard, step over the piles of laundry/papers/what-is-that to drive to the greenhouse and purchase bedding plants.

7. Return home and repeat number five.

In the meantime, late fees accumulate in this pile...




and bedding plants remain in their containers like so:

I'm sad to admit that I've been known to throw away an entire flat of plants because I failed to get them into the ground. I vow that 2008 will be different. However, for one more afternoon I'll procrastinate, click on "publish," and wish for that magic insurance policy that will pay for expenses resulting from bad habits.

Really, though, I need to live by this quote from Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants: "Wish for what you want, work for what you need."

The Gorilla is Back

Remember the gorilla? It's back. Matt got another job. I can't, for the life of me, understand why he would do that. I mean, really, benefits like health insurance and 401-Ks are overrated...don't you think?

Seriously, though. I'm happy for him and his family. They made the right decision. But I'm still sad, sad, sad. I became quickly addicted to the momentum Matt's presence created and I'm frightened that it will slowly fade away. So far, though, Carl has continued to work on the building project...until yesterday.

Carl enjoys creating things that solve problems. He lives to design and build something that meets a specific need...once. And only once. He does NOT enjoy repetitive, mundane tasks like, oh, painting or mudding sheetrock. Neither of us are "finishers." We love coming up with ideas. We get a thrill out of making usable things of those ideas. But once the thing is usable...it doesn't get finished. The slightest distraction, such as another idea, will detour our attention from the task at hand.

Carl had been working diligently at finishing the bathroom and "French Door Room" when we began discussing the next step. I explained that I wanted to finish everything on the main floor before moving upstairs. We agreed that it would be nice to somehow close off the stairway so that we would have an enclosed, finished main floor. I pictured a framed-in door at the foot of the stairs or something basic like that.

Not Carl. Carl decided he wanted a garage-door-type doorway that would look like a wall when closed; a kind of secret doorway. He purchased garage door rails from the local lumber yard and spent all evening designing and beginning the installation of this new, special doorway. Good-bye momentum.

Hello gorilla.

My First Meme

I was tagged by Ammey and thought what the heck.

Here are the rules:
1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player tags 5 people and posts their name, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

What I was doing 10 years ago:
Moving into our newly purchased home with a 3-month-old and a 19-month-old because our previous landlord decided to sell her house and not renew our lease. Ack!!!

Five Snacks I enjoy:
In a perfect, non weight-gaining world:
1. Chocolate
2. Chocolate with almonds
3. Chocolate with wine
4. Chocolate with peanut butter
5. Wine with cheese and crackers


In the real world:
1. Chocolate
2. Chocolate with almonds
3. Chocolate with wine
4. Chocolate with peanut butter
5. Wine with cheese and crackers

I have trouble keeping weight ON. Don't hate me, though. What weight I do have is cellulite.

Things I Would Do if I Were a Billionaire:
Tell very few, if any, people that I'm a billionaire.
Anonymously pay off family & friends' debts.
Finish the monstrosity building project.
Raise awareness of the Antibiotic Protocol for treating RA
Learn how to invest wisely???

Five Jobs That I Have Had:
Waitress at age 13
Several on-campus work-study jobs
Deposition summarizer for a law office
CPA's assistant
Manager of a 216-unit apartment complex in Wichita that included 48 HUD-assisted apartments (yes, the police were called. NO, I would not live on site)

Three of My Habits:
Making lists
Procrastinating
Reading (more like an addiction...)

Five Places I Have Lived:
Wichita, KS
Hays, KS
Southeast KS
Harper, KS
That's all...how boring

What Do I Want Others to Get From My Blog:
A laugh
Information
Inspiration
Assurance that they are not alone

Five People I Want to Get to Know Better:
I know I'm supposed to "tag" someone here. If you read this, consider yourself tagged.

I Was There

When Carl and I met, I had already been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. However, I had very little deformity and still retained mobility and independence. In fact, we snow skied together in the Colorado Rockies, canoed down the Tallequah River in Oklahoma, camped in many locations and often water skied in the summertime. We shared long conversations about arthritis and it's crippling effects and he witnessed personally how it drained me of energy. He often said things like, "I'll push you in a wheelchair until I can't push you any more if I need to." But he's never needed to.

Until yesterday. While in Wichita the girls suggested a trip to the zoo with Carl's super-healthy sister and her children. Not anticipating this request, I left my power wheelchair at home. Lately walking to do my normal activities has become difficult. Walking through the zoo for hours would be impossible, especially at the pace I knew my children and sister-in-law would require. Because the zoo did not have power wheelchairs for rent, I had two choices. 1. Skip the zoo, or 2. Allow Carl to push me in a rented wheelchair.

Though my decision needed to be made hastily, I knew it would set the standard for future outings. If I sacrificed my involvement that day, others would be more likely to expect me to sacrifice at a later date and I would more easily excuse myself from participation. Knowing this, I joined my family at the zoo.

We had a great time. Hannah commented about the eh-na-nas (rhymed with bananas, but meant "elephants"), the ze-buhs (zebras), and especially the tuh-tuhs (turtles), complete with sign language. We saw an iridescent blue peacock, trekked through a humid rainforest smelling of moisture and earth, and walked by tulips, daffodils and redbud trees in full bloom. At one point we stopped to buy snow cones for the kids and to pour ourselves a beer that we snuck in in the cooler.

I learned that there is no "cool" way to sit in a wheelchair. I tried resting my head on my hand, crossing my legs, sitting with my legs pointed out, leaning back. Nothing. Kids stared at me, people held doors open for me and at one point Carl rammed me into a lady's baby stroller.

But I was there. I was there when Hailey said, "Mom, that zebra was riding the other zebra." I was there when Hannah said, "Oh my DOSH! (Oh my gosh!)" over and over. I was there to observe all of my girls' laughing and running free, sunburn-cheeked with hair flying behind them. I was not sitting at home waiting for pictures and a synopsis of the day. I was not waiting behind and depriving my girls of a day with the only mom they'll ever have, disability or no.

And I was there when Carl leaned over the back of the wheelchair to kiss my neck as we stopped near a lilac bush. How many women are loved so unconditionally?

I Knew it Couldn't Last

A quick post. We've returned from Wichita, a trip about which I will post later.

I've enabled comment word verification. The spam has started. I'm surprised I could hold out this long...though maybe I should get the hint??? smiling here.

Monday is here in all it's glory. Have a great week, all!

A Different "Busted!"

Every Thursday Sheri and I carpool across a narrow, hilly highway to a small town forty minutes away so our daughters can take piano lessons. This past Thursday, Sheri's Thursday to drive, she tended to a sick husband, dropped her daughter off at school, attended a meeting in Joplin, completed her "big" shopping, unloaded her groceries and etc., packed snacks, picked me up, loaded Hannah and her car seat into the Expedition and drove us to pick up the big girls from school. Whew!

Our Thursday trips have become better than therapy. We laugh and gripe and basically cut loose while our girls alternate between giggling and eavesdropping. Occasionally we fade the stereo to the back and crank it when the conversation leans towards rated R. This particular Thursday, though, Sheri was maybe a little spent. Gee, I wonder why. At least twice I grabbed those nifty handles Ford has placed near the passenger seat and applied imaginary brakes, to which Sheri asked, "Oh, sorry. Am I making you nervous?"

"No. No. It's just windy." Our Father, who art in Heaven...

The wind did whip us all over the road, but seriously...

Later, we discussed how Sheri's mother-in-law had found what they suspect was once a pear left in the back-back seat from piano lesson day...three weeks earlier. Those #@*! Solomons! Just as we instructed the girls to pick up every last crumb, I dropped my own cracker...somewhere. I guess we know where the little girls get it.

The drive home was slightly better from a passenger's point of view. However, just outside of Altamont I dropped an entire handful of crackers all over the front seat. I swear, I don't do well under pressure. Sheri decided at that time to try to find her cameraphone, joked around taking a picture, and failed to pay attention to her driving. She looked in her rearview mirror and said something like, "I'm not getting pulled over. I'm getting pulled over!"

As she pulled off the side of the road she asked, "Do you girls have your seatbelts on?"

"We do, but Hannah doesn't."

"Oh crap." Then we begin scream whispering, "Hannah. Hannah! Get under the seatbelt. Get. under. the. seatbelt. now," as if the police officer might have heard us had we spoken with normal voices. Of course, Hannah doesn't do well under pressure either. I don't know if she ever got her seatbelt back on before the officer arrived at the window.

"Do you know why I've stopped you?" Why do they ask that? Do they think we'll say, "Yes, officer. I was going 42 in a 20. I deserve a ticket, don'tcha think?"

I don't remember Sheri's answer, but I do remember she was doing 40 in a 30. Not a big deal. He offered to issue only a warning, but still needed proof of insurance. That's where the real comedy began. I handed over the little yellow envelope and Sheri started pulling out proofs of insurance like clowns out of a silly car.

"Um, that's 2006, ma'am."

"Oh, wait. I have current insurance. Here," Sheri said, her hands shaking like she had a severe case of Parkinson's. She handed him the insurance.

"That's 2007, ma'am. Do you have 2008 in there?"

At this point I was attacked by the giggles, which I suppressed. She finally located the 2008 insurance, he walked back to his car, she rolled up the window and we busted up laughing. "SShhhh!!!" I felt like a silly 16-year-old.

After the police officer sent us on our way, Sheri kept the Expedition between the lines. I haven't let loose that many endorphins in a long time.

WOW--Word of the Week

I didn't intend for my title to be an acronym, but there it is, sort of. I've been typing "wow" in several comments, feeling like a fifth grader stuck on one annoying word. Wow ranks only slightly higher than cool.

However, it relays my feelings about the week thus far. I finally tabulated all of the medical and business miles I drove in 2007. I discovered that purchasing an expensive, energy-efficient, tankless hot water heater in anticipation of a $300 tax credit was in vain because we are self-employed. Who knew that the credit offset taxes above Form 1040 line 50 while self-employment tax is listed on line 58? #$@!!!

My mother-in-law completed more laundry than I even knew we owned. She ran out of hangers, purchased three packages from Dollar General, then ran out again.

Wow.

She also left six casseroles in my freezer, did the hokey-pokey with Hannah and Carl (what a riot!), played cards with Hailey and helped the big girls pick up their room.

Lest you think I'm a complete slouch-slacker, allow me to give a little history. Carl's mom visited regularly early in our marriage to "help with laundry." At first I took it personally, inferring that she thought I wasn't taking adequate care of her son, but never saying anything to that effect. One weekend when she had planned to visit, a friend called asking for my help. I cancelled my plans with my mother-in-law in order to help my friend, figuring it would be a secret relief to my mother-in-law.

Wrong. I soon realized that helping with the laundry was code for I'd like to visit, but I want to feel useful without butting in. Several years passed without my in-law's visiting other than to stop in for an hour on their way through to Branson. What to do? Finally I called and asked her if she could help me.

Don't get me wrong. I needed the help. This was no patronizing scam to get her to visit. But I also wanted her to come and spend a few days with us, with her grandchildren, with me.

So, I've completed my taxes, washed all of my laundry (even that last load of sheets that always gets overlooked because I don't need them), filled my freezer with homemade food and hopefully repaired a damaged relationship.

Wow.

Busted!

I'm still working on taxes. Yes, on Sunday. In addition, my mother-in-law will be arriving in about an hour and a half to stay until Wednesday. Normally, people would cringe at that thought, but I'm looking forward to it. She's coming to help me with my laundry at my request. Yippee!!!

Just a quick post. Hannah entered the living room looking like this just after my mother-in-law dropped off a chocolate pie (don't be confused; she travelled through on her way to Branson and is stopping to stay on her way back today.) ANYHOW, I asked Hannah, "Have you been in Grandma Louise's chocolate pie?"

She answered, sounding a little like Homer Simpson, "NDo!"

What do you think?

Note to Sheri--I'm still planning to tell all soon! Bwah ha ha ha!!!

Tax Preparation Diversionary Tactics

No, this entry will not tell you how to avoid paying taxes. It will only tell you that, as usual, I have waited until the last minute to complete our taxes. Long ago, back in the day, I majored in accounting and music. Yes, at the same time. Pre-RA. I completed a 500-level tax class and, oddly enough, loved it. Of course, most of the specifics are obsolete, but I've retained an understanding and have more recently completed a nearly-worthless H&R Block class.

Our business operates in three states, which makes tax preparation a little more tricky. We're definitely small-time, but happen to live in the corner of Kansas and easily cross state lines. CPAs want to charge over $1000 to complete our return, and that's after I've gone through the year's bookwork to compile the numbers. Forget that. We can take a small vacation with that amount of money.

So, I've spent the last few days working on taxes. Well, I also finished a novel in two days, but somehow that didn't seem as frivolous as writing a blog entry. See the logic? Me neither. Today I've remained diligent the entire day, though, so I'm giving myself a deserved break. Before I sat down to post I cleared the table a bit and ran across this. It made me smile.

"K" is for "kind." Good so far. "A" is for "agreeable" and "T" is for "trustworthy." I'll go along with that...most of the time, when it doesn't involve work or bedtime. "I" gives me a little problem though. IntelligAnt? Followed by...what? Excagating? What the heck is that?

I feel a little guilty posting this without permission, but Katie's still young enough that it's cute. At least it is to me.

I'm done diverting my attention. Back to the books.

Spring Cleaning My Yard...And My Attitude

Yesterday the sun shone, for the last time this week according to the weatherman, so I charged my electric chair (OK-"battery-powered wheelchair"...but "electric chair" sounds less old fogey); gathered the troops (Katie and Hailey); accumulated rakes, giant black plastic trash bags and clippers; and zipped out to the front yard for some spring cleaning.

The view from my front window is one of the ugliest in town: combines, tractors, rusted machinery and trees choked by sumac vines in the lot across the street. But I love my east-facing front yard. Especially in spring. I enjoy cutting back the fountain grasses to make room for fresh growth. I get pleasure from raking the dead leaves out of my flower beds, smelling the moist dirt beneath, finding daisies sprouting in unexpected places. Every year two lone tulips and a purple hyacinth bloom, though I didn't plant them. Last fall I salvaged one stick from a neighbor's overlooked lilac bush and transplanted it in one of my raised "holding beds" just around the southeast corner of the house, unsure if it would survive my inexperience. It not only developed green leaves, but one bunch of lilac buds promises to bloom under my bedroom window in the next month.

The holding beds contain an odd assortment of plants waiting for the day I officially landscape my yard, something I've been intending to do for years now. I don't recall everything I've placed in the beds and anticipate the surprise I'll feel when I find the first green of the forgotten plants.

As I write this, I realize that my yard reflects my life. I had great plans for it, but those plans have yet to be realized...if ever. I expected to plant fescue and spread a weed-killing fertilizer every year for the manicured effect. But if I had done that, I would have lost the opportunity to enjoy the wild grape hyacinths and the white clover flowers that bloom in scattered patches. I mapped out flower beds with grand arches and a specific arrangement of annuals, perennials and grasses. In the same way I planned a life based around a healthy body and children, never even considering rheumatoid arthritis, blissfully unaware of "Dandy-Walker." Reality rerouted all of those plans. I used to resent that. Some days I still do.

But yesterday I understood that different plans had been made for me and I glimpsed their beauty. For a moment I felt thankful for an imperfect lawn, for my unrealized dreams. Because I felt less attachment to a certain outcome, I appreciated Katie's and Hailey's sometimes silly contributions. Since flowers bloomed wildly in my yard instead of fescue, I've received at least a dozen bouquets already, delivered by grubby Hannah hands as well as by young ladies simultaneously desiring their mother's approval and detachment. In the same way arthritis and Dandy-Walker have given me a different perspective, a strangely pretty one.

This isn't the yard I've planned. This isn't the life I've planned. But if I look closely and cultivate gratitude, I find an unanticipated magnificence in it's plainness.

Sunday Mass Organ Fail

Today I was asked to fill in for our usual organist at the 9:00 Mass. Our small Catholic church utilizes an electric keyboard that plays 3.5" floppy discs and provides any rhythm desired, so I only had to choose the songs for the day and push the six buttons necessary to make each song play. No big deal. I've accomplished this simple task on many prior Sundays.

Before I departed from home I couldn't find my key to the church, so I had to wait until someone arrived at 8:15 to unlock the church. That left me with forty-five minutes to plan and organize. Plenty of time, though not as much as I would have liked. I plugged in the headphones and got to work, keeping my eye on the clock, but planning to use my family's typical just-in-time appearance as my cue to pop in the entrance hymn's disc.

Bad idea. My family arrived late. The altar boy poked his head into the choir loft to signal me to begin while I still donned headphones, listening to the wrong 3.5" floppy. Flustered, I ripped the headphone cord from the piano, ejected the disc, inserted the appropriate floppy and quickly pushed the buttons.

The introduction played, though more softly than I expected. Just as I pushed the volume button to the maximum level, it stopped altogether. What??? My heart raced, adrenaline surged through my system and I developed tunnel vision. I knew how to operate the damn piano when it worked, but I had no idea how to troubleshoot. I could feel the waves of tense curiosity from the people below, wanting to turn and look at me but forcing their attention forward. I almost said shit into the microphone when suddenly the piano's demo played five or ten seconds of this at an unbelievable decibel before I could turn it off:

In a frenzy I pushed anything I could find to quiet the crazed organ, took a deep breath, pressed the six buttons, then hit "start."

It happened again! People snickered below. I hit eject, fumbled for the final-hymn's disc, announced a different song and it successfully ran.

Thank the good Lord Mass continued uneventfully, though I got nothing out of it.

The Building Project Continues

Last week's torrential rainfall revealed a new water leak in our building project, in the very room being painted and hopefully floored (floored?) next week. I freaked out. After remaining patient for seven years, I suddenly became an inpatient lunatic. That's a slight exaggeration. Slight.

The building project has magnified Carl's and my differences. He's the everything-will-turn-out-fine type. I'm the micromanaging, hyper-pre-planning type. Even though it benefits me, I get irritated when he doesn't plan something, then everything falls into place. Like the water leak.

"We were going to lay flooring in a few days. What if we had? Where else is it going to leak?" I worried aloud yesterday morning.

"But we didn't and it isn't. It's a good thing it rained when it did. Everything's going to be fine." Grrr.

"You'll work with Matt before he leaves today, right?" I asked, wanting Matt's input before the weekend.

"Yeah, sure."

I left it at that until I returned from getting the girls from school. Matt, (Isabella's daddy by the way), went to the Hardware store. "Did you guys figure out the water leak?" I asked Carl, assuming they had and wanting to hear the results.

"No," Carl said with a deflated look.

"Oh." Pause. "I know you think I'm nagging, but two heads are better than one."

"Yeah," Carl said with an emphasis that prompted me to ask, "Yeah I'm nagging, or yeah two heads are better than one?"

"Yeah," was all he answered. Got it.

Today I traveled to Lowe's to purchase a bathroom door and vanity, a shop vac and six metal thingys that protect the outside corner of sheetrock. Though the trip was previously planned, I knew my absence would do more to preserve our marriage than several hours of marital counseling. While I purchased the aforementioned items, Carl repaired the leak, installed some trim, placed insulation and sheetrock and more. All without my input. Imagine that.

K-State Creativity

The PTO is raffling baskets this Friday and assigned a theme to each class, giving Hailey's class "K-State." I purchased a couple of K-State beach towels from Amazon, but Hailey wanted to add a personal touch. She designed and embroidered this tea towel.

The creativity gene skipped a generation between Grandma Janis and Hailey. I'm glad to see it wasn't lost altogether.

With KU in the NCAA final four, it's too bad we didn't have a KU basket. No finger-pointing here, though. I attended the PTO meeting at which the chose the basket themes and didn't think of it myself. You know what they say about hindsight.

10:30 A.M.

10:30 a.m. That's what time I go to Hannah's school daily, as of Monday, to help her focus at seatwork time.

When I picked Hannah up from school last Wednesday, all three of her teachers were standing at the door (not unusual) and reported that Hannah simply will not stay focused. Every sound turns her head, and there her eyes remain focused as she absentmindedly scribbles on her unseen seatwork assignment.

Her teachers have tried many things, as I've already written ad nauseum. She peered around the cardboard cubicle they erected around her. She was ambivalent to the weighted vest, though they've only tried it once. I'd like to try it again. With a 5-to-1 student-teacher ratio, they have the ability to--and do--redirect her constantly during seatwork. They've tried seating her separately from the group. Time out. Threatening to call Mom. I don't even remember all that they've tried.

Hannah can't tell me, but I can imagine what she experiences. I envision that she processes every sound equally, as if it were the voice of authority, the voice of a teacher or her mother. Her brain interprets the sound of the loud child across the room as equal in importance to the teacher at her table. The doorbell requires her attention as if it were her mother giving her instructions. Each of the hundreds of little sounds she hears in her three-hour span of class time are equal in pressure to that of an adult giving her a job to do. I would zone out, too.

The Big M--Medication--sits in the back of my mind and taunts me: You've tried everything. She's never going to get better. She'll flunk Kindergarten at this rate. Pick me. I can make it all better.

Logic swats the Big M aside: She has a brain defect, not a chemical imbalance. Medication is a band-aid, not a solution.

So, I've opted to attend her 10:30 seatwork session daily and help her focus. Today completed day three and so far I'm pleased with my decision. It's given me an opportunity to personally witness how Hannah handles a classroom setting, which is exactly as the teachers have described. Exactly as I've described. I don't know that I'm helping her to improve, only that I'm helping her to not worsen.

And avoiding the Big M one 10:30 a.m. session at a time.

My 10-Year-Old Party Girl

Katie and Hailey mispronounced several words when they were toddlers and even into their adolescence. Katie said ho-tail for "hotel" until I finally corrected her last year. Hailey still occasionally says ack-ee-hawl instead of "alcohol," but at least realizes it. We joke about those and other words, imitating and emphasizing the mispronunciations for a big laugh...among family.

Recently the girls went to a friend's house to play. As the friend's mom drove them home, the girls giggled in the back seat and Hailey blurted out, "We like to drink ack-ee-hawl at the ho-tail!" I can only imagine what the mom thought. I probably ought to call her to clarify.

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Note: My computer returned home today! Hooray!!!