This morning I attended a meeting to renew Hannah's IEP (Individualized Education Program) for her kindergarten year. When I look at how far we've come, I'm awed. This is the little girl who, on her first day of preschool just before her third birthday, could not walk and could not speak. She only attempted verbal interaction with a cat. Now Hannah runs and jumps and sings along with Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. She's possibly the only child in her class who can dribble a basketball (which, by the way, is nearly as large as she is) and she can hit a t-ball like a pro. When she meets people in a store or on the street, she approaches them and asks, "What's your name?" Every employee at our local grocery store knows Hannah by name. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in our TOWN knew her by name.
Something about Hannah is both disarming and engaging. I find myself hoping I can bring her along when I know I will be in stressful situations because she has a way of relaxing tension with her innocent and genuine affection and outgoing personality. At least, that is, until she has a public meltdown.
Hannah is bright and intelligent with one little problem. She is easily distracted, and that's an understatement. Rather, she is continuously, perpetually distracted. Lately I have taken to shooting instructions at her like an automatic weapon: "Hannah, get your socks get your socks get your socks get your socks" until she finally has her socks in hand. Somehow I don't think that will work in a classroom setting. So how will she succeed in kindergarten?
First, she will have a para. Not her very own para, but a para in the classroom to help the special needs kids. I think there will be 3 or 4 special needs children in her class, but I don't know for certain. In preschool Hannah is seated with five other children and a teacher. When she's distracted, the teacher can immediately redirect her. In kindergarten there will be one teacher for 20 (give or take) students and instructions will be given to everyone at one time.
I imagine Hannah's classroom experience to go something like this:
Teacher: "Everyone take out your...(Sally sneezes)...and a piece of...(Timmy taps his pencil). Now write...(Susie's paper falls on the floor). Draw a...(Rhonda raises her hand)...and color it...(the para walks across the room).
As I understand it, the para will be with Hannah to ensure that she hears and follows all of the instructions. So why do I have a huge knot in my stomach and a sense of impending doom? Who worries about their kid flunking kindergarten, for goodness sake?
What do I do? Surely I'm supposed to DO something. Right? Where did I put that Hannah manual? I think they forgot to give it to me when we left the hospital the day after she was born. Should I be changing her diet? Instigating consistent scheduling at home? Giving her additional schooling at home? Relaxing her home environment to compensate for the highly sensory school environment? Surely there's some strange tea found only in the Amazon jungle that would solve all of our problems. Where do I get some of that?
Right now I simply want to stick my head in the sand...or maybe just in my laptop. I have no answers and no clarity about the situation. When I try to think about it, my cranium fills with cotton and I lose the sense of confidence I've come to rely upon.
For now I'll fall back on hope--hope that the summer will bring refreshment and maturity as well as a sense of simplicity that is right now clouded by a complicated day.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Grocery List
I have a pet peeve. Actually, I have so many pet peeves that I should probably simply call them all "peeves." However, this one is my "pet" peeve of the month:
It drives me crazy when my family uses the last of something but fails to tell me, then wonders why I didn't purchase more during my last grocery run. As a piggyback to that peeve, I'm equally irritated when someone says, "Mom! We're out of jelly!" while I am simultaneously cleaning up a spill, handling Hannah, talking on the phone and making a meal. Do they really think I'm going to remember that in two minutes, let alone two days?
To remedy both problems I have instigated the Refrigerator List. If you use the last of something, put it on the list. If you can't find "the list," make one. Come on family. You're literate. Improvise.
This morning I noticed the latest Refrigerator List, written in Katie's 12-year-old script:
grocury List
1. musturd
2. sandwich bags
3. Hiddin valley ranch
4. soy sauce
First, groCURY. Is that a relative of mercury? Poison?
Next, musTURD? Need I ask more?
Lastly, you have to know the story behind the soy sauce to see any humor at all. The last time I left Hannah in Carl's capable, attentive hands, she opened the refrigerator, located the soy sauce and dumped it out all over the kitchen floor while he was being capably attentive. I've been told the soy sauce wasn't the only item emptied, but Carl cleaned up the evidence before I returned (smart move, honey) and is pleading the fifth.
For now, off to Wichita for my niece's first communion.
It drives me crazy when my family uses the last of something but fails to tell me, then wonders why I didn't purchase more during my last grocery run. As a piggyback to that peeve, I'm equally irritated when someone says, "Mom! We're out of jelly!" while I am simultaneously cleaning up a spill, handling Hannah, talking on the phone and making a meal. Do they really think I'm going to remember that in two minutes, let alone two days?
To remedy both problems I have instigated the Refrigerator List. If you use the last of something, put it on the list. If you can't find "the list," make one. Come on family. You're literate. Improvise.
This morning I noticed the latest Refrigerator List, written in Katie's 12-year-old script:
grocury List
1. musturd
2. sandwich bags
3. Hiddin valley ranch
4. soy sauce
First, groCURY. Is that a relative of mercury? Poison?
Next, musTURD? Need I ask more?
Lastly, you have to know the story behind the soy sauce to see any humor at all. The last time I left Hannah in Carl's capable, attentive hands, she opened the refrigerator, located the soy sauce and dumped it out all over the kitchen floor while he was being capably attentive. I've been told the soy sauce wasn't the only item emptied, but Carl cleaned up the evidence before I returned (smart move, honey) and is pleading the fifth.
For now, off to Wichita for my niece's first communion.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Letter to Grandma
Following is a letter I mailed to my 89-year-old grandma today.
Dear Grandma,
I hope you got to use the Dairy Queen Blizzard coupon before it expired. I'm also glad that Zach [her great grandson] has been playing marbles and attending church with you. Did you have a special Easter service?
I've had a busier-than-usual two weeks here. Carl's mom, Louise, visited for three days beginning April 13--the day after we returned home following a whirlwind Easter trip to Wichita. While Louise was here I worked constantly to finish my taxes, which resulted in a very small tax bill. I vow to keep up with my 2009 paperwork so that I will be finished with '09 taxes by February 15, 2010.
Do you remember my friend, Bob? He's an older man--just a very good friend--I met at my first apartment complex my sophomore year of college. We've maintained our friendship all these years. He's 78 years old now and has lost the sight in one eye, but he made the trip to Oswego this past Monday to visit through Thursday. Very enjoyable.
Carl, Hannah and I will travel to Wichita and back tomorrow for Madison's first communion. This is an active time of year for us, activity I welcome after the cooped up, dark days of winter.
My gardens have come to life. The tulips mom planted for me last fall bloomed beautifully. Mom and Carl worked together to plant a small redbud tree, wrapped at its base with the semicircle of yellow and fire-engine-red tulips. Tucked into the arch of tulips is a clump of lavender creeping phlox. I'm kicking myself for failing to take a photo last week because it was spectacular, if I do say so myself.
I spent all day yesterday clearing out our breezeway: emptying the books and clutter from the wall of shelves, throwing away the junk that accumulated and magically multiplied over the winter, and packing away the coats for the season. I'm hoping that an empty room will inspire Carl to resume work on the never ending building project. [Here's another link for any interested blog readers]. I'd like to move the washer and dryer into the 10' x 12' breezeway, convert the current laundry space into a pantry, and put tile down from our stopping place at the new bathroom through the breezeway and pantry and into the kitchen. We'll see.
I've been thinking about the quilt gifting party you held, about transcribing the tapes and watching the videos again. That was an incredible undertaking, Grandma--one I appreciate more with age (age coupled with a complete INability to sew--the sewing gene skipped a generation with me, but just might emerge in Hailey).
I'm impressed at the accomplishment: finishing a quilt for each child. I'm interested in the individual stories behind each quilt and appreciative of the talent required to piece and sew. Truthfully, though, above all of that I'm intrigued by the woman behind it all. I realize I barely know my own grandmother. As a child I perceived you as an "old lady" who liked to play cards and marbles and always set the table for breakfast the night before. Now I'm a middle-aged woman with children of her own and my perspective has changed.
I suspended all efforts towards a career when Carl and I decided to have children and start our own business. Pouring myself completely into those has resulted in a strong marriage, well-rounded and so-far-successful children and a business that has thrived for thirteen years and still operates in spite of this economy. They're like my spring garden: growing and beautiful with minor maintenance and weed-pulling.
But now Hannah will begin all-day kindergarten this fall and I will have hours of free time. I recognize that a big chunk of my life is more like the north side of my house: a few started-but-not-finished projects and absolutely no flowers.
What am I trying to say?... thinking...
I guess what I'm trying to get across is: I have ambiguous feelings. I'm proud of my family, happy with my life, grateful for all the good. At the same time I regret the losses and "wish."
I haven't gone on this self-indulgent trip through the life of Angela as a mere exercise in self-absorption. I'm actually wondering what young motherhood was like for you. I've been told that you were a teacher, but had to give it up either when you married or when Clair [her first child] came along. Is that true? I know you took at least one college class in adulthood. Did you enjoy it? Was there more than one? What kind of education did you need to be a teacher?
Do you have any regrets? Moments of pride?
Maybe this is all too much. If so, I understand. But if you know the answers to those questions, I would love to read them.
Love,
Angela
P.S. One more question: If you gave me one piece of advice, what would it be?
Dear Grandma,
I hope you got to use the Dairy Queen Blizzard coupon before it expired. I'm also glad that Zach [her great grandson] has been playing marbles and attending church with you. Did you have a special Easter service?
I've had a busier-than-usual two weeks here. Carl's mom, Louise, visited for three days beginning April 13--the day after we returned home following a whirlwind Easter trip to Wichita. While Louise was here I worked constantly to finish my taxes, which resulted in a very small tax bill. I vow to keep up with my 2009 paperwork so that I will be finished with '09 taxes by February 15, 2010.
Do you remember my friend, Bob? He's an older man--just a very good friend--I met at my first apartment complex my sophomore year of college. We've maintained our friendship all these years. He's 78 years old now and has lost the sight in one eye, but he made the trip to Oswego this past Monday to visit through Thursday. Very enjoyable.
Carl, Hannah and I will travel to Wichita and back tomorrow for Madison's first communion. This is an active time of year for us, activity I welcome after the cooped up, dark days of winter.
My gardens have come to life. The tulips mom planted for me last fall bloomed beautifully. Mom and Carl worked together to plant a small redbud tree, wrapped at its base with the semicircle of yellow and fire-engine-red tulips. Tucked into the arch of tulips is a clump of lavender creeping phlox. I'm kicking myself for failing to take a photo last week because it was spectacular, if I do say so myself.
I spent all day yesterday clearing out our breezeway: emptying the books and clutter from the wall of shelves, throwing away the junk that accumulated and magically multiplied over the winter, and packing away the coats for the season. I'm hoping that an empty room will inspire Carl to resume work on the never ending building project. [Here's another link for any interested blog readers]. I'd like to move the washer and dryer into the 10' x 12' breezeway, convert the current laundry space into a pantry, and put tile down from our stopping place at the new bathroom through the breezeway and pantry and into the kitchen. We'll see.
I've been thinking about the quilt gifting party you held, about transcribing the tapes and watching the videos again. That was an incredible undertaking, Grandma--one I appreciate more with age (age coupled with a complete INability to sew--the sewing gene skipped a generation with me, but just might emerge in Hailey).
I'm impressed at the accomplishment: finishing a quilt for each child. I'm interested in the individual stories behind each quilt and appreciative of the talent required to piece and sew. Truthfully, though, above all of that I'm intrigued by the woman behind it all. I realize I barely know my own grandmother. As a child I perceived you as an "old lady" who liked to play cards and marbles and always set the table for breakfast the night before. Now I'm a middle-aged woman with children of her own and my perspective has changed.
I suspended all efforts towards a career when Carl and I decided to have children and start our own business. Pouring myself completely into those has resulted in a strong marriage, well-rounded and so-far-successful children and a business that has thrived for thirteen years and still operates in spite of this economy. They're like my spring garden: growing and beautiful with minor maintenance and weed-pulling.
But now Hannah will begin all-day kindergarten this fall and I will have hours of free time. I recognize that a big chunk of my life is more like the north side of my house: a few started-but-not-finished projects and absolutely no flowers.
What am I trying to say?... thinking...
I guess what I'm trying to get across is: I have ambiguous feelings. I'm proud of my family, happy with my life, grateful for all the good. At the same time I regret the losses and "wish."
I haven't gone on this self-indulgent trip through the life of Angela as a mere exercise in self-absorption. I'm actually wondering what young motherhood was like for you. I've been told that you were a teacher, but had to give it up either when you married or when Clair [her first child] came along. Is that true? I know you took at least one college class in adulthood. Did you enjoy it? Was there more than one? What kind of education did you need to be a teacher?
Do you have any regrets? Moments of pride?
Maybe this is all too much. If so, I understand. But if you know the answers to those questions, I would love to read them.
Love,
Angela
P.S. One more question: If you gave me one piece of advice, what would it be?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
An Oyster by Any Other Name...
Carl sent me to the store for soy sauce and water chestnuts. I returned to the smell of chicken stir fried with onions and other vegetables and saw that Carl had also added some whole grain spaghetti. He dumped in the little container of water chestnuts, splashed some soy sauce and voila! We had supper, courtesy of Carl. Considering Carl never follows a recipe, and he has been known to prepare some truly awful dishes, this one was a winner. The crunch of the water chestnuts mingled with the chewy chicken and the starchy spaghetti made it even more enjoyable for me.
Katie and Hailey, on the other hand, did not enjoy their first experience with water chestnuts and picked them out one by one before otherwise cleaning their plates. "What are these things?" they asked.
"Water chestnuts."
"Disgusting."
The older they get, the more disgusting things there seem to be in the world.
Later Katie and Hailey snuggled into my king sized bed with me for some rare, late-evening conversation. We started by discussing college, if you can believe it. Is college fun? Where will they live? How can they get scholarships?
Somehow the course of the conversation turned from their college aspirations to my agricultural upbringing. I recalled a time when my family worked cattle. My job was to help steer the young bulls into the cattle chute, a metal contraption that squeezed each side of the bull to hold it steady while it was branded, medicated and...um...castrated.
"What do you mean, castrated?" Katie asked.
"Well," I hesitated. I considered not telling them, but realized I was about their age when this event took place.
"They cut off the cow's nuts," Carl chimed in. So much for tact.
"Actually, they cut off the bull's testicles. Cows are female."
"Ewww!"
"There's more," I continued with my agrarian story. "That evening I noticed some strange, whitish, egg-shaped things filling our kitchen sink. When I asked mom what they were, she told me supper. When I pressed, she told me they were called Rocky Mountain Oysters. She fried them up and we ate them that evening."
"What were they?" Hailey asked.
"They were the bull testicles from earlier that day."
"Yeah. Bull nuts," Carl chimed in again. At least he was getting gender correct now even if he still lacked tact."
"That's disgusting!" Hailey said, scrunching her nose. This time I had to agree.
"Why do they call them Rocky Mountain Oysters? They're not oysters."
"You got me," I answered. "I've always wondered the same thing."
We all contemplated that for a few moments until Katie said, "Now I'm scared," with a sudden look of alarm on her face. "What exactly IS a water chestnut?"
Katie and Hailey, on the other hand, did not enjoy their first experience with water chestnuts and picked them out one by one before otherwise cleaning their plates. "What are these things?" they asked.
"Water chestnuts."
"Disgusting."
The older they get, the more disgusting things there seem to be in the world.
Later Katie and Hailey snuggled into my king sized bed with me for some rare, late-evening conversation. We started by discussing college, if you can believe it. Is college fun? Where will they live? How can they get scholarships?
Somehow the course of the conversation turned from their college aspirations to my agricultural upbringing. I recalled a time when my family worked cattle. My job was to help steer the young bulls into the cattle chute, a metal contraption that squeezed each side of the bull to hold it steady while it was branded, medicated and...um...castrated.
"What do you mean, castrated?" Katie asked.
"Well," I hesitated. I considered not telling them, but realized I was about their age when this event took place.
"They cut off the cow's nuts," Carl chimed in. So much for tact.
"Actually, they cut off the bull's testicles. Cows are female."
"Ewww!"
"There's more," I continued with my agrarian story. "That evening I noticed some strange, whitish, egg-shaped things filling our kitchen sink. When I asked mom what they were, she told me supper. When I pressed, she told me they were called Rocky Mountain Oysters. She fried them up and we ate them that evening."
"What were they?" Hailey asked.
"They were the bull testicles from earlier that day."
"Yeah. Bull nuts," Carl chimed in again. At least he was getting gender correct now even if he still lacked tact."
"That's disgusting!" Hailey said, scrunching her nose. This time I had to agree.
"Why do they call them Rocky Mountain Oysters? They're not oysters."
"You got me," I answered. "I've always wondered the same thing."
We all contemplated that for a few moments until Katie said, "Now I'm scared," with a sudden look of alarm on her face. "What exactly IS a water chestnut?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)