The other day as I left work, I checked my phone, as one does, and saw that I had one missed call. I also had a voice mail message.
I listened to the message and it was from Ms. F, the teacher’s aide in O’s kinderkids classroom.
She said cheerfully, “I’m sorry I missed you. I was just calling to give you a report on how Olivia is doing in kinderkids. I’ll try to get in touch with you some other time.”
Ahhhh, how could I have missed this call? Now my entire evening would be plagued by worries about whether the report would be a good one or a bad one. Egads!
Olivia seems cheerful enough each evening after her three hours at school each day. She still gives her one-shoulder shrug if I ask what she learned. But she will tell us what she had for snack each day. And she’ll tell me whether or not she used the bathroom at school.
She won’t tell me if she talked to her teachers, though. And this is the area that worries me the most. She went through her entire year of preschool without ever uttering a single word to either teacher. I know. I really, really know.
She spoke just fine with her therapists, both the physical therapist and the speech therapist. But the teachers? Not so much.
I couldn’t take just sitting around waiting for another phone call so I emailed her teacher the next day to check in.
Her reply was lovely:
Hi Tommie,
Olivia is doing very well. She will respond when I ask her questions even if it is very quiet. She comes up to the board and counts with me. She tries to sing along to the songs. I can see her lips moving and she is really quiet but I know she is trying. She smiles and I can tell she is having fun. She works with the other children as well. So far I am very happy with how she is doing. Keep working on writing her name, count with her, and practice ABC’s. Reading to her each night is wonderful as well!! If I have any concerns I will contact you. If you have any feel free to contact me through e-mail or phone anytime.
Thank You
Whew…She’s talking, to her teachers, in the classroom. Okay, so we need to work on volume, but this is just the second week and she’s TALKING TO HER TEACHERS!! Yes, I’m shouting because I’m so proud of that girl. She’s matured so much in the past year and she seems to understand WHY she’s in that classroom and she’s not squandering her time there. She’s learning and she’s talking.
So we’re going to keep on reading and counting and singing the ABCs. We’re going to celebrate every single hurdle she overcomes, starting with talking to someone who is not biologically related to her.
I don’t expect every school report to be good but it’s nice to have the first one be this positive.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Phone Home
Ahhh, the ring of a phone. Can anything be quite so exhilarating one moment and so irritating the next?
Alyssa wants a phone. We say no. She suggested we get her one and not even activate it, just wait until she’s old enough and then she can use it. Right. We explained the lifespan of the cell phone. By the time we think she’s old enough to actually have and use a phone of her own, one we’d bought now would be sadly outdated.
No phone.
Okay, we aren’t completely heartless. I’ve explained my reasoning behind why I don’t think my nine year old needs a phone. She’s never anywhere with anyone other than me, my mom, my stepdad or Tom. She is never anywhere she’d need to use a phone and not have a trusted adult nearby with their phone handy for her to use.
And!!! She doesn’t even like to talk on the phone! I know, right? So why does she even want a phone?
Because one of her friends in her class has one, that’s why.
I gave her a couple of reasons I would accept for getting a fourth grader a phone. For example, my stepsister and her husband are divorced. The stepsister, let’s call her M, has two daughters. Their father is her ex-husband. I could completely understand if she or her ex were to get their older daughter, also nine, a phone of her own to use in case something happened to while they were at one parent’s or the other’s house and she needed to get in touch with the parent who wasn’t present.
Poor Alyssa, her parents are still together. Wahhh.
To be fair, she’s taking if pretty well. She’s good natured when we tell her know even as she sits and plots plans c, d, e and f.
Oh yes, the other reason she wants a phone? She thinks she’ll get one of those fancy phones that has the ability to play games. My phone has no games. I refuse to let her download any.
Why yes, I am the meanest mom this side of the Indiana state line. Why do you ask?
I just do not think MY nine year old needs a phone. And that’s what I’ll keep telling her as she comes to me with all the reasons SHE thinks she does need on. Ha, good luck chickadee.
I will say that on this, Tom and I are on the same page. Heck, we’re on the same word on the page. We’re thinking 14. But this isn’t set in stone. We can revisit as needed. It’s what we do.
Alyssa wants a phone. We say no. She suggested we get her one and not even activate it, just wait until she’s old enough and then she can use it. Right. We explained the lifespan of the cell phone. By the time we think she’s old enough to actually have and use a phone of her own, one we’d bought now would be sadly outdated.
No phone.
Okay, we aren’t completely heartless. I’ve explained my reasoning behind why I don’t think my nine year old needs a phone. She’s never anywhere with anyone other than me, my mom, my stepdad or Tom. She is never anywhere she’d need to use a phone and not have a trusted adult nearby with their phone handy for her to use.
And!!! She doesn’t even like to talk on the phone! I know, right? So why does she even want a phone?
Because one of her friends in her class has one, that’s why.
I gave her a couple of reasons I would accept for getting a fourth grader a phone. For example, my stepsister and her husband are divorced. The stepsister, let’s call her M, has two daughters. Their father is her ex-husband. I could completely understand if she or her ex were to get their older daughter, also nine, a phone of her own to use in case something happened to while they were at one parent’s or the other’s house and she needed to get in touch with the parent who wasn’t present.
Poor Alyssa, her parents are still together. Wahhh.
To be fair, she’s taking if pretty well. She’s good natured when we tell her know even as she sits and plots plans c, d, e and f.
Oh yes, the other reason she wants a phone? She thinks she’ll get one of those fancy phones that has the ability to play games. My phone has no games. I refuse to let her download any.
Why yes, I am the meanest mom this side of the Indiana state line. Why do you ask?
I just do not think MY nine year old needs a phone. And that’s what I’ll keep telling her as she comes to me with all the reasons SHE thinks she does need on. Ha, good luck chickadee.
I will say that on this, Tom and I are on the same page. Heck, we’re on the same word on the page. We’re thinking 14. But this isn’t set in stone. We can revisit as needed. It’s what we do.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Musical
I think I've admitted before that I was a band geek in high school. I even attended band camp one summer. Nothing 'fun' happened like it did in that one movie.
So when my mom got a piano from her sister, everyone assumed I'd be the one to teach Alyssa and eventually Olivia how to play.
Except...I haven't read music in, oh, twenty years.
Alas, one does what one must.
So I picked up the beginner piano book my aunt included with the piano and...we're learning.
Both Alyssa and I are learning as we go. I've taught myself two songs and have in turn taught them to Alyssa. My mom has had the piano for four days. I'm calling it a good start.
The flute didn't not come naturally to me all those years ago in fifth grade when I first picked it up. I never aspired to be better than third chair. Hint: There were only five us. One was first chair, two were second chair and that left two uf us as third chair. I was okay with that.
I truly believe the band director chose me to be the drum major of the marching band because the band itself wouldn't miss my flute playing. Okay, and I could march in a straight line.
But all that considered, we're loving this piano thing. It's fun and as long as it continues to be fun, we're going to pursue being a musical family.
Go us.
So when my mom got a piano from her sister, everyone assumed I'd be the one to teach Alyssa and eventually Olivia how to play.
Except...I haven't read music in, oh, twenty years.
Alas, one does what one must.
So I picked up the beginner piano book my aunt included with the piano and...we're learning.
Both Alyssa and I are learning as we go. I've taught myself two songs and have in turn taught them to Alyssa. My mom has had the piano for four days. I'm calling it a good start.
The flute didn't not come naturally to me all those years ago in fifth grade when I first picked it up. I never aspired to be better than third chair. Hint: There were only five us. One was first chair, two were second chair and that left two uf us as third chair. I was okay with that.
I truly believe the band director chose me to be the drum major of the marching band because the band itself wouldn't miss my flute playing. Okay, and I could march in a straight line.
But all that considered, we're loving this piano thing. It's fun and as long as it continues to be fun, we're going to pursue being a musical family.
Go us.
Sour Grapes and a Round Plastic Bowl
Each evening while I cook dinner, I find time to clean out Alyssa’s lunch box, washing her sandwich and fruit containers so they can be filled the next morning with yummy goodness.
On Monday, I saw that she hadn’t eaten all the grapes I’d packed, so I put the entire container in the refrigerator to send with her the next day.
Tuesday evening, some of those grapes were still there. Maybe six of them. That’s two days of sitting around in the locker until lunch time and then going back into her locker to make their way to Gram’s house and home again.
I kind of figured by that point, the grapes had lived their lifespan and it was time for them to make their way into the old ice cream container we use for old food that will be taken out to the compost hole.
Tom…had other ideas.
When he saw those grapes in there with the coffee grounds and the ends of an onion, he, well, he kind of lost his mind for a few minutes.
Okay, to be fair, we’ve had this conversation several times. Tom hates waste. He detests it. He can’t stand to see what he considers perfectly good food thrown away.
Alas, he and I have different definitions of ‘perfectly good food.”
So he dug those grapes out and washed them off. He put them in a round plastic Tupperware container and tossed them in the fridge, giving the refrigerator door a resounding slam just for emphasis.
He glared at me for a while, just to make sure I knew exactly how unhappy he was with my actions.
I apologized once. But only once. After that, I kind of decided he needed to get over it. I explained, once, that I kind of thought after two days of being left out, those grapes were no longer worth saving. But then I assured him in the future, I’d ASK him if he wanted Alyssa’s uneaten fruit before making the unilateral decision to toss them in the compost.
Later in the evening, after he’d cheerfully cut a watermelon plucked from the vine in our very own backyard, Tom was looking for a bowl.
He was very frustrated that he couldn’t find this bowl. It was a very specific bowl he wanted. He looked in the corner cabinet, above the coffee pot, and in the dishwasher. He demanded to know where the round plastic bowl was.
I struggled from beneath an almost-asleep Olivia, walked calmly to the refrigerator, opened it, pulled out bowl holding six old grapes and asked with nary a glimmer of condescension, “Is this the bowl you mean?”
He had the grace to look chagrined by the entire scene. He apologized and said that we couldn’t all be perfect. I didn’t take that comment personally since I’d said something pretty close to those exact words a few days before.
In the end, it was all good. He found a different round plastic bowl for the watermelon and apologized for being sort of an ass over a few old grapes and a round plastic bowl.
And because I am perfect (or not) I forgave him.
On Monday, I saw that she hadn’t eaten all the grapes I’d packed, so I put the entire container in the refrigerator to send with her the next day.
Tuesday evening, some of those grapes were still there. Maybe six of them. That’s two days of sitting around in the locker until lunch time and then going back into her locker to make their way to Gram’s house and home again.
I kind of figured by that point, the grapes had lived their lifespan and it was time for them to make their way into the old ice cream container we use for old food that will be taken out to the compost hole.
Tom…had other ideas.
When he saw those grapes in there with the coffee grounds and the ends of an onion, he, well, he kind of lost his mind for a few minutes.
Okay, to be fair, we’ve had this conversation several times. Tom hates waste. He detests it. He can’t stand to see what he considers perfectly good food thrown away.
Alas, he and I have different definitions of ‘perfectly good food.”
So he dug those grapes out and washed them off. He put them in a round plastic Tupperware container and tossed them in the fridge, giving the refrigerator door a resounding slam just for emphasis.
He glared at me for a while, just to make sure I knew exactly how unhappy he was with my actions.
I apologized once. But only once. After that, I kind of decided he needed to get over it. I explained, once, that I kind of thought after two days of being left out, those grapes were no longer worth saving. But then I assured him in the future, I’d ASK him if he wanted Alyssa’s uneaten fruit before making the unilateral decision to toss them in the compost.
Later in the evening, after he’d cheerfully cut a watermelon plucked from the vine in our very own backyard, Tom was looking for a bowl.
He was very frustrated that he couldn’t find this bowl. It was a very specific bowl he wanted. He looked in the corner cabinet, above the coffee pot, and in the dishwasher. He demanded to know where the round plastic bowl was.
I struggled from beneath an almost-asleep Olivia, walked calmly to the refrigerator, opened it, pulled out bowl holding six old grapes and asked with nary a glimmer of condescension, “Is this the bowl you mean?”
He had the grace to look chagrined by the entire scene. He apologized and said that we couldn’t all be perfect. I didn’t take that comment personally since I’d said something pretty close to those exact words a few days before.
In the end, it was all good. He found a different round plastic bowl for the watermelon and apologized for being sort of an ass over a few old grapes and a round plastic bowl.
And because I am perfect (or not) I forgave him.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Inclusion
A few weeks ago, Julie and I were talking about gymnastics and ballet classes and I mentioned that I’d love to find a class for Olivia but that I think we need to wait at least another year before enrolling her.
Julie gently suggested I look for a special needs class for Olivia.
I was not offended by this suggestion, I just pointed out that we live in a VERY small town, with several other very smaller towns about 40 miles in every direction. Between those small towns? Cornfields. Really.
Anyway, it made me think about inclusion and what that means.
I am all for inclusion in school, in extracurricular activities, etc. as long as inclusion doesn’t make the other kids in the class, special needs or not, lose any quality to their own experience of the class.
When Olivia took gymnastics back when she was three and four, I started her out in a Mommy & Me class. It was fine. She loved it. The other kids in the class also had their mommies there with them and everyone was happy.
But the timing got weird and we had to switch to a Kindergym class and this one didn’t include the mommies. At least, it didn’t include the other mommies. Olivia’s mommy? She stayed and helped out in the class.
The reason I stayed and worked with Olivia was because I felt her needs would eclipse those of the rest of the students. Her coach/teacher would have to spend so much extra time with Olivia that the other children would lose out.
I don’t worry about Olivia acting out at school these days. I worry about her withdrawing to the point that she’s not getting anything out of it. But she’s not likely to disrupt the entire class when she does this in the way that a child who throws a tantrum would do so.
This goes for classes like gymnastics, ballet and even school. This year at school, there are only nine kids in O’s class. There is a teacher and a teacher’s assistant. I feel like that is perfect for O’s needs this year.
But as she grows and moves from class to class, we will have to evaluate what her placement should be. I want her around her typical peers because I know she tends to learn more/better from them. Peer pressure and all that.
If at any point, though, it seems Olivia is distracting her classmates or taking more than her fair share of the teacher’s time and attention, we’ll reconsider her placement in a typical classroom.
I know all kids act out, whether they have special needs or not. Some kids are just brats. Or wait, some kids have bratty days where they act out more than they do on other, less bratty days.
And like all kids, Olivia has her moments. These are not the moments I worry about. I think about day in and day out attention needed for her to grasp the things her typical peers don’t have to work at. If those things start to require more of her teacher’s time, don’t I owe it to the typical kids in her class to reevaluate her placement?
I think what I’m trying to say is that the special needs of some don’t trump the typical needs of others.
I have two children. One has special needs. The other has typical needs. I think they both have a right to an education that will take them to their fullest potential as well as a right to extracurricular activities that bring them joy.
But those rights are no greater than any other person’s rights to those same things. And if either of my children started to act out in school or activities to the detriment of their classmates, something needs to be done to fix that issue, even if it means pulling them out of the activity or finding a new way to educate them.
My job as their parent is teach them that yes, they’re needs are important but not necessarily more important than the needs of others.
Julie gently suggested I look for a special needs class for Olivia.
I was not offended by this suggestion, I just pointed out that we live in a VERY small town, with several other very smaller towns about 40 miles in every direction. Between those small towns? Cornfields. Really.
Anyway, it made me think about inclusion and what that means.
I am all for inclusion in school, in extracurricular activities, etc. as long as inclusion doesn’t make the other kids in the class, special needs or not, lose any quality to their own experience of the class.
When Olivia took gymnastics back when she was three and four, I started her out in a Mommy & Me class. It was fine. She loved it. The other kids in the class also had their mommies there with them and everyone was happy.
But the timing got weird and we had to switch to a Kindergym class and this one didn’t include the mommies. At least, it didn’t include the other mommies. Olivia’s mommy? She stayed and helped out in the class.
The reason I stayed and worked with Olivia was because I felt her needs would eclipse those of the rest of the students. Her coach/teacher would have to spend so much extra time with Olivia that the other children would lose out.
I don’t worry about Olivia acting out at school these days. I worry about her withdrawing to the point that she’s not getting anything out of it. But she’s not likely to disrupt the entire class when she does this in the way that a child who throws a tantrum would do so.
This goes for classes like gymnastics, ballet and even school. This year at school, there are only nine kids in O’s class. There is a teacher and a teacher’s assistant. I feel like that is perfect for O’s needs this year.
But as she grows and moves from class to class, we will have to evaluate what her placement should be. I want her around her typical peers because I know she tends to learn more/better from them. Peer pressure and all that.
If at any point, though, it seems Olivia is distracting her classmates or taking more than her fair share of the teacher’s time and attention, we’ll reconsider her placement in a typical classroom.
I know all kids act out, whether they have special needs or not. Some kids are just brats. Or wait, some kids have bratty days where they act out more than they do on other, less bratty days.
And like all kids, Olivia has her moments. These are not the moments I worry about. I think about day in and day out attention needed for her to grasp the things her typical peers don’t have to work at. If those things start to require more of her teacher’s time, don’t I owe it to the typical kids in her class to reevaluate her placement?
I think what I’m trying to say is that the special needs of some don’t trump the typical needs of others.
I have two children. One has special needs. The other has typical needs. I think they both have a right to an education that will take them to their fullest potential as well as a right to extracurricular activities that bring them joy.
But those rights are no greater than any other person’s rights to those same things. And if either of my children started to act out in school or activities to the detriment of their classmates, something needs to be done to fix that issue, even if it means pulling them out of the activity or finding a new way to educate them.
My job as their parent is teach them that yes, they’re needs are important but not necessarily more important than the needs of others.
Monday, August 27, 2012
A Ballet Bun and a Piano
Before we headed to the lake yesterday, Olivia asked me to put her hair in a ballet bun. Now, her hair is amazing these days but bun length…it’s just not quite there yet.
I did the best I could. I pulled it into a high ponytail and then, with the last twist of the ponytail holder, I left her hair folded under. It was bunnish enough for her. In fact, she loved that ballet bun. She pirouetted her way around the bathroom, down the stairs. Okay, wait. She didn’t actually pirouette down the stairs. That would have been quite a sight, don’t you think?
But once she made her way down those stairs, she pirouetted her way through the living room, into the kitchen and into the family room searching for someone, anyone, to show her ballet bun to.
Tom made all the appropriate ooohs and aaaaahs at her bun and she pranced away, happy with the acclaim she’d received.
She told me she was going to swim with her ballet bun. I told her that was a wonderful idea.
Alyssa, on the other hand, prefers to let her hair flow free, even though I’ve explained so many time (SO. MANY. TIMES.) that if she’d let me braid it or even just put it in a ponytail before she swims she’ll save herself so much pain that comes from tangles. She doesn’t care. She will not swim with her hair confined in any way. Her hair must be free. Free!!!
Whatever. I sometimes forget that kids are actually their own people and not an extension of me.
On our way home from the lake we met my mom at one of her sister’s house. Aunt E had a piano she wanted to get rid of. Tom nixed the idea of us moving it into our house so my mom decided to make room for it. But my mom and step-dad needed Tom’s help loading the thing into his truck and then getting it into the house when they got home.
The kids flipping love it. They pounded on that thing all evening. I even managed to teach Alyssa a one-handed version of Mary Had A Little Lamb. I know, who knew I could teach piano, considering I’ve never played one in my life. And although I did play the flute for seven years, I’ve never really considered myself a musician. I was never really good enough to own that title. But I do plan to continue to help Alyssa. Aunt E was kind enough to give my mom all her beginner piano music books.
The fun never ends around here, is what I’m saying.
I did the best I could. I pulled it into a high ponytail and then, with the last twist of the ponytail holder, I left her hair folded under. It was bunnish enough for her. In fact, she loved that ballet bun. She pirouetted her way around the bathroom, down the stairs. Okay, wait. She didn’t actually pirouette down the stairs. That would have been quite a sight, don’t you think?
But once she made her way down those stairs, she pirouetted her way through the living room, into the kitchen and into the family room searching for someone, anyone, to show her ballet bun to.
Tom made all the appropriate ooohs and aaaaahs at her bun and she pranced away, happy with the acclaim she’d received.
She told me she was going to swim with her ballet bun. I told her that was a wonderful idea.
Alyssa, on the other hand, prefers to let her hair flow free, even though I’ve explained so many time (SO. MANY. TIMES.) that if she’d let me braid it or even just put it in a ponytail before she swims she’ll save herself so much pain that comes from tangles. She doesn’t care. She will not swim with her hair confined in any way. Her hair must be free. Free!!!
Whatever. I sometimes forget that kids are actually their own people and not an extension of me.
On our way home from the lake we met my mom at one of her sister’s house. Aunt E had a piano she wanted to get rid of. Tom nixed the idea of us moving it into our house so my mom decided to make room for it. But my mom and step-dad needed Tom’s help loading the thing into his truck and then getting it into the house when they got home.
The kids flipping love it. They pounded on that thing all evening. I even managed to teach Alyssa a one-handed version of Mary Had A Little Lamb. I know, who knew I could teach piano, considering I’ve never played one in my life. And although I did play the flute for seven years, I’ve never really considered myself a musician. I was never really good enough to own that title. But I do plan to continue to help Alyssa. Aunt E was kind enough to give my mom all her beginner piano music books.
The fun never ends around here, is what I’m saying.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Last Hoorah
We made our way to the lake today in a last ditch effort to squeeze just a little more fun out of the waning summer.
And it was good. There weren't many people at the beach, the water was chilly at first but once you took that plunge and got all wet, it was refreshing.
The sand was hot and the sun gave us all one last bit of sunny glow to our skin.
We were planning to make this trip yesterday but Tom got a text in the middle of the night on Friday/Sunday. It let us know that the newest grandson had been born.
So we put off our lake trip so Tom could head to Huntington to see Noah, born three weeks early but weighing six pounds, seven ounces. That means we weighed more than both my girls. Alyssa weighed six pounds even. She was only eight days early. Olivia was NINE days late and weighed only five pounds two ounces.
But whatever. I saw pictures, Noah is beautiful. But then, what baby isn't?
This makes five grandchildren for Tom. Yikes, huh? Or maybe I should reframe and say, "Yay!"
So the lake trip was the icing on the cake that is a new baby in the family. Yeah. Okay.
And it was good. There weren't many people at the beach, the water was chilly at first but once you took that plunge and got all wet, it was refreshing.
The sand was hot and the sun gave us all one last bit of sunny glow to our skin.
We were planning to make this trip yesterday but Tom got a text in the middle of the night on Friday/Sunday. It let us know that the newest grandson had been born.
So we put off our lake trip so Tom could head to Huntington to see Noah, born three weeks early but weighing six pounds, seven ounces. That means we weighed more than both my girls. Alyssa weighed six pounds even. She was only eight days early. Olivia was NINE days late and weighed only five pounds two ounces.
But whatever. I saw pictures, Noah is beautiful. But then, what baby isn't?
This makes five grandchildren for Tom. Yikes, huh? Or maybe I should reframe and say, "Yay!"
So the lake trip was the icing on the cake that is a new baby in the family. Yeah. Okay.
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