Preschool Beginnings

As I sit here drinking warm cider about to bite into a powdery donut that will be entirely too messy for a blog post, I still find it hard to believe that I have a preschooler.

Nervous, anxious, and excited about Marty's first day months beforehand, it had finally arrived last Monday. The previous day I had set out his first day of school clothes--an adorable orange, blue and white button-down mint-condition find from a garage sale down the street paired with a dark blue tee and dark blue jeans. I had planned to spike his freshly cut hair. Add to that sweet package his brand new, glistening Mickey Mouse backpack and he was certain to steal hearts walking through the doors that day. I was so excited to take a picture of him on his first day of school; it was going to be great! I just knew I would break down crying as I left him with his teacher and his new class so I had asked a friend to meet me outside for moral support and to help me with my little one waiting in the car.

Before...

However, the first day of school started out nothing like I had envisioned it. I tried to spike Marty's hair and he would have none of it, slapping his head and patting it down after getting it just right. Once or twice I had to fix it but he would run away upset and dive into the arm chair, flattening it worse than before. Then it was time to go and I had to pull him away from a toy he was intently playing with. You would've thought I cut his arm off because a massive melt-down erupted complete with headbanging against the floor and wall (not me, although...). My picture-perfect moment turned into a ridiculous battle of will. I simply gave up after attempting to get him to "smile for the camera"--which was just not going to happen. Defeated physically and emotionally, I nearly melted into the drivers seat and simply prayed for God to just "help." Walking Marty into school produced no relief as I tried to sit him with his class in the hallway and he decided that was also not in his morning plans. I left him to sit with his teacher who assured me he would do great.

...after!

 Where were the bittersweet tears about my baby, my firstborn, going off to school without me? I was too worn out to cry and if I were to have had any tears that morning they would've been tears of frustration, not joy. After that sort of morning, I needed a little break! A coffee run and some retail therapy was in order.

I was ready to pick up my boy and hear about his day.  Hopefully I would find him better off than I left him. His teacher was right, he did just fine complete with good listening skills! We took his first day photo at the end of the day, where he proudly displayed hi backpack for the camera.

Good reports kept coming about how he was getting more used to the routine at school, which of course made me feel more at ease. At the end of the week I had dropped him off just as his class was getting ready to go to their room. He looked a little unsure about joining them as I left. I hoped he would walk nicely for them and not do one of his sit-and-stay protests in the middle of the hallway, so I emailed the teacher to be sure. She reported back that he joined the class walking rope with no problem, found his cubby in the room and unloaded his backpack and got ready for breakfast.

The tears finally came. My little boy was growing up!

I knew he would do good in preschool and I was excited he was taking to it so quickly. The results were evident at home to, when I didn't have to tell him to put his shoes away or where his backpack goes.

I am still anxious about potty training, cup drinking (and by the way, his preschool teacher welcomed his sippy cup with no problem whatsoever), counting, ABC's and the like. I am afraid of the testing and what placement he will have at the end of the school year. I am hoping his peers will spur him on  and teach him what they know while also learning a great deal from him. I heard his class coming down the hallway to drop him off to me and his little classmates were calling his name, encouraging him to hold on to the walking rope.

My prayer is that preschool will challenge him reach up to the next level of learning and he will have fun while doing it. I expect great reports in the months to come and look forward to seeing how he's changed and grown by the end of the year.~*

God Allows Sippy Cups in Heaven

"Disabled."

The term can seem like Mt. Everest to a mother of a child with special needs.  It also puts the focus on performance.  If you can get your child to show off their abilities in public they wouldn't be rendered "disabled" anymore.  So we strive to make them better at walking, talking, eating--anything to be "normal"; to fit in.  But can you erase a "disability" by acquiring skills?  Is that really important?

This past week my pastor gave a sermon on how performance-driven our society is and how value is attributed to those who perform well.  But the truth of the matter is that this is not how God operates in His love for us (hallelujah) nor how we should choose to operate in our love with each other.  Value should never be attributed to someone's abilities to perform--because it will truly never be enough.

At my previous job, we were told not just to work with the "fun" kids--the kids who are cute and playful, who we are naturally drawn to.  Because all kids of all abilities need love and attention, not just the "fun" ones.

An article in our local Down syndrome group's newsletter cautioned parents about bragging about all the wonderful things their child can do because it is important to be sensitive to those parents who's child may be lower functioning. The truth is that all children with Down syndrome are special, not just the one's who master many things.

Down syndrome is considered a disability.  My son is categorized as "disabled" despite the fact that he has many abilities.  And just because my son can walk and use a spoon doesn't make his diagnosis go away.  No matter what skills he will acquire in his lifetime, he will always have Down syndrome.  It cannot be erased and nor do I care for it to be so.  My love for him isn't based on what he can and cannot do.

Skills are great.  They make life easier to navigate and helps our child become a more independent and confident little person.  We love when Marty learns something new.  We're excited as we cheer him on as if he has just won an Olympic medal.  We foster an environment for learning, giving him plenty of opportunities to try new things but every milestone he accomplishes is in his own time and way.  We cannot speed up his learning process by force (in fact, he regresses if we push to hard for something).  It doesn't work.  We've learned that he learns through steady plodding, repetition, trial and error.  He can sense an adult's agenda when it interrupts the fun play-learning he's having and responds with his version of "no thanks."  So we use unconventional ways to teach him and while it may take some time for him to have that "ah-ha" moment where things click in his mind, he learns--and has fun while doing it.  On many levels he is just a typical kid but we also take an altered approach when it comes to teaching him things.  We respect his pace and meet him where he is at, cheer when he does accomplish a difficult task and always remember to say "thank you" for his help.  And what child--typical or not--wouldn't benefit from a learning experience like that?

Yet our goal isn't to get him to perform many skills to be "normal."  The fact is he's not "normal."  He's extraordinary.  So our goal isn't normalcy, but raising an extraordinary man of integrity who loves people and loves God.  We hope he learns who Jesus is by the way that we treat him, in how we love and teach him and then turn and show that love to the world himself.  Marty cannot say his ABC's, but he is a good friend.  He doesn't know how to jump, but he has incredible discernment on giving the best hugs at the right moment.  He drinks from a sippy cup (like most 2 1/2 year-olds anyway) and he loves his family.  Those are things that matter most us and what I believe matters most to God.

So if Marty never learns to drink from a cup or a straw?  Who cares.  Our focus is on more eternal things, and God allows sippy cups in heaven.

Sheer Joy

In my mind, I go back and forth between two places.  In one place, I wear the hat, badge, honor and authoritative weight of a protective mother.  In that place, I am an advocate and keenly aware of any possible threats that may come my son's way.  Because I am his mouthpiece for this season of life, I am careful to tread lightly here and there, but not in a tip-toe manner, because I am also patrolling the banks of this place for incoming ships.  I am ready to fire if danger creeps near as I am on high alert for such things.  Proudly I keep my daily post protecting my greatest treasure, guarding this most precious gift which has been entrusted to me.   

Yet there is another place I go in my mind where I am dancing in the highest daisy fields hand in hand with my son.  I want to sing his love song to the world, to display his perceived ailment in shining armor.  On my heart I proudly wear his badge of courage, strength and love.  He is my joy and this joy is contagious.  Why shouldn't I share this powerful, addictive love with the world?  Perhaps they may be inspired to open their hearts as I have. 

Today in my prayers of thanksgiving overflowing for the greatest gift the Lord has ever given to me, I thanked Him for many things.  For sculpting my heart in the most miraculous way, for His faithfulness, yes!--even for Down syndrome!  How much more has my faith increased because my son was born with Down syndrome! 

I have begun to wonder why I am holding Marty's story back at all.   

I chose not to share his diagnosis with everyone we meet.  I still think this is wise; not everyone is open or welcoming of such precious information (and in my opinion, if that be the case, they are not worthy of such either; I shouldn't cast my pearls before swine).  I want Marty to also have the opportunity to make a smashing first impression as well--just the opportunity that everyone else in the world should have without restrictions or limitations placed on them from preconceived ideas about Down syndrome.  But the more people I decide to tell his story to, the more "touched" responses follow.  When I think about all the great blessings that have been heaped upon me, the more I want to share those blessings.  It has become the fire shut-up in my bones that Elijah speaks about in the Old Testament.  There is a sheer joy that arises in my heart when I begin to think about all the Lord has done on my behalf when He decided to bless me with a son who has Down syndrome. 

Perhaps it is time to share this joy with the world?~*

Reduce, Reuse, Recall

As I trip the light fantastic at the latest Mom-2-Mom, I only have one thing in mind: deals.  Part of the resale shopping high is price comparison; I gloat about my steals to anyone who will listen.  I have lost track of the hundreds of dollars I have saved over the past years by buying second-hand items.  Not only do I get a thrill by saving money, I also feel I am doing my duty as a good citizen of Earth.  Reusing is a great way to be green.  But as a very smart consumer, I really should be considering another aspect to this surprisingly risky business: recalls.

I sold an infant sling to a young new mom this weekend who instantly wanted to try it out with her newborn son.  I helped him in and refitted the strap for her and off she went, smiling at her great find.  This morning my mom's stomach turned as she heard the latest recall on the news--my infant sling, which has caused three infant deaths so far. 

Go with me if you will a few months back to a clearance end cap at Target.  I am 8 1/2 months pregnant, swollen feet, and nesting--which means I am on a mean bargain hunt making preparations for my son.  We find a great stroller to replace the not-so-great bargain stroller I had to have a couple pregnancy-moment months before.  The not-so-great bargain stroller I purchased on Craigslist and agreed to buy it before looking at it.  When we got it home, I was sorely disappointed after discovering the replacement parts, which I had convinced myself of all the way home could be easily found on the manufacturers website, were no longer in production and despite my meticulous searches to find a supplier, the had-to-have product was a bust.  I was pleased as punch when the shiney new stroller was assembled and ready for D-day.

To my chagrin, it has recently been recalled because the canopy can lacerate or cut-off a child's finger tip.  A new canopy can be reordered through the company.

But I've been down that road, too.  Our crib, another great find on Craigslist, was recalled just a week after we purchased it.  The hinges holding the matress board in place were not as strong as they needed to be and were breaking and causing serious injuries.  New hinges were sent to us as a replacement.  The second serious recall on the same crib was the drop-down siding, which could cause a child to be caught in between the rail and the matress, causing strangulation deaths across the country.  We were informed that a new fixed rail would be making its way to us...eventually.  After eventually waiting four months where our child had to sleep in his pack-n-play, we collapsed the apparent death trap and took it to Babies R' Us' own cash-for-clunkers and got a discount on a brand new not-yet-recalled crib.

Perhaps getting the best bargain on a gently used baby item doesn't have as much glory as I thought.  Can I risk a recall on an unknowingly dangerous older item because I want to save the planet? 

Of course I'm wondering, "Who's to blame?"  In discussing this with my friend, a co-mother, we both admitted tossing aside the instruction manuals at the excitement of the finished product.  Are people out there really that naive in thinking, "That won't really happen to my child," and use the product inproperly?  Are American's misuing product and then turning their unhappy outcome feelings on the people who made the item?  Are we really that sue-happy?  Or maybe it really is the baby gear companies' fault.  Perhaps in an effort to boost sales, they put quantity over quality and push out new stuff each season without really taking the time to test and re-test the very things which hold our precious cargo.  I imagine millions of products being recalled can't be good for business.  

I'm second, third, and fourth reguessing my trust in all these seemingly safe baby products.  And I thought H1N1 and SIDS were my biggest contenders.  I guess I'll have to rely on good ol' instinct and common sense if my child is going to make it to age 10.~*

Mommy-Tired

Feeling a bit edgy today.  Not sure why.  Perhaps I'm just feeling mommy-tired. 

I was finding myself a little frustrated that Marty wouldn't take his regularly scheduled naps today.  I felt like launching into a speech about "If I was in your shoes," but I didn't.  He may have not understand my point of view.  Afterall, he doesn't wear shoes.

Amid screaming tantrums and wailing--my son, not me--I was wondering if this was going to be "the" hill.  One of us was going down.  It would only be a matter of time...

I gave up. 

Daddy didn't exactly validate my efforts by prancing into the room sporting smiles to my weary, slap-happy son.  Marty was amused, producing a bi-polar display of emotions; anything to keep from dozing off.

My headache mounted as we got in the car to do errands.  He started his fuss-fest all over again.  "Why won't you sleep?!"  He didn't answer me.  Just as well.  And when I thought all hope had been lost he was out like a light before we left the drive.  An olympic record. 

Later tonight Marty put up a similar fight for his late afternoon nap.  Swings, songs, smiles, playing, rubbing and rocking would not soothe my angry hornet.  Patience defeated, I decided he wasn't going to nap a third time and reasoned that perhaps because he is turning 6 months this week, he might be settling into a 2-nap routine.  To my surprise, he nursed and fell fast alseep within minutes. 

Am I missing something here?  Everything I try doesn't work but left to his own natural self, he sleeps. 

Feeling mentally exhausted and worn out, I sighed and shook my head.  But how could I be upset at this angelic and peacefully content face settled before me?  I felt guilty that I wanted to scream out loud just a few moments prior. 

Perhaps I am just mommy-tired and need a few naps of my own.~*

Creating the New "Full"

I introduced Marty to solids when he was four months old.  An all night scream-fest inspired me to try something new.  I figured he was teething and the spoons I have are coated and good for gnawing on, so I made up some rice cereal and launched a spoonful toward his red, tear-streaked face into his wide and wailing mouth.  It was the only thing that calmed him down.  Thus the journey had begun.

I only started giving him cereal in the morning.  He was getting constipated (oh joy) and I thought about switching him to oatmeal, but someone told me to try bananas; later I found out this was a binding agent.  The pediatrician told me greens would do the trick, so I gave him some sweet peas--also a binding agent.  Finally the pediatrician recommended prune juice mixed with rice cereal.  This has seemed to work really nicely. 

Upon the 5 month mark, I introduced him to new foods: sweet potatoes, squash, and carrots--which stain everything.  Spoons, clothes and even Marty's face have an orange tint to them and the aftermath looks as if I fed my son Cheetos.  At the 5 month mark we were up to two meals a day, breakfast and lunch, and I was going to hold off on the third meal, dinner, until he reached 6 months.

Well lately I've been waking up with my son at what seems like "ungodly" hours.  And he's hungry.  So I nurse him and it would usually be enough to lull him back to sleep.  Not so, now that I have created the new "full."  I only got smart to this last night after I tried dinner.  He couldn't get enough.  Where he would normally stop chowing at a tablespoon's worth of veggies, his typical consumption during the day, he ate a jar and a half of sweet potatoes and finished it off with 3-4 oz of breastmilk.  Needless to say, I didn't have to feed him during the night.  While he did wake up early a little gassy, a soothie and some rocking was enough to send him back to dreamland.  I've got a growing boy on my hands.~*

Garage Sale Therapy

As I have mentioned before, I am my mother's child. And this woman has instilled in me the thrill of seeking bargains. Upon entering a store, I immediately screen the back for those bright signs announcing "clearance." I don't think I've ever paid full price for anything.

I told myself I'd be done with garage sales for the season, seeing as I am moving and more to pack isn't exactly the wisest thing to do. But how can I pass up wooden toddler chairs marked two for $1? Didn't my mother raise me better than that?

Besides, going to garage sales takes my mind off the stress of moving and trying to find a house. It brings me back to nesting, preparing for my son. If this takes the form of stocking up on toys that are twice his age limit, so be it.~*

Third Tri Experiences so Far

1. Very, very tired. Tasks take more out of me than I thought they would and I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep.
2. Swollen feet and hands. Bought some Dr. Scholl's inserts to ease my aching feets. I love running cold water on my hands.
3. Dizziness. I feel like I'm going to faint even though I haven't been doing anything but sit there. Also, I see many swirly shiny dots if I sit up too fast.
4. Becoming full quicker. I can't eat as much as I used to like in the 1st and 2nd tri because the space is now limited; my stomach is a pancake and I get heartburn more often. Yay...
5. Pressure. Squatting makes me feel like I'm going to give birth, so packing is interesting.
6. Headaches. Extra strength Tylenol and the chiropractor both help with this. I love going to the chiropractor.
7. Houdini belly button. It disappars and reappears when it wants to.
8. Bursts of energy. Sends me into nesting mode.
9. Cry baby. Last week I was bawling on Monday. I'm moved to tears watching TV sometimes.
10. Anxiety. Questions: Can I really handle the stress of a screaming baby or a tantrumonius two year old? Screaming children in Babies-R-Us and Target last week made me want to grind my teeth.~*

Apprehension

*Sigh*

Now that graduation is over, I can think of the thing that has been looming over my head all semester that I've just been trying to ignore: moving.

Before, if a thought of moving home made its way into my mind, I thought of how fun and relaxing it would be. I'd see my family more often and we wouldn't have to drive 24 hours for a holiday.

Maybe it's those pregnancy hormones fluxuating that's made me all emotional about the upcoming adjustment. So many new beginnings happening at once: I'm a college graduate about to begin a career in the field of my choice, I'm an expectant mother about to give birth to a son--two big beginnings in such a small amount of time. So many questions paw at my mind.

Those thoughts of going home have finally sunk now, sunk below the sweetness into the bitter pit of my being. I don't want to go home, because I feel like I am home...~*

Third Trimester Beginnings

I'm growing in more ways than one these days. My body's response: stretch marks.

I had none on my stomach but other aspects of my physique seemed to display those most honorable badges of motherhood unashamedly. Then today, as I was trying on my no-longer-fitting summer clothes--including a now not-so-attractive pair of lime green shorts--I saw them. Creeping up on my now underbelly, those dreaded marks had made their way from my thighs and hips to my torso. And this is only the beginning of my third trimester. I've got a few more miles to go.

My son has become more and more active as the months progress from little kicks ever so often to a full-fledged tap dance complete with somersaults and backflips. He's very responsive to touch and responds excitedly within seconds of hearing loud noises or feeling something icy cold coming down the pikes.

A friend's mother pointed out that my "nesting" phase has been taking the form of garage "sailing," as I like to call it. Guilty as charged. Swooping in like a hawk, I now zip past those items I used to pick up for myself and zoning in specifically on those brightly colored children's items priced so inexpensively it should be illegal.

What do I do when I'm not trudging across lawns and driveways for the latest bargains? I peruse Craig's List and map out the nearest thrift stores that could possess some treasures just waiting for me.~*

So Much Swirling

There is so much swirling going on in my head right now. I feel like Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. Swirling, twirling, up in the air things.

Where will they land?~*

Searching for a Packzi

Packzi ("poonch-skey") is a wonderful Polish pastry that resembles, but is not to be confused with, a jelly-filled doughnut with powdered sugar on top. It is the meal of choice on Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday--the beginning of Lent.

Fat Tuesday is the day to get all your goodies in before sacrificing them in a fast that lasts up until Easter Sunday, were we get to gorge ourselves again on chocolate bunnies. Lent is a time to remember Jesus' sacrifice for us on Calvary.

And this Fat Tuesday will mark the 4th straight year in a row where I've had to miss out on Packzi's. In Michigan, they're easy to find. Even in the most minute grocery outlet, there are packages of Packzi's. The hard-core fans of this 1000+ calorie treat wait in line, days--even nights--before the big feasting day to purchase boxes of these things. The very smart and savvy consumer places their order well in advance online to ensure they get their goods.

I have tried to search for these delicatable polish patries before in Minnesota. I walked into Cub my first year here to find the store void of Packzi's. I asked the baker if they even sold Packzi's. He looked at me like I had 3 heads. Online on blogs similar to this one, others complain in exhaustion about their efforts of trying to locate a Paczki in vain.

Sigh. Heritage lost, my unborn child in the womb might never get to experience the sweet goodness that is the Paczki until they are old enough to chew it someday.~*

Stress: Let Me Process

Where to live. Where to work. Here, there.

Expensive rent in Minneapolis. Very inexpensive house in Michigan.

Teaching Fellows in St. Paul; more experience now equals better opportunities later. No jobs as of yet from my hometown; still looking--both me and Martin.

Insurance here.

Family there.

Sigh.~*

Asia Minor?

Me and Martin are contemplating (and praying) about possibly doing an Asia Minor (yes, that is it's name) next Fall. What does that mean? It means we might spend a semester abroad in China learning language and doing direct research at Chuxiong Normal University.

I have been thinking about this for the past week and I took a brochure on the program from my advisor, who was thrilled, and put it on my dresser. I didn't know how to ask Martin because I know the transition would be difficult but the benefits would be unbelievable. Yesterday night before leaving for Young Adults, he saw the brochure and looked at it. He was really interested in the program as well. The entire ride to pick up dinner and go to church, we were throwing around the idea and imagining what we would have to do to prepare financially in order to make this work--a task that I had thought too great to take on. But it actually seemed feasible.

The school has scholarships for this kind of program and there are very few people signed up for it, which means more of a chance for me to receive one--advice from my advisor. There are two things that could keep this from happening and one of them would be my acceptance of an excellent job position at the place I've been interning at all summer.

Help us in praying for God's will and what he would have us do! Thanks!~*