When the unremarkable is actually remarkable

For nearly seven years now, my goal has been to model behavior that teaches TinyE how to deal with questions and stares on her own when we're not around. With kids, it's usually one of two situations:

1: Children staring, talking and pointing. 
TinyE blissfully unaware. 
Response: If I'm close enough to the children, I don't let them get away with it. Perhaps this is more for my own sake, and maybe it's not my place since I'm not THEIR parent, but I'm going to let them know their actions are not invisible. I usually approach and ask quite clearly, "Do you have a question?" I'm guessing the way I look at them indicates I've heard them snickering. Sometimes they shake their heads guiltily and simply stop talking. Other times they say, "What's wrong with her arm?" or another variation of the question. My reply is always, "Nothing's wrong, she was just born that way." The exchange usually ends with the children being slightly more informed .... and if anything, aware that their snickering did not go unnoticed.

2: Children staring, asking questions, pointing, directly interacting with TinyE. 
TinyE is old enough that she handles these 'confrontations' quite well. Most of the time she shrugs and says, "I was born like this," with a tone of voice that indicates it's no big deal and TIME TO MOVE ON, PEOPLE. Other times kids pester her to a point she just walks away and ignores them, or outright says, "I don't feel like answering questions anymore."

I'm proud of her confidence and assertiveness. Yet there are some times I sense her impatience -- she's ready for people to stop asking her about it -- and I'll step in. Always reasserting some form of our standard replies:

• Nothing is wrong.
• Yes, she was born that way.
• Why? We don't know. But we think she's lucky.
• No, I didn't do anything when I was pregnant. (you little snot)
• No, I didn't do anything when I was pregnant. (bitch, you're a mom and you should know better than to ask that!)*
• Yes, she can do everything you can, just in a different way.
• No, she's not hiding her arm in her shirt.
• No, she's not disabled. (you jackass adult, and thanks for saying it in front of her)*

Last night TinyE played in her first little league game.

It was glorious, she was sweaty, breathless, running around, having fun with her teammates, so proud. And this morning I realized... hey. I didn't field any questions. I didn't interrupt any staring or cut off third-degree questioning. We just.... were. We were unremarkable and remarkable at the same time.

TinyE was a kid like everyone else, and I don't think anyone noticed but me.

And you know what? I'm not even going to ask if she noticed it herself.



* I could do more posts on interactions with adults. But not today.

Milestone Moment

I had one of those moments last weekend when our family was at the park... just one of those things and it caught me by surprise.

I was standing on the sidewalk, next to BabyS in the stroller, and trying to signal to Dave that we were ready to go—he was dutifully following TinyE around the playground.

Just when I looked up, I noticed that TinyE had grabbed onto the rope/net ladder with her left hand. And instinctively, Dave stepped in close behind her—supporting but not stopping her.

TinyE was born with an upper arm deficiency - her right arm is significantly smaller than her left.

I watched her reach out with her left arm, step up with one foot, and then lean forward to put her smaller arm against the rope net ladder. The same one that all the other kids could trail up and down in a heartbeat, over and over.

I watched as she reached up, Dave leaned in, and my heart was in my throat. I watched as she slowly, meticulously, climbed that rope ladder; never actually needing her Daddy to catch her but knowing he was there.

I watched as she got to the top of the equipment and looked back at him with a jubilant smile. As naturally as any other kid.

That moment was a gift to all of us, that one tiny moment where one of our millions of questions had been answered. I remembered 2-1/2 years ago, sobbing in the hospital room and telling my mom that already my baby had more to deal with than I ever knew. That the load she had to carry in life was already so much bigger than herself. All the millions of challenges lay stretched before us like unanswered questions, unknown obstacles, unpredictable hurts.

Watching her climb that ladder from across the park — where I stood like a silent spectator — seemed to pass in slow motion. But it was just a little moment, a little milestone moment. The ladder was there, and she climbed it. And then, she went on to the next thing.

One gift, out of the many life affords us. One gift, out of the millions that our children give to us every day. I am amazed to find that over and over, she is the one who heals me.

What I did on my Day Off

Woke up around 8:30 instead of 6:00. Helped hubby get the kids up and dressed, and off they went for their Thursday at Grandma and Grandpa's (all three of them).

9:00 Cleaned up cat puke. Vacuumed the disgusting living room rug. Finished putting away baby bottles. Checked work email for emergencies.

9:30 Made some coffee, sliced a peach, took it back to bed with me to read the last 70 or so pages of The Thirteenth Tale by Dianne Setterfield. Note: other parents will instantly recognize that the opportunity to laze in bed, in the morning, under such peaceful and idyllic circumstances, NEVER EVER happens. It was enough to make me weep with joy.

10:30 Got to the major reveal of the story, went out to make more coffee. Settled back in bed with fresh coffee in order to relish a totally quiet house, sunny morning, and awesome culmination of a great ghost story.

11:30 Finished the book. Made myself presentable. Ran an errand to the library, picked up cat medicine at the vet. Tried the new coffee at McDonald's (not bad).

1:00 Visited my favorite hair stylist at Pull out a Plum in Edina. Took photos of client's billboards at nearby location and emailed copies to client, ASI.

2:00 Wandered into Landmark Cinema, Edina to see what was playing. Took in a great French Film, The Last Mistress. Enjoyed being one of 5 people in the theater.

4:00 Went to Queen of Cakes in Edina to try out the cupcakes a dear friend has raved about. Checked work email one last time to ensure no emergencies.

5:00 Stopped by the corner market on the way home, rented a steam cleaner.

6:00 - 7:00 Steam cleaned the disgusting living room carpet. Eh. Looks a little better... but boy, was that fun!

7:10 Returned the steam cleaner. Was told "that's a record. No one ever returns it that quickly!"

7:20 Set my sights on the dying tree in our yard. Trim off two dying branches with the hack saw.

7:30 Set my sights on the evergreen tree I hate. Trimmed of four or five lower branches that block visibility of the stop sign.

7:45 Put out the garbage.

8:00 Settle in two watch two episodes of Queer as Folk from Netflix .

9:30 Hubby and the girls get home.

10:30 Settle into bed with a new book and realize, DANG! I meant to sweep under the bed today. Oh well.

Remembering I-35

On August 1, 2007, I was nearing the end of my maternity leave. So at 6:00pm I wasn't in the usual afternoon rush hour, and I wasn't listening to the radio or following much of any media.

Shortly after 7:00, I got a call from the elderly woman across the street—of all people, Esther was the one I had most naturally befriended during my time off. (My street has at least three other families, each with at least three children, and those stay-at-home moms were the ones I imagined myself becoming BFF with. So much for that, I more often found myself sitting in Esther's front room, showing off my daughters and listening to her stories of what motherhood was like for her.)

When my 22-month old had a febrile seizure, it was Esther who called me daily to find out how she was doing. When a violent storm toppled the massive tree in our yard, it was Esther who called to check on us. When the curtains in our front room were open past dark, it was Esther who called to check if we were okay. So when I heard Esther's voice that evening of August 1, I was slightly amused (again) by her breathless inquiry, "Are you all okay?!"

It was Esther who alerted me to the fall of the I-35 bridge that night. And as I watched the story unfold and saw the pictures of the missing, one story in particular caught my heart. The young pregnant mother with her 22-month old daughter. My own 22-month old daughter was joyfully running around my feet. How many times had I strapped her snugly into the car seat, even driven over bridges, taking every little moment for granted? The thought of sinking into a river, with both of us strapped in, and me unable to reach back and save her, was unbearable. But it had happened to someone else, and it never should have happened at all. Even today I can barely stand to imagine what that woman and her child may have experienced when the bridge went down, taking all of them into the dark water.

Tomorrow is August 1, and I'm grateful for the health and happiness of my family. But I also think it's fitting to recognize that everything we know can vanish in an instant, and it's fair to say, God bless the victims and the ones who were left to carry on without them. God bless Sadiya, her unborn child, and her little girl Hana.

I am one of the lucky, if only for right here and now.

13 seconds in August.

Long live the public library

Last week I finished reading The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. It was nearly a three-week read, but totally worth it, as I greatly appreciate intelligent and thoughtful versions of vampire lore. The reveal towards the end... phenomenal. I'd love to discuss it with anyone else who's read it.

Per a co-worker's recommendation, I then checked out The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary, by Simon Winchester. Shaping up to be an awesome read.

Feeling hungry (in my head), I also checked out a few more books. This is not the first time I have wondered, "Does anyone else take a grocery bag into the library so they can carry out all the books they acquire?"

I am currently in possession of the following HCLIB items... which means, my plans for the holiday weekend are SET:

Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurty. Because everyone needs to read at least one mammoth book during the summer. Better yet, make it a classic.
Pebble in the Sky, by Isaac Asimov. Science fiction by one of the greatest minds of our time -- need I say more?!

And for reading with my girls:
But, excuse me, that is my book, by Lauren Child. The story about a little girl and her favorite library book. Had to do it.
Harry and the lady next door, by Gene Zion. Good, long bedtime story.
Why do you cry?: not a sob story, by Kate Klise. 5-year old rabbit decides he's too big to cry! (this one made Dave cry...)
Pinkalicious, by Victoria Kann. Little girl who loves the color pink... eats pink cupcakes... turns pink. Already a favorite of TinyE.
Purplicious, by Victoria Kann. Same little girl... but not a favorite of mine. She gets teased by her friends for liking pink... I think this one was a little too sad for TinyE, even with the happy ending.

and

"One Puppet". Said puppet is a tiny, soft baby leopard that TinyE took to bed with her last night.

And with that, I must say, long live the public library. Is there any better place to spend a hot summer evening when you have two little girls crawling the walls at home?

Last week I finished reading Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway. Slow start.... then I was really into it. Didn't finish the way I expected! Enjoying the classics lately.

Now I'm back with Colette, enjoying a collection of her short stories. What an author.

Wow. What a bore. I am boring.

Work, Facebook and Twitter are sucking out all of my posting energies.

I am sleepy.

I finished reading Watership Down a few nights ago. It was great!

My apologies to Mrs. Roth, my 12-grade College Prep English teacher. For faking my way through the book back then.