Not So Qualified

Posted on March 12, 2012 by Janice

*In honor of my one year blog-a-versary, I decided to share some vintage (not so) Special material. This was my first official post of the blog. Maybe my new readers will enjoy it, as they surely haven’t gone back this far into the archives. And if you’ve already read it, maybe it can make you smile again! Thanks to all my faithful readers!

The Grandmother occasionally reads little tidbits out of the newspaper to me. The other day is was a piece about some woman who had been arrested for doing some ghastly thing to her own child. The Grandmother made the comment, “People should have to take a test to make sure they’re qualified to be a parent!”

A few days after that, upon hearing that I was homeschooling, the comment was made to me, “Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to teach my own child.”

That got me thinking…….

Qualified. Webster defines this as “fit; competent.” That got me thinking even more–am I qualified to be a parent? Consider these following points about yours truly.

I once searched for almost forty minutes for my cell phone. My son, upon realizing what I was looking for, told me to call it and listen for the ring. I did, and I heard it ringing……..from inside my pocket.
I have served, as the main course of a meal other than breakfast, Lucky Charms.
I have told my children to shut up.
I have lied to my children because a) I wanted them to do something they didn’t want to do, b) I didn’t want them to do something they wanted to do, or c) simply to get them to be quiet and leave me alone for a few minutes.
I have let the television babysit my children.
I have a drill sergeant’s philosophy about shouting–I never shout, I just speak in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

I will not even get into the background stuff before my children were born. This is a blog after all, not a confessional.

Anyway, would I qualify? Let’s just say it’s a good thing there isn’t a test. The stuff back there is just the tip of the iceberg. I have a list of faults a mile long. Yet, somehow, I have been entrusted with not one, but two little people to raise into functioning adults. Better still–one of them is a special needs child who is dependent on me for everything. Needless to say, it makes me nervous.

It doesn’t help when I am confronted with the uber-mommy. You know the ones I’m talking about. Where do these women come from? They always have their hair fixed and their make-up on, and they are always dressed in cute little outfits that have those sweaters with no sleeves or whatever. They craft and scrapbook and they fix three nutritious meals for their families every day. I expect they churn their own butter.

Meanwhile, I’m home pouring Lucky Charms into a bowl and yelling at my kids. It doesn’t seem fair, does it? And yet…..my kids seem pretty happy and well-adjusted. We’re a pretty close family, and there really isn’t a whole lot of drama here. I don’t seem to embarrass them too much yet. I think the key might be love. More than that, I think the key might be loving your children more than you love yourself. That is where a lot of people fall short.

I’m almost absolutely certain that I wouldn’t officially be called fit or competent to raise another human from birth into adulthood, but I’m struggling along every day and doing the best I can. It’s worked out okay for me so far. I’d love to share with you some of my success stories, but right now I can’t. I’ve got to go look for my cell phone.

Mick Jagger Said it Best

Posted on June 4, 2011 by Janice

“You can’t always get what you want…..”

Inspired by a post on a beloved blog, “Do Sweat the Small Stuff,” and the writing prompt for Red Writing Hood, I decided to write about a very thought provoking question……..what do I want? What an open-ended question! I ask all of you to think about it–what do you want? Probably lots of stuff pops into your mind right away, mostly material things or things that need to be completed in your life. But what do you really want?

I thought it would be most interesting to think about the things I wanted 18 years ago and compare them to the things I want now. I don’t even know who that person was, let alone what happened to her, but I do remember some of the things that were very important to her. Here’s a list of what she wanted most in the world.

To be a marine biologist and study humpback whales in both Alaska and Hawaii.
To study at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute.
To become a world-renowned expert on humpback whales.
To have a home on a rocky coast somewhere overlooking the Pacific.
To lead a free, unbound life, on no one else’s terms.
To possibly never have children, and certainly not until much later in life, and even then most likely adopt them.
To never, ever, ever, depend on anyone else.

Now, that list just looks like a big pile of crap to me now. Not one thing on there is reality. Here are the things that I want now.

I want my children to have every possible opportunity and to never be held back by their own fears.
I also want them to have a top-notch education.
I never want my own fears to project onto my kids and stop them from doing something they want to do.
I want them to have as little pain in this world as possible.
I want to have just one month with a little money left over.
I want to remember what it’s like not to worry.
I want someone to invent self-cleaning windows.
I want my family to be happy.
I want my daughter to look at me and call me mommy. I’d sell my soul for this one. Believe it.
I want to be able to find myself again someday.

It’s not hard to see the difference between those two people. You get married and have kids, and things change. Some things change for the good, and some things, well, not so much. Responsibilities and obligations arose, but the truth is, most of the things I didn’t do are simply because I was too afraid to do them. That’s what happens to us all. The things we want, that we really want, we are too afraid to go and get them. We put them off for just a while, then a while longer, and then the next thing you know, your life is so far down some other path that it is unrecognizable.

I don’t ever think I’ll have those things on that first list, but that’s okay. Things are different now. The essence of the dream is that it comes to an end and reality takes over. Sometimes it hurts a little to let them go, but letting go always hurts, even if you are letting go for something better. Sometimes the thing you didn’t even know you wanted turns out to be the best thing ever, and so it’s all okay in the end.

I notice how much simpler the things I want now are. I guess I’m more easily satisfied. My dreams are smaller, but my satisfaction is infinitely greater. My children’s happiness means more to me than my own ever could. All of my hopes and dreams now are wrapped up in them. I’m fine with that. They are both the most beautiful part of my life, and the fact that I didn’t even know that I wanted them until I had them makes it even better. Maybe there’s a lesson there–forget about what you want, and just be content with what you have.

“……but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.” Mick Jagger

A Hillbilly in New York, Part 2

Posted on May 31, 2011 by Janice

Well, we made it back.

I think the trip went remarkably well. It’s taken me a few days to get this post up because I’ve been in recovery since we got home (at 4:30am!) Also, I think I’ve spent some time digesting what all we saw, and fielding the questions that my son has fired off to me almost non-stop since our return. He didn’t have the time or energy to ask me while we were actually there.

We saw some truly amazing things, one of the best being “The Lion King.” If you ever have a chance to see a Broadway show, do it. It’s worth the money. There really aren’t any words that can adequately describe what it was like–just a long string of superlatives that make it sound cliché, which it certainly is NOT. I saw what New York looks like at twilight from the top of the Empire State Building, ate lunch from Fluffy’s Cafe in Central Park, watched a performance in Carnegie Hall, walked through the immigrant registration station on Ellis Island, and stood at the foot of the Statue of Liberty. In short, I knocked about half the items off of my bucket list.

Ellis Island was especially fascinating. There was a quote on the wall there from a Lithuanian immigrant about how her mother said watching her get on the train to the coast was the same as watching her go into her casket. They never saw one another again. That young woman did that because of the golden opportunity she thought was waiting for her in America. It’s an odd thought. So many of us complain constantly about our government and our country, but some viewed it as the promised land–a place they would literally give up everything to come to. Interesting thought.

Mostly, as usual, my son and I were both fascinated by the people. We heard as much foreign language as we did English. And as for the New Yorkers themselves, well, I’m still undecided. We hear that they are rude and overbearing, and upon first glance, you might take that as the truth–certainly upon entering a vehicle everyone in the city transforms into some sort of homicidal lunatic–but I’m not so sure. To me, it almost seems like something more, something different than what we “southerners” call rude. They have become immune to tourists, and really to themselves as well.

When we were travelling, we wore matching tee shirts. So, we stood out. Our commander-in-chief would ask some random person waiting on the train if we were picking the right one to get where we wanted to go, and immediately that person would become very helpful and courteous. They would sort of look around at us like they hadn’t noticed us before–which I fully believe to be the truth. It’s not so much that they are rude, it’s just that you have to penetrate beyond that cocoon that they have enveloped themselves in to find the real person underneath.

I guess you’d have to be a little immune to it–there are umpteen billion people there bustling about, tourists and locals alike, and at times you are literally squeezing through crowds. There’s no way you could say “excuse me” to each person you nudge or bump. I’m reminded of Crocodile Dundee when he went to NYC, and he tried to greet everyone and be polite. If you haven’t seen the movie, I’ll give you the answer–it didn’t work. So everyone just goes along with their own lives, headed to wherever they are headed. Another point–I don’t know where they are going, but boy are they in a hurry!

Don’t get me wrong–there were rude people there just like there are everywhere, including right where we live. Business Bitch Barbie, for example, ran right over our friend Lucas, and rather than say sorry, she had an expression on her face like she stepped in something stinky. To add insult to injury, she ran over his foot with her Business Bitch Barbie rolling briefcase accessory. I called “Excuse us! Have a nice day!” after her, but I didn’t get a response, of course.

So, there are rude people in New York, and there are nice people, and mostly there are just regular people doing what everyone does–working, shopping, going to school, just living. It was an awesome trip–so much so that I want to go back on a private vacation so I can explore a little more. The city impressed me, and I can see why so many not only flock there, but thrive there. I recommend it highly to anyone who is looking for a vacation destination, just listen to a little advice–take plenty of spending cash, wear your walking shoes, see “The Lion King,” and watch out for Business Bitch Barbie. She’s hell with that briefcase.

A Hillbilly in New York, Pt. 1

Posted on May 23, 2011 by Janice

Yep, you read that right–we are going to New York City. A friend of mine is a music teacher, and she is taking a group of her kids to perform in Carnegie Hall (practice, practice, practice) and she invited us to go along! How cool is that?

I am VERY excited. Now, I’m not what you would call country. (I’m actually coal camp.) We’ve travelled a quite a bit–Philly, Atlanta, DC, Birmingham, Knoxville, Pittsburg, Charlotte, Baltimore, and a few others–but still…..this is New York City we are talking about people! We are going to see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, just to name a few. We’ll leave Tuesday evening and be home late Friday night.

I am also VERY nervous. Not about the trip–like I said, we have been to a place or two, and the only part that makes me nervous is the bus ride. What I am nervous about is walking away from my life for four days. I’m sure to most people that sounds a bit drastic, but that may be because you don’t know how anal retentive I can be about certain things.

Primarily, I’m nervous about leaving my daughter. My sister is in good hands, and she’d rather be where she’s going than with me anyway, so I’m not really worried about her, but Evelyn doesn’t really understand why we just sort of disappear for four days. I don’t have any way to explain it to her. She’ll be with her dad and The Grandparents, but I worry. It makes me wonder if she is maybe a little bit more aware than I give her credit for, because now, to make me feel even better, she is sick. Her teacher called from school today to inform me that she was running a fever and lying around. I picked her up early and she has slept in the chair ever since.

Thanks, Evelyn.

I know all of my guilt is self-inflicted, but that doesn’t make it any less. No matter what, in my mind, no one can care for her the way I do. No one. No one can read her and understand what she wants the way I do. I’m just going to hop on a bus and be hundreds of miles from her, which is bad enough, but now I’m going to do it while she is sick.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m going anyway. I’m nervous, not stupid. I have WAY more separation anxiety than Evelyn ever did (I still cry on the first day of school. Really.) I imagine every possible thing that could happen or go wrong, and I have a great imagination. I miss her so much that sometimes I lay in bed in night when I’m away from her and cry. I’m just a great big girl, right? (I miss my husband too, by the way, but I know he can feed and clothe himself with minimal assistance.) I just have to suck it up and have a good time. This will be the farthest I’ve been from her in a long, long, time, and the farthest I’ve ever been while she was mobile and able to get into a lot of trouble. The last time I was far away from her, she was basically like a potted plant. She couldn’t even crawl. Now she’s like a damn cat–just five minutes of not watching her and all hell could break loose. So you see how my mind works.

But anyway, I’m very excited. We will never have another opportunity like this again. My OCD acts up a little when I pack, and I always remind myself a little of Melvin Udall in “As Good As It Gets” when he’s packing for the trip to Baltimore. I even have a list. (People think the fact I make lists and keep things organized is because I am organized, but really the opposite is true. If I didn’t keep things in order, I would never find anything again. Ever.) Anyway, we are all packed up and ready to go. Evelyn and Matt will drop us off at the bus tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll laugh and joke and wave frantically as we pull away. I’ll save the tears until everyone else is asleep. I do have my reputation to uphold, after all.

Dental Hell

Posted on May 4, 2011 by Janice

“We have nothing to fear but fear itself–and the dentist.” Someone other than Winston Churchill

!!!!!!!!!!!WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS BLOG POST CONTAINS LARGE AMOUNTS OF SELF PITY

It says in the Bible that the sins of the father shall be visited even unto the seventh generation (or something like that) and I think it may be true. I have carefully avoided the dentist for most of my adult life, and now I’m paying for it. Sad part is, my daughter is apparently caught up in that whole seventh generation thing, too.

I’ve recently become more acquainted with the dentist than I ever wanted. A few grand later, I am now a great believer in the dentist. I’m a dental zealot. I will go to the dentist every six months until the day I die, even if my family has to roll me through the door in a hospital bed. I will never, ever, neglect my teeth again. My mouth, or my wallet, could not survive the trauma again. So, I’ve learned my lesson, right? End of story. Right? Right?!?

Right.

Evelyn’s feelings about the dentist transcend fear. She views the dentist office as some sort of torture chamber. She has to be held down, people are touching her head AND rooting around in her mouth. Now, since the routine cleaning thing isn’t traumatic enough, she is having some problems of an orthodontic nature. Her teeth are clean and healthy, and she has always gone to the dentist regularly, but they just aren’t where they should be. I won’t go into all of it–it’s too depressing. In short, she has a very small jaw (the medical term for that, folks, is micrognathia) and there just simply isn’t enough room for all of her teeth. So this time she had to have x-rays, which we never did before, and wasn’t that fun! She was already so royally pissed by the time the routine stuff started, the whole thing was a nightmare. We were all sweating, some of us (not naming names) were crying, and I was exhausted. Obviously, Evelyn won’t every be wearing braces, or an expander, or any of the various orthodontic equipment that would normally be used for someone with her dental problems. The best option for her will be to remove some teeth, but she has to have that surgically done (obviously), which means a trip to the hospital and general anesthesia.

Why of why must everything be so difficult for her? Look out, this is where the self-pity comes in–I don’t understand why she can’t ever get a break. Even dental procedures become an ordeal that involves the hospital, anesthesia risks, recovery, blah, blah, blah. Couldn’t one thing, just one damn little freaking thing be simple for her, and let’s be honest here, for me?

Okay, that’s all. I guess. I have no idea what the answer to any of those questions is, and I don’t think anyone else does, either, so there isn’t really a reason to ask them. I just have to look at the big picture, whatever the hell THAT means, and see that she will feel better when this is all over, and she will be happier if she’s asleep through the whole thing. Didn’t I have sedation through my extensive procedures? (Yes, I did.) What’s the difference? She won’t ever know a thing about any of it, and I’m sure that’s how she wants it.

Why are we all so afraid of the dentist? I have a healthy fear of the entire medical profession, but the dentist is in a class of his own. I have tattoos, I’ve had surgery, and still I sit in the dentist office waiting room with sweating palms, a pounding heart, and a racing mind. Beats me. Maybe because you’re awake for the actual stuff that’s happening, or maybe it’s something that’s just passed along from generation to generation. To be honest, I had little to no discomfort with all of the work I recently had done, and a toothache hurts WAY worse than anything the dentist has ever done, but still…….

There’s nothing for it, I guess. We’ll just have to be afraid. But do me (and yourself!) a favor and tough it out. I’m not much of an advice-giver, but I’ll give you some, and it’s a LOT cheaper than a visit to the dentist. Take care of your teeth. Really. Do it for me, or, if you don’t want to do that, do it for Evelyn. I guarantee she hates the dentist more than you do.

The Last Full Measure of Devotion

Posted on April 23, 2011 by Janice

We took a little mini vacation and spent two nights in Gettysburg. My son is a great history lover, particularly wars, and specifically the Civil War. You can imagine the pull Gettysburg has for him. He recently memorized the Gettysburg Address, and he was itching to see the place where Lincoln gave the actual speech all of those years ago.

Me, I was a little worried. It is a Civil War buff’s playground, it’s true, but it’s a solemn place. Where we live we are surrounded by Civil War history. Literally. Somehow up there, it was different. Such a huge battle, so important, and so many lives lost in such a short time. Ian tends to be pretty tender-hearted, and I wasn’t sure what he would think. He did fine–he was shocked, I think, but like so many of us, it was such a long time ago, it tends to lose some of the heart-wrenching potency. It was in another time, and another world–a world that my eleven year old son, who thinks I’m old–can barely even fathom.

On the way home today, we went to the Flight 93 National Memorial Site. That tragedy, my friend, happened in a world that we can not only fathom, but that we live in still today.

The site is still a temporary arrangement. The crash site is in a field at the foot of an old strip mine, and the metal building that was once part of the mine, which stopped producing in 1995, serves as an exhibit room now. At the time of the crash–a day which I’m sure I don’t need to name, but anyway, on September 11, 2001–it served as the base for the investigation and eventually the recovery. Also, the media crush gathered on the overlook that now serves as the visitor overlook.

It’s not a very fancy memorial, but for all that, it says a lot. There is ongoing construction, so it’s not peaceful, or beautiful. There is a makeshift chain link fence with two signs hanging on it that show where the site of the crash was on that day, and tells a little bit about what happened, and what the memorial will be like when it’s finished this September, which will of course be the ten year anniversary. Inside the exhibit, there are more details about both, and pictures of the 40 passengers and crew who died that day. There is a guest book, and a place to write a message and hang it on the message wall. I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what NOT to say.

What can anybody say? Forty people got on a plane that day, that’s all. At Gettysburg, so many thousands approached that battle, as so many of them had done before, and as some would do again, and what were they thinking? At the National Military Museum, I heard a quote, which I can’t remember verbatim, but which basically said, any man who faces death and mutilation without fear is a lunatic, but one who fears death and mutilation, but faces them anyway because of duty and honor, is a hero. I’m sure not all of the boys at Gettysburg wanted to be there, some maybe didn’t choose to be there, but once they were there, they faced death, and fear, and they were heroes–blue or gray, black or white–they did give the last full measure of devotion.

So, forty people got on a plane. Thousands of people do that every day. Do they think they might die? I doubt it. The truth is, any of us might die any time, but we don’t necessarily go around thinking about it. Those forty people, they had plans, dreams, ideas–their whole lives planned out. We know now, some very bad people had different plans, and things changed for those forty people on board Flight 93. I sit here in my comfortable chair, with my family asleep in various parts of the house around me, and I don’t know if I would have done what those people did.

But……

Maybe they would have said that same thing, too. They weren’t soldiers, after all. They were just people on a plane. Suddenly, they were confronted with the possibility of death, and fear, and what did they do? They faced it. They knew what had happened with the other planes. They knew what was going to happen to their plane, too, I bet, but they faced it. They didn’t set out to be heroes, and I know their families would rather have them here than have a million memorials dedicated to them–that’s how I’d feel–but it happened, and they lost their own lives in an attempt to keep others from dying. What is that but the last full measure of devotion? Maybe quoting the Gettysburg Address is cliché, but it’s a simple, beautiful speech, and those words meant something then, and they mean something now. I think of the fear they faced, and the heartbreak of their families, and of that memorial, and of my son, and my daughter, and I am so glad that there are still heroes, still people who can face fear and death, and face it with a courage I can’t even imagine.

We hear bad things so much. Our lives are inundated with the terrible things that people do. But sometimes, people do things that aren’t terrible, but wonderful. Sad, and awful, but wonderful. When people do terrible things, I’m so glad that there are other people who will stand up, even though they may not have volunteered for the job. Those people lived a hundred and fifty years ago, and ten years ago, and today. If you pray, or meditate, or whatever you do, think about those forty people, and what they did, and the hard anniversary that’s coming up for their loved ones, and say thanks for all of the heroes, then and now. Then go give your kids a kiss. I think I’ll do that now, too.

A Letter From Juliet

Posted on April 7, 2011 by Janice

I guess maybe it’s about time I expanded a little on the title of my blog. It has a very important meaning to me, rooted in part by a letter written to me by a dear friend of mine in Alabama.

Obviously, her name is Juliet. She also has a daughter with special needs, along with two “regular” sons. I met her in Philadelphia several years ago at a very cool place called The Institutes for the Achievement of Human Potential. I won’t go into all of that here, except to say it is a wonderful place where miracles happen every day–for some people. They use alternatives to main stream therapy to help dramatically improve the condition of many brain injured kids. Parents can attend a seminar of sorts to learn this methodology and apply it to their own lives. As usual, Evelyn didn’t feel compelled to cooperate with any of my attempts to cure her, and it didn’t work out for us. However, it is an excellent program and Juliet was at the seminar as well.

Alow me a very brief aside to say that while we were at this seminar, we received a nice little narrative about how God and the angels were looking through a list of prospective parents and assigning them to the children which were soon to be on the way. It told how the parents of special needs children were extra special. What was it called? The Special Mother.

Back to the point. Juliet is a fantastic person. As with nearly all of the people I tend to gravitate towards, she is a very plain-spoken, honest person. She’s not obnoxious about it, but if you ask her a question, she will tell you the truth. Period. She is a caring mother, and she likes to laugh. All qualities that are way up on my list.

She is also a person of great faith. In this area, I am particularly lacking, and she is a comfort to me. We have had some in-depth conversations about our kids, but there is one occasion (the point of this post, actually) that stood out then and now. Evelyn had her first seizure in May of 2006. I was still in my own head back then (well, even more than usual, if you can imagine) and was still trying to cope with life in general, and the seizure did not do much to help my mental state. I wrote Juliet a letter that I suppose was basically just an exercise in self-pity. Poor me. Why now? Boo, hoo, hoo.

Well, instead of writing me back and telling me to get over myself, which she would have been absolutely correct to do, she wrote me back and provided me with what would eventually be the foundation of my life’s philosophy. I’ll give you a summary of what she said. These are MY words. I don’t want her to sue me or anything.

Juliet told me that while neat little poems about special needs kids being given to special parents were very nice, they were essentially crap. (My words, folks, my words.) Special needs kids are given to horrible parents all the time. She said God never promised us everything would be easy for us, just that He would guide us if would ask Him. Also, she said that if you truly believed in an eternal God and therefore an eternal soul, then she felt that the eternal viewpoint would be VERY different from our viewpoint in this life–similar to the difference between an adult and a child. We, as adults, can look back on the things that we thought were truly horrible when we were children–things that we thought were literally the end of our worlds–and we can laugh about them. We can see how they really weren’t that big of a deal at all. Juliet told me that she believed it would be the same–in eternity, the struggles of this life would be insignificant.

Now, I am not particularly religious, and my faith is somewhat watery. I am Thomas. I probably would have asked Jesus for two forms of I.D. as well. However, her answer to me meant more to me than any church service ever had. She believed what she said, and she said it in kindness and sympathy, and even with humor. I will never forget it.

I had to do a lot of growing up and a lot of letting go to finally be able to accept the fact that our life is what it is. I am NOT a special mother. I am just a regular mother, better than some, maybe, but undoubtedly worse than others. Doubt lingers, faith comes and goes, but still I plug along. Lots of people are not so fortunate as me, even though some days I feel anything but fortunate. Like I said, most days I feel (not so) special.

Nap, Interrupted

Posted on April 4, 2011 by Janice

I am not a morning person. To say that is similar to saying something like Hitler was not a nice guy, or the sun is warm. However, to put into words how I actually feel about mornings seems a bit dramatic. For example, I could say, I hate mornings with the firey passion of ten thousand white hot suns. Like I said, dramatic, right? Still….

This fact is not a secret. However, one thing that remains a mystery to me personally is how I ended up surrounded by morning people. Not only did I marry a morning person, I then proceeded to conceive and subsequently give birth to two more morning people. To be fair, they are aware of my particular hatred of the a.m. hours, and usually they do pretty well at avoiding unnecessary contact with me. They have a fairly comprehensive grasp of the appropriate morning etiquette here in Janiceland. They don’t ask questions that require more than a one-word answer (preferrably yes or no, or even a grunt if possible), they avoid making direct eye contact with me, and they can usually entertain themselves for an hour or so until my brain finally concedes and decides to join my body in the land of the living.

This is not to say that I can’t be productive in the morning. Quite the opposite. I do lots of stuff in the mornings–I get my daughter up and running, I get Mindy up, I do whatever housework requires immediate attention–but these are all mundane things that my body can do without the aid of a fully functioning brain. I get up at 6:00 every morning. I wake up around 9:00.

So anyway, here I am, surrounded by morning people, trying to figure out how I can work a nap into my day. I do this EVERY DAY. I think it may be a little sad that one of the first things I think when I hear the alarm go off is, “I wonder if I’ll be able to nap today?” As it turns out, the answer is no. I’ll get everything done that I think needs to be done. Everyone fed, lessons done, lunch served, kitchen cleaned, etc., etc., and then I’ll mosey into the living room to sit in the recliner. I sit for say, five minutes, then whoops! I just thought of something else. Or the phone rings. Or someone needs me to do something. This pattern is so predictable, I’m not sure why I even bother. Maybe it’s to amuse myself, I don’t know, or maybe I’m a hopeless optimist. Yeah, that’s probably it (cue heavy sarcasm.)

Maybe one day I will get to take a nap. I guess it boils down to hope. There’s nothing I can do about having to get up in the mornings, but maybe there is hope that one day I will get to take a nap. Just a short one, nothing too fancy. I’ll probably feel like crap when I wake up.

A Hair-rowing Experience

Posted on March 31, 2011 by Janice

My ten-year-old daughter, Evelyn, went for a hair cut recently. To the uninformed, that sounds reasonably benign. Usually by the time a child is ten, they have overcome most of those little fears and phobias that plague our toddlers. My son, for example, doesn’t necessarily like getting his hair cut, but he is now old enough to tolerate it.

Not Evelyn.

Because of her delays, Evelyn has a lot of sensory issues. For example, she is undersensitive to sounds. Loud sounds have never bothered her. She loves loud groups of kids, funny sounds, whatever. However, she is oversensitive to touch, and that is a major understatement. When she was a baby, she could gag just from touching something. She isn’t nearly as sensitive now, but she hates, hates, hates it when anyone has to fool with her hair, brush her teeth, or basically intrude upon her person in any way.

As you can imagine, cutting her hair is lots of fun. She climbs into the chair calmly enough, and if the stylist could figure out some way to cut her hair in, say, 40 seconds, things would be fine. That’s about as long as Evelyn can tolerate the pinning up of the top layers, the spraying of the water, etc. Then the situation begins to deteriorate. Rapidly.

I basically hold her down for the whole thing. She yells and struggles and tosses her head. It’s loads of fun. Here’s another scenario for you. I have to do the same thing every day when I brush her teeth. It’s awful, but what am I supposed to do? If you don’t believe God has a sense of humor, consider the fact that my daughter has the thickest, heaviest head of hair I have ever seen. Ever. It couldn’t be left long, because she can’t stand any headbands or anything. Also, when it gets too long, she gets food in it when she eats. Also, she can’t stand to have it washed or combed, so I have to fight through those things as well. Imagine that with long hair. No thanks. In short, her hair has to be cut. Obviously, her teeth have to be brushed, too. It’s not like I can just quit doing those things.

It doesn’t really bother me all that much. The only thing that is moderately concerning to me is that she just keeps getting bigger and stronger, and I don’t. What happens when she gets bigger than me, or at least as big as me? She knows her teeth have to be brushed. Never once have I NOT brushed her teeth because she struggled. Yet she struggles with me every day, without fail, and has done so since the very first time I brushed her teeth all those years ago. So, I haven’t given up, or given in, but neither has she. More than that, she has great instincts. In the nearly five years she has been in public school, the school nurse has never once been able to take her temperature. Never once. Evelyn can smell fear a mile away.

So anyway, a trip to the hair stylist is quite an odessy for us. I don’t know what the future holds. All I can say is, if you see a battered woman walking around with what appears to be Cousin Itt with rotten teeth, be sure and say “Hi.” And don’t try to touch Itt’s head.