Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Hearing her Silence

My daughter B -has alot of errors in her speech. She has a little tiny bit of Apraxia. In other words, the signals from her brain that tell her mouth, tongue, and jaw what to do in order to make a sound get lost en route. It is a very confusing and frustrating condition. She is four and very difficult to understand. She has been in speech since age two. She'll be 5 this month and starts Kindgergarten next week. Throughout her therapy, my mental mantra was 'she'll be fine as long as by the time she's in Kindergarten, she just blends in with the others. Guess what? She ain't gonna blend in. I don't know why that was my ideal anyway. I guess it was my sugar coated rose colored look at an otherwise heartbreaking situation. I know there are far more heartbreaking situations to be in. There are children with far greater obstacles to overcome than hers. But when her big blue eyes are filled with tears and she says "I dont know", she means 'I dont know how to say what's wrong'. It is as if her spirit and hundreds of her thoughts are trapped. I would do anything to get them out. I found this poem today on the Apraxia Kids website....

We don't understand
when we hear your silence
We cant see behind your frustrated eyes
when you plead for our attention
We are unable to feel your awkwardness
when you try to speak and the wrong sounds emerge
We cannot be inside you to will your tongue to move
when it struggles to find the roof of your mouth
We don't understand the fear that consumes you
when you are on the playground when you should be having fun
We are not privy to your brain that creates a world of words
only to have your muscles stop their meaning
We do not hear your mind communicating freely
only to have us look quizzically and ask for repetition
We cannot sense your joy at moments of clarity
only to have it rapidly disappear again and again
We do know who you are
when you look into our eyes
We can hold you tightly
when your fists clench and tears fill your vision
We will struggle with you each day and night
when you practice your speech sounds with great deliberation
We are proud of your trying
when we might just give up
We share with you your pain
when your mouth is tired and slow
You know that we will love you
when you are little and when you grow
You know that we will be there for you
when all seems dark and cold
You know that you are special and what you want to say
You know you are our children and who you are each day
You know your world is full and how to find the way
You know we hear your silence
You know, we hear your silence
You know we hear your silence
(July, 2004 on the occasion of the First National Apraxia-KIDS Parent Conference)



Monday, August 07, 2006

When neural networks collide....

Unfortunately my total cessation of breastfeeding coincided with my monthly visit from my "aunt". Oh dear God what was I thinking. Thd hormonal double whammy. I mean I'm fine.I feel really great but weeped like an absolute child yesterday. I didnt cry I like weeped. Just once, yesterday morning. SOmething hit me hard and I lost it. I wasnt moody, sad or frustrated. I was fine in the moments preceding the tear fest. Jesus, I was in Target. Well I didnt cry at Target but in the moments before I was shopping ever so blissfully in Target. I bought a really cute rooster and an adoreable shovel for B for one dollar. I mean come on, cute stuff shopping, clearanced nonetheless? Who would have thought, moments later I'd be in the car crying over I dont even know what anymore. Rob said I looked a little off balance in Target. Something in my eyes looked wrong. OhmmyGod, that means I looked insane. Off balance? I felt good but he knew something was looming. I cannot believe the eye thing. He could see the psycho before I could. That's creepy. I should have cried in Target on Saturday. It was a SUperTarget and I was buying tons of gorceries,back to school socks, undewear, jeans, tshirts,supplies, and a new crockpot. The cart was stuffed and it was the weird cumbersome toddler cart. The Hummer of shopping carts well without the status. Just awkward and in my case, capable of inducing psychiatirc episodes. It was horrible, the list, all the sizes, the baby, the damn cart. At one point, I smelled P but I figured I would be checking out in a few minutes. I would change her then. SHe got a little squirmy so I picked her up. Then I realized "oh yeah she didnt poop yesterday". So two days of poopin all over her clothes, my clothes, my arm, the cart. No wonder I smelled her, it was seeping out of her shorts. SO fast forward to the half mile hike with poopy toddlet, cumbersome cart FULL of crap(literally and figuratively at this point)to the restrooms. DO I bring wipes? No. So after several minutes of wet papertowels on the most gluelike poop ever, we are done. We still smell and dont look too closely at our clothes but we are done. So I get in line and the person in front of me refuses to inch forward or put the bar thing down so I can start loading my groceries with one arm and an angry toddler on my hip. When I was getting ready to pay I thought to myslef, I just need to strap P in the cart, crying or not, so I can pay. She cried , wiggled and eventually half hangs out of the red cart. Its a low low seat and shes got the straps under her armpits. SHe's crying fiercely and doing the hanging and I am completely un aware UNTIL the lady from behind me runs forward to her and rescues her from the imaginary doom she was facing. I turn around and find this woman hastily saving my daughter. I fell into the drama too. Kissing P and apoligizing. When I say thank you to the overzealous lady. She doesnt say a word. THe lack of words said it all. Here I am trying to do my very best as a mom like I do everyday and this stranger treats me like I'm unfit. I dont know I thought it was mean. I would have said, "no big deal" and I would have smiled on purose just to make the mom feel better. And as far a s the other lady, I would have moved my butt up and put the bar down. .SO now I am SPENT. And it's 3 o clock, 117 degrees and I cant find my car. WHen I do find it I cant find my keys. I think I just figured out why I cryed on SUnday in the parking lot of Target and not Saturday. I had a flashback. The Sunday Target cued my brain into the horror show that was Saturday Target. When Target goes bad, it really goes bad.

To sleep per chance to gauge mom's eyes out

Every mom has laid down (lied down? huh? what?) with their toddler and closed their own eyes in order to appear asleep. Having said that, I'm pretty sure, my toddler (and she is my fourth child) is the only one that pulls her mom's eyelids up to peek in.

Lady in the Water

I have not seen a M. Night Whatshisname movie I did not love. Lady in the Water was no exception. He is the director/writer/producer responsible for Unbreakable, The Village, The Sixth Sense, and Signs. His movies are just stunning, not in a cinematic-aesthetic way. It's just he stirs me with his portrayal of people. I think he sees God in people. He speaks so clearly to the audience that he is one step away from just pulling up a chair in the movie and talking to you. Not what I expected at all. Best movie I have seen in a lonnnnnng time. This movie for me was the kind that stays with you and gives you that movie afterglow. It makes me feel like I just finished a nice chunky book.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Cold waffles and God

It is Sunday morning and I just got off the phone with my brother. I talked God and religon on the phone with my brother as I sat and picked at my kids leftover waffles. It was like a very lazy church service in pajamas.My brother, sister and I were raised in the south, Baptist of course. Nuff said. Lots of dogma, bible thumping, and uh...casseoroles. I appreciate my parents efforts, they took religion and my salvation seriously. But as an adult I have never been able to reconcile a lot of the doctrine I was spoon fed. My brother and I were just no born with the psyche that can accept faith and religon at face value. We cannot believe without seriously questioning why we believe. Instead we wrestle with issues. I think we are just wired to hammer out issues so we can then understand and thus own them. Im not saying I need to know all my answers before I go to church. Faith is all about accepting what you don't know. Im just the type that is drug into a belief system kicking, screaming, and doubting. Then, after exhausting myself with my own tantrum, I give in. My heart softens. My brother and I do not accept a literal translation of the bible. Uh huh I know. This is a huge controversy amongst a lot of Christians. Not for me. God does not fit in a box. You are seriously limiting the alpha and the omega if you think he doesnt work in ways unbeknowst to us. The bible is a collection of letters that Paul wrote to start the early church, allegories, laws, eye witness accounts of Jesus. It is all we have. The Church was founded on this resource. What it is for the individual is different. At this point in my life the bible fills me with encouragement and steadys alot of my scattered thoughts. I pray way more than I read it. I won't get in a debate with any one with adam and eve and revelations. I could'nt care less. Call that picking and choosing but you know I dont care right now. This is what I feel is right and I had been told for way too many years what to believe. So for me, right now this is doable. This does not stir up doubt and that is good for me right now. I just dont think God minds if I just meet him where I'm at. My brother said he used to pray he could just believe like the Sunday Christians do without having to research and intellectualize everything. But you know God did not answer his prayer. God uses everybody whether their butt is in churh pew or not. God is bigger than church and bigger than the box we put him in sometimes.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

"I Know This Much is True

I am trying to write everyday and I am trying to find my voice. I can write on the other blog effortlessly. I'm not self conscience. Words pour out without strain because I have this cadence, this rhythm, this flow. Here I am struggling a bit-things feel awkward. Words feel contrived. I thought I wanted to come to this new playground for my thoughts so I can practice being true. True and ugly. True and happy-whatever, but stay true. Write with soul. Hmm. K. So I just deleted my last entry. Why? Well, soulful as it was, it read like a nineteen year old's journal entry. Better yet it sounded like my diary-this thirty five year's old diary. I was just ranting about people I know. I thought this is great, "I'm being so real". It sounded like crap though. I could have scribbled that nonsense in my journal. I don't want to come to this place to vent. I just want to write and that makes me feel like I can breathe. I would like to say I am a little tired about writing about writing.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

So I am so hungry to write tonight. I have my "writer's" cardigan on. Nah... not really, it's just cold in my house so I did throw on a sweater. I have a big blue ceramic mug with about one ounce of Riesling left in it. I am so excited about my new blog, my new friend, and the prospect of free therapy. I'll say it again, in my other blog I tend to self censor and try to be a more charming, witty charicteur of me. I want a place where I can be me, no pretenses. Just me and my voice. Oh and the other thing I do in that blog ,because so much of it is about the kids, is that I imagine one day it will be printed out and bound in leather for my kids to share with their kids and so on. So ya see I need this here blog. I hate mentioning periods and saying bad words over there infront of the kids(and their kids and so on). This is like the "bar" blog to my other "coffee shop" blog. Hells yeah. My other thing is I want to connect to other writers. That whole Blog Her thing got me thinking about community and how I dont have one. I am a totally obscure blogger and am I missing out? Is that like half of the whole thing? Damn I am articulate. I write just to write but like all these people write and read each other and banter back and forth. Am I like supposed to do that too? Is the point of blogging to be really exposed? Not just sorta exposed like I am at over at the coffee shop blog. Oh my Gosh I love reading the likes of Amalah, Mir, Dooce, and Notes From the Trenches and so many others. It was so strange to see them all out there in some Surreal Life like convention. Hey I have another question Blogosphere...... When I write after I have read the hell out of those bloggers, my style seems to mimic theirs. Is that bad or am I just reading alot of one genre and writing in that same sarcastic mommy blogger vane. English majors, writers, anyone? Their style is so crisp though. I think they are just excellent writers and my brain likes it. Again, I am such a wordsmith tonight. Please publishers get off my back. I'll call you back as soon as I run it by my agent, sheesh. Gawd I am an amatuer and need to be schooled.

Venti Chai Latte by my side I am here and I want to write with heart. I have a Live Journal blog but sometimes I think it's just me being witty or ironic or sarcastic. It's me. Don't get me wrong but lately Ive been craving more meaty writing. I want the potatoes and all. Then, to continue the analogy, I would like to purge. Yes puke it all out and yes I am just saying that to be witty. See? Anyway, I want to also connect to people or maybe I just want attention. I have one friend on the Live Journal scene and she's like my real life friend. I try to keep it uncensored but ultimately I self edit at times. So I guess my reason for writing in a new journal is two fold. On one hand I want an outlet that is safe and free of people who know me. On the other hand, I want to come here and write so people will know me. I just want a journey.

Welcome to "me".

Venti Chai Latte by my side I am here and I want to write with heart. I have a Live Journal blog but sometimes I think it's just me being witty or ironic or sarcastic. It's me. Don't get me wrong but lately Ive been craving more meaty writing. I want the potatoes and all. Then, to continue the anology, I would like to purge. Yes puke it all out and yes I am just saying that to be witty. See? Anyway, I want to also connect to people or maybe I just want attention. I have one friend on the Live Journal scene and she's like my real life friend. I try to keep it uncensored but ultimately I self edit at times. So I guess my reason for writing in a new journal is two fold. On one hand I want an outlet that is safe and free of people who know me. On the other hand, I want to come here and write so people will know me. I just want a journey.