Do you speak Moo?

So...Isaac has been pretending to be a cow lately.  Otis, from the movie Barnyard, to be exact.

I know what you're thinking, which one is which?  He's pretty good at it, right?  (Isaac is the cute one with the glasses.)

This new phase of Isaac's bugs me a little.  First of all because I don't like that movie, and secondly because, well, I really don't like that movie.

Most of the time pretending to be a cow isn't very exciting.  Isaac does a lot of "standing around" on all fours pretending to chew his cud.  Seriously, we will all be hanging out in the living room, having fun, when I suddenly notice that Isaac is down on the floor again looking placidly around and moving his jaw up and down.  What a weirdo!  I mean, I understand the desire to howl at the moon like a wolf and gallop around on a stick horse pretending to be a cowboy, but cud chewing?  I just don't get it.

Yesterday, Isaac finally introduced me to something about this new cow thing that I could get into:  Speaking Moo.

Last night, I spent some time hunting down a new tube of kid's toothpaste.  "I found some, Isaac," I proudly announced as I presented him with the item that would aid him in his least favorite bedtime activity.

"Good for you," he replied in that Isaac-ish way that lets you know he does not think you have done anything grand.

"Isaac," I warn, "you know you're not supposed to say that.  It bugs your teachers at school, and I don't appreciate it either."

"Sorry, Moo,"  he says quickly.  Then, he turns to me and, as an afterthought, asks, "Do you speak Moo?"

I was laughing so hard, I had to nod to let him know that "Moo" was a language I must speak, because I had clearly understood what he had said.

"Mooo," he replied with a big smile.  Which, of course, meant "Good."  And, we were off...We can now communicate very fluently in Moo.  It is spoken much like "Smurf" and there is no talking with your mouth full of cud.  Those are pretty much the only rules.

I wanted to let you know, just in case Isaac invites you over to his barn for a chat and some dancing.

You can confidently reply, "Moo," and come on over.

Sometimes Everyone Needs a Little Push

Yesterday, I actually pushed Josie through the door of Harmony Library's 4-year-old and Up Story Time.

Can you blame me?  The kids get to go in by themselves while the moms get to venture into the wonderful world of adult books.  Wait, that doesn't sound right.  Let me re-phrase.  I got to visit the part of the library that holds adult fiction and quietly peruse books that have no colorful drawings in them without reminding anyone around me not to make so much noise, or to stop climbing on those little step stools they keep in the aisles.

It really was worth the bit of stabbing guilt that accompanied that little shove.  I watched through the window for about 5 seconds to make sure she wasn't crying, and I was off without a backward glance.  (OK, I circled around once to make sure she was still sitting quietly before I left the Children's section completely.  I'm not heartless.)

I spent the next half hour tracking down books on my to-read list and deciding which ones to take home.  It really was marvelous.

Josie never used to be nervous about leaving me.  Not until she broke her leg a year ago.  I've thought a lot about this, and I think maybe it's because I wasn't there when it happened.  I was at speech therapy with Isaac.  She will forever love Evan for staying on the trampoline with her and holding her head while they waited for the ambulance to come.  She still talks about that.  Twice this week actually.

Of course, I'll never know if that is what really has caused her sometimes freakish attachment to me.  (It is not consistent at all.  She goes to school fine and does lots of things with no problem. I just can't figure what causes her to sometimes grab onto me with no intention of letting go.)

I hope she heals soon from whatever emotions are causing this behavior.  I don't want my sweet, out-going girl's life to be hampered by fear.  I'm sure she'll grow out of it at some point.

Until then, I'll be there to shove her through whatever doors appear too daunting, so she can emerge later with a big smile on her face and say, "That was fun, Mom!"

Waiting

 

When I had Kimball, my first born, I became a mother.  It was wonderful, scary, challenging, and fun.

When I had Evan, my second boy, I became a mother who understands that all children are unique individuals from the moment they are born.

When I had Isaac, my third boy, who has Down syndrome, I became a mother who enjoys an eternal perspective.  I learned what is important, and what is really important.

When I had Josie, my first girl, I became a mother who understands that there is an innate difference between boys and girls.  One is not better than the other, they are just necessarily different...what a marvelous thing.

I have learned many things from each of my children along the way, but the most valuable lesson I have learned is to turn to my Heavenly Father when I am struggling to be the mother He knows I can be.  Sometimes, I forget.  I try to plow through problems alone until I realize that I'm not making any progress.  Then, I bow my head and ask for help.  And, you know what?  He is always there...waiting.

My Little Artist

Notice on her All About Me poster, her outfit matches the one she is wearing.

Josie is an artist.

I realize that doesn't necessarily mean she will grow up to be an artist by trade.  In fact, she has told me emphatically, "When I grow up, I want to be a scientist, and I'm not changing my mind!"

Whether it's bugs or berries, Josie likes to study it.  The picture on the left shows her watching her ant named Elevator.

I think the exclamation mark that definitely accompanied that statement was used in response to how many times people have told her she could be an artist someday.

I don't know, or care, if she will grow up and make a career out of her talent.  (Maybe she'll be a stay at home mom who illustrates books...maybe one of those books will be written by me...)  I'm not the sort of mom that imagines my child's whole life out before they start kindergarten.  (...Won't we have fun when Disney makes the book into a movie, and we get to spend time together in California?...)  Those types of parents shouldn't let their imaginations run wild.  They need to let their kids live their own lives.  (...I'll watch the twins, Tracy and Stacy, while she helps the Disney artists capture the feel of the characters.)  Seriously though, I hope she knows that I don't care what she does as long as she's happy.

Art makes her happy.  I think even if she becomes a scientist, she won't desert her art completely.  Once when she was four she came to me practically in tears.  When I asked her what was wrong she cried, "I haven't painted anything today!"

This was one of those small moments when you learn a lot about your child.  I saw in her eyes that not only does she love to paint, she feels she needs to paint.

October 2009

September 2010

It's not only painting.  She also loves to draw, color, sculpt and, simply, create.

April 2009

July 2011--I was cleaning out the garage when I noticed Josie had brought her drawing outside.  She was drawing the tree across the street.

September 2011

The way she puts colors together has fascinated me for years.  One calm afternoon while the boys were at school, we lay on the floor coloring side by side.  I was planning a beautiful monochromatic My Little Pony in which I would use all the different purples in our 64-count crayon box.  I was combining darks and lights and telling her the names of all the purples because, of course, she can see that they are all different and must know what they are called.  I was enjoying the unusual quiet when Josie leaned over and said, "Mom, aren't you going to put more color in your picture?  Here try some yellow with that."  She was right.  One strand of pony hair colored yellow made all the purples pop.

 

We recently invited family members over for her first Art Show.  We covered the walls of our home with some of her masterpieces and Josie got to discuss her art.  We ate BBQ and talked about the pictures of family, flowers, and animals covering the walls.  She gave a small art talk/tour which ended at the wall by the bathroom.

Her most popular works were her abstracts.  Like I said, that girl knows how to put colors together.

My favorite story happened last year when she returned to preschool after recovering from her broken leg.  It seems, in her absence, the boys and girls had paired off into preschool versions of girlfriends and boyfriends.  (To protect the innocent I have refrained from using full names.)  She came home from school one day and said, "D--- and J--- are together.  A---- and DJ---- are together.  They want me to go with B---, but, Mom, I just can't be with someone who scribbles!"

I'm glad my girl has standards.

I'm glad that she has found something she loves so much.

I'm glad that even though she doesn't look like this anymore...

January 2008

 She is still my little artist.

A New Take on Fuzz Therapy

First, let me introduce you to Calvin's idea of fuzz therapy--

We definitely like his kind of fuzz therapy, but we are putting a whole new twist on the term. You see, a week ago we found out Isaac is afraid of cats.  No, afraid isn't the right word.  TERRIFIED (yes, in capital letters) is more like it.

It was not a pleasant experience for anyone. We went to a friend's house Saturday night for dinner and games, that part was fun, but whenever their very calm, sweet cat appeared, Isaac went nuts.  Crying, clinging to Mat, refusing to use the bathroom because he had seen the cat walk by there 20 minutes before.  Craziness!  It made me want to cry to see him feeling that way, and because of a cat no less.

Mid-way through the evening, I boldly declared to Mat, "We need to get a cat."

It took boldness because Mat has never hidden the fact that he is not fond of cats.  Fast forward three days.  It is Tuesday and Mat comes home from the gym.  I introduce him to the cat that he had given his consent for just 24 hours before.  He groans and says, "That is not a cat.  It's a kitten."

"It was free," I say smiling, and cuddling the cutest kitten I have ever seen.

Introducing the kitten to Isaac didn't go as smoothly.  I picked him up from school and asked him if he wanted to see what I had in the soft bag that was hanging from my arm.  He excitedly drew nearer to take a peek, and at the sight of the fuzzy kitten's face staring up at him took a flying leap back to the wall of the school.  I wasn't sure I could talk him into getting in the car with me and was cursing myself for showing it to him.  He did get in the car eventually, and we officially started down our own road of Fuzz Therapy.

I was not able to talk Isaac into getting close to the new kitten, but Evan and Josie were more successful.  Notice in the picture how Evan is gripping Isaac's shoulder to keep him from running away.

Poor Kimball is already at school and didn't get into our new kitten picture.

I tried to let Isaac name the kitten, so he would feel involved, but Evan refused to call the kitten, Monkey Girl.  I suggested Patches or Kit Kat which led to most of us calling her Kit Kat and Isaac telling everyone at school that he had a new cat named Patches.  She has finally been dubbed Kit Kat by all.

Kit Kat--Eight weeks old

We are slowly making progress.  Some days we have real breakthroughs.

Isaac playing with Kit Kat and her favorite toy.

Other days we have set backs.  Like last night when I woke up at 2am to find Isaac asleep sitting up on the couch because Kit Kat had come into his bed and tried to cuddle.  Today, he was much less fond of her.  But we try to focus on the successes.

It turns out Isaac wasn't the only one that had to get used to being around another creature.  I thought Wilma was going to have a nervous breakdown.  Thank heavens Kit Kat could take care of herself.

You'd think Wilma would learn after the first few swipes that cats scratch when sniffed.

They are friends now...sort of.

We sure get a kick out of watching them together.  The funniest thing is that Wilma has practically no sense of smell so she isn't a very good kitten locator, though she would like to be.  One day, just to mess with her I put a small shoe box over Kit Kat.

Wilma was very nearby when I did it.  The box was gliding along the floor on white paws.  I couldn't believe how long it took Wilma to find her.

Ah, what an adventure we have had thus far!

Wish us luck as we continue with Fuzz Therapy.

I was excited to see this.

Maybe someday we'll see Isaac like this.  That is what I call Fuzz Therapy!

A Boy and His iPad

I love that Isaac can "read" the Kung Fu Panda 2 storybook five times a day on his own. (I never enjoy those movie synopsis books.)

The iPad has had a big impact on Isaac's life, but not in the way that I had foreseen.  I thought it might simply help him learn new things.  It's gone beyond that.  It's helped him become more independent.

Before purchasing one, Mat and I went back and forth about whether it would be worth the money.  The touchscreen we'd purchased for our computer hadn't been a hit, it just frustrated him as does the computer mouse.

Isaac hates technology and is the only kid in his special ed class that didn't want to play on the classroom iPads.  His teacher even loaned one to us over a school break, to help us decide whether or not to get one for him.  There are so many wonderful educational applications that are exactly what Isaac needs.  She hoped that he would grow to like it if given more time with it, but he lost interest quickly, not wanting to play much beyond that first day.

The day we finally decided to make the purchase, I thought a lot about the reason I felt that Isaac hadn't wanted much to do with iPad.  I had seen the hubbub surrounding these rectangular wonders, and Isaac is a kid that likes to avoid hubbub.  He even has trouble standing in line for the slide.  If someone comes up behind him, he moves back to let them go first until he is finally back so far that he isn't close enough to be considered "in line" anymore.  He doesn't like being in the middle of anything like that.  At school and at home, everyone vied for a turn with the iPad and you really had to be assertive to get your hands on it and keep it.  I was hoping if I could stop the clamor, Isaac would want to play.

After going to three stores to find the iPad 2 with just the right amount of memory and staying up late to get it all set up with Isaac's iTunes playlist and "Monkey Preschool Lunchbox" loaded on, Mat went to work and I was left with the task of introducing the iPad to Isaac.  I was nervous he would look at the $700 educational toy and refuse to play with me.  That is almost how it went down, but as I spoke with him about it, inspiration came:  "This is your iPad, Isaac," I told him. "The boys have their DS and Josie has her Leapster and this is yours to play on.  If anyone wants to play, they have to ask you.  Here, see, it has your favorite game on it already and your playlist."

I began punching "buttons" and his favorite song issued from the speakers.  This caught his interest.  He loves music.  As whomever it is who sings Dynamite told us to "throw our hands up in the air" he reached for the iPad, started exploring, and somehow found an episode of Backyardigans that I hadn't realized Mat had put on there.  He was liking this!

The other kids started waking up and coming out to see what was going on.  As they gathered around, I told them that this was Isaac's.  Just as they all had their own hand-held screens, so too did he.  I could see Isaac feeling important instead of nervous as the other kids gathered around him.  I felt so excited to see that instead of shying away, he was feeling confident.  He shared it a little, but mostly he kept a hold of the iPad himself as he slowly learned to use it.  His best teacher was Josie who sat beside him helping him explore all its applications quickly and easily.

Mat came home and I told him excitedly about the day and how much Isaac loved the iPad.  I concluded with the admonition that we mustn't put other people's games on it, so that he would continue to feel like it was his.  (Mat has only struggled slightly with this idea.  The next day he put a basketball game on, but has only been in trouble with Isaac one day for hogging the iPad.)

A great iPad moment occurred soon after we got it.  I took Josie and Isaac to Hobby Lobby, the dreaded store where Mom and Josie look at things and boys get bored and into trouble quickly.  I put Isaac in the cart with his iPad and he played with the "ABC Flashcards" app the whole time.  This was especially awesome because kids with Down syndrome need to see things thousands of times more than other children before they actually learn it.  For example, Isaac has known his letters since he was two.  Truly--he has, although, at that point he used only sign language.  Still, he has known them for years but has yet to get a perfect score when they test him on his alphabet at school.  (I don't know why--he gets different letters wrong every time.)  Now, here I was shopping while he got to work on letters.  On the day this was his favorite app, he probably scrolled through the alphabet ten to fifteen times without feeling like it was work!  This is what I had hoped for, but the repetition was beyond what I actually expected.

Other unexpected things happened when we got home from that trip.  Isaac got out of the van by himself instead of waiting for a hand to hold from me and then turned to close the van door with the push of a button that normally had to be pointed out before he would use it.  I began to hear more "I do it myself" around the house. I saw that with the iPad had given him a taste of independence, and he craved more.

Prior to the iPad, Isaac could not run things on his own.  His MP3 player and the DVD players are too complex.  Many drawers, doors, and latches are too hard to work with his weak little hands.  So this made him feel like a pretty big man, being able to switch from music to games to movies (we are careful to only put short, educational movies on here) without any help.  As he became more independent, it reminded me to look more closely at tasks in his life that he could be successful at on his own and encourage him to do them with as little guidance as possible.

It has helped Isaac with other children too.  Although Isaac is talking a lot now, he can still be difficult to understand and the iPad has given him a new way to socialize.  First, he has something other kids are interested in right off the bat.  Second, it is something they can talk about while engaged in the same activity.  Isaac is much easier to understand if you have a reference point as to what he's saying.

There have been too many times when Isaac would sit back, suck his thumb, and watch life going on around him.  Too many times when he would follow me from room to room and watch me hoping I would stop and put on a movie, no matter how many times I'd tell him to go play with something.  He has learned to play by himself more this past year, but now he has something that can entertain him for longer periods of time when everyone else in the house is busy.  The best part of all is that, at least so far, he hasn't become too attached to it.  He definitely prefers to take it with him if we are going somewhere, but he doesn't play it as constantly as this post makes it sound.  It has helped him to experience life more without becoming his life.  I love it!

Evan's Knife

On July 7th, we went to Estes to celebrate Steve's 63rd birthday.  We had decided to celebrate Evan's and Isaac's birthdays as well.  Our plans for a boat ride on Lake Estes were rained out, so we had a nice "picnic" at home while we watched and listened to the downpour outside.  Candles were blown out and presents were given and received.

Evan got a Swiss Army knife from Ann and Steve which he promptly lost.  It was very lost, as practically everyone in the house had searched for it in every place we could think of and could not find it.  Evan stated that it had been in his pocket inside the box in which it came, but it was no longer there.  He insisted that he had not roamed about the house with it, but had just been playing downstairs near the toy closet.  The normal searching of said closet procured no results, so being a firm believer that when something is lost you should always look by cleaning, I determined to clean the closet out.  Evan and I removed some boxes blocking access to the floor, got a trash bag, and set to work.  I had sat down on the floor and was going through everything to no avail when Ann came down to help.  Evan disappeared after becoming frustrated about being asked to check his pockets for the umpteenth time by someone upstairs.  Ann helped me identify which pieces went where as I organized the toys into different piles and containers.  She had just declared the search as fruitless when she stepped from the closet over a pile of toys and spotted the knife box resting among the rubble.

"Here it is," she called, stooping to pick it up.

I was surprised to see it retrieved from among toys I'd had to touch in order to get them to that pile, but I was relieved it had been found.  Evan came from the downstairs bedroom with awe on his face.  "You're kidding," he said, as Ann handed him the knife.  "I just got done saying a prayer like two seconds ago."

Ann smiled and said something about the Big Guy helping her find it.  I smiled and said, "Gimme five, Ev.  Nice teamwork."  Evan still looked in awe at the knife.

"When something's lost you should always pray and clean," I voiced aloud, and in my heart I said, "Thank you Heavenly Father for giving my son such a sweet experience to remember.  Whenever he is struggling, I hope he can think of this moment of awe and turn to thee with faith that thou art there."

Potty Training

Isaac was "potty trained" today.  He had no accidents.  He went to the bathroom by himself and called me in to wipe him.  No mess.  Tomorrow he may do just as well or it may be as though he has forgotten everything that he remembered to do today.  This is a simple, true fact that drives me crazy.

My attempt to potty train Isaac, who has Down syndrome, began when he was nearly five years old.  I had been actively worrying over it since he was 9 months old when I attended a gathering at which parents of a teenager with Down syndrome had been asked to speak.  The parents were speaking warmly of their child's experience in middle school, when the father announced that one thing that plagued them was that their son was not yet potty trained.  I could actually feel the change in the atmosphere of the room as ten parents of infants with Down syndrome struggled not to reveal the shock and anxiety which they had experienced upon hearing this statement.  The scene was burned into my mind and nothing about his diagnosis had rocked me more than the idea of this being his possible future.  So by the time he was four, and I had finally obtained a copy of a good potty training program to use, I had spent many years with it hovering in the background of my thoughts.

Isaac will be eight next month.  There have been times, months even, when I had thought we had achieved success.  But then the setbacks come.  The most recent one has lasted more than three months and reduced me to tears as I scream at the walls that I refuse to put him back into diapers.  It has been a long, hard experience that seems as though it may never be quite finished.  It has been an experience in my life that has made me revise my theory that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to.  It has caused me despair unlike anything I have experienced before because, you see, if I do not succeed I fear that Isaac might eventually end up in a "home."  My experience as a therapist has taught me that an inability to toilet oneself lands people in nursing homes faster than any other lone factor.  And so, with each potty accident, I worried about what would happen to him if Mat and I died or lost our ability to care for him.  If he wasn't potty trained, who would take on such a thing?

So potty training began. I followed the program doggedly day after day.  When I couldn't make progress on my own, I consulted and hired an occupational therapist that specializes in potty training and came with a big price tag.  The potty training program requires that the child clean up after themselves and complete multiple potty practices from the sight of the accident to the toilet after EVERY accident, sometimes as many as five or six a day.  The whole after-accident process can take from 20minutes to an hour depending on how cooperative the child is.  I learned hands-off corralling methods that I am expected to use while remaining calm and patient when he refuses the practices.  The program also demands that I not tell Isaac to go to the bathroom as I watch him squirm in an effort to hold it as the clock advances to 1:00pm without him making so much as one trip to the potty.  I marveled at the capacity of his bladder as I sweat his decision to initiate going to the bathroom on his own.  The whole thing is very wearing.

Once I was sitting in the waiting room of the therapy clinic, relaxing with a magazine when I overheard a conversation between two other moms about potty training.  My pulse started racing and I found myself having to take deep breathes to try to calm the anxiety I felt rising to a fever pitch within me.  When the potty training OT discharged Isaac, she tried to convince me to take on a few clients for her.  I responded (only half jokingly) that I would definitely need to see a psychologist about my Post-Traumatic Stress first.

I wrote something in a fictional story of mine that effects me different than I'm sure it would effect anyone else.  It makes me cry every time I read because it embodies what I have felt through this struggle:

For the first time in his life, the miller felt beaten.  He sat on a log bench, facing away from the fire, looking beyond the tents into the blackness.

 William came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  "We won't give up."

"No, of course we won't,"  Miller Stephenson agreed, but he couldn't put any conviction into the statement.

"Father," William said, crouching down beside him and looking earnestly into the older man's face.  The miller glanced at him briefly and resumed staring at the darkness in front of him.  "You have always told me that there is hope no matter how bad things get.  Let me tell you now, and please know that I believe this...There is still hope."

 For me the scene took place in my bedroom.  Mat had just walked out of the room to complete the potty practices that I couldn't quite make myself finish.  I had said something halfhearted about not ever giving up, but I didn't mean it.  I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall and letting the tears fall.  Evan, who was eight at the time, came by and saw me crying.  He didn't know that my belief in hard work and perseverance was crumbling around me.  He had no wise words of advice.  He simply came in and sat on my lap, hugged me, and let me cry on his shoulder as I lamented that I had never tried so hard at something in my life and failed so miserably.  I must confess that at the time no thought of hope penetrated my gloom, but Evan's comfort offered me the strength I needed to carry on.

I have learned so much from this potty training experience, not the least of which is that writing truly helps me to cope with life.  I'm writing this post trying to search through this whole experience for hope.  Do I have hope?

The answer I am happy to say is "yes."  But I see it in a different place than I expected to find it.  I see it in the fact that I am completely sent for a loop whenever Isaac has an accident.  After all these years, I am still shocked and upset that it has happened again.  If I didn't continue to have hope that each accident will be the last, wouldn't I lower my expectation and, upon finding him messy again, think to myself that this was par for the course?  But I don't.  Usually I take a deep breath, shake my head in amazement, and deal with it.  Sometimes, when I'm tired or it is particularly messy, I shamefully admit that I yell and rant.  But, maybe, what counts is that I still hope and so keep trying and never give up.

Read To Me

Josie  2007

There are many things that I wish I could do better as a mother, but I'm not going to focus on those here.  There are plenty of pages filled with such ramblings in my personal journal.  In this post, I'm going to focus on something that I'm good at--exposing my children to books and reading.

I love to read and so it has always been something I enjoyed doing with my children.  All those months I spent pregnant with not enough energy to entertain the kids in any other way, we would grab a pile of books and get cozy in my bed together.  OK...I do that even when I'm not pregnant, and I would choose to do it even if I had enough energy to whip through the whole house like a cleaning machine.  In fact, one of my best memories of reading in my bed was one of my non-pregnant days when I had set aside a Sunday afternoon to read Fablehaven to the two older boys.  When I closed the book, insisting that I had to at least make dinner, Evan said,  "Nooo... this is better than food."

Still, I must confess to running the other way when my children grab certain books for me to read to them.  There are a lot of picture books out there that make me feel like my brains are going to ooze out my ears if I have to read them one more time.  Those books will remain nameless as I am choosing to follow the wise advise of Thumper's father:  " If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all."

I like to mark especially good picture books that I read in my goodreads.com account, so I can remember to pick them up at the library every so often.  A fact which caused Kimball to accuse me once of "cheating."  Until that conversation, I had no idea we were competing to see who had the most books listed on goodreads.  Has anyone else noticed that kids can make a competition out of anything?

But, I digress.  I started writing this with the intention of making a list of 25 Picture Books Everyone Should Read.  I got the idea because I've run into many such lists over the years, and when I saw another the other day I began wondering what I would put on my list.  I ended up with 30 books because I just couldn't help it.  And, I changed the name because who am I to tell everyone what to read?  These are books that make my face light up when I see them as part of the Story Time line-up at the library.  (Yes, I still like to be read to and take my kids to story time partly for that reason.)

Some of these are books that adults would enjoy even if they didn't have a small person around to listen.  If you don't believe me ask my kids grandparents.  There are certain books they look forward to when coming to my house to babysit, and even talk about every so often when they aren't babysitting.


So, without further ado:

30 Picture Books That Rock

1. Quick As A Cricket by Audrey Wood (Don Wood is the    illustrator and his pictures are amazing!)
2. My Lucky Day by Keiko Kasza 
3. Bark, George by Jules Feiffer
4. Dinosaur Roar by Paul Stickland
5. Duck on a Bike by David Shannon
6. Sneetches and Other Stories by Dr. Seuss (Did you know that when you look this up at the library you have to look under 'G' for Geisel as in Theodor Seuss Geisel?)
7. Bear Wants More by Karma Wilson
8. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes 
9. There's a Nightmare in My Closet by Mercer Meyer
10. Hug by Jez Alborough
11. Come Along, Daisy by Jane Simmons
12. Big Dog Little Dog by P.D. Eastman
13. How Will We Get to the Beach? by Brigitte Luciani
14. Inside the House that is Haunted by Alyssa Satin Capucilli
15. We'll Paint the Octopus Red by S.A. Bodeen
16. So Many Bunnies by Rick Walton
17. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Marin Jr.
18. Snowmen at Night by Caralyn and Mark Buehner
19. If Anything Ever Goes Wrong at the Zoo by Mary Jean Hendrick
20. Wild About Books by Judy Sierra
21. My Little Sister Ate One Hare by Bill Grossman
22. The Perfect Nest by Catherine Friend
23. If You See A Kitten by John Butler
24. Ten Minutes til Bedtime by Peggy Rathmann
25. Go Away, Big Green Monster! by Ed Emberley
26. Off We Go! by Jane Yolen
27. Look Once, Look Twice by Janet Perry Marshall
28. If You Were Born A Kitten by Marion Dane Bauer
29. Hippos Go Berserk! by Sandra Boynton
30. On Noah's Ark by Jan Brett

I made a rule for myself while complying this list (because that's what I do--I make rules and lists):  Only one book could be listed per author.  If this hadn't been the rule, half the list would have been gone with my favorites from Audrey Wood, Mercer Meyer, Dr. Seuss, and Sandra Boynton.  It almost killed me not to put The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear on the list.  (Yes, I know I'm sneaking it in, but technically I stuck to my rule.)

I hope this makes you think of some of your favorites.  Feel free to share them with me anyway you can.  Comment, email, facebook, call....

I have one friend that whenever I see him, he starts into a list of good books he's read lately before he even says 'hi.'  I love it!  Maybe in the future that will be how I begin all my interactions.  Instead of "Hi, how are you?"  I'll say, "Hey, have you read any good books lately?"

Oddly Grateful

June 2003

Mat and I went on a date to the movies last night.  Walking in, we began laughing at the time we went to see X-Men United (or X2) and I kept getting up and going to the bathroom.  Although I was very pregnant with my third child and Mat knew all about how the baby rests on the bladder, he finally leaned over and asked me what was up.  I responded that I felt like I was going into labor and was feeling restless.  Later that day, I felt slightly annoyed that I had missed so much of the movie when all the contractions went away and I was still uncomfortably pregnant.  After all, I had two other children.  I knew what actual labor felt like, and I was not one to mistake the signs.  If anything, I was the mom who liked to hang out at home as long as I possibly could before sounding the alarm that the baby was coming.  This cycle of experiencing more than the normal Braxton Hicks contractions and being convinced I was in labor repeated itself a few other times as the due date neared and passed.  My third child, it seemed to me, could not make up his mind.

As Mat paid for our movie tickets, yesterday, I started thinking about the fact that had I actually gone into labor that day, Isaac would have been born premature.  This may have contributed to him experiencing more health complications than he experienced by being born with Down syndrome which caused plenty of issues to present themselves.

Standing in the movie line, I suddenly felt grateful that Isaac's legs had been tangled in the umbilical cord, stopping labor from progressing that day, and beyond, allowing him extra time in utero to develop and grow.  Even after his due date passed and they induced me, my labor would not progress past what could be forced by the drugs they gave me because he was held firmly in place and could not drop into the birth canal.  He eventually had to be taken by emergency C-section.  It felt like a very odd thing to be grateful for.

That night, as I mulled over those thoughts, I realized that my new insightful gratitude could partly be attributed to the book that I just finished reading.  365 Thank Yous by John Kralik was a great book about a man who, when he hit a low point in his life, got it into his head to write 365 thank-you notes in one year.  As the project progressed, his circumstances and attitude about life improved tremendously.  It is a true story and a great one.  It is one of those books that I would recommend to anyone. 

I love this quote from it:

"Whether or not my life had changed, my experience of it, moment by moment, had been transformed.  When bad things happened, they might slow me, but they no longer unraveled me."

My experience also brought to mind another one of those books, The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom.  In it Corrie and her sister Betsie are prisoners in a concentration camp when Betsie states that she can find things to be grateful for even in their pitiable situation.  When her list of things she is grateful for ends with "fleas,"  Corrie feels her sister has gone too far.  However, later she discovered that it was the fleas that infested their barracks that kept the guards out and allowed them more freedom within those walls than anywhere else in the camp.  This book is also an account written about true events.  

When I remembered that story, I no longer felt strange in my gratitude.  I suddenly found it odd that it had taken me so long to feel grateful for the tangle of legs and cord that extended Isaac's time in the womb, giving him those precious extra weeks to prepare to take on the world.

Mission Accomplished...Sort of

Rocky Mountain Pumpkin Ranch--October 2008

Last week, Kimball was telling us how a few of his classmates at school have randomly come up to him this year and said, "You have such a cute little brother.  I remember in elementary school when your mom brought him into class and he showed us some sign language.  That was so cool."

I smiled and was about to say, "How neat."  When Mat spoke up with, "Well, that was the whole point wasn't it?"  And suddenly I remembered that, yes, that had been the point.

It's amazing how fast your mind can fly through past memories.  In one small moment I remembered being new in Loveland and sitting by the Chilson Center pool with a one-year-old Isaac in my lap as Kimball had his swim lesson.  A little girl, I would say she was around 10 years old, came up to me and asked me about Isaac's glasses.  People often took interest in such a little guy in glasses and asked me the same thing she did, "How did they know he needed glasses?"

My answer was the same as always, "Well, because he has Down syndrome, it's part of the regular check-ups he needs.  So, they found out he need them when he was around 8 months old."

"Oh," she said, nodding her head.

It was then that I realized that she, and many other kids, may not know what Down syndrome is. So, I asked her if she did.  She shook her head, and I told her a little about Down syndrome and Isaac.

"Down syndrome is something he was born with.  It's not something you can get after your born.  It means that Isaac will need some extra help with learning things and will learn things later than other kids who don't have it...like walking and talking.  But, he knows a little sign language."

The girl smiled and said that Isaac was very cute and went happily on her way.  It was then that I wished that Isaac and I could let more kids know about Down syndrome and what it means.  Because then they wouldn't be nervous around people with Down syndrome as they got older.

I remembered how I started taking Isaac into Kimball and Evan's classrooms each year.  The kids always had fun with him and he with them.  I always told the kids, "He can understand a lot more than he can say, so don't be nervous to come up and talk to him.  If you don't know what to say, just give him a high five.  He loves to high five!"

I began to see how all those kids went out of their way to talk to Isaac whenever they saw him and was excited that Isaac could feel so welcomed at school.  I slowly forgot that I was hoping there would be a lasting impression that would color their view of people with Down syndrome beyond their years in elementary school.

At the end of my moment of remembering, I smiled because I felt a little sense of accomplishment.  I felt happy that those kids still have memories of Isaac and they have one person to think of when they hear the words:  Down syndrome.  I thought about how, even though Isaac is with them everyday, the children in his class learned a lot about what Down syndrome means when I spoke with them a month ago.  I even thought the words:  Mission Accomplished...And then, I realized I that I haven't taken Isaac to visit Evan's classroom this year.  And, I haven't quite gotten around to speaking to the children in the Primary at church either.  I'm glad Kimball reminded me why I stared the visits and that it's about more than just helping Isaac to fit in. 

It All Started with Donner...

This Valentine card to Isaac features the name he now likes to be called:  Isaac-Rudolph-Viking-Smallish Bear.

It is getting cumbersome, but it started out innocently enough.  He wanted to be called Rudolph, which made sense because he'd been calling his dad "Donner" for weeks.  (Just in case, some of you aren't aware, Donner is Rudolph's father in the classic Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie that they've shown on TV every year since I can remember.)

He began referring to Mat as Donner shortly after Christmas.  I could tell it was different than his run of the mill pretending game because he called him "Donner" at all times and when I'd call him "Dad" he would swiftly correct me.  Always.

I waited for Isaac to get bored of it, but instead he began calling himself "Rudolph" and me "Dancer."  Then, Josie was labeled "Prancer", Kimball "Comet" and Evan, much to his chagrin, was dubbed "Santa Claus."

He refers to us using these new names often, but he sticks to none as staunchly as "Donner."  I'm truly beginning to wonder if Mat will ever get to be called "Dad" by him again.

During this renaming period, I visited Isaac's classroom at school to talk to them about what Down syndrome is and what it is not.  Ever since Kimball was in first grade, I've visited the boys' classrooms at school and read the book We'll Paint the Octopus Red and answered questions about Isaac and Down syndrome.

This year, it got kind of rowdy because Isaac was insisting I call him Rudolph and when I told his classmates that he has been renaming everyone in the family, they all wanted reindeer names too.  Luckily, he is a connoisseur of reindeer books so we had more to chose from than just the Night Before Christmas variety.

Soon after this, we put his How to Train a Dragon comforter on his bed and he began playing with those toys and calling himself a Rudolph-Viking.  I was dubbed "Viking Princess" for reasons I'm unaware of, other than the fact that I do help layout the plans of where we will hide and where we will attack when the Monstrous Nightmare dragons come.  Oddly, Wilma, our miniature dachshund, is the only other family member involved in this batch of names.  She is, of course, a dragon.

The "Smallish Bear" part of his name he has taken from Disney's Brother Bear.  This older movie revived in our house when Mat and I went on a date a few weeks ago and left Kimball and Evan in charge.  (Can I just say that having a kid of legal babysitting age in the house is the coolest thing ever?  Although what "Donner" says is true--now that he can babysit, it seems that he's gone more than he is home.)

If you have persevered through this rambling blog I'd like to give you a reward:  Come to our house on any given Saturday morning and you will see Isaac tip-toeing around warning you not to wake up Donner.  You'll then know that Mat is trying to catch some sleep, and you can reply, "O.K., Isaac-Rudolph-Viking-Smallish Bear."

For your trouble, you will receive a wondrous gift:  a brilliant smile from a seven-year-old boy and a brand new friend.