Every few weeks or so, it happens. I think it’s out there for everyone, you just have to be looking for it — or, in my case, I guess, writing about it. The universe hands over some lesson, some example, some unavoidable truth. For me, it’s delivered by Sophie.

These offerings are tough to take, sometimes, but overall, a relief, since they force you into the moment like nothing else can. (Except maybe the young David Sedaris’ head into the windshield.) The other day, an acquaintance wrote a column about how he wished he could quiet his head so he could hear his heart. (I’m boiling down 1,000 words, but I think that’s really the message.) Boy, do I know what he means.

For me, having kids in the first place meant that I was simply too busy to roam around much in my head. (A blessing, trust me! You don’t want to see what it’s like in here — worse than my laundry basket-filled bedroom!) And having Sophie took it to another place — I was forced to see the world through her chromsomal prism. That means a lot of things on a lot of levels, but sometimes it means nothing more than simply clearing away the bullshit and seeing what’s right in front of you.

Funny how procrastination and writer’s block works. I’m blogging this morning to put off some bigger writing and editing projects, so forgive me if I use you, reader, as a means of distraction. I really didn’t have a topic today, it just wasn’t a day for some of the bigger thoughts I plan to explore (ironic, I know, given this rambling) so I thought I’d ruminate on summer — how it’s still not quite off the ground, how I’m worried I don’t have things planned right for Sophie — but can’t put my finger on what I need to do.

I was in the midst of my pre-writing rituals (which used to include checking one email account and now involve checking three email accounts, Facebook and Twitter — someone, please release me from social media hell!) when I found today’s topic in my spam filter, in the form of a blog comment from Joyce.

I’ve written about Joyce and Sarah before. In my little world, they’re rock stars — a young woman with Down syndrome who kicks some serious ass regardless of any sort of diagnosis. I followed with interest Sarah’s trip down memory lane vis a vis her time as a Daisy, Brownie and Girl Scout, since Sophie’s just completed her first year as a Daisy. (Sarah is one reason I’ll stick with it, regardless of cookie torture.)

In part, Joyce wrote:

The reason I really stopped by to leave this rambling message is to make sure you have followed Sarah’s blog this week.  I had it “in the can” knowing I was going to be really busy this week when you started to write about your mom and her ballet studio and Sophie and her dance recital.  I have to tell you I sat and cried as I watched her on that stage, happy tears of course, because I knew as soon as I saw it that you get it.  My point.  Exactly.   

I started this series because of an article that was in People magazine a few weeks ago.  It was about a ballet teacher in Boston and a physical therapist who decided it would be great to have a ballet class for kids with Ds.  And there they were smiling for the camera.  I certainly don’t want to be critical of the teacher or the PT or the families that are participating so I did not mention it on our blog, but I thought NO,  NO, NO.  That’s not it.  Yes, they need to be dancing but with other kids from their neighborhood.  Not just each other.  You get that.  I hope others will too.

Of course, this happened to be a week I had not followed Sarah’s blog. I’m out of sorts on the blog reading thing, ever since the Girl in a Party Hat switchover. I’ve been pre0ccupied with getting the last bells and whistles on the site to work, worried that I’ll lose my readers with a switch that now doesn’t include an easy way to subscribe to the blog. (Not that I’d know how to subscribe to someone else’s blog to save my soul. Sad confession. Hey, I can barely tweet or twit or whatever the cool kids are calling it today.)

I went to Sarah’s blog immediately and cried at Joyce’s gorgeous collections of photos and realized what’s missing from Sophie’s summer. She needs to be with other kids, with typical kids, doing typical summer stuff. DUH.

It’s such a game of whack a mole, this parenting thing. I have the school year dance class thing down — finally, and trust me, it wasn’t easy at all to get Sophie set up in a typical ballet class. We waited years til it seemed appropriate, we even tried a DS class for Sophie and two other little girls — a bona fide disaster; as Joyce observes, she needed to learn from her typical peers and they from her — and finally, I got her in that class. No sooner had I let myself get comfortable than summer came, with no ballet class, no kindergarten, no nothing with peers.

So thank you gods, and thank you Joyce and Sarah. I’m off now to find some summer fun for Sophie. You, on the other hand, need to go look at Joyce and Sarah’s blog.