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They Shoot Dove, Don’t They?

posted Saturday September 4th, 2010

Ray was up long before the crack of dawn this morning. Only a few things can inspire such rash behavior on the part of my husband. One of them is dove hunting, which begins in these parts every year on September 1.

I can’t stand this. Not because I’m overly fond of birds (they creep me out, and Ray answers my pleas to protect the bird of peace with the argument that dove are crappy parents — or wait, maybe that’s quail) but because I can’t stand guns, and just the sight of the shotgun in its case made me shudder when I noticed it by the kitchen door a couple hours ago. I couldn’t sleep, after passing out last night with Sophie at, um, 8:30. (Hey, it was a long week.)

Ray was at the ready in a camo tee shirt and khaki shorts. But he looked a little sheepish.

“Annabelle was giving me a hard time last night,” he explained. “You know, last year, when she asked me, ‘Why are you shooting dove?’ I got away with saying, ‘Oh, because it’s dove hunting season!’

“This year, that didn’t work.”

I hid my smile. Nonchalance works best in these situations, I’ve learned after almost 13 years of marriage. Maybe this will be the poor birdies’ last season of Ray. I used to argue that he wasn’t such a hot shot, so it really didn’t matter. Then he got pretty good.

But maybe this will be his last dove hunting trip. Maybe his plans to train Annabelle to follow in his gruesome hunter’s footsteps have been foiled from the start. I won’t say a word, but I hope so.


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Jan Brewer’s Debate Opening Statement, by Annabelle

posted Friday September 3rd, 2010

Even if you don’t live in Arizona, chances are you’ve heard about (or — cringe — seen) our governor’s performance in the first (and last, if her campaign has anything to do about it) gubernatorial debate earlier this week.

Ray and Annabelle got busy with the iPhone last night, and look what landed in my email.


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Tooth Scary

posted Tuesday August 31st, 2010

Just yesterday I was pondering cognitive tests. Last night, I got all the proof I need that Sophie’s one smart cookie.

She’s had several wiggly teeth for weeks now, but there had been little action til Sunday night, when I accidentally (I swear! I felt terrible!) wiggled one a little too hard and moved it into the hanging-by-a-thread neighborhood. Sophie swore it didn’t hurt (I apologized profusely — there was blood, I have to admit) but refused to wiggle it to completion.

Finally, last night, sitting on the bathroom counter with a good view of the whole thing in the mirror, she twisted til she had a tooth in her hand. There was great rejoicing and videotaping and Sophie was really psyched — for a minute.

Then she looked concerned.

She told me she didn’t want the tooth fairy to come in her room to take the tooth. She said she was “embarrassed,” but Ray and I both knew the truth. She was scared.

I was so proud. SMART KID. Seriously, folks, who among us wants a crazy, winged creature coming close enough WHILE WE ARE FAST ALSEEP to actually reach under our pillows and grab a small object? Scares the shit out of me, just thinking about it.

“No problem!” I told her. “We’ll write a note.”

She wrote it herself, and only needed help with a few words.

Dar Tooth Fairy

Come to the living room. Do not come in my room.

Love Sophie

We posted it on her bedroom door and put the tooth fairy box on the mantle. Then Annabelle announced that she wanted to write to Sophie’s tooth fairy, as well. Poor Annabelle, she hasn’t lost a tooth in a while. I figured that by now she was completely over the tooth fairy, but I wondered a bit when I read her note:

Dear sophie’s tooth fairy, I haven’t wrote to my fairy in a long time. So I’m talking to you… Sophie is a genorous and loving kid, you will like her. I’m Annabelle, her older sister. I’m nice, and in fourth grade. Please leave Sophie Olivia the pig toys. Got to go!

“heart” Annabelle

PS look in the box!

I know I’m biased, but that note just killed me. (And I didn’t have any Olivia toys on hand, damn it.)

Both girls had fairy-dusted (thanks to Martha Stewart’s glitter collection) letters from Tallulah Fairbanks, Sophie’s tooth fairy, waiting for them this morning. Annabelle checked out her personalized stationery — purple, but otherwise just like her TF’s pink stationery — and announced, “They must be in business together!”

Yes, as Tallulah explained in her note to Sophie, she’s in training with Annabelle’s TF, Tabitha Fairchild. She also told Sophie not to be afraid, explaining, “I’m not scary!”

But I have a feeling Sophie will keep that note on her bedroom door.

And like I said, I can’t blame her. This morning I was thinking about the whole thing, and pondering the fact that Sophie’s afraid of the tooth fairy, but not at all hestitant about throwing her arms around Chuck E. Cheese. I’m a little scared of Chuck E. myself. (Plus, consider the germs on that costume!) Then I remembered the Yo Gabba Gabba tooth fairy video, which Sophie’s insisted on watching almost every morning all summer long.

Amy Sedaris as the tooth fairy. Yeah, I’d be scared, too!

(Darn YGG, they disabled the embedding feature on YouTube. But here’s the link. It’s worth it. Might give you nightmares, though. And for the record, I LOVE Amy Sedaris — just not in this role.)


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That’s what they are talking about at the University of Arizona in Tucson — and they are looking for volunteers 7 and older to test their tests.

I’m not typically one to offer my kids up as guinea pigs, but I’ve already emailed the researchers. Given that Sophie’s IQ has been estimated to be in the 80s — and the 50s — I figure I can handle whatever they say.

And Sophie loves to take tests on the computer. In fact, last week I pushed at her “team meeting” to switch from handwritten to typed spelling tests, and she got eight right (I believe out of 10) on Friday’s spelling test. A small but meaningful victory.

Maybe U of A can finally answer my oft-asked (and yes, I know, in many regards moot) question of whether Sophie is mentally retarded or not.


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Christmas in August

posted Friday August 27th, 2010

On August 8, I emailed my friend Robrt.

“Let the record reflect…that I started my Hanukkah shopping today,” I wrote.

He replied, “You rule.”

“This year is going to be different!” I answered, sensing sarcasm, which he confirmed with, “I suspect you mean that.”

I’m sure Robrt’s right, and that this year I’ll drag myself through the holidays – complaining bitterly, surviving on three hours of sleep a night. Why should it be any different than Christmases past?

Or maybe it will be. I think I’ve found the solution. Just start preparing for the holidays as soon as they end — or, at least, before temperatures dip below 110. That way, there’s no crush. I’ve tried starting right after Halloween, but that kind of behavior is for amateurs! This year, it’s Christmas in August, baby. Christmas in August.

I’ll let you know how it goes. Meantime, as part of my Early Preparedness scheme, I’ve already scheduled a holiday writing class at Changing Hands Bookstore in Tempe. I wanted to call it “It’s the Holidays, Damn it!” but that was vetoed in favor of “Holidaze: How to Write About the Happiest Time of the Year.”

I’m sure Robrt will appreciate the sarcasm, even if no one else does.


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Can You Tell Me How to Get to Sesame Street?

posted Wednesday August 25th, 2010


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Tomorrow there’s a meeting of Sophie’s “team” — the therapists, teachers, even the principal, everyone who works to make it possible for her to be mainstreamed at a public school. It’s a good thing, this meeting. In fact, I demanded that it be written into her IEP (the document dictating her services) since typically the team meets in May and this is a much-needed chance to assess how things are going at the beginning of a new school year.

This meeting’s got me thinking about stereotypes.

(And now, please pardon me, I feel a few digressions coming on.)

Digression Number One:

Stereotypes are dangerous. I know that. For years I joked — in all seriousness — that Jews don’t like guns. I mean, I don’t like them. I’ve never held one, much less had the desire to use a gun. And all the Jews I know are just like me.

Then Ray, who does not happen to be Jewish and does not hate guns, interrupted my Jews-don’t-like-guns schtick one day with a single, show-stopping line:

“What about Israelis?”

Oh.

Digression Number Two:

When it comes to Sophie, I’m (almost) all about stereotype busting. Funny how suddenly Facebook has become such an important means of communicating in so many ways. I’m sure many (most?) of my 500-plus friends hid me long ago, simply because I post way too much about my kids, particularly Sophie. Call it parental indulgence, or simply the case of an obnoxious mom, but I prefer to think of it as a little social experiment. By cataloguing Sophie’s day to day activities — by showing the outfit she chose on a Friday or mentioning that suddenly she’s calling us “Mom” and “Dad” instead of “Mommy” and “Daddy” — I’m trying to take a Person with a Disability (the kind of person I’d have shirked from, 7-plus years ago) and make her 3-D. Not in a global sense, but in easy, bite-sized chunks. I wish I’d had that, pre-Sophie.

Does that make any sense at all? I’m not sure it came out right. But that’s the general idea.

OK, digressions over. Back to the stereotyping-at-hand.

Yesterday morning, Sophie was in a mood. She refused her Special K, turned my computer on when I told her not to, and demanded a lot of coaxing to get dressed. (This involved a “fashion walk” of five dresses, though she’d requested seven.) None of that is all that unusual, actually. But it was the crucial out-the-door moment that really snagged me, as it so often does.

While I was in the shower, Sophie grabbed one of her baby dolls. “I be a Mommy when I grow up!” she told me. “That’s so nice!” I called over the water, trying to push away the demons that whisper in my ear about the unfairness of the universe. A busy Monday morning is not the time to ponder the future — and possible procreation and all that entails — of your special needs daughter.

Apparently Sophie’s plans for the near future included a stint as a stay-at-home mom, because a few minutes later, I found her in my bed. Both she and the baby doll were tucked in, and I was informed that the baby was asleep and neither of them were going anywhere.

“That’s sweet, Sophie, but it’s time for school! We’re late!” I tried to say as kindly as possible. This turned into 10 minutes of cajoling, begging, yelling, counting, dragging and tears. Not good.

We got to school so late there were no parking spaces, which sealed our fate as Late. I marched the girls directly to the office, thinking along the way about how to turn this into a Teaching Moment. Most punishments slide right off Sophie’s back, but sometimes I can a get a message through. This morning I was going to try, at least. (Annabelle was in on the plan, by the way, as a fellow cajol-er. She gets it, probably better than I do.)

We skidded into the office just as the bell rang. “You can just go up,” the secretary told the girls. Oh no, I told her, adding that she should write “Because Sophie was not a good listener” on both late slips. She nodded, looking very serious. The principal walked by, and I even made Sophie tell her why we were late.

Then I kissed the girls, talked to Sophie about starting fresh for the day with a new attitude, and they both disappeared down the hall. It wasn’t even 9 and I was ready to go back to bed.

I smiled weakly at the principal. “I don’t know what to do,” I told her. “I know it’s a Down syndrome thing — Sophie can be so incredibly stubborn.”

“Oh, I know just what you mean!” she said. “My daughter was just the same at that age! It was terrible!”

For once I held my tongue around this woman, who tends to inspire too much honesty from me. What I wanted to say was, “That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not true! You are so condescending! Your typical kid was typically stubborn — and I know what that looks like. Yes, Annabelle’s well behaved, but trust me, she’s had her moments, and I’ve seen a lot of typical kids and I’m telling you, they don’t act like Sophie. Yes, other kids have issues. But this is one of Sophie’s issues. And to tell me it has nothing to do with Down syndrome, I mean, what am I supposed to do with that? Of course it does! You can’t pretend she doesn’t have it. That won’t make it go away. And it won’t make her behave. I know — I’ve tried that.”

I mean, really. I know the principal was trying to be nice, which is why I didn’t say anything, but I’m considering mentioning this stubborn thing tomorrow at our meeting, particularly since at least one therapist has already mentioned Sophie’s difficulty with transitions. (Code for “your stubborn kid with Down syndrome is driving me nuts.”) I know I’ll get dirty looks.

It’s not easy, navigating this P.C. Thing. I get that it’s not cool to stereotype Jews and guns (even if I maintain to this day that there’s some truth to my theory, some Israelis aside) but the truth is that kids with Down syndrome can be incredibly stubborn — maybe it’s not as strong a trait as snubbed noses and small stature, but to ignore that it’s a problem simply in the name of Political Correctness, now what’s correct about that?

Reading this, you probably thought, “I’m with the principal. Sounds like just another stubborn kid. With an insensitive mom.”

But I bet you didn’t think that if you a. have spent a hunk of time around Sophie or b. have your own kid with Down syndrome.

As for me, I’m not changing my mind. I’m stubborn that way.


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The Girl in the Purple Pants, Part Two

posted Monday August 23rd, 2010

Now presenting: the girl in the purple pants.

Yesterday I finally sorted (and tossed much of) all the paper from first and third grade, which is good, since we are officially into the third week of second and fourth grade. I made it to the bottom of Annabelle’s third grade backpack (accidentally ran some ancient raisins through the washing machine — gross!) and re-discovered the surface of the dining room table.

Sophie made havoc wherever she could, which was fine since it looked like a school locker (or five) exploded in the kitchen. The messier the merrier. All of which is to say that it took me a while to realize she’d unearthed the purple pants from one of the many baskets sitting around.

Ah, those purple pants. I don’t think I ever told you what ultimately happened with the cute — but totally impractical — snap/zip-style pants Sophie chose for the first day of school. At the last minute, I subbed them out with a pair of elastic-waist, cotton purple pants, and amazingly, she didn’t complain. I’m not sure she realized. She looked adorable.

But not as adorable, I must admit, as she looked in those original pants. She was already dressed for the day (highlight: buying her a real twin-sized bed, we’re ditching the Ikea piece of junk, which has what looks like a mini-pad for a mattress) but pulled off her skirt when she found the pants. She did have to ask for help with the snap and zipper, I was right, so these will have to be Weekend Pants.

She looked so cute, and she was so proud. Check her out.


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“Be Like You”

posted Sunday August 22nd, 2010

I’m bummed the birthdays — and the birthday mixes — have come and gone, because here’s a song I just love. Not new, but new to me. It’s by the Asylum Street Spankers. (An Austin, Texas band, super-cool, they advertise themselves as “God’s favorite band.” Ha. They also have an adult tune called “The Scrotum Song.”)

The song “Be Like You” — don’t worry, it’s from their kids album — is just wonderful. I’ll give you the lyrics and a video — the video’s made by some random dad who liked the song and taped his kids doing stuff mentioned in it. Check it out for the song and I promise, you’ll want to make a video just like it with your favorite kids. The song makes me think of both my girls, particularly Sophie.

Here are the lyrics:

BE LIKE YOU

You with your big blue eyes
You with your big surprise
You with your “I don’t know”s
You with your mismatched clothes

Chasin the kitty cat
Tiptoe and pitter pat
Hiding ‘neath the kitchen chair
Sleepin with a teddy bear

You sittin at the breakfast table wearing two different shoes
I, I wish that I could be like you

And when we’re jumpin on the bed
Jump jump jumpin up and down
It seems like such great bliss
Makes me wonder if
A grownup like me could ever feel like this

You with your funny smile
You with your certain style
You when you play pretend
You know you’re my best friend

You sing a bit off key
You say “Hey look at me!”
How I wish that this could last
But you’re growing up so fast

And I love your silly expressions
And your different point of view
And I, I wish that I could be like you

And when we’re walking down the street
Walk walk walkin hand in hand
We’re having so much fun and when the day is done
I tell you I’m so glad you’re my son

la la la la la la
la la la la la la

la la la la la la
la la la la la la

c’mon boys!

la la la la la
la la la la la la

You’re quite extraordinary and it’s absolutely true that I,
I wish that I could be like you
I wish that I could be like you

I wish that I could be like you.

And — bonus, in case you’ve actually made it this far into the post — here’s another “…Be Like You” song among my personal faves, so I thought I’d toss it in.


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Sophie Shots

posted Friday August 20th, 2010

A while back I promised to share some of Sophie’s images, taken with my (“borrowed”) iPhone. Here are a few taken around the play room and living room on a hot Saturday afternoon. More to come, from other photo shoots.


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My-Heart-Cant-Even-Believe-It-Cover
My Heart Can't Even Believe It: A Story of Science, Love, and Down Syndrome is available from Amazon and 
Changing Hands Bookstore
. For information about readings and other events, click here.
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