“Hey Mom come here, I need help with the green eyeshadow,” Sophie called from the bathroom.

“Um, okay,” I said, taking in the situation, the big, blurry smears. “You want me to get it off your cheeks?”

“No! I want you to put it on my eyebrows and all over my eyes,” she said, pointing to the Claire’s multi-pack. “Use the darkest green.”

I picked up the applicator and covered it in green eyeshadow, carefully painting her eyebrows and then her lids.

“How does that look?” I asked, pointing her toward the mirror.

“Good!” she said, exhaling loudly. “Now I won’t get pinched.”

It’s a challenge, figuring out how to dress for St. Patrick’s Day when your school dress code is limited to blue, white, yellow and purple. The eyeshadow accompanied rainbow striped socks, green beads and several green shamrock stickers. I’m sure none of it’s acceptable. And rule breaking aside, I’m not sure if I’m the best or the worst mom for letting my kid out of the house looking like such a wreck — sure to be the source of whispers and pointing, if not pinches, today.

But today, I didn’t care. Maybe it’s because we just returned from New Orleans, where you’re practically required to dress like a freak. Maybe it’s because I remember getting pinched on St. Patrick’s Day. Maybe I’m just tired, and sick of that stupid dress code.

Or maybe it’s because more and more, Sophie is my guide – I’m realizing that her choices aren’t always such bad ones.

Really, who cares if she goes to school with green eye shadow smeared on her cheeks like war paint? It’s all too appropriate, if you ask me. Sophie’s fighting all kinds of battles all day long, battles I don’t see, battles I probably don’t want to know about. Some days she doesn’t want to go to school at all. Today she was kind of excited to show off her outfit.

In the crush to get out the door this morning, I almost forgot to fill out a field trip permission slip that had been floating around in Sophie’s backpack for a while. I smoothed it out and grabbed a pen — signing, adding phone numbers, checking no to “Food, Plant, Insect Sting Allergies,” scribbling “Down syndrome” when the health form asked for “Chronic Health Problems,”and pausing only when it asked for “Recommended Treatment.”

“Green eyeshadow,” I thought. Instead I left that part blank, shoved the slip back into her backpack, and hustled Sophie out the door to school.

This morning an errand took me to the Broadmor school office. Sophie’s old school. I hadn’t pulled up to the school since her last day, and I wondered if I’d get emotional. There they were, just as we’d left them, the office staff and our beloved principal. He insisted on a hug even though I protested (sweaty from the gym) and then he ran back to his office because he had something for Sophie. 

Of course he did. He’d tracked down a copy of “Otherwise Known As Sheila the Great,” having heard through the grapevine that our poodle had consumed Sophie’s original copy. I told him how well school is going for Sophie (knock on wood, parent/teacher conferences are tomorrow, so that could all end in the span of a 5-minute sit down) and that we couldn’t have done it without him paving the way. He beamed. Me too. No tears. We promised to get together soon.

See also: From the First Day to the Last

Yesterday I heard on NPR that they have created a 3-D printer that can make an ear. How long till they can duplicate Mr. Fritch, and place him in schools all over the country? Even when things are going relatively well for Sophie I fret over a million things, but some days the universe pulls me back and makes me appreciate what we have — and we have it really, really good.

Here’s a recent post from one of the Facebook groups about DS that I follow. I read it and decided to focus (for today, anyway) on being grateful for Sophie’s situation — integrated with her peers, overseen by staff that communicate with me constantly.

Some days are just more emotional then others. My daughter started middle school this year. She eats breakfast at school but takes longer. It took them a week to tell me that she misses her first entire class (music/band) with her peers because she does not get done eating on time. I told them I will feed her at home then because I do not want her missing the few classes she has with her peers. Then I noticed on the school website that it is picture day tomorrow. Most parents would know this because order forms come home ahead of time. I called the office and asked if it was picture day tomorrow, she said yes, and I said I did not get an order form sent home. She said the one thing that I always dread “oh, I have them here in the office, we forget they are a part of us sometimes and I forgot to send them up to her special ed room.” That did not make me as angry is it made me sad. I had her transfer me straight to the principle to discuss how I want everything the regular ed class gets sent home with them to be sent home with her also. He was very apologetic but it doesnt change the fact that yes, they are forgotten at times. Her room is not even on the same floor as her peers. I hope the year gets better, it just started.

Sophie is the most popular kid I know.

Just a few weeks into the new school year, I’m having trouble keeping up with my 11-year-old’s social schedule. Last Sunday she was invited to a friend’s house for dinner, and another friend asked her out for ice cream. Another pal asked if she can have a regular badminton date on Fridays, and she’s been meeting with another to write a play. She regularly texts and calls another dozen or so friends; she’s got sleepover plans in the works with several of them. Tonight she has a date with our next door neighbor to compare paint brush collections. She regularly begs me to schedule a time to watch Project Runway with another friend, and a mani-pedi with yet another.

Sophie treasures each of these friendships, and I treasure them as well. We should all be lucky enough to have friends like these. There’s just one problem. They’re all adults: two former nannies, her physical therapist, a family friend, a 60-something neighbor, her kindergarten teacher and the principal from her elementary school (yes, he promised her mani-pedis to celebrate their shared birthday).

Last week I asked Sophie if she’d made any friends in middle school. “Yes!” she told me. “Mrs. W.”

Her aide.

I get that it’s hard to make friends in junior high, whether you have Down syndrome or not. It took Annabelle years to feel comfortable at a new school, to find a group of friends. But I worry if it will ever happen for Sophie. Her gregarious and sometimes aggressive approach to friendship just isn’t going to fly with most of the tween and teen set. She’s different — and kids that age don’t want anyone to notice them, they are busy worrying about their own differences, stuck understandably in their own heads. And if they are intrigued by the idea of a friendship with someone like Sophie, they might be unsure of how to approach it. I know I would have been. (Still am!)

And so my stomach did a backflip when I got an email yesterday informing me that Sophie’s school is getting ready to launch an official Best Buddies program, started years ago by the Shriver family (of Special Olympics fame) to foster friendships between typical kids and kids with disabilities. Historically Best Buddies has been more common in high schools, but they are expanding to junior high. I’m thrilled.

Not everyone’s as into it. I was out for lunch a few weeks ago with a friend who has a 7-year-old with Down syndrome, and the topic came up. She’s not a fan; she doesn’t like forced friendships. I do tend to agree. But when Sophie was 7, she had no need for Best Buddies. She had — and still has — a bona fide best friend, the kind most of us only dream about. She and Sarah met in kindergarten and were attached at the hip (not literally, Sarah’s always had at least a foot on Sophie) through fifth grade — till they parted for different schools.

Here’s a radio piece I did years ago about their friendship.

I wonder if Sarah and Sophie would have become friends if they’d met today. Even at 5, Sarah was a very special person with a big heart, but she was also a little kid unencumbered by puberty and the insecurities that come along with it. Their kindergarten teacher knew to nudge the friendship along, but these days there’s little time for social interaction in school — no recess, a super short lunch hour. Some forced — or rather, encouraged — interaction might be in order.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I worry too much. As usual, Sophie has already proved me wrong. Yesterday afternoon she came home with a phone number for a new friend, one  her own age — a girl in her science class. So maybe we won’t need Best Buddies. But something tells me we will.

In any case, the biggest challenge will be working more play dates onto Sophie’s already-full dance card.