Almost 31

I just saw March of the Penguins. It's a good film, and very nice to see on the big screen. It would have been even better if I hadn't had a potent pina colada, 2+ glasses of water, and an enormous soda.

But the movie left me with lots of questions. Most notably, what happens to the other penguins? It was nice to hear about the devoted parents and horrible to hear about the lost babies. But what do the females who don't find mates do? Do they return to the sea alone? How do they survive the winter without the herd for warmth? What about the parents who crack their eggs or lose their babies?

Also, how can the trip from the ocean to the mating grounds be 70+ miles at the end of the summer, longer during the winter (that part makes sense) and only a few hundred feet at the beginning of the summer?

That movie gave me a new impression of seals. Now I won't feel so sorry for the little buggers during the shark documentaries; they have it coming. And I already knew that birds were scary.

***

Busy weekend this weekend, but fun. Friday night we went to a friend's housewarming party. Saturday found us braving the heat with some friends and their adorable 4-month-old at the Down Syndrome Association of Greater St. Louis Walk in the Park. We flaked out in the heat and headed home for our neighborhood picnic. This morning we went to church (more on that later) and Sunday School, then to some friends' for delicious brunch. Then tonight - a date! With a babysitter and everything! There was Thai food, there was a movie, it was all very nice. I could get used to this.

Mary, Mary Quite Contrary

Today's annoyance related to magnetic awareness ribbons on cars:

I'm a contrary sort. If you tell me to do something, even if I was already planning to do it, I'll suddenly feel less inclined to comply. I don't do well with direct orders; it's a good thing that I'm not in the military.

When I lived near Fort Riley (home of the First Infantry Division) during the first Gulf War, I wore a bracelet in support of the soldiers over in the desert. These soldiers were the parents of friends, the boyfriends of friends, people I knew from around town. Just because I didn't like the war didn't mean that I didn't support the soldiers.

But my first reaction to those bossy "Support our troops!" ribbons and signs is: Don't tell me what to do!

Come on. Shell out the extra dough for two more letters: We Support Our Troops. Tell me how you feel, not how I should be feeling. Please.

Toddler Rappelling

I wrenched my neck yesterday.

I had just put Ellie down for a nap and was standing in the kitchen fixing myself lunch, when I heard a small, sweet voice from behind me say, "Hi."

Here's what happened. On the way home from school, Ellie was quickly bored by Terry Gross and said,

"Ehhhhh! Ehhhhh!"

"Ellie, what's wrong? Can you tell me with your words?"

"Muzzzzzzz," she grinned at me winningly while rubbing her right hand rapidly over her left forearm. She has 60+ words and 50+ signs, but it's where they intersect that I'm most likely to understand what she's trying to say. In this case, she was clearly asking for music.

Truth be told, I was a little bit bored by Fresh Air too, so I hit the CD button, bringing Allison Krauss's sweet croon into the car. That was fine for a few moments, until I heard,

"No no no!"

So I pushed the Tape button, starting a rousing compilation of such hits as "Splashing in the Bath With My Little Rubber Duck," and "Creeping, Creeping Little Flea."

Unusually, Ellie didn't fall asleep before we got home. I took her to her room and cuddled her for a little bit, then laid her gently in her crib and went to get myself something to eat while I waited for her to fall asleep.

Almost immediately I realized that I'd forgotten to put up the crib rail. I wasn't too concerned, though. The mattress is set as low as it can go, and it's only recently that we've decided we should start putting the rail up. She's never shown any interest in trying to crawl out of the crib. Since she was being so quiet, I decided to wait until she was asleep before sneaking in to put up the rail. Better that then to let her see me and launch a crying plea for release from her wooden prison.

Then, "Hi-ii," just as sweetly as you can imagine, and way too close behind me. "Hiiiii."

Ellie stood on her pillow and used the extra height to climb over the crib rail. Then she dropped herself down into her little wicker hamper, tipping that over to reach the floor. She didn't fall or cry out at all; she made the trip in perfect silence.

With her incredible flexibility, I always thought that Ellie would make a great contortionist or rhythmic gymnast. Now I'm thinking that maybe she'd make a good replacement for Sydney Bristow.

Prayers

Sometimes, tragedy on a smaller scale can seem so much larger.

Moreena, you and your family are in my prayers.

Katrina

Ah, here it is, the obligatory Katrina post. I hadn't intended to write one, but here I am.

In conversations with friends over the last couple of days, Paul and I were both surprised (and infuriated) to realize that not everyone feels that the devastation of New Orleans is a tragedy. Each of us has heard from two different people who feel like this is probably a "blessing in disguise." After all, New Orleans is a cesspool of sin and crime anyway, so why not wipe the slate clean and start all over again?

For you sociologists, all four of these subjects are men, ages 30-45, upper middle class, white suburbanites. 3 call themselves liberals. 1 is a conservative, but one of the "spend my vacation building homes for the poor" type of conservatives. None of them has ever been to New Orleans. Obviously.

1) How can families being separated, hundreds of women being raped, thousands of human beings dying, and many many more losing their homes and all of their belongings be anything but a tragedy? If this happened to me and some man hundreds of miles away told me it was really a "blessing," I'd pop him right in the mouth. (Hey, didja hear the one about the 15-year-old in the hospital with the 300 pound machine that beats his heart for him?)

2) How can someone feel comfortable suggesting that someplace they've never been is so awful that it needs to be destroyed utterly, in Sodom and Gomorrah fashion? The pride! The entitlement!

3) Even if New Orleans was a pit of depravity, how does that make it different from anywhere else? Should we pray for natural disasters in all of our major cities? Certainly Las Vegas has got to go. Of the most dangerous cities in the United States, New Orleans ranks about 8th. So let's wipe out Camden, NJ; Detroit, MI; Atlanta, GA; St. Louis, MO; Gary, IN; Washington, D.C.; and Hartford, CT before we even start talking about New Orleans.

New Orleans is a beautiful city. It has so much character and charm. Yeah, there are dark alleys and there is crime. But this is true of any city. And sitting in your suburban home, just outside a city that's far more dangerous than New Orleans was before this hurricane, suggesting that it's a blessing that the city was flooded just because you've heard some scary stories, well, that's just beyond the pale.

And these people seem to be ignoring the fact that it wasn't the "scariest" neighborhoods that flooded. This wasn't God smiting just those who live in sin. The worst effected areas were along the levees that hold Lake Pontchartrain. Golly, who'd want to build near a lake? It turns out that a lot of families like to live near lakes, so many urban and suburban residential neighborhoods were flooded. (Here is God smiting an SUV.)

Can we think of any other cities near bodies of water that might be in danger of flooding if their levees or other water containment systems were breached? (How about Chicago and St. Louis, right off the bat?)

But, hey, white guys, you're not alone. Here's another white guy who agrees with you.

You're all wrong. Why build in a hurricane zone? Why build at the mouth of a huge river? Uh, how do you think all that shiny stuff gets to a Wal-mart near you? Where do you think your food comes from? Big hint: the Mississippi River is a huge shipping lane. Without a port at the mouth of the Mississippi, look for lots of wilted produce and extremely expensive goods being air-lifted into the Midwest.

Edited to add: OK, the "white guys" stuff is a bit harsh. But it's very hard for me to not see this as a race and class issue to some extent. If New Orleans wasn't so poor and black, would it be as easy to write off?

More Awareness Ribbons

Today's annoyance related to magnetic awareness ribbons on cars:

When your yellow or red, white, & blue "Support Our Troops!" awareness ribbon fades to white, TAKE IT OFF OF YOUR CAR! Don't you think that it rather makes the opposite point if you leave it on? Aren't you, in effect, saying that you care so little about "our troops" that you can't even be bothered to support them in a respectful fashion?

On Hating Disney

I know that I am supposed to hate all things Disney, including Walt Disney World. It's explicitly stated in the "How to be a Good Liberal" handbook that they pass out at the secret parties. But I don't hate Disney World, and here's why:

Yes, it's a major U.S. corporation with all that that implies, like sweatshops and child labor (that's an interesting link, though nothing's referenced and a lot of it's silly). And, yes, Walt himself was probably as Nazi sympathizer, among other things. And, yes, Disney gives us a sanitized look at a world that never was. But . . . Disney World also allows adults to see the world as we did when we were very young. A 4-year-old, seeing a small town's Main Street, doesn't notice the peeling paint or the fact that half of the storefronts are empty. WDW brings back that magic for adults by creating the world as little kids see it: magic and escapism, all wrapped in a pretty bow in this scary world.

I know that Disney is involved in some evil stuff, as are far too many major corporations. But they also provide a sense of innocence and wonder that are hard to find elsewhere.


***

Today's annoyance related to magnetic awareness ribbons on cars:
I do believe that there's a place for awareness ribbons: Autism, Down syndrome, cancer research, etc. The ribbons can, shockingly enough, raise awareness of various causes. And, often, the ribbons signify a small donation to the cause. That said, many things that have awareness ribbons don't deserve them. Like the St. Louis Cardinals. So you're a sports fan and you support the home team. Rah rah rah! Put a sticker on your car or fly one of those silly flags that makes you look like you're part of a red-themed funeral procession. But don't put an awareness ribbon on your car. We're all aware of the Cardinals!

After Labor Day

We had a wonderful weekend visiting my parents. On Saturday, the weather was perfect. It was sunny and in the upper 70's, with a gentle wind off the water to keep the bugs away. We had a picnic on the beach while Ellie played in the soft sand, then we wandered down to the hard-packed sand at the edge of the water. The tide was beginning to come in, and Ellie had fun splashing in the surf. She kept scooting forward to get wetter. Grandma walked her out to the first sandbar and helped her "jump" over the waves. If you've never seen Lake Michigan, if you've never been to the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, you can't understand the magnitude of this lake. The air was clear enough for us to see the Chicago skyline rising beautifully across the water. As always, we try to avoid looking due west. We all try to ignore "steel city."

Sunday was also perfect. The weather was overcast, and after lunch we headed out to Guse Christmas Trees. This was opening weekend for Guse's fall festival. The highlight was the enormous corn maze. This corn field - again, those not from farming communities might have trouble with the scope - was huge, 7 acres. We walked over 3 miles of trails before finding our way out. According the numbered map we were each given, we missed number 8. But we found number 6 about five times, so we figure we made up for anything we skipped. I just love the fall. Ellie slept in her stroller through the maze, so the highlight for her was the enormous sandbox of dry kernels of corn. Heaven.

This morning, Ellie got to go to the park for the third morning in a row. Then we visited some friends. While the adults were chatting, Ellie decided to stand right up in the middle of the room and walk to her daddy. Priceless!

Of course, she has yet another sinus infection and the trip back was a bit of a bear. But she's such a trooper. And despite our best efforts (read: inconsistency and laziness) she's making progress with her potty training. Now she tells us *before* she poops, and *as* she's peeing. A major step in the right direction!

Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Walking Feet

At 22 months old, Ellie is 31-1/2 inches tall and 24 pounds. She is 1/4 potty trained, and she has learned to walk!!!

In June, Ellie started climbing up onto the furniture. She started spontaneously pushing a push toy around the house earlier this month. Next she made a game out of standing up on her own in the middle of the room. Then she started rushing down the hall independently at school with a reverse walker. Finally, on Monday night, she walked two steps from her LeapFrog play table to where Daddy was lying on the floor. We were both stunned. Wednesday at school she was walking independently for up to 7 steps at a time. Wow. Just, wow.

I should explain now that the only TV Ellie watches is Dora the Explorer. She is not interested in any other TV (for more than about a minute) but man does she love that Dora. Her PT likes it because Ellie stands to watch the show. Her speech therapist likes it because Ellie (sometimes) follows the prompts aloud. I like it because there are no commercials and it features a brave, adventurous heroine. For toddler TV, it's not so evil. Months ago, Ellie and I were at Target when she saw Dora's backpack, cleverly named Backpack.

At that point, she had a Dora book and had seen the show a couple of times, but Ellie wanted that backpack. I thought that a backpack for a 1-year-old who couldn't even walk around wouldn't be too useful, so I told her that I'd buy it for her as a present when she learned to walk. I had no idea that she heard and understood me, but I mentioned it to my mom on the phone this morning, and Ellie wouldn't go down for her afternoon nap until we'd gone to Target to get Backpack. And it was worth the wait. She is smitten. As am I, of course.

Spam

OK, while I appreciate the extra comments and enjoy the flattery - false though it is - I'd prefer not to get the Blogger comment spam. Anybody have any tips about what I can do to avoid it, short of disabling comments entirely? I won't do that; I'd miss hearing from you all!

Family Dining

If you were eating dinner at my house this week, here's what you would find:

• Sunday: Spaghetti and meatballs, peas
  
• Monday: Leftovers. Choose from: the spaghetti, taco casserole, sloppy joes, beef stew, or meatballs stroganoff
  
• Tuesday: Mom's off at book club, leaves ham and green bean casserole for Daddy and Ellie
  
• Wednesday: Tacos with all the trimmings, corn on the cob, chipotle-flavored pasta
  
• The rest of the week: Thai chicken, grilled hamburgers, chicken and rice casserole, and, of course, more leftovers.

This is not often a diet-friendly house, but even so I think I'm in a bit of a comfort-food phase lately.

Where the Children are Free

A local professional theater company presented a children's matinee of Free To Be You and Me this summer. I grew up listening to this record and still love it dearly. When I learned that I was pregnant, I bought the CD for my child. Ellie listens to it regularly. My mom thought that Ellie would love the show, but I was skeptical. I didn't want to buy tickets then have to leave after 10 minutes, but I didn't think she could sit through an entire show. I also didn't want to disrupt the experience for the other mid-day patrons.

Finally, at the very last show, we decided to go. And Ellie loved it. She was enraptured for the entire 55 minute performance. Although she had her own seat, she sat or stood on her daddy's lap - in the front row - with her mouth hanging open almost the entire time. The rest of the time, she was grinning. Ellie sang along with "Brothers and Sisters," clapped along when the cast prompted us to do so, and applauded wildly along with the rest of the audience after each number.

The whole experience was perfect and brought tears to my eyes. We'll just have to do it again in a few years so that she can remember it.

In other recent news, Ellie has transitioned to the "older toddlers" room at school, a precursor to her planned move up to the "two's" room later this fall. I booked our September vacation to Walt Disney World, and in true Sarahlynn fashion I have enjoyed planning at least as much as I'll enjoy traveling. I have already read and annotated "Birnbaum's 2005 Walt Disney World Dining Guide" and made good headway on "The Unofficial Guide to Walt Disney World with Children." I am especially proud of my shopping prowess here, as I've planned a 5 day vacation for the three of us for $1100. Paul's got a business meeting in Orlando, so his flight was free. Ellie and I redeemed frequent flyer miles for our flight. I bought park tickets and booked a WWW resort, and got meals thrown in for free (fall promotion). Woohoo! I know that Ellie won't remember a thing about this trip, but I know that I will, and let's be honest about who this is really for, right? Can anything be any more fun than watching pure enjoyment and wide-eyed wonder in your children? I can't imagine it.

Signs

Greenscape Gardens, the neighborhood nursery, has the most wonderful quotes on their sign, alternating with notices about mums on sale.

One of my favorites was, "Greenscape Gardens, located 1/4 mile east of the speed trap," though I sincerely doubt that the county police found it as humorous.

This week's sign says: Drought Rain Delay.

Glimmer

After 49 hours of no electricity, we went to Boston Market for yet another meal out. It's amazing how hard it is to find plentiful vegetables at most "family-friendly" restaurants. Want green veggies at a Mexican place? Order guacamole. How about at your local bar/grill, pleasantly loud enough to mask the sound of your fussy child who's eaten out for 3 day in a row? You'll be lucky to get lettuce on your burger.

Boston Market is good and it's fast; it's close and it's not too expensive. Ellie and I scarfed down green beans, corn, and spinach. Paul, apparently immune to a craving for vegetables, had a meat-heavy pot-pie with a side of stuffing - with gravy, natch.

We got home after dinner, tired and a little sticky, beginning to feel that this pattern of eating out and having no electricity at home would be our new life. At 50 hours post-blackout and counting, suddenly, the world got brighter for just a moment. Not more lightening! A positive sign!

Paul started giving Ellie her bath, once again by the light of the hurricane lamp, while I tried to read by the waning light at the bedroom window. Slowly, I became aware of a dull roar from just outside and below my window. Is that. . .? Could it be . . . ? I looked into the bathroom and exclaimed, cleverly, "Hey! It's bright!" The power was back on, the air conditioner whirring away and drying out the carpets. Glory, glory! Even better, Paul cleaned out the frig while I attempted to put Ellie to bed.

If Ameren would give us a $100 voucher for groceries, I'd insist that we came out ahead for the week. It was fun, being without power for a while. Sort of a mini-adventure. And I went to bed at a reasonable hour 2 nights in a row!

In the Darkness

It's been nearly 48 hours since the power went out. It's not been so bad, really. The weather has remained pleasantly overcast and not unbearably hot. This time of year, the sun doesn't set until Ellie's bedtime, so there's light enough to play. My mom once gave us a hurricane lantern to use in just such an eventuality, so I can read for an hour or two after Ellie fights her way down to sleep. We're all drinking lots of water and I'm getting more sleep than usual.

On the other hand, the humidity is incredible. Everything in the house feels damp and nothing ever dries completely. Catalog pages ripple and curl. We don't want to open the refrigerator or freezer - though at this point I really think the food is a lost cause - so we're eating out every meal. Tiny mosquitoes and spiders slip through the screens, and I see the evidence even if I can't find them in the dim light.

At least a dozen times a day, I start for the computer to look something up or book our upcoming vacation, then turn away in frustration. Overall, I am not missing the power very much. I am enjoying this little adventure. At least we still have running water.

On the other hand, I dislike the uncertainty; I wish I knew how long this would last. And I am very frustrated about the food. We are spending a lot of money to eat out for every single meal while a full week of groceries slowly spoils in the house.

Fantasy

During my (continuing) fiction-related hiatus - I'm barely spending any time at the computer and haven't even been responding to email! It's freeing! - I've been reading a lot of fantasy and it's got me thinking about the genre.

When all the Buffy the Vampire Slayer hype started, I sneered and ignored it. First, the name. Buffy?! Vampires?! Second, the movie starring Luke Perry. My feminist sensibilities suggested that I would probably hate a movie with a pretty young female lead called "Buffy" screaming and being chased by vampires. Third, the little bits I saw of the TV program included some really bad acting and ridiculous special effects.

Years later, when I did end up watching the WB and UPN series regularly due to persuasive peer pressure, I was amazed. Yes, there was bad acting. Yes, there were bad special effects. Yes, there were lovely young women getting kicked, punched, and thrown around by large men. But man, Joss Wedon was doing some interesting stuff. There's a lot more room for creativity and flexibility in a genre that's less rigorously defined, with fewer immutable lines, and this show contained some really ground-breaking stuff that was different from anything else on television.

I've long felt the same way about fantasy fiction. Oh, yes, there is some incredibly bad stuff out there marketed as fantasy. Some people (and some publishers!) will buy anything with swords and dragons, it seems. But there are some treasures in the refuse heap. There are some richly developed worlds, written quite well, revealing amazing amounts of research into cultures, religions, military campaigns, and yes, fashions, around the world.

For many of us, reading is escapism. I love to lose myself in a good story, immersing myself in the world the author creates. That's no more real if the fantasy is of Jane Austen's creation or C.S. Lewis's. I'm no more likely to find myself in 19th Century English society than I am to find myself in Narnia. But both journeys are wonderful escapes from my daily life, and both make me yearn for what will never be, in a most wonderful way. Just because it isn't "realistic" doesn't mean it isn't a good story, and well-written.

I don't know what would be a good introduction to fantasy literature for the skeptical. I started very young with fairy tales, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkein, Joan Aiken, and so many many more. When I was a teenager I discovered Orson Scott Card. Some of what he does is just wonderful. He likes to write series novels, though, and his creative ideas always end up faltering out, becoming sermons that bog down the plots as each series progresses. I am not comparing modern fantasy to the classics in the English Literature canon. But I do recommend Margaret Weis (Death Gate Cycle) and Robert Jordan (Wheel of Time) as engrossing series reads.

Certainly, reading really good fantasy is a better summer pastime than reading one of those many pink-covered books about lipstick and fighting over men that litter the prime real estate at chain bookstores this time of year.

I think it's good when adults maintain a sense of wonder. I think it's healthy to suspend disbelief. I love that intelligent grown-ups are dressing in robes and drinking butterbeer. I'm glad that most of the highest grossing movies of all time are fantasy movies.

Next time I'll tackle video games. Won't that be exciting?

Post Hiatus

I'm back! I'm sorry to have been gone for so long, and with no warning. There were many reasons I was away: moving the computer from the kitchen table into a back bedroom, sickness, tiredness, company, travel, family, moving the computer from the kitchen table to a back bedroom . . . but when it comes down to it, there's one real reason I stayed away.

Everything I thought of writing, whether I hoped to be funny or clever or anecdotal or just to say hi, everything I composed in my head sounded negative. Sniping, nasty, mean, negative. And I didn't feel like being that way, so I stayed away. I drowned myself in fiction, and it felt good. I'm still in a heavy reading phase, and I'm still feeling good.

Last weekend was good too. Paul, Ellie, Lizzi-pug, and I were up in Iowa for a family reunion - Paul's side. I had extremely low hopes for the event, so I couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised. And indeed, the weekend was restful, rejuvenating, and fun. There are some really good people in that family.

One of Paul's cousins had twins 3 days after Ellie was born, and it was indescribable to see the three one-year-olds together. Her mother, Paul's aunt, loves to tie-dye. She made color-coordinated, huge shirts for everyone in the family, with each individual family unit getting a matching pattern. The result was stunning. I offer proof:


To top things off, here's a shot of Ellie with her cousins. See what I mean?

In the Name of Science

C'mon female bloggers. Let's prove our existence.

Book Review

Flea at One Good Thing has been reviewing books lately. That started me thinking about what I've been reading.

I have been growing frustrated with the portrayal of caterpillars in modern children's literature. What? You were expecting James Joyce?

"The Ugly Duckling" gets it right. The moral is that while the ugly duckling is, indeed, "ugly" for a duckling, he's not really ugly at all - he's just not a duckling. (I hope I didn't give away the surprise ending for anyone).

Percival the Plain Little Caterpillar and its ilk get it all wrong. Several of these newer books talk about the drab life of caterpillars until they transform into beautiful butterflies. Percival, for example, is depressed because he's "so plain."

Then something wonderful happened! He became a butterfly! "And no one ever said he was plain again."

How could the apples have fallen so far from the tree?

Marriage and Teeth

No, I'm not going to write about how my tooth brushing habits differ from my husband's. OK, maybe I will, now that I'm thinking about it. I brush and floss religiously and have lately started getting cavities. I hate it. Paul brushes less devoutly and flosses never. He never gets cavities, though he has had a root canal and isn't always minty fresh. Not that I am either, these days. As a teenager and younger adult I always carried toothpaste with me. I'd put a dab on my tongue every now and then to make sure that my breath was never offensive. Unfortunately for those around me, I grew out of this obsessive phase.

What I was really going to talk about is the longevity of both marriage and teeth. I used the phrase "permanently partnered" today and that got me thinking: not all of our "permanent" partnerships end up being so permanent. Then again, sometimes we lose "permanent" teeth too. And it seems to me that the root (heh heh) causes are pretty similar: painful trauma, extreme neglect, and untreated disease.

On a related note, I miss the days when I could distract myself with TV or a book while nursing Ellie instead of sitting quietly in a darkened room with an easily distracted toddler.

Therapeutic Drowning

How much therapy is too much therapy?

When Ellie first started therapy, her therapists were always deferential to how much therapy "we" could handle. They didn't want to overwhelm the family.

I didn't understand that. I was so isolated - with a sick newborn, I barely left the house. I loved the therapists' home visits; they were my therapists too. Also, I believed that the therapy was helping Ellie. How can you have too much of that?

Later, I learned that it's hard to go out and do things when your child sees 4 therapists at home each week, and I found myself occasionally resenting Ellie's sessions. I decreased the frequency of her home visits while increasing the overall amount of therapy she's getting (she sees at least one therapist a day at school). A perfect solution.

Right? But -

I made the mistake of talking to another mom of a little girl with Down syndrome. Her daughter gets more than just the Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, Developmental Therapy, and Speech Therapy that Ellie gets. She also gets Music Therapy and Hippotherapy (Therapeutic Horsemanship). And apparently these have been the Best Things in the Entire World for the little girl.

And the doctor says that Aquatic Therapy is great too; we should sign up for that.

Aquatic Therapy and Therapeutic Horsemanship are both at least 30 minutes away from home, without traffic.

Therapeutic Horsemanship and Music Therapy are expensive (and not covered by insurance or First Steps).

But they're so important for helping to build strength, promote balance, improve receptive language, encourage walking - how can you say no to that? Don't I want the best for my child? Don't I want her to become independent and self-sufficient?

I do. And so I'm torn, because, truthfully, it's a bit overwhelming. It's a bit much. It could easily become my full time job plus, my whole identity. It could easily lead to an over-scheduled child who has too little down time at home.

Or so I tell myself as I don't make the calls. Maybe we can do Music and Horses monthly instead of weekly. Maybe we can just go to the pool instead of having Aquatic Therapy. Maybe my kid needs time to be a kid.

The Invisible Woman

There are several different types of sexist guys. Yeah, yeah, there are sexist women too. Lots of them. And that sucks. But the root problem with sexism isn't a lack of sisterhood. After all, it's still the men who are running the show, even if some of us are helping them out.

There's the old letch, not uncommonly found pinching your ass in nursing home hallways.

There's the Old Boys Club, commonly found eating steak or playing golf places you can't visit.

There's the porn-loving fella often found in the bedroom trying to convince his girlfriend of why she should enjoy letting him film "the money shot" while he calls her a nasty slut.

There's Larry The Cable Guy.

There are the chivalrous gentlemen who always buy lunch and open doors for the ladies and are quick to point out that women really are the better sex.

There are the Promise Keepers and other conservative religious folk, talking a great game about nuclear families and men taking responsibility for themselves and their actions, all the while underscoring the biological necessity of men and women having different natures and different roles.

There are the liberal men who don't see why it's wrong to call other men "pussies" as an insult.

And there are the men who don't see women, don't hear us. This is an interesting group. Sometimes they're the guys who don't hear a good idea or a funny joke when you share it, but praise the idea or laugh at the joke when another man says it, as if he'd never heard it before. And some guys take it even further than that.

When I first met my husband's best friend from high school, I was a little nervous. I was serious about my then-boyfriend and I wanted this friend of his, this guy who had been so important to him as a kid, to like me. I took some care with my hair and makeup, thought of witty things to say, questions to ask.

He didn't even notice me. I expected him to smile, shake my hand, ask me how I was enjoying my first trip out to Wyoming, but his eyes slid past me as he looked around the room. He only talked to Paul. Eventually I wandered away. I checked the mirror for any errant pieces of spinach or other flaws that might have caused him to be too embarrassed to look at me, but there was nothing untoward. Every time I've met him it's been pretty much the same deal. And it's not a jealousy thing - "he's just a guy's guy." Like that makes it OK.

Several years ago I played in a men's inline hockey league. Somehow I ended up captain of my team for a while - though I was far from the best player, I was competent with the administration of the team and I wasn't the worst player either. I was energetic, enthusiastic, and dependable. But I got a really bad vibe from one of the guys. He didn't ever really acknowledge me. He talked around me, over me, asked other players for confirmation after I'd said something to him. Most of the guys liked him, they didn't see this because he wasn't ignoring them. It made me feel incredibly small.

Recently I found his blog. Hey, I thought, I like this guy better in his blog than I did in real life. Maybe I was wrong about him, or maybe he changed. Then I read on.

• Strike One: because the "guys" will do a far better job than that chick at HP did, of course
  
• Strike Two: what, no mention of the justice who actually wrote the dissenting argument?

He's the same guy, all right. Another "guy's guy."

Your favorite types?

Whine and Brag

Three of us here at Ellie's house are all laid low with strep throat. Ellie is handling it far better than Paul and I, which is a wonder considering that she's probably been suffering the longest. Today I decided to teach her the word and sign for "pain" so that if this happens again she can tell us that she's hurting. I thought she just had a rotten cold until my throat somehow became filled with razor blades. Only Lizzi the pug remains unaffected.

On a lighter note:

Don't ask me. Ask her.

And, even sick, Ellie is amazing. She was looking at the pictures on the digital camera today and she came to this shot of herself (please excuse the fact that nothing she's wearing matches. We're sick, OK?):

She grinned, touched her head, and said, "My hat!" Amazing.

Stacked Deck

I wanted to let that last post stand on its own for a little while before adding that I understand that I am part of the problem.

On a Down syndrome discussion board that I occasionally read, one mother was recounting her toddler's experience being tested by his future school district to determine his special education needs. He was mildly to moderately delayed in most areas, including gross motor, fine motor, speech, and cognition. But he was slightly ahead of developmental norms socially. No one was surprised by this. Kids with Down syndrome are often very social.

But that's not how we as a society measure success. We think of academic success, athletic success (Special Olympics doesn't "really" count), and professional success (money money money!). I buy into that. When I described all these "successful" people with Down syndrome, I talked about how well they've done in school, what they do professionally (for money!) and their athletic accomplishments. I'm sure that there are thousands of happy adults with Down syndrome who feel "successful" and who are beloved within their own communities, even if they never achieve material success the way we tend to define it in this culture.

Blogoversary and Role Models

Yesterday was my first blogoversary. I have really been enjoying this new hobby of mine, and I want to let you all know that I appreciate you coming by to listen to me ramble! Yeah, But Houdini Didn't Have These Hips has had over 12,500 hits in the past year, amazingly enough, and only a few of you were really looking for "Pimp My Ride." Thanks much.

In honor of the anniversary, I've compiled links to some truly amazing people with Down syndrome. As time and interest allows, please consider taking a peek at these extraordinary folks and what they've accomplished.

Role Models: Oh, my daughter, look what you can do. Down syndrome successes:

1. Karen Gaffney attended regular classes at school (B average). She has an associate's degree and is a certified teacher's aide. She is a professional motivational speaker and travels across the country speaking to students, professionals, and self-advocates. She swam across the English Channel on a relay team. She is an amazing woman.
   
   
2. Pablo Pienda "is the first person with Down Syndrome to obtain an university degree in Spain. His success was accompanied with constant struggle against prejudice. Not quite satisfied with such an achievement, he is currently studying educational psychology."
   This guy is eloquent: First I do not consider that Down Syndrome is a disease. For me it is a personal characteristic. I am fine and healthy. We must not be treated as sick. There are other prejudices and you could write a book about them. There are reactions like pity, the misconception that we are not intelligent, and a long list of social and moral incorrect misinterpretations. Fortunately, we are overcoming some misconceptions. I am just doing my part and demonstrating that I am as competent as anyone.
   
   
3. Aya Iwamoto is a Japanese woman with a bachelor's degree in English Literature. She is also fluent in French and has her librarian's license. Her parents hid her "handicap," even from her, until she was in college; then they began speaking publicly about her successes. Now she is an accomplished public speaker and has traveled all over the world talking about Down syndrome.
   
   
4. Sujeet Desai graduated from high school with a 4.3 GPA and was a member of the national honor society. He went on to study at Berkshire Hills Music Academy and completed a two-year residential post-secondary program in Music and Human Services. Sujeet is a professional musician (6 instruments!) and self-advocate. He lives in an apartment with roommates and is engaged to be married.
   
   
5. Emily is a teenaged artist whose paintings are for sale on eBay.
   
6. There are many, many more success stories, and every year the odds are better, as more kids with Down syndrome are growing up in homes with families who love them and get them the early intervention they need. Google for Jason Kingsley (the actor and writer, not the computer game designer), Mitchell Levitz (author, speaker, advocate), beautiful Mia Peterson (who lives independently and far from family), and of course famous actor Chris Burke.

A recurring theme seems to be that several of these accomplished individuals have found that their biggest hurdle is not their Down syndrome, but rather is others' prejudices. I have learned so much over the past couple of years, and I am still learning. I am so glad that these brave souls are blazing a trail for my daughter.

Well. . .

Maybe not every single minute of it. For instance, my beloved lass has been using the last three mornings while Daddy has been leaving early for jury duty to push at boundaries.

This morning, for example, has been full of joyful exuberance including filling a smelly diaper and not telling me she needed to go until afterwards (and then clapping for herself with pride). Very soon after, on the changing table, she decided that it would be a great time to wiggle away from me and stand right up, wiping herself on the wall, then peeing all over herself and everything else. And if you think the changing table is bad, you should see when I try to change her on the floor. Whew.

And I still have to wrestle both of us into clothes and somehow get Ellie into her DAFOs (Ellie's don't come up so high and are not pink) and TheraTogs (this is a new experiment that I am not loving) yet this morning, then off to school and work. I hope Paul's trial finishes up today!

Now she's trying to figure out all the wiring around the computer by pulling it out and wrapping it around her neck.

Mischief!

I left Ellie to play in her room while I finished lunch this afternoon, since she didn't seem inclined to nurse or go down for her nap just yet. After a few minutes I realized that I was hearing a suspicious amount of silence, so I went to check things out. Ellie wasn't in her room, the guest room, or my room. Wait. Did I remember to close the door to the master bathroom? I don't believe I did. But it's closed now!

Ellie quietly scuttled across the hall to my room, went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind herself. When I found her, she was standing at the bathtub playing with my soap, but she'd clearly already spent some time placing her tub toys in her potty chair.

Of course, she had recently filled the chair with a truly impressive quantity of poo and I'd lazily decided that thorough rinsing was clean enough and I'd get the seat with an antibacterial wipe this evening - after all, it's not like anyone touches the inside of the bowl, right?

That'll learn me. Lots of Dial on the hands and into the sudsy kitchen sink with the tub toys. Then more following Ellie around while my little monkey attempts to climb everything that will stand still long enough, from furniture to short stacks of books. I love this. Every minute of it.

Home Again, Home Again Jiggedy Jog

We got home last Sunday after spending 5 days in Boston. It was a nice trip and we had a good time, but it was exhausting and I'm glad to be home. The flight out was uneventful, though the flight back was a bit more stressful, and buying Ellie her own seat was a very very good decision. In the plane and later in the cab from the airport to the hotel and back she sat like a big girl in her own seat with a lap belt. She loved it. We rented a stroller for getting around Boston, which was another wonderful plan. It was a bit of a pain getting up and down stairs for the "T" but the "handicapped accessible" stations were probably worse with the most amazingly strong urine stench I've ever encountered in the elevators. It was hot hot hot while we were there, and it was a business trip for me so I was "on" for about 7 hours a day, far more than I'm used to.

My mom came along to enjoy the city, spend time with Ellie, keep Paul company while I was working, and watch Ellie in the evenings so that Paul and I could go out together.

Now, that was a treat! I can't remember the last time I saw a movie in the theater. That's not true. I saw Fahrenheit 9-11 last summer, with Ellie in tow, and it was not a good experience. That was the day we learned that our little darling, who was perfect during all 3-1/2 hours of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King short months before, was suddenly too old (and too young) for movie-going.

Paul and I went out on our own twice, once to see Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith and once to see a play in the theater district. We saw Christopher Durang and Debra Monk in Laughing Wild. That was . . . an interesting show. I'm told that it is a laugh-out-loud comedy, but I thought it was about as depressing a show as I've ever seen. The acting was fabulous, though the second act left me frustrated and annoyed. A dream sequence. Oh, great.

The only minor stressors on the trip were the occasional breaks in civility caused by four such different personality types traveling together:

1. Oldest child with high control needs who values alone time very highly, seasoned with exhaustion.
   
2. Youngest child determined to lead the way in an unfamiliar city
   
3. Youngest child with difficulty expressing desires until frustration has built to a snapping point
   
4. Toddler, though perfectly lovable, still a typical toddler

and toss them together in a small hotel suite for nearly a week, sharing a bathroom and sleeping too little. It's a miracle we all survived! I'll let you guess which personality type belongs to each of us.

Overall, the trip was a wonderful break from reality. Ellie was absolutely angelic most of the time, enduring meal after meal out, in addition to long walks in the heat and visits to science center, MIT, USS Consitution, the Boston Aquarium, the Boston Children's Museum, and so on. We ordered The Big Dig at the Cactus Club, and Ellie discovered that little is more fun than dipping a chip into a plate of gooey goodness. She was too short to really see what was in the dish, so each dip was a blind experiment. She loved it.

Still, like the rest of us, she is thrilled to be home. She grinned when I buckled her into her car seat at the airport, and chattered excitedly all the way home (about what, I can only imagine).

It's looking like my September business trip to Hawaii is likely to fall through, and I'm beginning to think that this is a good thing. For one thing, it would be my 3rd such trip in 4 years, and that's counting the year I was at home with Ellie. But mainly, I think that an 8 hour flight with a toddler sounds unbearably stressful (Moreena, I have no idea how you did it) and we can't leave Ellie with either set of grandparents for a week during the school year. That seals it. It seems likely that this "once in a lifetime opportunity!" will present itself again at some point. Possibly after the grandparents have retired.

Down Syndrome Help

An online friend recently asked me about resources for a co-worker who's the parent of a baby newly diagnosed with Down syndrome. I thought it might be helpful for me to copy my response here, in case anyone else ever has need of it:

My heart goes out to your friend. I know what I felt in her position and I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy.

That said, some people get very angry with sympathy. Some people seem to immediately accept their child's Down syndrome and don't want to hear "I am so sorry," from anyone.

When looking for helpful reference books, I'd recommend looking only at recent publications. Older things (1980's and before) are often incorrect, offensive, and as depressing as hell.

Anything published by Woodbine House is probably a great bet, especially this book: Babies with Down Syndrome.

That said, I haven't read much. I find it easiest (still!) to love and accept my daughter as she is without trying to embrace the whole diagnosis at once. Your co-worker may feel differently or want to read up on everything she can get her hands on.

Good Websites:
DownSyn
Uno Mas

Local resources:
Karen Gaffney Foundation
National Down Syndrome Society (search for local support groups or clinics)
In St. Louis and Chicago, the local Down syndrome associations have volunteers who call or meet with new parents. Your area might have that too; it wouldn't hurt to call and ask.

Treatment: The baby should have a good pediatrician who knows what to look for, which charts to measure the baby on, etc. And it's not too early to contact First Steps to start seeing a physical therapist. (Every state will have a different web page for First Steps.) It took me about 8 weeks to make the call, and I knew about the Down syndrome before Ellie was born. In the meantime, I did exercises with her myself and that was wonderfully helpful. I knew what to do because my mom gave me a great book by Valentine Dmitriev called Early Education for Children with Down syndrome (0890798605).

In my opinion, the most important thing you can do is to be as supportive as possible. If she needs to throw herself into work and not think about the baby while she's there in order to cope, that's OK. Otherwise, showing as much interest in the baby - without focusing on the Down syndrome - and wanting to hold him, etc. is great. Some people pull away when this happens because they don't know what to say. Others pretend that the baby doesn't exist, or they're scared of him. All that hurts.

If your co-worker would like to talk, please send me her phone number and I'll give her a call.

Happiness

If you ask parents what we want for our children, many of us would answer, "that they grow up to be healthy and happy," without hesitation.

But when we say that, the words are laden with hidden meaning. When I say that I want my daughter to grow up to be happy, I have certain suppositions about what it means to be happy. Most of us do.

When I think of happiness, it's all tied in somehow with a partner, a family, a secure home, financial stability, education, friends, professional success, and leisure for relaxation. I can't imagine being truly happy without these things.

Every day, parents have to face their children making different choices than we would choose for them. A mother's heart breaks to see her child deciding to drop out of college to pursue other interests, thinking, "She'll never go back! She'll never get her degree!" My own mother looked at my cousin the Accomplished Doctor - nearing 40 and single, experiencing inexplicable health problems, working too hard, still wanting marriage and children - and was glad that I didn't choose that path.

Happiness is not always where we expect to find it. But sometimes when we say that we want happiness for our children, we secretly mean that we want for them that which would make us happy.

It's not pretty, but it's true.

Decency Laws

First of all, Hooray for the Bill of Rights! Rah rah rah for the First Amendment! Moving right along.

Discussion of decency laws and censorship issues is usually framed as a critique of inattentive parents who don't control what their children are doing/watching/listening to.

That's hogwash.

I mean, I'm sure that's part of it. But it's nowhere near the whole story. For example, yesterday I was getting gas. The two young guys in the car next to me had their windows rolled down and doors open wide. They were blasting their music so loudly that I could feel it through the soles of my orthopedic sandals. Over and over and over again I got to hear "Suck my dick, Bitch" until the woman parked behind them - with two toddler seats in her car - asked them to turn down their music. Snickering, they complied. But they didn't have to. Toddlers are great little mimics. I bet her kids - and mine! - learned something new that afternoon.

Seriously, If someone wouldn't stop screaming, "Suck my dick, Bitch!" at me, I'd have some legal recourse. But when it's music? Nope. Not even when it's extremely loud at the gas station. Not even if I could hear it from a neighbor's apartment or yard, unless they were breaking noise code regulations. But you don't have to be illegally loud to be harassing.

Another big thing is what it means for us as a culture that hundreds of thousands (millions?) of us choose to listen to this stuff. I don't deny the appeal of the music, I like it myself. But the lyrics and videos? Chilling. I can tell you how it made me feel to be enjoying my sunny June afternoon and then suddenly to hear "Suck my dick, Bitch!" from right next to me. It wasn't a very good feeling. I admit that I didn't seriously consider asking them to turn off the music. As soon as I heard that, I felt invisible. I felt like they wouldn't respect anything I said anyway. I wasn't a person. I was a bitch. I was there to be ordered to do sexual favors.

How can we ever talk about "equality" in a society where women are raped, beaten, and killed by men every minute of every day while we listen to music celebrating violence against women and objectification of women? How can little girls grow up to be "equal" when this is what they've learned growing up? How can little boys grow up to be men who treat women with respect?

So. That's what I'm thinking about today. Have a nice weekend!

My Ass is Kicked

I notice that I'm not the only one blogging sporadically lately. Maybe it's the summer heat?

Once again, stuck without a good workout DVD, I slacked off on my basement elliptical routine. I decided that I needed more motivation, so I signed up for an weekly hour-long class called "Hot Mamas in Training." Today was the first class. Oh, boy. First, the weather. It was 86 degrees in the shade - plus humidity! - at 9:15 am.

Second, the company. There were about a dozen Hot Mamas there, plus a couple of leaders. There was one other mama with a slightly flabby ass. She was also the only other one in a t-shirt, though hers was cute and fitted and she wore it well, while mine is a size 2XL plain white tent, just the way I like it. All the other Hot Mamas, who well-deserve that title, wore cute little workout tanks. They also had larger loads. Many women had double strollers. One woman had a double stroller plus a newborn in a Bjorn on her chest.

Third was the workout itself. There are two levels of Hot Mamas in Training, and I chose the lower level (Level I). The routine is a "brisk walk" for 5 minutes (I had to jog to keep up) followed by a "break" to do jumping jacks, push ups, resistance work, etc. After two jog/jumping jacks cycles, I thought I was going to die. I was already lagging behind a little. "OK, Ladies, let's do some stretches then get this class started!" the leader said with enthusiasm. I nearly fell over.

At one point, the leader of the Level II class ("much harder!" they assured us) dropped back to check on me. "So, how did you hear about Hot Mamas in Training?" she asked. Pant pant. After 30 minutes of this fun, my feet burning like someone had inserted red-hot coals under my skin (damn planter fasciitis), shortly after successfully completing 25 push-ups with my hands and knees in dog urine and goose poop, I veered off for the parking lot. Done.

I have until next week to decide if I want a refund or to continue subjecting myself to this humiliation. I think I will probably choose continuing the humiliation. I will be a case study for the other women: "Do Not Let Yourselves Go!"

Validation!

A friend and I recently started a little writer's group. I had a great time at our first meeting and am looking forward to continuing it, both for the company and for feedback, but especially for her wonderful know-how about writing professionally and submitting pieces to publishers. (I know, that's a little funny coming from someone who works in publishing.)

On the other hand, I have no idea what she'll get out of it other than the motivation to write before meetings. I'll leave her anonymous in case she prefers it that way, but I want to let her know that I had a great time and want to do it again!

Tonight I went to the writer's group at the local branch of the county library for the second time. Before I went for the first time, I expected it to be a bunch of young readers. You know the type: book lovers who desperately want to be writers but just aren't. Kind of like me. I was all set to feel critical of their work. Wow. First of all, the 8-12 people in the group are amazing writers. Second, they're all published. Very very published. Third, with one exception, they're all over 50. Some are way over 50. Fourth, they're mostly men. There's one older woman, then a younger woman who's in her late 40's, then me.

I read a short story tonight, for the first time. Before I read it aloud, I had no idea how much sex was in there. Gulp. I mean, it's not explicit or gratuitous, let alone titillating, but it is sex and I was reading to a bunch of father-aged men. I had never read any of my writing aloud before.

They liked it. They laughed aloud. They praised the form, the imagery, the style, the symbolism. "This is a very accomplished piece," the leader said. These are people I don't know, whose opinions I value because I admire their writing.

"Does it need . . . ?" I ask.

"Send it off," they said. "See what comments you get back and then decide if you want to add to it. It's ready to go."

I am walking on air. Maybe I can write after all.

The Best

Do you know what I adore the most about Ellie?

It's not the way her smile lights up a room and melts my heart.
It's not the way she pats me on the back when she hugs me.
It's not the way she holds my cheeks with her soft little hands, hides her face in my shoulder when she's feeling shy, makes funny noises with her lips, helps "sort" the laundry, or is achieving her developmental milestones at an incredible pace.

No, while I love Ellie's personality with all of my heart, what I adore most of all is her smell. Of course she smells like shampoo after a bath, like her teacher's perfume after school, like garlic after an Italian meal. But underneath it all she still smells like Ellie. And no matter what she's eaten, a few hours later she will have the sweetest smelling mouth in the world. I love to lean in for a kiss and take a big sniff at her sweet, precious mouth. She smells like nothing and no one else in the world. She smells like Ellie.

Boycott Larry the Cable Guy

Tonight I was watching The Comedy Central Roast of Jeff Foxworthy. Larry the Cable Guy was roasting Foxworthy and making fun of his cancelled sitcom. He said that Jeff is an even worse actor than "that waterhead on Life Goes On, Corky." He went on in that vein for a little while, comparing Foxworthy to a "disabled actor," and not in a good way. Even more disturbing, people were laughing and no one seemed to have a problem with this characterization.

If you're so inclined, please tell Larry what you think about him making fun of people with Down syndrome.

100 pages later

You know what's breaking my heart about this book? Two things:

1. The image the author keeps evoking of the healthy happy toddler before she gets sick. Somehow the experience and expectation of perfection make the ensuing tragedy far worse. I felt like that. We all expect to have a perfect, healthy child. It never occurred to me that anything would or could be wrong. Remembering the first half of my pregnancy, when my most serious concerns were about eating properly and choosing nursery themes, twists a knife in my heart.
   
2. The images of each milestone she reaches. When Kate goes on her first date, Mom finds Dad crying in the kitchen. "I never thought she'd live long enough for me to have this memory," he said. Each milestone is bittersweet not because of a loss of times past but because of a tacit acknowledgement that all is not as it should be, nothing is a given. Adjusted expectations.
   

My Sister's Keeper

Remember what I said about bookclub? I take it back. If you're a mother who knows mourning, if you're a mother who knows hospitals, don't read this book unless you feel like prodding at the pain, bringing up the thoughts that you stamp stamp stamp down so hard you don't even realize they're there. Don't read it without the Kleenexes and the quiet, empty house. The rest of you - you can read it with that strange fascination with which we all imagine the worst case scenarios in our lives, like imagining your own funeral or the death of your loved ones.

I am over 200 pages along, now, and I have decided that I won't put this one down. I will finish the book, though I don't know if that's a good idea or a bad one. I'm not suggesting that this book is high art, but it does touch on the truth and it awakens the hurt.

Eisbaer wonders about loving her impending second child as much as she loves her first. Everyone smiles patronizingly. Of course you love your children. Parents always love their children.

But that's not true at all, is it?

And even when we do love all of our children, we don't love them all equally or in the same ways.

There's me, and I'm unique because I'm the oldest, the first. There's Grace and she's always striven to be unique, with her hair, her clothes, her nose ring. But then there's Jessica, the green kangaroo, who never strove to be anything - she just was and is. And she could always make my mother's face light up like nothing else on earth, there's no denying it.

Back to the book. I started out crying and thinking that I was Zanne but was given Sara's burden. Then I realized that Zanne and Sara are really the same. And that Sara is doing a really really bad job of it, despite the fact that everyone thinks she is so strong and is doing so well.

And I realized that I am Sara, after all.

Dream Job

I want a job where I can work out in the middle of the day. Ride my bicycle in the country mid-morning on a weekday. Be in bed by 10 o'clock every night. Take a month-long vacation in my first year of employment, and spend about 40% of my time away from the office thereafter. (Hey, I'll even take a laptop along and call it a "working vacation!") That daily nap break sounds pretty great too. To top it off, I'll want to make $400,000 per year plus benefits. Throw in all the free shoes I could want, and this is a dream job indeed.

On a related note: In 2000 we all said we believed that Cheney et al were really in charge and GWB was just a figurehead with the right last name. In 2004 we learned that au contraire, George Jr. is a shrewd politician, a brilliant campaigner who feigns ignorance to set the bar low. But really, if that's true, what's up with this?

[T]he White House, which characterized the alert as the most serious since Sept. 11, did not interrupt Bush's bicycle ride at a suburban wildlife research center in nearby Maryland to tell him about it.

Vice President Dick Cheney who was at the White House at the time was quickly evacuated, and Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld was told about the incident around the time it happened, his spokesman said, and was ready to make any "necessary decisions."

The Newsweek Fiasco

I'm late to this party, but I'm only just now calm enough to write about it. This whole shitbucket* was something of a straw that broke this camel's back. I only thought I was burned out and cynical before. Even NPR, who I usually trust to report fairly and accurately on controversial news items, jumped on the blame-blame-blame gangpile.

If you haven't already, please check out editor Mark Whitaker's response to the brouhaha. In his interview on NPR he went into even more detail, laying out the timeline by which it was clear that while Defense officials had ample time to review the story (and did so) no one had any problem with what Newsweek published until after the riots started. So now we should decide not to publish news because it might make people mad at us?

Part of what made me so mad was listening to Whitaker's explanation of exactly what happened, then hearing news reports moments later getting the details all wrong and sounding far more sensationalist.

Examining the evidence:
1) Numerous major news organizations publish detainees' reports of Qur'an desecration at Guantanamo Bay.
2) A trustworthy source, who's given reliable information to Newsweek in the past, gives a veteran reporter information that the Pentagon knew about the abuse.
3) Newsweek goes to two senior Pentagon officials to check the veracity of the story. One doesn't comment (tacit acknowledgement?). Another replies and corrects other parts of the piece but doesn't correct anything specifically about the Pentagon report recognizing the abuse.
3) Newsweek publishes a brief report to that effect - about 8 words in a short piece.
4) Rioting ensues. Newsweek is blamed. Administration officials, other news organizations, and The White House blame Newsweek for publishing unfounded reports of Qur'an desecration at Guantanamo Bay.

No! The piece that was so objectionable was not that abuse happened, it was that The Pentagon knew about it. And that's not what people were rioting about, that's not what The White House et al were requesting retractions of. Where's the fury about all the other incorrect shit that has been published? (And I don't for one moment believe that this report was incorrect.) It's only when someone dares to suggest that the U.S. has done something wrong that a hailstorm of bricks falls upon their heads.

Where's the independent media?

Thomas Jefferson: If forced to choose between government without the press and the press without government, I would surely choose the latter.

*Secret Life of Bees reference

Lost

Shortly after 2:00 this morning, the power went out.

I was working out down in the basement and watching Frida. Our basement is as large as the rest of the house. It's mostly finished, but it's a work in progress at the moment. There are tools and 2x4s, equipment and a balance beam, junk and clutter everywhere down there right now. There are several different rooms, but most don't have doors and have wide openings into the large common space where the pool table, elliptical machine, sofas, and TV vie for space with the construction mess.

In the middle of the night, with no electricity, it's dark down there. Very, very dark. I tripped over mops and plungers as I stumbled off the elliptical machine. I knocked into the pool table with my hip before tripping over the balance beam and catching myself with my wrist on the floor. I walked into a wall, and the lights came back on. All the while, I was calling, "Paul, Paul, Paul," like a mewing kitten. I came upstairs to find him sitting in bed, confused. He heard me but wasn't entirely awake.

I finished my workout and the movie, keeping a flashlight within reach at all times. Good movie. Scary basement.

Interesting sidenote. Did you know that Alfred Molina, who played Diego Rivera in Frida, is Bishop Aringarosa in the upcoming film version of The Da Vinci Code? And although he looks like a freaking giant in Frida, he's only 6'2". 2 inches shorter than my Paul! Salma Hayek (Frida) is only 2 inches shorter than me.

Book Club (June)

My book club just finished discussing The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd, who wrote The Secret Life of Bees. We were all very angry with selfish, selfish Jessie.

Our next book is My Sister's Keeper: A Novel by Jodi Picoult.
"Kate Fitzgerald has a rare form of leukemia. Her sister, Anna, was conceived to provide a donor match for procedures that become increasingly invasive. At 13, Anna hires a lawyer so that she can sue her parents for the right to make her own decisions about how her body is used when a kidney transplant is planned."

Join us, if you'd like. Discussion date: June 14.

One For You and One for Me

. . . and one for Dicky Dandy

Trot, trot to Boston town
To get a stick of candy-
One for you, one for me,
And one for Dicky Dandy.

Anyone here from Boston?

It's Over

My father has realized that the time has come. My grandfather is moving into a nursing home on Friday. Sad tears and joyful hallelujahs.

3 Things Game

Psycho Kitty asked; I must answer:

3 names you go by (that won't give away my
identity):

1. Sarahlynn
   
2. Sarah (only men call me this)
   
3. Mama (oh, aren't I original!)

3 screennames you've had:

1. Sarahlynn
   
2. Book Addict
   
3. Lady Sexy (I was in college. It was a long time ago. I really have no excuse for this.)

3 physical things you like about yourself:

1. My body did great with childbirth
   
2. I'm proportionate
   
3. I like my hair, though it could use a good cut

3 physical things you dislike about yourself: (Only 3?!)

1. Weight
   
2. Weight
   
3. Post-childbirth hemorrhoids (aren't you glad you asked?)

3 parts of your heritage:

1. Scots/English
   
2. Liberal
   
3. Presbyterian (yes! Like Bill Frist!)

3 things you are wearing right now:

1. Rings from Paul
   
2. Glasses
   
3. Toenail polish

3 favorite bands / musical artists:
I'm reaching way back to before my life was all toddler tunes and NPR.

1. Ani Difranco
   
2. R.E.M.
   
3. Too Short (OK, that's from way, way, way back)

3 favorite songs:
You know, I really suck at listing favorites. I don't even have a favorite color.

1. Olivia Newton-John - Twist of Fate (When I was 9)
   
2. R.E.M. - Drive (When I was 18)
   
3. Barenaked Ladies - One Week (When I was 25)

3 things you want in a relationship:

1. Trust
   
2. Laughter
   
3. Slow burn

3 physical things about the preferred sex that
appeals to you:

1. Smell
   
2. Skin
   
3. Confidence

3 of your favorite hobbies:

1. Reading and writing
   
2. Tivo
   
3. Sleeping

3 things you want to do really badly right now:

1. Get in shape
   
2. Travel
   
3. Have no debt

3 things that scare you:

1. Sharks
   
2. Spiders
   
3. People I love getting hurt

3 of your everyday essentials:

1. Sleep
   
2. Diet Coke
   
3. Lotion and chapstick

3 careers you have considered or are
considering:

1. Publishing
   
2. Writing
   
3. Mom

3 places you want to go on vacation:

1. Alaska (alas, alas, Alaska)
   
2. Yosemite National Park
   
3. Great Britain

3 things you want to do before you die:

1. Ensure that everyone I love is comfortably taken care of
   
2. Write fiction and have it published
   
3. Raise happy, healthy children

3 ways you are stereotypically a boy:

1. I'm assertive and direct - skip the chitchat and let's get to work
   
2. I direct strong emotion and pain inward
   
3. I can belch on cue

3 ways you are stereotypically a chick:

1. I like to cheep
   
2. My mother is a hen
   
3. Someday, someone will eat me for dinner

3 celeb crushes:

1. Kate Jackson from Scarecrow and Mrs. King
   
2. Courteney Cox from Family Ties
   
3. Orlando Bloom from The Lord of the Rings

3 people to play next:

I'm cheating. These are people who don't blog but should.

1. My Mom
   
2. Lisa
   
3. My sisters

But Wait, There's More

Also, Ellie's latest discovery is her sense of self. She's been very into pointing at herself, then pointing at others, and grinning like the Cheshire Cat when we label ourselves appropriately. "Ellie." "Mommy." Etc.

At school, during circle time, the kids take turns getting to stand up with the teacher and held "lead" the activities and songs. "Whose turn is it next? Is it Ellie's turn?" asks the teacher.

Ellie grins and puts her hand to her chest - my turn.

"That's a two-year-old concept!" says Mary the speech therapist.

Miracle Child

I never thought this was possible. Most days I don't really believe it. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

1) This morning, at my Bible study end of the year party, the babysitter left early and Ellie and 2-1/2 year old Trevor were left to fend for themselves while their mothers addressed postcards to every member of the church. They played together. Not parallel play - they played together. They rolled a ball back and forth. They fed each other cookies. They climbed over each other.

2) This evening during speech therapy, Ellie had a conversation with her speech therapist. "Mama!" Ellie said when I left to go to my monthly bookclub meeting. She smiled and blew me a kiss. Ellie's speech therapist - let's call her Mary - was trying to get Ellie to say, "Pop bubble."

"Eat," Ellie signed. Paul gave her a cracker. She ate it.

"Bubble pop!" said Mary.

"Eat," signed Ellie after vigorously shaking her head "no." Perhaps I should note that speech therapy falls right during dinner time and Ellie wasn't interested in her afternoon snack this afternoon so it's unsurprising that she might be hungry.

"Are we going to have to stop for some dinner?" Mary asked.

Ellie looked up at her very seriously and signed, "More."

"More what?" asked Mary.

"More Eat," signed Ellie.

3) Paul called me with some news a little later, after he and Ellie had eaten dinner. Ellie just got a new potty and we'd never used it before. She pooped on the potty tonight after dinner. Later, right before her bath, Paul put Ellie on the potty again. She peed. First two tries, two successes on the potty.

Where's that other shoe?

Ssssssnakes

Sunday afternoon, Paul went outside to mow the prairie (our lawn). At first I refused to participate in the mowing of our lawn because Paul really wanted this half acre lot while I wanted a smaller one closer in. And because Paul refused to buy the riding mower from the previous owner (for a mere $400!) instead insisting that mowing the lawn himself would be good exercise. Now, however, I have better reasons for staying inside.

When Paul opened the door to the shed behind the house to get the mower out, a snake fell on his head. He related this to me later and I tried to get him to admit that he jumped around and freaked out a little bit, or at least startled becomingly. "No," he said, "it doesn't really bother me. I'm sure it surprised me the first couple of times it happened to me this year but I'm used to it now. It's just a garden snake."

(!!!) It's OK, I'm told. They don't really live in the shed, they just hang out there. They live under the shed, which happens to also be right under our bedroom window. I am not a nature gal. I would like for my house - and yard! - to be insect, arachnid, rodent, and reptile-free (inquire within for specific exemptions for pets).

Also, there are incredibly large and durable carpenter ants swarming around outside (and occasionally sneaking in through the chinks), giant bumblebees dive-bombing the windows, and I think there are mice in the bedroom wall again. Make yourselves useful, snakes!

Anyway, the house next door is for sale, if you're a herpetologist.

Congratulations Weekend

This weekend we went to Louisville for my sister's graduation. I'd never been to Louisville (for the curious: it's pronounced Lou'-uh-vul). It's a lovely city and not too dissimilar from St. Louis. It's an old, Catholic river town. The city itself is over 500,000 and the metro area is over a million people. Still, despite the huge river bridges, dramatic downtown skyline, and lovely neighborhoods, it feels small and manageable. Probably this is because we were there a week after the Derby.

Now that my youngest sister has 2 Masters degrees, I'm officially the least educated member of my family (with my B.A.). This is humorous because I was the "brainy" one and the one who went to the highest ranked university. It's a surprise to me that I'm not jealous of them; I'm proud of my hyper-achieving kin. I might go back to school someday. I'm not a train-for-a-career type, so I think I'll probably study more liberal arts - someday. Right now, I'm happy. I am jealous of the robes and hoods though. I have a goal of earning my own one day and starting a tradition of an annual family academic dinner where robes and stoles are required.

Anyway, it was a wonderful family weekend and a great graduation, despite being in a rather generic convention center. Ellie loved the ceremony. For the first half, she clapped enthusiastically with the crowd for every award recipient and graduate. Eventually she got tired. Her head would slump against her daddy's chest until the next award was presented, then she'd pop up and clap before falling asleep again. Then she napped heartily though the boring bits. At the end she woke for more clapping and some quiet time playing on the floor. Perfect child.

The speaker was excellent, not least because his address was under 10 minutes long. He opened with a joke:

Q: What's the difference between God and a Social Worker?
A: God doesn't try to be a Social Worker.

then he talked about how far from the truth he finds that characterization of social workers to be, seguing into a discussion of the hubris of claiming to know the mind of God and decrying religious fundamentalism. This was especially significant because Louisville was the site of the recent Justice Sunday event. I don't think anyone in the room missed the connection.

So. We're home and it was a lovely weekend. I hope that yours was too!

Advice

Dear parents of typically developing children,

1. Please don't feel afraid to talk to us about our children. Just like you, we love our children. Just like you, we love to talk about our children.
   
   
2. But please don't just ask about our children's problems. Think about what you like to talk about with your kids. We're probably not that different.
   
   
3. When you're asking us how our children are doing, please omit the "yet" (e.g. "Is she walking yet?").
   
   
4. Please don't feel sorry for us, and please don't deify us. We're just mothers, just like you. Our kids have some special challenges, but we're dealing with them as best we can, just like you would in our shoes. But our kids' special needs aren't the most important thing about them. First and foremost, they're our beautiful, much-loved children.

Sincerely,
One mother of a child with special needs

I had a wonderful talk with a good friend of mine the other day. When Ellie was born, she never asked to hold her. At first I appreciated this. Ellie had a heart defect and we were very worried about her getting sick so I didn't like to let others hold her. After Ellie's heart defect was repaired, I thought that maybe Ellie's Down syndrome made my friend uncomfortable.

Later I learned that she was undergoing painful fertility treatments and dealing with infertility issues. Being around babies made her uncomfortable because it was a constant reminder of her struggle. Her desire not to hold Ellie was nothing about Ellie at all. My friend always wanted to have lots of kids. Others got pregnant so easily, yet still she waited, began the process of pursuing an adoption, and waited some more.

I mentioned something about Ellie's Down syndrome and she was surprised. She doesn't see Down syndrome when she looks at Ellie. She sees a little girl. "9 times out of 10," she said, "I don't even think about that. I just see Ellie."

Oh, that's so nice to hear.

After Hours Mother's Day Humor

We were playing Settlers with some friends very early in the morning on Mother's Day (ah, the joys of staying up irresponsibly late, tempered only by the punishment of an adorable little alarm clock that is cribbed in another room and is not equipped with a snooze feature). As the second bottle of wine slowly disappeared, Paul made an inappropriate comment about an available arboreal resource. One of our friends laughed, "I think the Wooster-Dukes* are going to be having some sex tonight!"

Paul, ever at his funniest upon the rare occasions when he's drinking or at church, rejoined with hearty laughter, "No way! It's Mother's Day, not Father's Day!"

So I quipped back, "Christmas, his birthday, Father's Day, what more could man want?"

Hmm. Maybe it was much more hilarious if you were there. And drinking the wine.


*In this case, names changed to protect the guilty.

Parenting Cheatsheet

OK, Sarahlynn, check back here from time to time to remind yourself that everything is a cycle. You're not really experiencing everything for the first time everytime. No, really.

1. Fussing, clingy, not eating Ellie: check for TEETHING!
   
2. Won't sleep at night, won't nap Ellie: Developmental explosion! Learning new things! Look for exciting progress!

In related news, Ellie is getting all 4 of her eye teeth at once. She is such a trooper! She spent the painful moments this afternoon between one dose of Motrin wearing off and the next dose taking effect by morosely pointing at and identifying body parts. This girl knows so much! And she couldn't be any cuter. It's impossible to imagine.

Humorous Memories of Pregnancy

I'm starting to get excited about having another child. I want to give myself time to be in better shape first and make sure that I'm really ready and not just experiencing head trauma, so I'm scratching the itch with this new, occasionally recurrent blog series. Now, on to the first installment:

One Sunday, late in my pregnancy, Paul and I went to church. We hadn't been going a lot. Early on, I was so exhausted and loved to sleep waaaay in on Sundays. Later, I was very depressed about Ellie's diagnoses and for some reason just being in church made me want to burst into tears so I continued to sleep in most weeks.

Anyway, we were at church. Naturally, we arrived a little late and tried to slip in from the side. I aimed for an available spot that was in a pew whose entrance was partially obscured by a large stone pillar. I got stuck between the pew and the pillar because my belly was rather larger than I had allowed for. Paul thought this was hilarious.

We finally made it to our seats in time for the first hymn. It was "Come, Labor On." Paul pushed me back down onto the pew. "You sit this one out!" he said. We weren't ready for the baby just yet.

You know, I think he's funniest at church. I guess we should go more often!

Preguntas para Portia

. . . from The Winding Sheet. (Jessica, check her out. I've "known" Portia online for a long, long time. I can't believe it never occured to me to point you two at each other before.)

1) Did you ever think about not having a baby? (And, on a related note, have you read my friend Jessica at Daughter of Opinion?)

2) Do you still game?

3) Are we placing too much emphasis on kids' self esteem? (I couldn't pass up a Christina Hoff Sommers reference.)

4) Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall?

5) If you came into an income of $100,000/year aside from your job(s), what would change in your life?

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there! A special nod to my own mother who, I've recently learned, pops by here from time to time.

I want to take a moment to thank Paul for an amazing weekend. Two years ago I was pregnant on Mother's Day and we didn't do anything to celebrate. Last year we had a little celebration a week after Mother's Day because Paul's mom was here on Mother's Day and it was sort of her day. This year, Paul set a very high standard to match for next year. And at some point I became a mother. You know, the kind who values things that don't cost any money.

Celebrations started on Friday evening. I'd started dinner (a roast) early in the afternoon. Paul came home from work with an iced chai for me. He took Ellie and Lizzi (the pug) for a long walk, leaving me with my book and my iced chai for half an hour. Then he fed Ellie the roast and ordered a pizza for us.

Saturday we went down to Forest Park for a picnic with my coworkers and their kids. Ellie started running a fever mid-afternoon so we canceled our plans to go to a friend's 30th birthday party and instead had a wonderful, wonderful evening at home eating the roast (now cooked for 2 days and incredibly tender) and playing games with Jessica and her husband. (Thank you for the balloon! It's a big hit.)

Ellie woke up a couple of times during the night, and Paul took care of her both times.

Ellie was much better on Sunday. She and Paul went to Krispy Kreme to bring me doughnuts and a fluffy coffee drink for breakfast. Paul also picked a beautiful bouquet of flowers from our "garden" and put them in a vase on the kitchen table. He and Ellie gave me cards and DVDs. Ellie gave me Lewis Black and Paul gave me A Wrinkle in Time. We went to church and to a reception for our minister, who's moving away this month.

Then we met MyPetRock, Lisa, and Oliver for a picnic at Faust Park. They supplied the food, champagne, and strawberries. It was lovely. After lunch, Paul, Adam, and the babies took off. Lisa and I sat in the park and chatted all afternoon.

When we got thirsty we headed over to the Rocks' house and picked up the rest of the crew. We all went out for dinner, stopped for Bubble Tea, then headed home before anyone dropped from exhaustion.

What a wonderful, wonderful weekend. Now I need a day to recuperate!

Charmed, I'm sure

This one's for Charmed fans.

Today in church an adorable little baby named Piper was baptized. She wore a long, white baptismal gown and looked out at the congregation with bright, curious eyes. After the sacrament, Paul leaned over to me and said, "Now do we bind her powers?"

Hah hah hah hah hah! Witch jokes are funnier in church.

On Your Vocabulary

Hi. When I'm in the room, please try to use people first vocabulary, for example "child with Down syndrome" instead of "Down's baby."

Also, please try very very hard to avoid telling me about "these kids" and what they're like. For example, do not tell me how much you love "these kids" because they're so sweet and cuddly and wait for me to respond like you just said something nice. You didn't. Just for fun, toss the name of another marginalized group in there, like a racial minority for example, and read the sentence again. Offensive, right?

Get this. My child is unique. Being a girl doesn't mean that she'll love to cook. Being white doesn't mean anything about her athletic abilities. And having Down syndrome doesn't mean that she'll be just exactly like every other child with Down syndrome. We like to think that the non-duplicated vast majority of her genes (all of which come from her father and me, by the way) have something to do with who she is too, and that's not to mention the parts of her personality that will develop because of the experience she has and the way she's being raised.

Now go tell all of your friends. Thank you.

Correlation, Causation, or Coincidence

• April 2004: We travel to visit my parents. Ellie gets her first cold (it lasts over a month)
  
• July 2004: We travel to two family reunions. Ellie gets her second cold (it lasts 2 months)
  
• January 2005: Ellie starts school. She's healthy.
  
• February 2005: We go to New Orleans. Ellie gets a bad cold.
  
• March 2005: We go to Dodge City. Ellie gets a GI bug that lands her in the hospital for rehydration
  
• April 2005: We travel to visit Paul's parents. Ellie gets a rash/fever thing that's probably strep throat.

Sure there have been other trips that don't end in illness. But every one of Ellie's illnesses has been proceeded by travel. Often she gets sick while we're still far from home. Hmmm.

Public Service Announcement

Low carb cookies (made for a friend who's on the South Beach Diet but didn't eat them) have much the same effect as sugar free candy. And when they say "excess consumption" they might mean, like 2 cookies. Or maybe 3. Gotta run.

Tired

Over the last 2 nights I've spent several hours on the phone. I am not a phone person, so being on the phone is a little like work for me. And these were not chatty calls to friends or family; I was talking with two different moms who are preparing for their infants' open heart surgeries. I felt like I needed to be careful of each word I said, because I remember how certain things people said to me when my spiritual wounds were fresh really stuck with me.

I tried to share hope without assuring them that everything will be OK. I hope that everything will be OK, but how can I know? I tried to listen sympathetically and not jump in with my own stories all the time. At the same time, I tried to share Ellie's story to help them know what to expect - I know that I really wanted to hear others' experiences when I was in that dark and scary place. But most of all I wanted to hear that everything was going to be OK. Now, all I can say is that everything is OK for me, for my family. I can't share the (incredibly awesome) survival statistics for this surgery because statistics take on new meaning to mothers of babies with Down syndrome.

As volunteer work goes, this is so easy and I am so glad to do it. It doesn't seem like a burden at all. But it's still draining. Good night.

Interview with a – well - with You

Here are your questions:

Mypetrock:

1. You wanted to and you didn't. Do you now wish you had?
   
2. What do you want for dinner next Wednesday?
   
3. Which fictional character would you be, if you could be any fictional character?
   
4. What's your least favorite part of being a parent?
   
5. When we were in college, what inspired your interest in mentoring young people with developmental disabilities?

Salamasond:

1. If you could wave a wand and get rid of Ellie's Trisomy 21, would you do it?
   
2. What is your favorite thing about yourself?
   
3. What do you miss most about where you grew up?
   
4. What's the monster under your bed?
   
5. What's the best book you've ever read?

Princess of Everything (and then some):
First of all, welcome! It's nice to meet you.

1. What are some of your favorite verses to "Wheels on the Bus?"
   
2. You have a tail?
   
3. What is the best part about your job?
   
4. What's the worst part about living in Texas?
   
5. Where have all the cowboys gone?

Zoe (Delany's questions made this harder!):

1. Why reptiles?
   
2. Do you get tired of Dorothy jokes?
   
3. As an android, do you have trouble expressing emotions?
   
4. You dropped it where?
   
5. In what ways might a fish need a bicycle?

------
The Official Interview Game Rules

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
   
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
   
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
   
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
   
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.