Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 61

7 Quick Takes

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Twice this week I was asked if we bought a new van. “No,” I said. “We just got the doors fixed! And they washed it!”

___2___

Overheard in the back seat of the carpool:

Neighbor: “My sister only wanted to go to chess club because her BFF was going.”

Nicholas: “What’s ‘BFF’?”

Me: “Best friend forever.”

Alex: “What if it was ‘bad friend forever’?”

Neighbor: “What if it was really bad best friend forever?”

Alex: “That would be ‘roobuff’.”

 ___3___

The weather forecast for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of this week:

Why yes, we did in fact have one rip-roaring thunderstorm, making that transition. We were outside playing with the neighbors after dinner, barefoot and in short sleeves, when the wind went from zero to twenty-five. Five minutes later big, fat, extremely cold raindrops began falling, and everyone began screaming and running to get the kite string wound and the bicycles under cover.

I heard someone say on the radio this week that Lent is the battle between summer and winter for dominance.

___4___

Michael had his second speech therapy appointment this week. The therapist sounded flabbergasted. “He really can’t say ‘ee,’” she told me. “We spent the hour in front of the mirror together. He’s trying so hard, but he really can’t make those vowel sounds. He can say ‘b’ with the ‘ah’ sound, but he can’t say any other consonant-vowel combination.”

Yeah, I know that. That’s why we’re there.

___5___

And he has a death wish, apparently.

I did ask her if we were being a little unnecessarily concerned. After all, in the good weather this week I tallied up a pretty impressive list of physical skills for a 27-month-old:

He can work a four-piece jigsaw puzzle (with some help, but not a lot)
He can almost keep up with his big brothers running.
He can tight-rope walk (one foot in front of the other) around the playground boundaries–not perfectly, but a skill nonetheless
He can ride safely in a big-kid swing
He can climb arched playground ladders without help
And a story to wrap it up: when it was time to leave the park Tuesday, Michael was coming up the stairs for another round on the slide. “Michael, turn around,” I said. Without breaking stride, he turned around and began walking BACKWARD UP THE STAIRS.

Maybe, I thought, he’s just continuing to work on physical skills instead of speech? But the therapist said no, he’s definitely quite delayed and he needs the help.

___6___

Last week I spent the week participating in an online workshop sponsored by the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and presented by Donald Maass. If you are not a writer that name is probably not familiar, but if you are a writer with any fiction aspirations, you would. It was amazing. He talked about crafting emotional power in manuscripts, and why so many moments fall flat.

All the way through school I raged and railed my way through English classes. “I never learn anything in English!” I said. But when I look at the quality of my writing from those years I know I was wrong. A well-planned lesson takes you incrementally and puts names and guidelines on things you already know, but not at a conscious level. Things get pulled from the felt-but-not-articulated level out to the conscious level and then assimilated back into the subconscious. That’s how this class felt for me: In every lesson and exercise I recognized truths I had noticed before in my writing, but had never really understood why. It was an energizing, deeply challenging and inspiring week.

___7___

I learned long ago, for instance, that some really big emotional scenes work better in someone else’s POV (point of view, for the non-writers). Last week I realized I had intuited something Donald Maass was telling us: if a character cries, it’s almost guaranteed the reader won’t. We’re oversaturated with dramatic, emotional moments in our entertainment. It’s better to pull back and  let the situation evoke a reaction in the reader. To sum it up in my own words: allowing your character to wallow in the obvious emotions just comes out annoying. Someone asked how you decide when it’s time to abandon a work and let it fly, accept that it’s “done.” (In quotes because a story is never “done” until it’s in print.) He said, “not as soon as you think it is.” I showed that quote to Christian to let him know I will, indeed, be working even more on the novel I thought was finished two versions ago. :/

So this week I’ve been going through my Novel-That-Won’t-Die and making notes on the Scrivener note cards about turning points and techniques to use to hone the emotional tone of each scene. Part of that involves some bonus homework Mr. Maass gave me, rethinking a secondary character’s emotional arc. It’s caused a significant change in the manuscript but it’s going to be so much better. I’m so pumped! And so, er, lacking in time!

___Bonus:___

Julianna and I on a mommy-daughter date to Disney On Ice this weekend

This afternoon I meet with Julianna’s sped teacher and principal and an administrator from the school district to decide whether Julianna will repeat first grade next year. Prayers/thoughts appreciated.

Carrying The Cross

Reflections on the Stations of the Cross

The Second Station:

Jesus carries the cross

I spend a fair amount of time puzzling over the lack of faith in the modern world. Although there are a lot reasons, the one I keep coming back to is this: life in the western world is pretty easy. We can have whatever we want to eat, whenever we want it. Entertainment and distraction is available at the touch of a button 24-7. There is plenty of shelter, plenty of space, and the law of the land protects us from the kind of terror that results from unbridled power.

So much is taken for granted, we no longer recognize the bounty and the institutional safety that has been given us by those who came before us–or by the sheer dumb luck of living here and now. It’s easy to lose touch with how fragile and precious life really is. Without obvious, visceral reminders to the contrary, there’s a place deep inside that says “I don’t need anybody else, least of all some higher power telling me what to do. I’ve got this.” Or, as Julianna would say, “I do ee (it)!”

So faith founders because faith is based on a recognition that we are small and weak and in need of something we can’t even quite put a finger on.

It is life’s crosses–mental or physical suffering, illness, untimely deaths; the moments when we recognize our smallness, our pettiness, the habitual sins we can’t shake and the faults in our souls–that send us running back to God.

Christian and I give witness talks on natural family planning. As part of that, we tell about how irregular cycles caused extended periods of abstinence early in our marriage, and how we spent all kinds of time growling at God over it. We talk about infertility, the outraged howls we sent Heaven-ward, and the long, painful struggle to say–and mean–the words “Thy will be done.” And then we come to Julianna. Every time, Christian chokes up as he pulls it all together: the fact that all the crosses we have born in our reproductive life led to this moment, this ultimate “thy will be done.”

I do not think we could have accepted Julianna’s presence in our lives as easily as we did if it hadn’t been for those other crosses.

My crosses make me a better person.

Realizing this has changed a lot of things for me. I’m no more enamored of suffering or of confronting my own demons than anyone else. At the same time, I recognize that in the absence of a cross to bear, I become complacent, self-satisfied, obnoxious and generally insufferable. So I am grateful for the everyday crosses, and yes, even for those protracted periods of soul stretching. In the rawness of my soul I go looking for God, and God is always there: shrouded, perhaps, lacking the clarity of a billboard with my name on it, but present nonetheless. And always leading me through the darkness, one hesitant step at a time.

Condemned

Reflections on the Stations of the Cross
The First Station: Jesus is condemned to Death

By Tango7174 (Tango7174) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

My first year of grad school I lived in a residential complex for upperclass and graduate students. Essentially they were apartments in a residence hall. There were five of us in a three-bedroom apartment. We met at the start of the year to set up expectations and determine how to split up chores.

I wasn’t really around. Where I really “lived” was at the school of music. I was gone every morning by 7 or 7:30 a.m., before anyone was up, and I didn’t come back until dinnertime, and sometimes later. I went to bed earlier than they did. Within a week they asked if we could rearrange room assignments, because I wasn’t around and two of them wanted to room together.

I should have realized then that trouble was brewing, but I didn’t. I’d had bad roommate experiences before, and some of it I could only blame on myself, but I’d learned from the experience. I thought if I followed the rules and minded my own business, we’d coexist just fine.

I was wrong. As things began to go south–bewilderingly so–a new friend told me she’d been in a similar experience once, where her roommates had turned on her because she was the weirdo who was never around, who was always at the school of music practicing. I couldn’t imagine anybody would be that nasty, but the farther into the semester we got, the less firmly I held that belief. First they refused to share pots and pans. Then–hello, petty– one girl accused me of using her cup. (For the record, it was not her cup, it was mine.) Eventually someone accused me of lying about having done my weekly cleaning assignment. They scheduled a meeting with the resident advisor that I didn’t realize was planned as a four-person attack on me until five minutes into the meeting–far too late to prepare any defense.

That was, without question, the worst semester of my life: lonely, introverted, far from home, without a car, without even a place of safety to call home. I don’t dwell much on that time, but whenever I hear the word “condemned,” that’s what comes to mind.

When Jesus went before the Sanhedrin and eventually to Pilate and Herod and back, he was truly innocent–far more than I was. My condemnation came because I was different and I didn’t understand the unwritten rules. Jesus knew the rules–the written ones and the unwritten. He also knew what was wrong with them, and he wasn’t afraid to point it out.

So this station for me is a point of solidarity. Much of Jesus’ passion defies true comprehension, but this–being condemned when you really didn’t do anything wrong–this I understand.  And understanding brings me a step closer.

Stealth Stripper and Other Quick Takes

1: Stealth Stripper

Who, Me?

Wednesday morning I took the kids to the school Mass. Since we’d brought Alex to school, we were pretty early, so I got the three younger kids settled and then went to make a phone call to the Chrysler dealership, where I was supposed to drop the van off for some work. When I came back, Julianna and Nicholas had decided to occupy the far end of the pew from Nicholas. I got everybody settled back in as other worshipers began to come in. As I glanced up to smile a hello to the man coming in the opposite end, I saw something really embarrassing on the far end of the pew. Namely a pair of Michael’s underwear. What the…? How does that even happen?

2: Masses You Don’t Get Anything Out Of

I’m not even sure there was much point in going to Mass that day. I got permission for Alex to sit with us instead of with his class, which I regretted before the reading from Joel was half over. I swear the kids were possessed. Alex did his sour-faced attitude because we were sitting in the back in the parent section and he couldn’t see. Nicholas and Julianna were fighting over who got the children’s missal–and it was not a quiet fight. Michael wanted to use me as a jungle gym and steal the purse and sunglasses of the woman sitting next to us. Of the hour I spent at Mass, well over half of it was spent restraining, separating, or disciplining one child or another, and cringing because we were being so darned distracting to everyone around us. To make matters worse, at Communion everyone coming past us gave me encouraging, sympathetic smiles. As in: people with 3 kids, including one in a car seat.

3: Ow!

Then there was Nicholas elbowing me in the chest. Is it just me or does it hurt a lot more than it did before I breastfed? Or maybe it’s just that, ahem, nobody ever elbowed me in the chest until I had kids!

4: You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to

Julianna’s been asking lately to go to Tripoli. Actually, I realized pretty quickly that she was trying to ask if she could go to Triple E (Alex’s gifted program). But yesterday it occurred to me she might actually be asking to go on the trampoline. You never think about the subtle delineations between words, do you? You try saying Tripoli vs. Triple E. What’s the difference? Half an emphasis. No wonder she struggles to make herself understood.

5: Flash Forward

When Alex came out of his Cub Scout meeting yesterday, he had the hood of his hoodie up around his face, and I was struck by how handsome and grownup he looked. Last night as I was getting the kids ready for bed, he came in to play with Michael. Looking at him from the side was like a flash of the future. I could see the adult Alex. It was beautiful to behold. Oh, how I love that boy.

6: The Glory Of A Working Vehicle

You caught that I was taking the van in for repairs? We have power locks again! And power doors! Oh, glory! I used to have withering scorn for all this key-fob-door-opening nonsense. It’s not needed. Someone told me when I had kids I’d feel different. I said, “I’m sure it’s handy, but it’s not a necessity.” I hold to that now: it’s absolutely not a necessity. We lost the passenger side power door, then the driver’s side power door, then the power locks. For at least 6-8 months we’ve been making do without it. Frankly I just left the van unlocked most of the time, because it was easier and who’s going to steal a 10-year-old well-used van, anyway? If they want to steal the naked Barbie doll or the paper sculptures or the applesauce cups I keep for the homeless, more power to them. But. It does make pickup line at school complicated, because the teachers expect vans to have power doors, and the doors are too heavy for the kids to close themselves. So I’m thankful to have things working again! And they washed and vacuumed it! It’s so pretty!

7: Something Different For Lent

I’m going to detour a bit for Lent. I’m going to spend Mondays and Wednesdays for sure, and sometimes Fridays, reflecting on the Stations of the Cross. This is part of my attempt to find a better spiritual balance for the season, and I’ll just invite you all along for the ride. I may do 7QT posts too…or I may not. We’ll see.

 

Signposts To Heaven (or: my introduction to spiritual direction)

Last week, a couple of commenters asked me to talk about spiritual direction–why I’d chosen to pursue it, asking me to reflect on the experience.

I meant to comply on Monday, but I was feeling overwhelmed and besides, I thought Ash Wednesday might be a better time to do so. So here I am.

My journey toward spiritual direction began with a sense of dissatisfaction with the sacrament of reconciliation. I had this vision that involved something deeper than a simple list of sins, presented without comment and absolved the same way. I asked a couple of priests about finding such a thing and they gently suggested that wasn’t really the point of Confession. About the same time someone on the blog–I don’t even remember who, or when, but I know it was a commenter–said, “It sounds like what you’re looking for is spiritual direction in the context of Confession.” Light bulb moment!

But I’ve worked in parishes and I know how busy the priests are. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. So I kept my ears open, explored a couple avenues, but nothing quite felt right.

Then we got a Christmas letter from a woman I knew from our previous parish choir, who shared that she was now a spiritual director. And I thought, This is it. I emailed her asking if she would be open to doing it via Skype. It took us two months to work out the logistics, but we met for the first time ten days ago.

Photo by stumayhew, via Flickr

The words “spiritual direction” seem to imply that someone else has a grand plan and can, well, direct you. That they’re going to be able to hold up a sign that says “This Way To Heaven!” In that sense I think the experience has been misnamed. Her job is to listen and to ask good questions…and let me talk. And as I talk through the answers to her questions, things begin to clarify.

I live an enormously diversified life, which makes it rich, but often confusing. How do I discern whether I’m focusing too much on myself, mistaking pride for a calling from God–or whether I’m being scrupulous, feeding into my anxiety by assuming anything I want must, by definition, be contrary to God’s will for me?

This is why I need spiritual direction: because those distinctions are not clear to me on my own.

I gained two moments of profound clarity in my first spiritual direction meeting.

1. I was talking about the difficulty of finding and making time for silence, where I find God, and my spiritual director said, “So you’re an introvert.”

“Huh?” I said, thinking, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?

“That’s what I heard you say. You draw your energy from being alone and silent. The energy to deal with your life.”

You know that had never occurred to me? No wonder I always lose my cool! Some people draw energy from others’ presence. I’m the opposite: other people’s energy drains my emotional reserves. All this time I knew I craved silence and solitude, but I didn’t know why. I thought it was the conduit to my creativity–and it is–but it’s more elemental than that. The silence is where I recharge my emotional batteries so I can do what has to be done in a world that is anything but silent and serene. And now it’s crystal-clear that I need to create space for that in my life. It’s not a luxury.

2. I talked at some length about the scrupulosity issue, the fear that I’m not supposed to be writing, that GOD’S WILL FOR MY LIFE (finger wagging as an illustration) is for me to be a mom and nothing else. My spiritual director said, “Do you think that’s what God’s calling you to?”

Not a question I wanted to answer. I fumbled a bit, and she rephrased: “Have you ever had a moment where you were sure you were hearing the voice of God?”

After a bit of thought I could say yes, I did. It’s never, ever about the big things, it’s always about small things that are immediate and in the here and now.

“And what does that feel like? Does it feel like the wagging finger?”

“No!” This one I could answer with certainty. “No, it feels quiet, and peaceful.”

Those words hung in the air for a couple of seconds before I realized their importance. I have identified what the voice of God sounds like to me, and more importantly, what it doesn’t sound like.

Insights. Signposts. Moments of clarity. That’s what I hoped for from spiritual direction, and although I’ve only had one meeting I am filled with gratitude for what I gained. Like pretty much everyone who stumbles their way into spiritual direction, I highly recommend it.

The pros of repeating first grade

Julianna and I on a mommy-daughter date to Disney On Ice this weekend

At the end of last school year, Christian suggested to me that perhaps we should have Julianna repeat kindergarten. I told him no way; why would we do that? She’s basically with all her peers. He shrugged and said, “Okay,” and that was the end of that.

By the time I attended the Down Syndrome Education International conference a few weeks ago, the picture looked pretty different. The first time Julianna came home with a page of homework crossed out, I told Christian, “That’s it, they’ve started modifying her homework.” He disagreed. He thought it was just a mistake in the copies and it was probably crossed out on everyone’s.

When it happened again the next week I was certain I was right. The weekly reports that go out to all the parents talked about math sentences, and the homework that involved addition was excruciating for us. A week or two more and the Xd out pages disappeared. The weekly reports started including counting by fives–something Julianna didn’t have in her homework at all. I had a moment of mourning as I recognized the beginning of the split between my daughter’s capabilities and that of her peers. Then the worry started.

Because really, if she can’t even keep up in the first half of first grade, then that day when she’s going to need more help than can be given in an inclusive classroom is nearer than I’d like.

The day of the education conference, one of the presenters talked at length about the complex dance between expectation and ability, and how we keep our children artificially young. As an illustration, she talked about her daughter’s lack of academic prowess, and added that her daughter learned more math in the first year or two she lived on her own than she did in all the years of education that preceded it.

At lunchtime, I fell into conversation with a woman who was attending the conference with her daughter’s sped teacher. Her story sounded virtually identical to Julianna’s, and her daughter was repeating first grade because of the math issues.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Kids with special needs are allowed to attend public school until age 21. Why be in a rush to get her to high school graduation? She can’t keep up in P.E., she can’t keep up in math, and in both cases it’s because she doesn’t have the foundational concepts in place. She’ll get them eventually (probably), but not at the same age as her peers. Why have her continually frustrated? Give her brain a chance to make the neurological connections. Once she “gets” the foundational concepts, she’ll at least have a fighting chance of staying close to grade level–not forever, but for a while. Close enough, that is, to allow her to remain in the classroom for an extra year or two. That is our overarching goal: to see Julianna’s education carried out with her typically-developing peers for as long as possible before the walls go up for good.

So I brought up the subject last week at parent-teacher conferences, and the conversation is underway. Now I just have to get over my fear that it’ll be emotionally rough for her to see her peers move on if she stays put. To have to make a new set of friends. (Because Julianna has such a hard time making friends, you know. )

The pro’s of repeating first grade

Julianna and I on a mommy-daughter date to Disney On Ice this weekend

At the end of last school year, Christian suggested to me that perhaps we should have Julianna repeat kindergarten. I told him no way; why would we do that? She’s basically with all her peers. He shrugged and said, “Okay,” and that was the end of that.

By the time I attended the Down Syndrome Education International conference a few weeks ago, the picture looked pretty different. The first time Julianna came home with a page of homework crossed out, I told Christian, “That’s it, they’ve started modifying her homework.” He disagreed. He thought it was just a mistake in the copies and it was probably crossed out on everyone’s.

When it happened again the next week I was certain I was right. The weekly reports that go out to all the parents talked about math sentences, and the homework that involved addition was excruciating for us. A week or two more and the Xd out pages disappeared. The weekly reports started including counting by fives–something Julianna didn’t have in her homework at all. I had a moment of mourning as I recognized the beginning of the split between my daughter’s capabilities and that of her peers. Then the worry started.

Because really, if she can’t even keep up in the first half of first grade, then that day when she’s going to need more help than can be given in an inclusive classroom is nearer than I’d like.

The day of the education conference, one of the presenters talked at length about the complex dance between expectation and ability, and how we keep our children artificially young. As an illustration, she talked about her daughter’s lack of academic prowess, and added that her daughter learned more math in the first year or two she lived on her own than she did in all the years of education that preceded it.

At lunchtime, I fell into conversation with a woman who was attending the conference with her daughter’s sped teacher. Her story sounded virtually identical to Julianna’s, and her daughter was repeating first grade because of the math issues.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Kids with special needs are allowed to attend public school until age 21. Why be in a rush to get her to high school graduation? She can’t keep up in P.E., she can’t keep up in math, and in both cases it’s because she doesn’t have the foundational concepts in place. She’ll get them eventually (probably), but not at the same age as her peers. Why have her continually frustrated? Give her brain a chance to make the neurological connections. Once she “gets” the foundational concepts, she’ll at least have a fighting chance of staying close to grade level–not forever, but for a while. Close enough, that is, to allow her to remain in the classroom for an extra year or two. That is our overarching goal: to see Julianna’s education carried out with her typically-developing peers for as long as possible before the walls go up for good.

So I brought up the subject last week at parent-teacher conferences, and the conversation is underway. Now I just have to get over my fear that it’ll be emotionally rough for her to see her peers move on if she stays put. To have to make a new set of friends. (Because Julianna has such a hard time making friends, you know. )

Sunday Snippets

Welcome to Sunday Snippets, hosted by the one and only RAnn of This, That & The Other Thing!

The question of the week: What Are You Doing For Lent? (Like those all-caps?)

Our family carries on my husband’s yearly tradition of no sweets during Lent, but the adults also do something else. I’m still working on it, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to have to do with quiet time for prayer and study.

Just Like Me

Then And Now

And just for fun: In Which I Feel Like Lizzie Bennet

 

Kid Moments Of The Week (and other Quick Takes)

___1___

Conversation #1 in the car on the way to the Lego Movie:

Nicholas: “I wonder what’s going to be in the movie.”

Alex: “I know what’s going to be in the movie.”

Nicholas: “What?”

Alex: “Some really cool stuff.”

___2___

Conversation #2 in the car on the way to the Lego Movie:

Christian: “Tickets are $6 each, and there are six of us. So how much does that cost?”

Alex, after a long pause: “$36.

Christian: “Very good. Although we might not have to pay for all of us. They might not charge for Michael.”

Alex: “What? He should be the one we do pay for. Because he causes problems!”

___3___

Piano lesson funnies:

a) Julianna with a baby doll in each hand. She was methodically causing them to head butt each other, presumably as a gesture of affection.

b)  Nicholas marching around the room, quite unconsciously stomping to the beat of “Dragon Hunt“–Slow, Slow, Slow, Slow, Dou-ble-dou-ble-dou-ble-double-double-double slow….

c) Michael, playing with a gigantic stuffed horse, soon got distracted by a dinosaur with a long neck. He moved the neck around, making the dinosaur roar repeatedly at the horse. Well, at least he’s got one animal sound right.

___4___

I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you…

Most exasperating and funny simultaneously:

Do “yes-no” fights drive you crazy? You know, yes you will, no I won’t, yes you will, no I won’t? Well, this week I heard Alex and Nicholas downstairs doing a yes-no fight to the tune of Frere Jacques. They were taking turns by phrase. Look at that. If I can find a way to set it to music, they’ll have the most well-mannered fights in the universe. (Face palm.)

___5___

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The woman who watches the kids on Wednesday nights for choir practice greeted Michael this week with: “You have the most awesome head gear.” :)

Michael had his first speech therapy session yesterday. At twenty-seven months his receptive language is sky-high. Like I can tell him, “Go upstairs and get me a pair of socks for you.” And he’ll do it. But he has not one single word, even a proto-word. The speech therapist didn’t really believe me, I think. She thought I was holding out for something recognizable. But I’m that parent who’s already taken a child through seven years of speech therapy. No, I had to emphasize. His daddy points to me, says Who is that? and Michael grunts/squeals and points. Daddy says “Say Ma-ma,” and Michael says, “Ma-ma.” But he does not spontaneously use that sound to get my attention. He really has no words.

If there is a chair and a table, it must be worth climbing up. And tables like this only encourage this belief. I mean, there’s art inside the tabletop!

I know he’s fine; his physical skills and his problem-solving to use them to get into things is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. But he’s starting to scream because he’s mad and frustrated, and it’s time to give him a kick start (or maybe to kick him in the pants? ).

___6___

This weekend wraps up what has proven to be, hands down, the most chaotic, sprinkle-commitments-through-the-days-and-weeks month I have ever experienced. Getting groceries, meals cooked, and naps for Michael has been a marathon of creative problem solving for the last four weeks. And it should go without saying that it’s not been a productive writing month. Today I’m speaking at the Catholic high school about natural family planning. And I’m going on the Children’s Miracle Network radiothon. Local people, that’s around 9:30 or 9:45.

___7___

Lent is next week! Looking for a plan to help break open the season with the kids?

Just Like Me

Sometimes in the sheer busy-ness that is our life, I lose sight of the forest for the trees. Our family has had some pretty wonderful opportunities because of our unique circumstances. This school year, for instance, we have been speaking to elementary and junior high classes about Down syndrome.

We started with Julianna’s public school classroom and moved on to the Catholic school, where we spent one morning giving half-hour presentations about Down syndrome to every grade level from 3-8. Julianna was in school that day, so the vice principal invited me to bring her in on Valentine’s Day, when she was out of school. We visited with the younger grades that day–the kids her age (1st and 2nd grade).

The little kids were so funny, and so cute. We’d do a little introduction to what Down syndrome is and how it makes things a little harder for Julianna, and we asked if they had any questions. Julianna sat up front, like the VIP of the week, and I interpreted her answers. And what did they ask? Well, here’s a sample:

What’s your favorite food?

What’s your favorite color?

Who’s your favorite character?

These were the same questions Julianna’s classmates asked the day we presented at her school. At first, Christian and I felt a bit exasperated. The kids seemed to be missing the point. Then we realized we were the ones missing the point. This was exactly what we wanted: for the kids to realize that in everything that really matters, Julianna is just like them.

Fast forward a few weeks.

Julianna started back up with swim lessons last night. It was great swimming weather: twenty degrees and horizontal spitting snow. Julianna was wild with excitement as we drove to the pool. Swim lessons, riding in the truck, oh my, she might never recover from so much excitement. She leaned over to wave in my face. “Mommy Mommy Mommy!” she shouted, apropos of nothing. “What, ish, your, fayee, foo-t?”

“What’s my favorite food?” I repeated, laughing as she quivered with anticipation of the answer. And I realized this was Julianna showing me that even though I’m big, busy Manager Mom and she’s little, first-grade daughter, we too are alike in every way that counts.

“Chocolate,” I said, and her squeal of delight made the moment transcend busy-ness.

*

Note: I had my first spiritual direction meeting this week. I may break open that experience later (we’ll see), but for now I mention it because one of the things I realized as a result of that meeting was that I actually do need to dial down the blogging another day. So as of this week I’ll be dropping to a M-W-F schedule.