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Moms

Goodbye to the Aughties

by Mary on January 4, 2010

Thank goodness. We can say goodbye to the Aughties. Except for me. I’m trying my best to say goodbye to the Oughties instead. Good riddance Oughties!

You know – the Oughties. He ought to be able to do this by now. He ought to be speaking in sentences. He ought to be able to say entire words and not just word beginnings. He ought to eat more than the same 6 foods he’s been eating forever. He ought to be able to get his hair/nails cut without freaking out.

I don’t actually watch the show “Desperate Housewives.” I DO, however, turn the TV to channel 211 every night before I come upstairs, because that means the DVR lets me rewind Good Morning America to the beginning to watch while I’m eating oatmeal the next morning. Last night though, I turned it, and watched about half of Desperate Housewives because I got sucked in. Remember though, I didn’t see the beginning of the show, and I don’t know the characters. Here, I’ll go to imdb.com to look up the characters because otherwise I’ll be talking about “some mom” and you won’t know, because I didn’t know. Hold on…

OK, I’m back.

So, when I turned it on, for some reason Gabrielle’s husband is trying to sneak their daughter off to camp. Something about getting her away from auditions. Blah, blah, lots of crap where mom wants daughter to be something she’s not… and eventually Gabrielle realizes that her daughter doesn’t have to do anything special to be special… she just is. Nice. I liked that.

This next part though? I literally sobbed.

So Lynette is in the hospital because something is going on with her pregnancy. She dreams about what would happen if the doctors came in and told her that the baby was going to be handicapped. How would she make it? She dreamed three separate vignettes – the first about making the baby do painful physical therapy, and I started crying then. She was upset because the baby wasn’t meeting milestones, and the therapist said something I’ve heard a bazillion times. “Don’t think about what he OUGHT to be doing. Don’t compare him to other children. You’ll drive yourself crazy doing that. Focus on HIM, and what he IS doing.” Lynette had to walk away, and her husband followed her. He told her to think about the future… to think about how she would feel if she knew she hadn’t done everything she could to help this child. Lynette walked back out to the living room, and took over again from the therapist. “I can do this,” she said.

Yeah, this is me sobbing. So teary even now that I can barely type.

The next vignette was of her son, about 10-12, who comes into the kitchen and demands a sandwich. Lynette is busy, washing dishes, and asks him to wait. Kid gets belligerent (as a pre-teen will), and eventually she tells him he can make his own sandwich. Kid has the curled hands and crutch associated with Cerebral Palsy, so I’m going with that being the disability. Lynette refuses to help him, and he does make a sandwich… with much drama (being a pre-teen) but also, with much difficulty because of his physical limitations. She stands there, gripping that sink until her knuckles are white, refusing to turn around… and he succeeds. It’s so incredibly hard for her to force him to do something difficult. We all want to make things easier for our kids.

I’ve been that mom. Both of those types of vignettes. I’ve been there. I hope I handled it that gracefully.

The last vignette is of her son graduating from law school. He thanks his mom, because she refused to give up on him.

That’s something we hope can happen someday with the J-man. Not necessarily that he go to law school… but that he understands why we push him the way we do. But that is still a long way away.

But he will succeed in his own time, and in his own way. I ought to remember that.

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Superheroes

by Mary on July 31, 2008

If motherhood imparts traces of omnipotence, even the rhetoric of special needs motherhood raises the bar. Often we are called “superhuman” or “saints.” The “I don’t know how you do it” that special needs mamas hear implies that we must have some other-worldly qualities to help us make it through the day. The notion that we doubt ourselves, keenly feel our limitations, or labor over our decisions simply doesn’t line up with the power necessary to meet the challenge of our daily tasks. – Vicki Forman

This mama says exactly what I would say if I could write like that. I am not a saint. I am not a superhero. Sometimes I’m not even a very good mama. I get tired of sensory issues and say things like “Just eat” or “Just climb the damn stairs.” I get jealous that my friend’s little boy, who is a year younger than the J-man, is speaking AND eating table food. I get scared about what is next, and so I procrastinate instead of learning something new, because then I have a reason for failure, instead of being a failure. I read random books as a form of escapism.

However, I do have superpowers! I can call upon the power of the boob at a moment’s notice, and my super-sensitive-nose has saved us from taking the J-man somewhere moments after he’s pooped. I can sing many songs in many keys, and have learned to vary the pace so he can sing along. Mostly though, I can love him.

That’s my best superpower.

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Happy Mother’s Day! (we think)

by J-Man on May 11, 2008

[Ed. note - This boy loves his keyboard!]

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Today I went to the doctor because I’m still tired, and not really able to concentrate, and have no stamina, and have NO initiative to either start anything or finish whatever I feebly started.

She told me to eat right, exercise, get more sleep, and take time for myself. I wanted to cry right there in the office. I asked if there couldn’t be a drug for me – she said that drugs were a short-term solution, and that I needed to look at the long-term and take better care of myself physically, or I simply wasn’t going to get better. I told her what my day consists of, and how there isn’t time for me to do all those things. She said I would have to make time. Uh huh. She suggested I hire someone to do the stuff that takes up my time, because “since you don’t do anything except work, you must have all this money sitting around.” No really, she said that.

So J-man, instead of working with you in the evenings, and instead of cooking, or doing laundry, or whatever, I’m just going to take that time for myself. Instead of paying for (I don’t know) our mortgage, and car payment, and Tim’s student loans, and therapy bills, and utilities, and groceries, I’m just going to hire someone to be my personal servant.

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