A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Eh, who am I kidding?  I'm still going to write a thousand words, as usual.

I consider myself to be pretty “sports neutral.” Now, my “sports neutrality” comes not from a person who likes all sports and doesn’t care what the team is, but from a person who doesn’t like any sports, and doesn’t care what the team is. Well, I do tell a fib here…I was brought up in South Jersey, a portion of the state that aligns itself with Philadelphia rather than New York, and differentiates itself from its North Jersey counterparts by proclaiming that it would rather secede than have anything to do with land north of the Black Horse Pike. Philadelphia was the home town, and a place where I attended numerous Phillies baseball games with my family when I was a child. The Phillies (and baseball) will always have a place in my heart. I was always pretty bad at sports in school, and the last one picked for the teams. I could go on and on about this, but I’ll save it for another blog post when I don’t have anything else to write about. I’m sure this is where my sports apathy comes from, though.

Now my husband, an English transplant in this great country of ours, is a true sportsman. Absolutely any sport (or individual activity, for that matter) that he tries his hand at, he masters rather quickly. He’s got a competitive nature, and this makes him quite driven to do well. And, being English, soccer (er, football) is his calling. He’s supported his beloved Wolverhampton Wanderers (and the English national team, of course) since he was a child, through thick and thin. He eschews those who are fair-weather fans, jumping loyalties with the success of the team. Oddly enough, he, too, embraces the Phillies and all teams Philadelphia since we lived in Philly for the first 5 years of our marriage, his first 5 years in this country.

For me, thinking about sports, or listening to Steve talk about sports always brings to mind an old Far Side comic. It had two pictures of a dog and its owner. The first image showed the owner saying, “Good Ginger, good girl, go fetch the ball, Ginger!” The second image had the caption, “What Dogs Hear…” and the owner is saying, “Blah blah blah, Ginger, blah blah blah, Ginger.” That’s pretty much what it’s like for me.

Anyway, this weekend marked the beginning of the World Cup. Saturday saw the occasion of the US team playing the England team. His English pride decorated our car, our front steps, our daughter and himself. One of our neighbors created a shrine to US soccer in our front yard when we weren’t home. It was very funny and actually flattering, really, that he took the time to do that. We definitely appreciated it. Sadly, we had to take it down just a few hours after it went up, as a storm was coming and we didn’t want it blown across the neighborhood in the wind. I’m kicking myself for not taking a photo. The photo above (with some creative editing to keep our salt-damaged front steps from looking like we live in the projects) is Steve and Samantha before the game. She kept her hat on just long enough to take the picture and her shirt became thoroughly soiled by chocolate ice cream at a playdate less than an hour later.

Even though I’m American, I really don’t mind the obvious slant in our household. As proud of my own country as I am, it almost doesn’t translate to sports for me. Call me a traitor, but my daughter is half-English, and should be allowed to appreciate her heritage. I remain neutral.

Still Laughing (it’s the only way to keep from getting supremely irritated)…

The assumption would be that people that work with children, either in an administrative capacity or an educator’s capacity, should have some knowledge about tact and political correctness. Um, and education. But I know (firsthand, now) that’s not always the case, unfortunately. Sorry this is a long one, but blogging helps to get it out of my head sometimes.

The upcoming 2010 – 2011 school year will be Samantha’s last in preschool. Her progress in the last year has been astounding, to say the least, but when I see what she’s going to be up against for Kindergarten in 2011, I know that she’s got a pretty long way to go. Academically, I feel like she’s either on-par with or a bit ahead of her typical peers, but socially and verbally (and physically, but I’m not as worried about that) she’s certainly well behind. I want so much to be able to give her every opportunity to be as ready as she can be for Kindergarten, and while we love the class, the teachers and the therapists she has in her special education preschool, we know she will need more. This year Sammi will be one of the oldest children in her class, a group of 2 through 5 year olds, many with speech delays. While she may be viewed as a peer model for the younger ones, this still leaves a huge piece missing – the piece that allows her to have a typical peer model to demonstrate social behavior and verbal skills of the typical child her age.

After much thought and discussion, Steve and I have decided that it would be best for Samantha to stay in her current class for 3 days a week, and supplement with 2 days in a typical Pre-K program at a private school. I think the structure that is aimed directly at preparing a child for Kindergarten will be an amazing experience for her. Samantha has no siblings. She doesn’t play with any typically-developing children, other than the ones with mild speech delays in her current class. To even be able to just spend time with these kids will be invaluable, not to mention having the structured Pre-K learning environment.

Today, after putting Samantha on the bus to school, Steve and I went to visit two local private preschools. They are both part of larger chains of schools. For the ease of understanding, let’s call one “M” and one “L.” (You local folks may know which ones I’m referring to…) “M” was first. Excellent pitch by the director who obviously felt very strongly about the organization (she’d been with the company for 17 years!) and was comfortable answering all of our questions in an informed, well-thought-out manner, along with a secure building, well-laid-out, self-contained classrooms, beautifully functional classroom organization, a structured lesson plan, happy, settled children, and a safe, fun outdoor play space. We addressed the fact that Samantha has Down syndrome, and the director (who I’d already told in an e-mail last week) didn’t bat an eyelash. Said they would want a copy of her IEP, and that they’ve had numerous children over the years with special needs. Oh, and on another note, we discovered that one of our friendly neighbors (I think all of our neighbors are friendly, I’m not singling her out because she’s a particularly friendly one over any that might not be friendly…) happens to work there.

“L” is located directly next door to “M.” Like freaking night and day. The director (who the director of “M” said was fairly new) just tried TOO hard. I hate that. It was annoying. If I want to hear someone pitch their organization/product/etc., I want them to be compelling. Informed. Pleasant to listen to. She was none of the aforementioned. The place was absolute chaos. Children were crying, running all over, waiting for breakfast to be served (apparently delayed by nearly an hour due to late staff arrivals – ummm, hellooooo, by the time they finish breakfast, it’ll be lunch time...). The preschoolers and the Pre-Ks all eat in a large open space together. The learning areas were an open floor plan, with too many opportunities for children to wander off. The director stated that they’re pretty loose with the lesson plan, and tend to stray, happily, off plan if the children don’t really want to do what’s on the plan. Okayyyy. How does that help to prepare a child for life in general? What? You don’t want to bathe/ make dinner for your children/put clothes on/go to work? Okay, no problem! No wonder the kids were all over the place. Samantha needs structure. Those other kids need structure.  This place was scary.

Then came the kicker. We had already both decided this place was not the right environment, but I thought I’d ask anyway. You know, the question. And yes, I had told this director about Sammi having Ds on the phone, too. But I asked if they had ever had other children with special needs.

Director of “L”: Well, we’ve never had other children with Downs (internally I cringed, but didn’t fault her, much), but we did have one child who had some sort of retardation (cringe, cringe, cringe…). But you couldn’t tell. You really couldn’t tell much. (whoa there, sister, seriously? You were actually capable of making this conversation worse?) And the child did really well! (and what’s that supposed to mean?)

I heard Steve’s brief intake of breath, as he was struggling with the notion of giving this woman her own teaching moment. But he stopped. I’m glad. I think it really wasn’t the time or place for it. I was at that point, too. I figure if she ever contacts me to find out why we didn’t choose “L,” I will let her know. In a carefully-crafted e-mail, where I won’t say something I regret.

Steve and I had an amusing conversation on the way home, recounting all the reasons why we would never send Samantha there. We then went to Samantha’s school for their annual preschool “recognition ceremony,” a party where the children sang songs for the parents and were just generally adorable. I’ll have to post pics of that later. It was a much-needed breath of fresh air.

I’m still laughing about it. Like I said, it’s the only way to keep from being supremely irritated…

Wordless Wednesday: Ice Cream Tuesday

My apologies for the quality of the photos - taken from my cell phone...

Birthday Party Sigh of Relief (or The Happy Rat)

We made it out unscathed! As a matter of fact, we made it out quite satisfied and happy. Who woulda thought?

Chuck E. Cheese, or at least the location we attended, was bright, clean and, when we first arrived, empty. Yes, empty! Just a handful of kiddos wandering around, most of whom were attending the same party as us. We could see that it was set up for all hell to break loose later, though, with rows and rows of vacant birthday party tables prepped with plates and balloons. Fortunately, the mother of our birthday child had the foresight to plan this party for 11:30am, before the general mayhem would begin. So, as a result, we had about an hour of playtime with no major competition for games or rides, and learned that that’s the time to go if we are so inclined to plan any future visits. Which we may be...

Samantha had a ball and surprised us, as she so often does, by trying some new things and liking them. Like Whack-a-Mole and coin-op rides. Perhaps we have deprived her over the years by not exposing her to them before, but we’d been scarred by her frequent decisions to take her hands off whatever support device she should be holding on to for dear life and saying, “all done!” That alone has taken years off my own life. She still does it on the swings at the playground (a definite problem), but she seemed to know that you’ve gotta hang onto merry-go-rounds and racehorses and souped up low-rider cars. Good.

A couple of things to note – the pizza was kind of yucky (isn’t that supposed to be CEC’s specialty?), but the birthday cake, made by a friend of the mother of the birthday boy, was spectacular (and beautifully hand-decorated). I could have eaten that icing all day, and I’m pretty sure Samantha could have, too. Several of us remarked on it, and the mother sent us contact information for the woman that made it. Samantha got to spend time with her two best buddies, one of whom is the same typically-developing little girl whose birthday party Samantha attended a few months ago, and who had told Sammi that day that she missed her. Unfortunately, we were just informed that she’s moving out of the country for 4 years, starting this summer. I know Samantha will miss her friend, and I’m feeling very sad about this.

By the time we left, around 1:15pm, the place was hopping, and the birthday party tables were packed to capacity. Samantha was beyond wiped out. She hit that tired/cranky wall that we always try to avoid, crying and displaying her very best flop-and-drop, then sinking her teeth into my shoulder as I tried to load her into her car seat. But she was nearly asleep by the time we got home and when Steve took her up to bed she was unconscious in seconds. I really can’t blame her, especially since we’d been swimming in a friend’s pool right before we went to the party.

We’ll definitely go back to Chuck E. Cheese. And we’ll definitely go back no later than 11:30am.

Car ride

The dreaded Purple One

Whack-a-Mole (or a variation of it)

With her two best buddies

Scenes from a Desperate Need for Coffee in Bed

The usual morning routine, after I've fought Samantha to get her out of her bedroom where she's been playing, onto the potty and into her school clothes...

Me:  Sammi, why don't you go wake Daddy up?

Sammi:  Okay!  (she runs out of the bathroom and into Mommy & Daddy's bedroom, pushing the door open so hard it bangs against the wall behind it) 

Sammi (yelling loudly):  Daddy, wake UP!  DADDY!!

Steve, formerly sleeping very peacefully, jumps about 4 inches off the bed's surface, startled awake.  He fights to open his eyes, struggling to form every muscle in his face into a smile for his little girl. 

I put Samantha up on the bed to cuddle with Daddy and tell them I'll be back in a minute with his coffee.  I then return with a nice hot cup of instant, setting it down on the nightstand on his side of the bed and scooping Samantha up to take her downstairs for her breakfast.

Sammi:  Bye Daddy!  See you soon!

__________________________________________________

And now, what transpired yesterday morning when I got Steve's coffee *before* getting Sammi out of her room...

I put Samantha up on the bed to cuddle with Daddy and then tell her to scootch over so I can sit on the bed, too, hoping for a moment of peace and catching up on the tv news before bringing her downstairs for breakfast.

Me:  Ahhh.

Sammi (sitting up and pushing me, HARD, trying to get me off the bed):  NO, Mommy!! 

Me (trying to figure out what her problem is):  What?

Sammi:  No, Mommy!!  Daddy coffee NOW, please!

After nearly falling off the bed anyway, laughing, it took Steve actually showing her his coffee cup to convince her that I had already brought him his coffee that morning to get her to stop pushing me.

Seriously?  This is definitely a child who likes routine.

Wordless Wednesday: Strollin' in the Mornin' with Baby

Happy, Happy Day

Sunday was an amazing day for us. We got to celebrate our amazing little girl’s 4th birthday with family and friends. There was so much going on in the preparation of the weekend that I was hard pressed to actually stop and remember what that day had been like 4 years prior. The day that we became parents to our beautiful, beautiful baby, graced with that little “something extra” that so many of you know so well. That extra little bit of spice that tops off the chef’s special, making it just that much more surprising and totally unique. It had been a very long road to parenthood, and we were ready for whatever unpredictable curve balls it would throw at us.

Just like we have said at Christmases and birthdays past, this year marked a new awareness and enthusiasm for Sammi leading up to the big day. We had been talking it up with her for weeks, discussing everything from how old she would be (“Four, she said, concentrating hard to move her fingers into position with her thumb folded across her palm and her remaining four digits held up proudly) to whether she wanted a Dora party or a Kai-lan party. Just in the last few weeks she began to perfect her rendition of “Happy Birthday to You,” pronouncing the words accurately and beautifully (but still not singing in any way reflective of a tune). She’s been excited about having “pizza and cake” and about her friends that would be there. I fantasize about what next year’s pre-birthday conversations will be like, but trust me, I’m not rushing them! Take your time to 5, baby! Actually, next year her birthday will fall on Memorial Day. I know this not because I looked it up recently, but because I looked it up when she was born. I remember thinking, her birthday will fall on Memorial Day when she turns 5. Cool, a birthday on a holiday! But loads of time before then…

The last 4 years have passed so quickly, and I can only imagine what the next 4 or 40 have in store for us. But there’s no question that Samantha will continue give us far more frequent reasons to celebrate than the annual birthday fetes.

Being silly with Grandpa.  He'd asked her a question, to which her response was, "hmmm...let's see..."

Sadly, it was too breezy to actually light the candle on her cake.  She still has not gotten to blow out birthday candles due to a number of circumstances over the years.  Maybe next year...?

Yum, cake!