It’s Buddy Walk Time! Click here to learn more & donate on behalf of our dear Quail!

Our family is joining in our local community to walk in support of and advocate for individuals with Down syndrome! We hope that through education, inclusion and advocacy the world that surrounds our dear one will be able to see the beauty and gift of a girl that we see. The Quail is 4 years old now. She continues to blossom as a most excellent big and little sister. She currently attends both private and public school. In her free time she loves to run, play with her sisters and help her family out. Wherever her sisters are- she’s right there in the thick of it! We love her so!

Thank you for supporting her and our family. Last year through your love, support and dollars we raised over $600. The impact of each and every one of those dollars however, is priceless.Those of you that work with me will have an opportunity to donate through SCVR’s infamous $5 Jeans Day Fundraisers statewide. We were honored to have our charity chosen by the SCVR Commissioner for Friday September 13th  and very much appreciate this opportunity to raise awareness and support. The local Buddy Walk in Greenville, SC will be held on the campus of Greenville Technical College on the afternoon of Sunday October 6th. Please feel free to join us for a beautiful day of fun, fellowship and advocacy! To learn more and register click here. We would love to see you and your loved ones there!

The NDSS works hard to raise awareness and create opportunities for the 400,000 plus individuals with Down syndrome living in the US and their families. Together with the NDSS & the Down Syndrome Family Alliance of Greenville, we envision a world in which all people with Down syndrome have the opportunity to enhance their quality of life, realize their dreams and become active, valued members of their communities.

Click to learn more about the Down Syndrome Family Alliance, the Buddy Walk Fundraiser and the National Down Syndrome Society .

If you would like to donate on behalf of our Quail, please click here!

five minute friday: small

…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

Go:

First she was small and it was big. At least bigger than not existing. This hole, this tiny absense of tissue that once spanned a mere 2-3 mm of space in the center of her heart shouldn’t have existed. A VSD. A tiny missing piece at the very core of her.

That’s what people see and assume when they see her, when they hear about her, when they read about her- that’s she is missing something. Both in her genetic make-up and in her understanding of the world.

But that’s not true. That’s not what Down syndrome is or what it means. She isn’t missing part of her brain, her chromosomes, her understanding, herself. She’s all there and a little bit extra. A little extra genetic material on that infamous Twenty-first chromosome. How it impacts her, how we understand that it impacts her, that is changing. We used to think people like her shouldn’t exist. They should be locked away. Given away. Terminated. An example of an error on the part of nature and God. Slowly, person by person the world is coming to understand that, that “fact” just isn’t the case.  Her existence is not imcompatable with life. It’s quite the opposite. This dear girl, she’s a person, a human being who thinks, learns, understands and acts with choice and free will just as any other human being. She just needs to do it in a little different fashion than other people. In her own way In small ways she is different, yes. But in the big ways, when we take the time to get to know her we find out that those differences don’t have to be big. It’s us that choose to see her that way, not her. That when she and people like her are given the same care and attention that any other human would, that they have the same potential to grow.

To grow like the tissue in the center of her heart has over the last 4 years. Now, that absense of tissue, that space, it’s miniscule. About the width of two hairs according to the doctor as of yesterday.

“She has no restrictions. Don’t limit her.” is our new prognosis.

I have to agree. We won’t, in big ways and small.

Now the differences are small, now that she’s big.

Stop.

News that’s a little easier to swallow….

Soooooo many things I want to say about this wonder-kid of ours. And then I get overwhelmed with trying to say it artfully or at least coherently and then someone comes and asks for a drink, someone falls down, someone gets their toy taken away, it’s time to go to bed, to work, to eat, to clean…etc…anyway.

Before I lose the general gist of today’s swallow study results, let me mark them down for posterity. We have seen so many fabulous speech therapists over the years that have helped us from a variety of perspectives understand the logistics of what goes into safely eating and drinking since the Quail was a few months old.

Shortly after the Quail was born and all the extra pokes and prods receded along with the delivery room lights; we settled into our room with the required dozen or so pillows to prop ourselves up and begin our nursing career. At the time we didn’t have any idea all that lay ahead of us. We only knew that there was a chance she had Down syndrome and that breastfeeding might be a challenge. We knew that teaching Zuzu to nurse had been difficult in the early weeks as well though and figured we’d master it with the help of our trusty Lactation Consultant. There was such a feeling of love and amazement between Lovey, her and I as this sleepy little baby rested in my arms with her dark swirls of hair and her chipmunk cheeks working the moment I lifted her to me. What a miracle a new baby nursing is to see.

In those early weeks that followed as I tried to nurse her, milk would pour out of the side of her mouth. She had difficulty pulling any milk out and I would often leave a nursing session as or more engorged as we went into it. We started with the usual help. We went back to our super-hero lactation consultant who had taught me how to nurse when Zuzu was a babe, and did a couple feed and weighs, which only quantified what we suspected- that she was barely pulling anything out of me. After 20 minutes, the most was ¾ of an ounce. We tried the nipple shield, different positions, an SNS, massage while nursing. Really, we went the distance, until the LC finally said she couldn’t really do anything else to help us, we had gone through her bag of tricks. So back we went to our EI and pediatrician for a referral to a feeding specialist. While the new SLP was kindhearted- my best guess is that the combination of the Quail’s heart-defect coupled with her inability to pull milk out of the breast overwhelmed her, and her first priority was to get milk safely into the baby. So she helped us with bottle-feeding, confirming that this act wasn’t stressing or taxing the Quail’s heart or system. Yet, still milk ran out of her mouth, she threw up multiple times a day and she fought me like the dickens most times I put her to my breast. We asked around and found another feeding expert who was trained by Sara Rosenfeld Johnson in oral-motor strengthening and placement and I called to explain our situation and ask if she thought she might have anything else to add to our repertoire. The Quail was 5 months old at this point and we still hoped to learn to nurse. We started feeding therapy to teach us to nurse and strengthen the Quail’s oral musculature twice weekly. In the meantime Zuzu, ever the wonder-nurser, gave probably the best gift she ever could to her sister, she happily continued to nurse and keep up my supply so that I could pump and we could bottle-feed the Quail with it.

We spent August through November of 2009, with regular feeding therapy and a hit and miss success rate, one time we’d nurse and the feed and weigh would show she had taken in 4 ounces only to have her then throw up 3 of them and then the next time she would fight the entire session with every position, exercise and accommodation. I still remember with a huge feeling of gratitude the last nursing session with our therapist where the Quail settled in and nursed like there had never been any issue and Kathy writing the word, “Beautiful” on a note and silently passing it over to me. I had left there that day full of hope .

Then one day in November, we hit a wall. For the last week, every single nursing session had been met with tears and frustration, on both of our parts. It had become a matter of course that I would bark at Zuzu whenever she came bursting into the room while we were trying to nurse. What had started out as a sweet bonding time amongst the three of us, had devolved into anger, sadness and frustration for all of us. It was time to let the nursing go. Fortunately, Zuzu still happily kept nursing at bedtime so between her and my pump I was able to provide milk to the Quail with all it’s benefits for 15 months.

Around the time she turned one, our therapists office staffed her case and an SLP who was not actively apart of our team made the recommendation to get a swallow study and Upper GI done to see if there were any physical reason for the daily throwing up since she showed no signs of outgrowing the reflux as we would have expected by a year. So we did. And there was. She had a duodenal stenosis that involved a web covering over that portion of her intestine and left an opening the size of the writing tip of a pen for her to push her food through. Most food stayed in her esophagus, expanding it like a water balloon, until she was able to apply enough pressure and push the pureed food through the pin-prick of an opening. It also meant that any solid pieces of food mixed in her purees stayed there until she threw it up. Surgery was scheduled and the web covering removed and the throwing up reduced to plain,old run-of-the-mill reflux. She stayed on Prevacid and continued to throw up, but really, it was more positional and only a time or two a day. Since she had always continued to grow well; well- “well” that is for a child with Down syndrome  and a VSD, no one had been concerned about the frequency of her reflux since it could easily be attributed to her low tone.

The first swallow study also showed that our child who had been through RSV, the flu, pneumonia, two bouts of bronchiolitis and two hospital stays in the previous 6 months needed honey thickened liquids in order to prevent aspiration. What was found was micro aspiration, which we were told we were lucky what was aspirated was breast milk as any other substance, including water being aspirated in her lungs could have resulted in her being even more sick. While it was hard to say what the exact cause of her previous season of illness was due to, suspects included- her VSD, being in a daycare setting, just bad luck catching the flu and an unfortunate delay in receiving her RSV vaccination due to insurance paperwork snafus. And now the complication of her aspirating on thin liquids added to the puzzle as well.

In the meantime, we continued to meet with Sara Rosenfeld Johnson when she came through town with her travel clinics and work with our private speech therapist on her oral-motor exercises multiple times a day. At one point in the next year the reflux seemed to increase again so we scheduled another swallow study and Upper GI to see if perhaps scar tissue had formed or if there was a new issue. This time the Upper GI showed a congenital malformation lower in her intestines and showed a slowing of her stomach’s ability to empty. We were told that if we weren’t able to get the reflux under control we might need to go to a more serious medical management plan in order to keep her healthy, either stronger drugs to help speed up the delay of food passing through her system or the possibility of a feeding tube. The dose of Prevacid was upped but the liquids could now be thickened only to nectar consistency and the amount of food offered at one time became carefully portioned. Eventually we were able to see an improvement both in her ability to manage her liquids and food and her general health.

We did one more swallow study 6 months later, hoping for even more improvement and a reprieve from the thickened liquids altogether.  This time, the news was worse and we needed to move the thickening back up to honey consistency. It was disappointing to say the least. The SLP, Dru, who does the studies explained that each time the Quail experienced a growth spurt, it would be like getting a new set of equipment that she would have to learn to use all over again and that we couldn’t really expect to do any active exercise to remove this issue until she was at least cognitively 12 years old, due to the complexity of trying to explain what she needed to do to her. In the meantime, we needed to continue thickening and following the straw cup protocol that we had been doing and probably there was no need to come back every 6 months.

So life went on and we reached our new normal of always mixing, bringing or sending along thickened liquids wherever the Quail went.

Today it has been about two years since that last swallow study.  We scheduled another one realizing that some time in the last six months we had been able to entirely wean the Quail off of her Prevacid and she had only thrown up 2-3 times since then. I knew from the last couple of studies that it wasn’t wise to expect much progress and to be prepared for new precautions to be suggested.

We were, happily, no amazingly surprised! The Quail, she wasn’t so keen on doing the study this time. It took more than one suggestion of time out, offers of cake, validations of her feeling scared, multiple rotations of which parent was in charge of offering the barium-coated goodies and which needed to hold down her arms. This time we got the following results:

*Her swallow delay is now down to .5-2 seconds.

*She still has decreased tongue base retraction

*She has improved coordination in her ability to move the food and drink from one section of her mouth to the next.

* It still doesn’t look pretty when she moves it, but she is in control of it.

*The coughing that she exhibited (lucky for us she did this on film, as we often see it during meals and during water play) was not due to her aspirating or food getting stuck, it seemed to just be a response to her not liking a food or texture of the food.

*The cough was strong enough to expel said, undesirable food/drink in a way that helps her stay safe.

And here-is the cherry on the top- SHE CAN NOW DRINK THIN LIQUIDS WITHOUT PENETRATION OR ASPIRATION!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wow.

We really didn’t expect to get to hear this for a number of years if ever. We had accepted the need for thickened liquids as just a part of who the Quail is. Of course we were warned, there is a chance that today’s study was just one wonderful moment in time, the best of her ability to swallow, so we need to watch for signs that she may be aspirating- which include coughing, choking and repeated illnesses. And of course that is going to be difficult to tell what the cause is. Cause you know, she goes to daycare, and she’s starting public school in the fall and will be exposed to a whole new set of germs, and each growth spurt may very well mean that she’ll experience difficulty controlling her swallow again, and she’s prone to ear infections and her tubes have come out in the last year and the ENT says we need to see if she starts getting sick again repeatedly before we’ll know if she needs a new set of tubes, but odds are she will since her eustation tubes are naturally tiny; and she has a VSD, and she has Down syndrome and all of these things are likely to lead to a weakened immune system. So it will be hard to pinpoint the exact culprit and what the plan of action should be if we do end up spending our days in the pediatrician’s office begging for antibiotics and a new nebulizer this winter. Time will tell.

In the meantime, little girl is cleared for drinking thin liquids as long as they are through a straw so she has control of them and the opening in the back of her throat when she swallows is minimaized (as opposed to the size of the opening when you tip your head back to drink), although it would be better if we transition her back down to that with cold liquids and much to our delight she is cleared for swimming!!!!!

To swim or not to swim has been a longstanding question for us that it was really hard to figure out who would help determine what was safe. I asked her pediatrician, her EI, her SLPs, her geneticist and Zuzu’s swim teacher. If a girl aspirates on thin liquids, is it a good idea to give her swimming lessons so that if she were to find herself around water she can learn to be safe, or do we need to need to work like nobody’s business to ensure that she never comes anywhere near ANY body of water. I have such a strong memory burned into my momma heart of one night’s tubby when she was under two and slipped in the bathtub and her entire head went under. Her sweet, scared eyes locked with mine for the two seconds it took for me to pull her back up to safety. Yes- water- it’s everywhere and of course she’s as drawn to it as a moth to a flame. Of course she would still be at risk, but it’s only slightly more than any other child learning to swim.

The other two pieces of information that were new were two other therapeutic options for treating what is at this point a neurogenic swallowing disorder. Essentially these are desensitization techniques. I’m not a fan of that category of treatment at all. When one of our first therapists who was repeatedly experiencing the Quail’s temper throughout her sessions with her suggested we need to try brushing the Quail and that she has a sensory processing disorder we balked. We weren’t willing to try it until we had tried another therapist first and lucky for us, it turned out the only thing that the Quail was sensitive to at that time was her dislike of that therapist. We had other explanations for the behavior that the therapist felt represented a sensory processing disorder. What she saw as over sensitivity to nursing, we feel in hindsite was the fact that our kid was aspirating on the milk I was trying to force her to nurse from me with and she was trying to stop me. What she saw as sensitivity to touch was a non-verbal toddler’s way of letting us know that she didn’t want to be doing the prescribed activity with that therapist.

 The first option that we’ll receive a referral for is called therma-tactile-stimulation. This involves, taking large, frozen, lemon gelatin covered swabs and brushing them on either side of her tonsils three times in a set, 4-5 sets a day, for 5-6 weeks. This is meant to essentially stimulate the low toned muscles that the brain usually activates to swallow immediately in a typical person. Apparently with this procedure, once you’ve done it for a number of weeks, you should see fairly immediate improvement in her ability to swallow and that improvement should be long-lasting assuming no further neurological insults happen.  The downside, well; have you ever tried to give a small child or a cat medicine when they are aware that they don’t want it? You haven’t, well lucky you. I have- both of those scenarios. It’s not pretty, it’s not fun and no one comes out a winner. That said, the thought that we may be able to stimulate those muscles to a point that they would function typically and remove the risk of her getting sick from the daily, necessary act of drinking and eating, well I’m willing to try and see just how much she will protest. There is a small part of me that has hope it won’t be too much since she is the first kid I’ve ever met that flops her mouth open at the site of dental floss inviting you in to meet her molars.  Neighbors might prefer we wait till it’s closed window-season to start I’m sure though.

The second option is called vita-stim. This SLP started being trained in this technique a couple of years ago, essentially after the last time we saw her and she said from what she has experienced it has had great success. She did warn us though, to be careful of the experience level of the therapist administering it, because if administered wrong, it could do harm. It essentially involves taking a very low dosage current and applying to the muscles that are not functioning typically in order to stimulate them back into a regular motion. She said it would feel like buzzing on her skin and we would each do it on our own arms so we are aware of what she will experience. It would mean going to have this done about 3 times a week for a series of weeks. She said that the last two children that she has worked on involved an infant and a toddler with Ds and there was immediate and vast improvement in their ability to swallow. Typically this is something used with muscles that have atrophied.

We are to try the therma-tactile-stimulation first though to see if we get an improvement first with that and wouldn’t need the vita-stim route, which would be good because apparently there is a long waiting list to even be seen.

In the meantime, we celebrated our swallow-study results with a hospital cafeteria lunch and giggled our way back into our day.

five minute friday: story

…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

photographed by mollyflanagan.com

photographed by mollyflanagan.com

Go:

My story is ever-changing and yet still the same, this narrative that I live and weave and breathe. What I know, what I think, how I feel and what matters to me, it stems from the same words and thoughts that once hinted at my future long ago. That was well over 20 years ago when I sat at our oval-shaped kitchen table with its smooth wood colored surface thumbing through the class catalog for the University I was to attend in the fall.

“I’m pretty social and I’m a hard worker- how about Social Work Mom?”

I still remember those words pushing up out of my teenage-heart and into my head and the unconscious nodding my head answered in reply. At the time it felt like a whim and a lark, not the life defining moment that it was.

I’ll volunteer. I’ll wrap presents for the homeless. I’ll visit the shelters and soup kitchens. I’ll work with children who have disabilities. I’ll help others.

And so my grown-up story began to weave itself out from me. Winding itself into other people’s lives and how they lived. How they are in the world and how to clear a path for them so that I and others could walk alongside rather than leading or following them.

I couldn’t see this current chapter of my story back then. I wouldn’t have even pictured this gabled home in the foothills of the Blue Ridge that my pages would unfold into. I couldn’t imagine the lives of the people I worked for as my own. Their ordinary, extraordinary lives. Lives that required others to step out of the way so that they could do the simplest thing. Live in their home. Go to their school. Shop in their community. Work down their street. Simple, ordinary, daily moments that require the commitment and love of another in order to make that possible. Things those of us without labels are blessed to take for granted in this world that is built for us, not them. The story I was reading and writing, I had no idea how one day it would be my own.

And now, now the narrative has shifted once again. The once energetic, young social worker out to save the world or at least walk beside those in it, has a clearly visible path as a parent and an advocate to take with her family. New characters are emerging.  Slowly unveiling their roles to the plot. The sense of our community and their acceptance of us peels off in thin pages as we understand what has changed and what remains the same in this old world. Their personalities full of strong will and generally good cheer. The villains not hooded and cackling. No. They are more ordinary and reasonable sounding as they build fences trying to line my children’s own path into this world and their future.  

My path is now the one that I had read about, but hadn’t recognized as my own. It takes shape each morning when the baby cries to nurse one last time before the sun rises. The four year old with her last wisps of strawberry blonde locks falling over her softly rounded shoulders, climbs out of her sister’s bed too early, to pad through the dark and quiet hall in search of her parents asking to start her day, to eat, to drink, to play, to go to school just like Zuzu. A school that is not yet as eager to meet her as she is to attend it. A school that requires us to sit up and focus our attention and feelings and knowledge into one kind and articulate presentation so that our daughter can walk through their door the same as her sister without the weight of the world and these reasonable-sounding decision makers pulling her into self-contained corridors.

My story, that I couldn’t have written yet, as I bumped into a soon to be Lovey while walking through a farmer’s market on a bright Saturday morning.

Our story, whose future words would float through our conversations unbeknownst to us as I would ask questions like, “What would you do if our child had a disability?” while we drove through a Wisconsin countryside.

My story, that flashed visions of dark-haired girls swinging from the heavy oak branches as I pushed the mower meditatively up and back through our mossy front yard around the abelia bushes.

My story, that rattled my nerves and my bones in those first weeks with each newborn and wild tangle of hormones.

Their story, as that once newborn kindly reaches over to grasp the hand of a new dark-haired wonder and nurse in tandem.

My story as I hold tight to Lovey after hanging up with the doctor editing the words Down syndrome into the next chapter.

Their story, as we bring home one last white-tipped, chestnut haired bundle, shifting each of their birth orders into the Sistred formation they now are.

Her story, as we sit around the  school’s table on a late spring afternoon, slicing into the cheesecake flavored peace-offering and discuss how this extra-chromosomed wonder of ours will learn the ways of the world she is so eager to be a part of.

My story, I understand now, as the Southern sun sets each evening around us. The back-to-school lists now printed and purchased for two. The legal books and memoirs I will curl up to each evening as we settle into the soft, brown couch. These books, they stack up in between fairy and coloring books. Southern Living magazines and Ipads.  Ceramic mermaids and bowls of speech articulation tubes and whistles. These pieces of our lives that cover our families’ worn wood table that creeks under the weight of the framed images of our loved ones. The girls snuggled under their fuzzy cuddle-uppets over brightly colored nightgowns that skim their summer legs with the day’s boo-boos and rainbow sparkled Band-Aids. Red clay stuck under the too-long toe nails.

These girls that accept their story as a whim and a lark without looking too far into the future tonight. These girls, they clamor at me each night to set down my computer, my phone, my legal books and memoirs for the last few lit minutes of their evening and read one more fairytale before bedtime.

My story.

My very blessed ordinary after of a story.

Stop.

(PS: Yes, more than five minutes worth of words. That happens some times.)

Quailday: Happy IEP Day!

Growing up, I was a big fan of public school, happy little nerd that I am. Generally I had good teachers that encouraged a life-long love of learning as cliché as that may sound. Going to school was fun for me. There were plenty of subjects that I wasn’t naturally good at. I worked hard anyway. For me memorizing when something happened wasn’t the point of how I was spending my day. Learning how to function and contribute in a community and how to find an answer when it was relevant was the point. I’ve always felt that way (perhaps if I had been good at memorization I would have felt that was the point) and it’s a value I still hold for my children.

All of my children. And so far, they haven’t disappointed me. These girls, they are curious and bright. Busy and friendly. Determined and happy. Zuzu is in her last week of kindergarten and as I think back to a year ago and my fears that her over-confidence, her boundless energy and her chatty nature would not serve her well in a structured classroom setting, I’m pleased as punch to lay my worries down and say that I was wrong. Her interactions with her principal this past year really did have her believing that the principal is her pal. She thought he was handsome, friendly and giggles that he wore a tie that matched her socks one day. He gave her an award for being a P. E. Superstar that included a school TV cameo and a fresh new jump rope. She is sad he is retiring and I’m glad she is comfortable with the authority figures in her school. Her teacher this year was everything a kindergarten teacher should be- warm, energetic, loving and clever. When Lovey had lunch with her at school a few weeks ago she excitedly got to choose two of her besties to join them at their special table. Lovey got to sit first hand amidst this giggling generation of girls who laughingly explained the meaning of the word infinity and then moved on to explain to him how lucky our family is to have our last name be a compound word. Indeed. She has blossomed socially and academically. She’s learned to read and to write, to color and create, to lead and to follow. And to be a bit more detailed and subtle in explanations to her parents in all things kindergarten. Which in case you didn’t know is no longer fat crayons , snacktime, cubbies and nap mats. It’s running the mile to pop-rock, explanations of onamonapia, regular use of an Ipad and understanding that sometimes President Lincoln gets shot because not everyone believes in his views. Indeed.

They learn so much so early on now. Never mind are you smarter than a fifth grader, take a peek at the k4 progress reports and you’ll suck your breath in I’m sure. I know I did. We’ve been in discussion with the school district over the most appropriate placement for our Quail this next year. Discussion is the nice word for it. And for the most part appropriate. In our school district there is no public preschool. Only preschool for children with significant disabilities in the k3 year. And in our area, that setting is a self-contained classroom in a little town about 10 miles down the road from where Zuzu goes to Elementary school. I’ve been aware of this fact for years.

When the Quail was 2 we started discussing with Jodie (our EI) what public school would look like for her. I have very visceral memories of the feelings I had during these conversations. What was coming was not what I wanted to hear. Yet, I really didn’t know what we could do about it. I’m no homeschooler. It doesn’t go with my personal belief system about the purposes of public education and community and people with disabilities. Yet, I’m generally a rule follower. A rule enforcer by tendency and profession, just ask my co-workers and kids. I also expect rules that are put in place to be up to date and relevant to current understanding and to treat people fairly. Not fairly like we all get a foot high step stool so we can reach the sink. Fair like, those who can stand on the ground and reach the sink do, those who need the step stool to reach the sink have one available and those that are able to help you get your step stool do help.  

So here we are, in a small fairly rural town with well-meaning professionals that have set up a system where people like my child go “there” to get an education. Problem is, I was educated that people like my child should not go “there”, they should come here- with everyone else’s children.

So every few months we would have this discussion with Jodie. Mentally I would put it on the backburner and go back to the more pressing issues at hand, like birthing a new baby, hiring and training students to work with the Quail and answering Zuzu’s unending questions about why, where, when and how.

Then the time came to make the referral to the school district and I reminded myself that if the Quail didn’t have Down syndrome, she wouldn’t be offered a public school class at age 3. So that first spring that she was 3, the Special Education teacher met our family and came to see the Quail at the private preschool/daycare we have always used. Speech, occupational and physical therapy were started with the school and the Quail’s days began to fill up. Over that summer, while I was in a new baby mental fog, the school added a self-contained pre-school class at the town down the road and recommended that the Quail attend two days a week along with the therapies she had been receiving. It was an uncomfortable transition for us mentally. We were going to be sending her off on the short bus to a segregated classroom- exactly what we didn’t want. Our option was to go or to refuse services and frankly- the Quail was happy enough. Each morning she would chant and cheer her teacher’s name and grab her purple crocs and Dora backpack and head for the door. She would have preferred to go everyday. The school was wonderful to work with. I pushed my fear of the bus on hold by driving her there myself. She did ride the bus back to her private daycare as I hid my head in the sand. When you are a working parent, sometimes you have to make accommodations that you aren’t crazy about, but that aren’t really doing any harm.  The teacher’s came to gather the Quail from the ca. On the days that I was running late, the principal would greet us with his coffee in hand, bow-tie neatly tied and a smile on his face as he leaned down to offer a hand to the Quail and off she would go. The team worked well with the Quail and she responded in kind. They worked with us to accommodate her with the resources they had. When we remain concerned about the slow pace of her speech progression they added another session per our request. When we remained concerned they assisted us to get an assistive technology referral. When we asked for more details about the Quail’s progress they provided extra notes detailing her work. We talked with the teachers at drop-off about how she was doing and we worked on our speech via song and conversation on the way to school along the pretty country road. All-in-all the year passed by without concern.

Then this past year, my fog lifted, Lovey asked about the recommendations for next year and our eyes widened. We made a decision to meet the regular k4 teacher and see her classroom. Our SPED said she would coordinate the meeting. A few days later she called back to say that we needed to reschedule so that an administrator could join us as the school had questions for us. Lovey asked after the questions and we were told it had to do with the thickened liquids that the Quail requires. We agreed to reschedule and the day before the meeting I again called the SPED to ask if there were any other questions the school had, so that we could be prepared with what information they needed. We were again told that the question had to do with her thickened liquids.

I’m cynical enough to not have believed this. Lovey had put on the k4 application the need for thickened liquids though, so it sounded reasonable. We decided to bring the Quail along with us figuring her charm could only help.

I should stop right here in this tale though and mention that we have mentors for going through this IEP business. And if you are reading this and wondering about how the education system might work when your child with Down syndrome ages in to it, I will say this in a weary tone- question what you hear and use this time to educate yourself in how your specific school district operates and seek out other families who are in the situation you want to be in. Because this school business, it is not one size fits all and unfortunately- the education plans, they aren’t entirely individualized despite their acronym. If you are comfortable with what the school district recommends for your child- then you will have an easier time with this transition. If on the other hand, you have wanted something different for your child- be it a more restrictive environment because it makes you feel your child will be safer, or a less restrictive environment because you feel it will help your child thrive- then that is what you should aim for. The key is you know your child and you also need to know your rights. As a parent, it will be your job to advocate for your child’s rights- whether those around you are in agreement with you or not.

So we entered the meeting and we could literally see the organization that had gone on before we were invited in under a specific pretense, down to where we were instructed to sit with the principal at one end of the table and the SPED teacher at the other. We brought along our EI. She’s known the Quail since she was 8 weeks old and is a separate set of eyes that regularly witnesses her interactions with her typically developing peers at our private preschool. She of course, sat next to us. The regular ed teacher sat across. We began the meeting with our family’s intent for the meeting- questions about the structure of the k4 day, the classroom, the curriculum. Partway through the discussion our SPED teacher spoke up and indicated that while it was still her recommendation that the Quail continue this next year in her self-contained classroom at the neighboring town’s school, if we were really wanting the k4 classroom setting for the Quail she could arrange for her to go to the k4 classroom in that school so that she could continue to keep an eye on her and monitor her acclimation to this larger classroom setting. We asked a few questions about what that would look like and then turned our attention back to the k4 teacher. The principal then interrupted our discussion,

“Look, I don’t mean to offend, and I don’t know how else to say this, but we all know that the Quail is in the SPED teacher’s classroom for a reason. If she were my child, I would trust the expert’s recommendations and her recommendation is that the Quail stay in her classroom at least another year.”

Strangely I felt a calm settle over me as he spoke the words I had been warned someone would- that they were the experts, that they know what’s best, that they are trained in working with children like mine.

I looked at the principal, who was not my pal and replied, “With all due respect, she is a wonderful special education teacher. What we are looking for right now is a regular education environment. The Quail is currently in a typical preschool with a larger student to teacher ratio then the regular classroom here and handles herself just fine. She has shown us repeatedly that when we think to teach her something she is capable of learning it. We are not your typical family. I have a master’s degree in social work where I was trained in working with people with developmental disabilities and community integration. We have educated ourselves in Down syndrome and how people with Down syndrome learn. We know that the Quail can be more concrete in her learning. We’ve had therapies at this school and it is the capability of the environment that we know it provides that makes us certain we want the Quail to attend here. It makes sense that while she is working on her gross motor skills in therapy that they be in the natural environment where she would be expected to use them. Your speech therapist this next school year happens to be our private speech therapist. She is very familiar with the Quail’s learning style, her strengths and weaknesses. We are confident in her ability to assist the Quail in her adaptation to this school and frankly speech is her biggest delay. We understand that there is a spot open in the k4 class and that for at least 7 of the 20 children, English is not their native language. The Quail will be comparable with these children in her communication needs, and perhaps even ahead as she has low-average receptive language abilities. Currently her IEP includes no academic goals because she is on par with children her age academically. If there is a reason for her to be in a more restrictive environment, you are going to need to be very specific as to what that reason is.”

The SPED teacher agreed that the Quail was on track academically to date. She noted that her main concern for her in a regular classroom was that she was often easily distracted in her class this past year. She described how she would sit and work with two students at a time and once she had told her what to do and turned away from her, the Quail would often need redirection to finish her table work.

Our EI noted that working independently at the table is a goal we could add to our IFSP and work on between now and the next school year now that we were aware this was a concern. I then asked the regular k4 teacher if this was ever an issue for the other typical 4 year olds in her class. She smiled and admitted that it quite often was throughout the entire year. I asked if that then meant that this would not be an overwhelming issue for her to have and she agreed it would not.

Around this time the principal interjected that they would have no problem meeting the Quail’s needs both individually and legally. The conversation then turned to a continuance of one that we had not previously been privy to between the SPED teacher and the principal over who would oversee the IEP at our homeschool.

A couple of notes of interest about this meeting, as I mentioned earlier:

  1. It was organized down to the chairs we sat in. Some of the best advice we received was to not ask a question that you didn’t already know the answer to in an IEP meeting. This proved to be the school’s method as well. It’s important in this environment to know the school’s language. Attend a seminar on IDEA and IEPs. Know the words such as home-school, least restrictive environment, mainstream vs inclusion vs self-contained classrooms, FAPE- free and APPROPRIATE education (note the law doesn’t require them to provide what is best- you are aiming for what is appropriate).
  2. Know what you want and have it in writing to remind yourself when you are in the midst of the pressure to go with the flow. Legally, your child has the right to be in a regular classroom with accommodations. They shouldn’t have to earn their way there. That said, the education system is huge, and it is understandable that they would organize their system in a manner that works for the greatest number.  It would have been very easy amidst the SPED teacher’s concerns about the Quail’s acclimation to a regular education environment to agree to have her in either the segregated classroom or the K4 classroom where the segregated preschool class is housed. Their thoughts and action plan were well planned out. From the beginning of the meeting the Quail had the ability and right to be in thek4 class in our homeschool. That option had already been secured and discussed with the Special Education director before the meeting even began. They did not offer that up though. The meeting process is not a buffet where you get to see all of the choices out in front of you and choose which one you think is appropriate. It’s a negotiation. When we expressed our desire for her to be educated in the typical environment with her non-disabled peers in her community, as the law allows for, they attempted to talk us out of it even though we were VERY clear about our intent. They eventually said yes once they saw we were firm in our stance.
  3. We all have to work together. Be kind. Don’t assume that the man, the system, the government is out to get you and your child, to hold you back. That isn’t the case. Remember, it was just in the last half-century that children with Down syndrome were regularly kept at home rather than routinely institutionalized. It is even more recent that research and experience has shown how very capable these children are when they are included in typical environments- home, school, community and work. I truly believe that no one is trying to deprive the Quail of an appropriate education. What I know about her and frankly, people like her, is very different than what others trained years ago know. The understanding of a person with Down syndrome’s ability is different. I also believe that what has “always been done” is no longer what is appropriate. We know so much more about how children with Down syndrome learn than we did even a decade ago. And fortunately, the law is on our side. It’s going to take working together to make this work. In the process of learning about the system and the hoops others that came before us have jumped through, I admit in the back of my mind I thought people might be exaggerating that this is a “fight”. Frankly I had hoped that it wouldn’t be. Fighting and confrontation for the sake of it is not my style. Fight might not be the right description, but it most certainly isn’t a given that the Quail or children with her diagnosis will automatically be educated in a regular classroom environment in 2013 everywhere in our country. Even in what is deemed “an excellent school.” This dinosaur of an education system is still adjusting to what our children are capable of. What our generation expects is not how this generation of educators was trained.

So our family is going to mind its manners while advocating for our child. We can’t change the system for all of the children. We can calmly and firmly expect our child to be given an appropriate education where she will learn, progress and be challenged.

How that happens will continue to be a discussion. We’re still learning about inclusion and mainstream. Our family’s preferences aren’t quite the same as most other families in this community that we know. We have been fans of therapy for the Quail since she was young. That said, when we haven’t agreed with the style or suggestions of a particular therapist or the Quail hasn’t responded to that therapist, we have eventually moved on. We aren’t trying to “fix” the Quail, but she likes to be busy, to be learning and be active. She keeps her watchful eyes on her sisters and friends and wants to do everything she sees them doing. We have seen firsthand how when we break down a task for her, she lights up because she is able to then go on to do it more independently. The problem is, our family’s collective brain power isn’t one that automatically knows or thinks how to break down every single thing in life. We rely on others trained in various areas to help us with that. The Quail is a child who loves flashcards and a structured learning environment. She responds to it and engages with her teachers and therapists when she knows what is clearly expected of her, and yes- she is a kid after all- what she can get away with. This transition into the education world is new for us. It is a transition that we are open to and it will be interesting to say the least to see how our district adapts to family’s level o involvement.

 As I mentioned before we have found only 2 other families that have their child included in the regular education environment in our surrounding counties. Two. I don’t believe it is because these other children are less capable than our Quail. I believe it is because it is not what has always been done, and frankly, it is a fight. One that, God willing, will last a lifetime. It would be lovely to trust the “experts” and their recommendations. In our situation though, what they have described doesn’t coincide with our expectations. If it does for you and yours, then that should be your choice and there is no judgment from our family. It is incredibly hard to step out on a limb and ask your child to walk a path that very few have walked before her. I have all the same fears as those families who want a “safer” environment. I know that society at large is not welcoming to children and adults whose faces resemble the Quail’s. People see her features and they already think they know her. They interpret what she does in a way that validates their stereotypes. That, unfortunately, is a fact of life in 2013.

We agreed at the end of that meeting to go home and consider the choices. The educators had some additional questions for the Special Education Director about what it would look like to have their first four-year-old with Down syndrome in this school. You see, those two other families we know, they live in a different town and district. This isn’t something they have done before but we agreed to work together to figure it out.

After that meeting we sent an email to the SPED teacher letting her know that we still wanted the Quail to attend our home-school that her sister goes to in the afternoon regular k4 class this fall. Our IEP meeting was then rescheduled to include our new teachers and allow for some changes to the document itself.

When we received a new draft of the document we continued to have questions about the specific goals we saw. Some of them listed the next year’s goal to be the same as this past year’s goal which the functional strengths and assessment in the same document listed her as having achieved. We asked to have these adjusted forward. We asked to add in a goal pertaining to the attention and concentration concern and to add one academic goal pertaining to math that the teacher had noted the Quail was inconsistent with. We suggested some rewrites to her OT and PT goals to be more specific in terms of what was being measured and how. We explained our need for this quite simply. The Quail needs to have consistent expectations explained to her and if they are working on a goal in the classroom that we will also be working on in private pre-school, therapy or home, we want to be asking the same thing of her the same way. We asked for the afternoon k4 class so that she could still attend the academic portion of her private-k4 class that she will be moving into at our pre-school/daycare this August. This also surprisingly shortens her over all day since Lovey and I both work and we still have a set time we can pick her up at the end of the day. With her going to public k4 in the afternoon, she can go into private k4 by 9am, rather than starting her day at with public school at 7:10am.

I admit our list of questions, modifications and concerns was long. And specific. And detailed. 3 pages long to be exact. The thing is, I read these documents for a living. Lovey is a college professor. We expect to collaborate and be very involved when it comes to our children. Our SPED teacher thanked us for the list. She adjusted a majority of the goals that we asked to either move forward or be more specific. She indicated that in terms of our questions for the k4 teacher it would be easier to just go over them at the IEP meeting and she forwarded us a revised IEP. We were thrilled with the changes. No surprises and I took her gratitude in our suggestions as sincere.

I bought a cheesecake for the meeting. That is not a euphemism. I literally bought a cheesecake and asked the baker to write, “Happy IEP Day!” on the cake. If I had time to back brownies, I would have done that. But with three little ones and more literature prep than we could easily cover for the meeting, store-bought would have to do. When we arrived at the meeting we went to our “assigned seats” and I started setting out the cake, plates, utensils and napkins. I looked up to a chuckle from our SLP. ”That’s a first!” she grinned as I divided up the cake. I started handing out slices to Lovey and Jodie and noticed the tone of the room change as our SPED teacher brought out our list of concerns.

We started down the list and the first few questions about the Quail’s schedule- when she would be pulled from class, a request for a daily communication log between us and the school, what she would actually do in resource class, functional phrases that it would be helpful for us to work on her articulating over the summer were all met with I don’t knows. As I mentioned before, we knew that you should not ask a question that you don’t already know the answer too and we knew the answer to each of these questions would be I don’t know. The purpose of our asking was to make it known that these were issues we wanted a say in and that we would need to meet to discuss them 4-5 weeks into the new school year.

I think I’m a pretty good judge of social appropriateness. Trained as a social worker, I generally watch for people’s reactions and gage my responses accordingly. I know the importance of social niceties as much as the next person. And as personal as these meetings are, I was in professional mode. So needless to say, I was completely caught off guard when the principal from his end of the table suddenly interrupted (not unlike at our last meeting) to scold us. He seemed truly flustered as he blurted out that we were just going to have to trust them to do the job they have been trained to do and that WE were making them look foolish by the minutia of all of these questions we were asking that they didn’t have the answers for.

It stung. Literally. My eye’s stung and my heart burned briefly. I didn’t feel as calm in my response to him as I had the previous meeting, but Lovey said that although my anger showed in my voice I still sounded calm and professional.

I reiterated what he had previously said to us, that this was new for them, that they had not had a child like the Quail in their k4 class before and that while we were clear about that, we are involved parents and our questions are not meant to be condescending but collaborative in nature. It is our confidence in this school’s excellent academic reputation and our experience so far that makes us clear that this is where we want our child to go to school. I reminded him that they had requested a different arrangement from their director if the Quail were to attend and that they had been turned down in that arrangement, that it was their explanation of that request that had clarified that the resource teacher who was now to be assigned, has no experience in working with children with the Quail’s diagnosis and as young as her. I pointed out that we were not offended by their not having answers to these questions and the need to defer discussion to the fall, but rather that we wanted to make sure these issues were on other’s agendas and to be clear that we would be discussing them come this fall- that we had sent our questions ahead of time in a good faith effort of collaboration.

He backed off again, and the discussion and questions continued but I didn’t leave there this time feeling he was on our team. At a later point (yes this was a long meeting) he made a point to lock eyes with me and give me a world-weary warning to never ever give up the Quail’s IEP- that that was where the protection of her rights lie. To be fair to him, he doesn’t know me, us, the Quail or what we know. I’m crystal clear that we need protection of her rights, as unfortunate as that is in this day and age.

So we finished up and the principal had to leave. Turns out this was his last IEP. He’s retiring this year. Others apologized for his tone and we all moved on to share some cake. And I left glad I had brought it. Some victories- they need a bit of icing, and I’m happy to provide it.

five minute friday: comfort

…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

Go:

It would be so easy to trust the “experts”. After all, they’ve earned those accolades for a reason they tell me. They’ve studied and learned, and volunteered and worked and have been assured they know what to do. Nine times out of ten their expertise, it is spot on. Only I fear we are that tenth. No, I know that we are that tenth spot.

There is a certain level of comfort in being able to stand shoulder to shoulder with that someone who knows more than you. That someone, that with all of their expertise will take the lead. It takes stepping out of that comfort zone, putting one foot firmly in front of the other to step up and share your own knowledge, your heart, your mind, what you know- and to trust it is true enough for the day ahead.

And if I can’t trust what I know, how can I expect the others to do just that? I question myself day in, day out. I wonder if I know all I need to know to grow her, to educate her, to show her how to trust what she already knows about herself.

They came to me before she was even born to tell me what to expect, what to do, how to do it. To question my knowledge, my intuition, what I saw in her sameness, what I would see in the days ahead, how I would feel and how I would or would not know her. Then when she was born, they came to me again to tell me what I can expect- these experts with all their confident jargon and phrases. They tell me they’ve met others like her, that they’ve read all about her, that they know her and her special needs best.

Then she is born, she cries, she latches on to me and as she wakes her blue eyes sparkle while tracking me across the room. Her silent voice echos Momma in her heart, until it can no longer be silent, can no longer be contained there and it reverberates in all its impassioned righteous cries of “My Momma!!!” Each morning, she stands in front of the refrigerator stomping her own two strong feet crying “My Momma!!!” while I pry her small starfish hands again and again from my calves in the rush to leave for work, taking with her that essential piece of me she has always held.

Each evening I return as those same small hands fold into their home around my neck and she whispers our secret in my ear. “My momma.”, she tells me patting my cheeks, my back, welcoming me home. She shows me that she knows. That only she is the expert, she is who I will stand shoulder to shoulder with and she is who will bring me that comfort I crave.

Stop.

Art’s imitation of life

lunartOne of my favorite bloggers had a recent post about AG dolls and in reading this post I was brought back in time for my own version of this story.

A couple of years ago, in spite of the plethora of half-naked, crazy-haired dolls littering the floor of the girl’s room. Dolls, that had been purchased and received in the last six years and had formed their own make-believe community with the generation of dolls that survived my childhood to be handed down to the eager little starfish hands of my own children. I still found myself wanting for a doll for the Quail that had Down syndrome. Problem was, every. single. doll. that was marketed for that- creeped me out. And I didn’t want to buy, what to me was a creepy looking doll and tell my daughter whom I routinely gush at how beautiful she is; that this lone doll, not the series that had already been living in her room, represents her.

This conundrum really bothered me at the time, I worried that it was springing from some deep-seeded discomfort I unknowingly harbored about the Quail and her labels. That maybe I wasn’t nearly as accepting as I assumed and presented myself as. I kept flashing back to the hundreds of pictures from her newborn days that I would skip over when deciding which to share because I thought they emphasized the stereotypes that the label of Down syndrome bring along with them.

At that same time Punky– that Irish cartoon about the girl who has Ds came out and that- that I was for. We got that and it now sits happily amongst the set of kids DVDs that we never watch because we never watch DVDS. (Shout out to Netflix: Please add Punky!) But we have it and I enjoy the show.  As opposed to how I feel about all of the doll options out there.

At that same time some of the other families on-line that we were friends with because of the Down syndrome connection; were having this Spanish doll-maker named Desi adapt the eyes on these Waldorf-style dolls to represent Ds. The doll with “the eyes” was just as darling to me as the other dolls she made. So I contacted her and put in my order. With the first photo she sent of the Quail’s doll I commented that it didn’t have the same eyes as my friend’s dolls. Desi indicated that as these specialty orders had been coming in she had revised her original design and was it ok? I wasn’t sure how I felt about it- but at the same time- I appreciated her take as an artist and didn’t want to interfere too very much.

Fast forward a year and a half later when our dolls came. For Zuzu I had asked to have the eyes deep blue and heart shaped- because she is both full of heart and wears her heart so openly. The hair- Oh I was as specific as I could be about the hair. When our friend Molly had photographed our family I had swooned over the strawberry blonde locks she managed to capture of their early childhood. This, this I wanted commemorated as they aged and their hair starts to turn more like my own. She created this wild tangle of art yarn that both mirrored their style at the time and pulled out the strawberry of the blonde. I had wanted a smattering of freckles on her cheeks because those had recently begun to sprout. Zuzu, while routinely bathed in sunscreen would occasionally make it out of the house without or manage to wash it off before an afternoon of outdoor play. We would of course give the grim reminders of how darling freckles can be a precursor to skin cancer, which runs rampant in our family and Zuzu would reply how her teacher told her they were angel kisses. Sigh…

Of course we also had to have a series of accessories for the doll because otherwise it really wouldn’t represent the fashionista that is our children. Fairy wings, purses, shoes, scarves and hats. These dolls by far have a better wardrobe then me.

Out comes the Quail’s doll and with the newly designed eyes. Indeed they don’t look like the eyes of our friend’s dolls. Really, they look pretty similar to Zuzu’s dolls eyes. Much like how the Quail looks more like us than she does others with Down syndrome.

Remember that episode of Glee where we learned that Becky’s internal voice was Dame Helen Mirren? And Becky’s monologue:  “You may be wondering why I sound like the Queen of England. In my mind, I can sound like whoever I want, so lay off haters.”   

DSC_5206Well in the meantime the Quail has fallen in love with Sadie, the blonde,Target version of an AG doll. She was quite specific and insistent in which doll she loved and really, who am I tell her it doesn’t represent her right?

Quail day: I’m back…

I’m back.

Last week- I don’t know exactly how to explain it other than my brain and heart woke up again. I knew this fog I had found myself in was likely- but when you are in the middle of it- sometimes it is just so hard to see till you are nearing the daylight just outlining  that fog.

When we were debating having Sugarplum the thing that crossed my mind was that while well intentioned, the necessary separating of another apron string that happened between Zuzu and I that lasted about 2 years of her young life.  I know it’s biology- a momma’s focus turns inward to grow the little one in her and then to continue that in the first year growing her on the outside during that time when life is still so very fragile. Still as much as Zuzu adored both the idea and fact of her baby sister, we would catch glimpses of her by herself while I laid as still as I could willing my stomach not to heave and then contract. While we spent 45 minutes of every 2-3 hours syringing drops of milk I had just pumped into the Quail’s tentative mouth, while I loudly (and not ironically) demanded quiet from the household so I could beg the Quail to stay latched on. What willed us through this though was the equally apparent sight of Zuzu reaching out her hand to the Quail while they simultaneously nursed, cuddled on the couch and reached for each other through the fence on the playground. They were sisters first as they patiently waited to grow into playmates and friends.

The thought of yet another apron string detaching between Zuzu and I and now that even heartier one between the Quail and I loomed ahead though. And while I knew it would again be as fruitful as it was necessary, the advanced warning of the maternal fog that was about to set in for a couple years duration did little to prevent the overwhelmingness of it.

This past month as Sugarplum has become a bi-pedal little person we’ve been slowly introducing things other than momma milk to her diet. I say slowly because she hasn’t taken to it with much vigor for the past 6 months. She has learned to sign “all done” and shake her tiny head with a fervent “no” and Stanley Kowalski the offerings of “people food” promptly off of her tray. And since she is our baby, and because I’m old and tired, it is so very hard to “outstubborn her” as the good doctor has prescribed. We’ll get there, no doubt, if the Quail has taught me nothing, she’s given me a renewed emphasis on the glory of patience and conviction. But in the meantime, I’ve been slipping more and more cow’s milk into her cups and weaning myself off of my pump, if not her.

This alone has woken me up, to not be so saturated in the momma hormones throughout the day. And then, this past week, it was like my brain sat bolt upright remembering itself. Lovey asked me if I knew for sure what the Quail’s IEP team was recommending for next year. I recalled that the teacher had said she had been speaking to the 4k teacher at the school where the special education program is housed for the county about the Quail and wanted her to start spending some time there and to come to special ed 5 days a week. Beyond that, I knew no specifics. Lovey then decided to send a note to the Quail’s special education teacher asking for clarification. What came back, that was the jolt I needed. Yes she wanted her to spend some time each day there. What was the shocker was it was calendar/math and phonics sessions she felt the Quail was capable of. But that was all.

This moved us to action. I began tentatively emailing our village- cyber and IRL folks who have been there, done this, here in our system and across the country. Lovey did the same, and then one day- he sent me a note after reading what I had said to another mother. He noted how little like myself I sounded- that I sounded uncertain- not knowing what is the right path for the Quail. That in talking about her we need to focus on her strengths and abilities and lead with that because of the prevalence of stereotypes that surround Down syndrome, people hearing about her will latch on to what they already know about people like her- the weaknesses and difficulties and not hear what we are saying about the real her. I have never been more in love with this man. The student became the teacher. These past 17 years of knowing each other- of sharing my heart with him of showing and including him in the world of disability that I’ve grown up with and how we best serve others in their own community, of how we talk about people- well it was ingrained in his heart and mind and he brought it back to me when I was at my most vulnerable, overwhelmed and doubting of myself, my daughter and what I know. What. I. Know. What we know about this individual that is our heart and light.

I may not be well versed in the education system and most of what I know about offerings locally for others that come with an extra chromosome is third person removed, but it included including the child in the less academic portions of the day- very little inclusion- but mainstreaming into the regular classroom for things like lunch, recess, art, gym. Rarely academics without a fight. And here was our teacher recommending the academic portion because the Quail- well frankly she knows so very much.

So Lovey headed down to the local elementary school in our town. You know the one where Zuzu goes? The one where the Quail went for her therapies when she turned 3 and started with the education system before a segregated classroom even existed for preschoolers here. Now public 4K in our state is for children that are “at risk”. There are limited spots and we want one. The 4k teacher willingly told Lovey a bit more about the class. About the fact that in this class of approximately 20 students, there are to date, 7 native languages. The joy of a college town- a very international community. This was sounding just perfect. The Quail- her receptive language- it’s near normal. She understands what you are saying. She just has trouble expressing herself in a typical form back. But this teacher- this teacher already works with that fact, albeit for a different reason, in her classroom everyday. Why not one more?

Lovey asked what concerns she might have about including the Quail in a typical 4k setting. She mentioned that attention span and focus can often be an issue and it can often be overwhelming coming into such a large classroom environment for the first time. We parroted back what we have been told about our bird. She is great with work assignments and therapists have frequently noted the expanse of her attention span. She also is currently in private preschool with 1 teacher and 16 classmates.

“Well then,” came the reply; “scratch that.”

So, this past week, we let the Special Education teacher know that we were not in favor of her continuing at the separate school, in the separate class. There is so very much more to say about the Quail’s experience and the impact it has had on her this past year….and I can and will go on. But this fog that is slowly dissipating, well it means I’m also keenly aware of all the other things around me that were out of sight and mind in this period of growing another little person both in and along side me and they are calling for my energy and attention as well.

Last week when Lovey spoke up on behalf of our bird, our teacher asked what our goals are for her and out of a vault that had been stuck shut- came pouring the expectations for equal rights. For equal education. For inclusion. For the Quail’s right to be a part of a typical classroom and continue to learn just as she has shown us for the last 4 years that she is capable and eager to do. What we know are concerns for her and how we know they have been successfully addressed in the past and can be in a typical 4k setting.

We made a choice 4 years ago to include her in the same typical daily setting as her sister knowing that if we had to move her into more specialized care, that we would- but that she would need to show us that she needed it. Since she came into our lives we have assumed ability, not disability. We have looked at her and known and assumed capability and as she has shown us she needs support, we have sought it out. And she has thrived. She has grown. She has learned.

My girl- she is entering a system that expects her to prove herself in a way that someone not bearing her label and features would never be asked. Children that know what she knows in her head- they would be able to sit down alongside the other children without having to earn their way there. Because in this country- education is a basic right to all children. Except possibly those that have to work a little harder to keep up. Except maybe those that need it even more.

But that’s ok. I was born for this. The generations that have come before me and educated me personally, academically and professionally- my gratitude is with them. They fought to have children like mine have first the right to be born in to this world, then given the medical care to live a life and then the right to be supported in their own homes.

My generation- we are here to continue on that legacy. We are here to show the capability that lies within. To continue to advocate for equal rights. And that begins with a good and thorough education.

I hope this won’t be a fight. Our family will go in to these meetings with the assumption that we are all here to do what is best to educate the Quail. But, we will lead these meetings now making sure the educators know what we know. What the Quail knows.

That this bird, this bird can and will fly.

corner view: hands

Corner view is a weekly Wednesday gathering, originally hosted by Jane, now by Francesca. A topic is given and you can see impressions; be it photographic or writerly in form, from around the world. Come see the world’s corner view via the links on the sidebar!

Mine & theirs. It makes me so happy. Hands is a well loved topic for me- what we do with our hands when we aren’t thinking about it- it says so much about our heart don’t you think? Come see here, here, & here as well!

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five-minute-friday: ordinary

…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

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Go:

She’s anything but and yet incredibly so. So ordinary in ways we couldn’t imagine based on the generalizations we were presented with when she was born. Would she speak? Would she walk? Would she go to school and learn? Would she know who we are? Would she nurse? Would she be a sister to dear Zuzu?

When the child in your heart and belly comes along with warnings of the complexities of her growth you find yourself backing up your hopes, your dreams your expectations: Dear God, give me an ordinary day. One where we wake and nurse and cuddle and play. Let her be healthy and happy. That’s not too much to ask for is it?

Now, four years into this journey, she just is. 

Yes she speaks, in her own way, in her own time, with much help from our community. Yes she walks, she also jumps and runs and tumbles and plays. Yes she will go to school, and it thrills her to have the attention of her teachers and classmates. She happily follows along and eagerly takes in what you take the time to teach her. Yes she knows her family. She asks for us by name when we are not there. She tells us what the other is doing. If the baby is sad, she runs for a grown-up and a tissue. If her big sister takes her toy she bellows and wallops her. If her mom grabs her purse on a Tuesday or Thursday morning, she pulls her backpack over her shoulder and chants her teacher’s name. If her Dad suggests a park run, she rifles through the shoe box for her purple crocs. Yes she nursed, with a lot more help than the average baby but also a lot more determination. Yes she knows her big sister and her baby by heart.  In the evening, she crawls up on the oversized couch with her legs criss-cross-applesauce and holds out her hands for her snuggle time with the baby. She crawls into bed beside her sister and lays down her sweet head at the end of the day, as comfortable in her place in that bed as she is her place in our hearts and family.

Those experts, they didn’t know. They couldn’t predict her.

She is so very ordinary.

And yet, she is so not.

Stop.