The Merchant Family Foundation is presently accepting proposals for the effective and creative reuse of 57 orphan socks.
The socks range in size from newborn to adult male, cover the full color spectrum, and even include slipper socks and printed holiday footwear.
The process through which they arrived in their current detached and solitary state is unknown. However, they have taken up permanent residence in a laundry basket.
Proposals must involve removing the socks from their current location and cannot necessitate finding their long-lost partners.
Preference will be given to proposals which can turn socks into a renewable resource, cause them to self propagate, or generate income from them.
No funds are authorized to be expended on this proposal. [The account is already in trouble due to the inexplicable and unaccountable loss of 57 socks.]
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
How We Spent Our Spring Break
There are some moments which just fully capture your child's spirit and developmental stage perfectly. I had several during my spring break trip to Utah with the girls.
Moment One: The Flight
I had more than dreaded flying alone with three kids, one of whom would have to sit on my lap the entire time.
My first solo flight with Mia and Maggie for Thanksgiving 2007 ended with Maggie biting my arms, screaming and trying to claw my eyes out for the final thirty minutes because I had to have her buckle her seat belt and remain seated during the landing. Which was the same time that Mia could no longer hold it, couldn't leave her seat, and wet her pants. Good Times!
In planning my most recent flight, I had forgotten three things: 1- Elsie Jane is an angel, 2- Mia and Maggie are expert fliers now, and 3- When everyone has their OWN DVD player everyone can be happy. It was truly a piece of cake!
Moment Two: The Stitches
The highlight of Mia's trip to Utah, and the most reported anecdote since our return, was getting stitches.
Mia is always combating some malady. A "broken" leg that requires wrapping with an ace bandage and the use of a makeshift crutch or an injured arm that after having been scratched can no longer lift anything or fasten buttons or zippers. So, when I examined the gash in her forehead (from a piece of wood her cousin had dropped on her off the rickety ladder in the old shed behind my parents' house) and said it looked like it needed stitches, I thought I detected a bit of a grin.
After a bad experience in the local ER previously and Mia's complete panic attacks over her kindergarten shots and having her eyes dilated, I determined to take this case straight to Primary Children's Hospital where I knew they would at least tolerate well the potential hysteria of my six year old.
However, while the doctors and nurses were fabulous at working with her, my concerns about Mia were entirely unfounded.
During the THREE hours we spent in the waiting room, during which I watched no less than five children vomit on the floor, Mia grew increasingly excited about her injury and the "surgery" she was going to need to have.
As she waited, Mia determined that she "no longer needed to feel jealous of Maggie for breaking her collar bone at Thanksgiving" because now she had a much worse injury. As she quantified it, "Mine had lots of blood, you know?"
Half-way through the wait, growing a little restless, Mia suddenly recalled that there may have been a nail in the board that hit her on the head. Which certainly made her injury much more severe. "Mom, I think you should tell them about the nail," she encouraged me, when I told her it was taking so long because they had to see those with the most serious conditions first. "The nail mom, it was really bad. I think they better do my surgery now."
At one point I overheard a conversation that in substance and enthusiasm belonged at Disneyland, not the ER.
The little girl who had been sitting next to us in absolute agony because her tonsils had been removed several days before and were now infected had just returned from a big dose of morphine in the triage room. Feeling much more chipper, she showed Mia (who was also, but without the drugs, basking in her time at Primary Children's) the stuffed rabbit she had been given at the hospital.
Mia responded by showing her the bunny she had received:
-It is mint, which is one of my favorite colors.
- I like mint too. I have lots of other beanie babies and two American Girl dolls at home.
-I have beanie babies and American Girl dolls too. They are my favorites.
-Mine too.
-I have a Mia doll.
-Me too.
-My doll has ice skates to wear.
-Me too. My doll has a blue dress.
-Me too.
-I like to take my doll places with me.
-Me too. I am six and a half.
-Me too. I go to kindergarten.
-Me too....
It concluded with an invitation for Mia to come to the girl's home in Park City sometime and bring her dolls.
Finally, she was seen.
Mia loved watching Care Bears and wearing special sunglasses during the procedure. Apparently, the common practice with such injuries in kids is to sedate or restrain them for the stitches, but Mia required neither. She was excited to have it done, didn't move a muscle, and I think actually enjoyed the shot to make her forehead "nimb."
Moment Three: Calling on a Higher Power
At present, any negative emotion that Maggie may experience is expressed as anger. She has a lot of anger, especially when she is over-tired or hungry. She can go into and out of intense moments of anger very quickly.
Thursday afternoon I offered Maggie a piece of pizza for lunch.
She proceeded to literally throw it back at me and scream.
So, I warmed up pizza for Mia, my mom, and me, and we sat down at the table to eat it. As we did so I asked Maggie if she would like me to make her a quesadilla when we were finished. Suddenly, to her absolute horror, she looked over and saw that everyone else was sitting down to lunch, but there was no plate for her.
Maggie assumed her angry stance. She placed her hands on her hips. She lowered her eyes so that she was glaring out of them directly at me. She tightened her jaw, pursed her lips, and sputtering with rage began to chastise me.
"It not...not nice you eat...eat without me. Jesus...Jesus...Jesus Christ not like you do that. You not...eat."
At this point as she choked on her emotions, she pointed her finger at us and began again, "I hate you (me), and you (my mom), and you (Mia), and you (Elsie Jane), and Daddy!"
Now, I began to try to offer a humble explanation. But, I was quickly cut off.
"You no...no talk to me. Dis is about ME! Dis about MY ANGER!"
And, so it was.
In addition to these moments we enjoyed visiting family, playing with cousins, and numerous Easter egg hunts. Here are the pictures from a few of those moments.
Feeding the horses with Uncle Mike
Easter Sunday at the Macdonalds (When will I learn to take the pictures of my girls before church? Then, maybe I would get one picture on a special occasion with Maggie not in the pajamas!)
Easter Egg Hunt at the Merchants
Thanksgiving Point with Cousins
Moment One: The Flight
I had more than dreaded flying alone with three kids, one of whom would have to sit on my lap the entire time.
My first solo flight with Mia and Maggie for Thanksgiving 2007 ended with Maggie biting my arms, screaming and trying to claw my eyes out for the final thirty minutes because I had to have her buckle her seat belt and remain seated during the landing. Which was the same time that Mia could no longer hold it, couldn't leave her seat, and wet her pants. Good Times!
In planning my most recent flight, I had forgotten three things: 1- Elsie Jane is an angel, 2- Mia and Maggie are expert fliers now, and 3- When everyone has their OWN DVD player everyone can be happy. It was truly a piece of cake!
Moment Two: The Stitches
The highlight of Mia's trip to Utah, and the most reported anecdote since our return, was getting stitches.
Mia is always combating some malady. A "broken" leg that requires wrapping with an ace bandage and the use of a makeshift crutch or an injured arm that after having been scratched can no longer lift anything or fasten buttons or zippers. So, when I examined the gash in her forehead (from a piece of wood her cousin had dropped on her off the rickety ladder in the old shed behind my parents' house) and said it looked like it needed stitches, I thought I detected a bit of a grin.
After a bad experience in the local ER previously and Mia's complete panic attacks over her kindergarten shots and having her eyes dilated, I determined to take this case straight to Primary Children's Hospital where I knew they would at least tolerate well the potential hysteria of my six year old.
However, while the doctors and nurses were fabulous at working with her, my concerns about Mia were entirely unfounded.
During the THREE hours we spent in the waiting room, during which I watched no less than five children vomit on the floor, Mia grew increasingly excited about her injury and the "surgery" she was going to need to have.
As she waited, Mia determined that she "no longer needed to feel jealous of Maggie for breaking her collar bone at Thanksgiving" because now she had a much worse injury. As she quantified it, "Mine had lots of blood, you know?"
Half-way through the wait, growing a little restless, Mia suddenly recalled that there may have been a nail in the board that hit her on the head. Which certainly made her injury much more severe. "Mom, I think you should tell them about the nail," she encouraged me, when I told her it was taking so long because they had to see those with the most serious conditions first. "The nail mom, it was really bad. I think they better do my surgery now."
At one point I overheard a conversation that in substance and enthusiasm belonged at Disneyland, not the ER.
The little girl who had been sitting next to us in absolute agony because her tonsils had been removed several days before and were now infected had just returned from a big dose of morphine in the triage room. Feeling much more chipper, she showed Mia (who was also, but without the drugs, basking in her time at Primary Children's) the stuffed rabbit she had been given at the hospital.
Mia responded by showing her the bunny she had received:
-It is mint, which is one of my favorite colors.
- I like mint too. I have lots of other beanie babies and two American Girl dolls at home.
-I have beanie babies and American Girl dolls too. They are my favorites.
-Mine too.
-I have a Mia doll.
-Me too.
-My doll has ice skates to wear.
-Me too. My doll has a blue dress.
-Me too.
-I like to take my doll places with me.
-Me too. I am six and a half.
-Me too. I go to kindergarten.
-Me too....
It concluded with an invitation for Mia to come to the girl's home in Park City sometime and bring her dolls.
Finally, she was seen.
Mia loved watching Care Bears and wearing special sunglasses during the procedure. Apparently, the common practice with such injuries in kids is to sedate or restrain them for the stitches, but Mia required neither. She was excited to have it done, didn't move a muscle, and I think actually enjoyed the shot to make her forehead "nimb."
Moment Three: Calling on a Higher Power
At present, any negative emotion that Maggie may experience is expressed as anger. She has a lot of anger, especially when she is over-tired or hungry. She can go into and out of intense moments of anger very quickly.
Thursday afternoon I offered Maggie a piece of pizza for lunch.
She proceeded to literally throw it back at me and scream.
So, I warmed up pizza for Mia, my mom, and me, and we sat down at the table to eat it. As we did so I asked Maggie if she would like me to make her a quesadilla when we were finished. Suddenly, to her absolute horror, she looked over and saw that everyone else was sitting down to lunch, but there was no plate for her.
Maggie assumed her angry stance. She placed her hands on her hips. She lowered her eyes so that she was glaring out of them directly at me. She tightened her jaw, pursed her lips, and sputtering with rage began to chastise me.
"It not...not nice you eat...eat without me. Jesus...Jesus...Jesus Christ not like you do that. You not...eat."
At this point as she choked on her emotions, she pointed her finger at us and began again, "I hate you (me), and you (my mom), and you (Mia), and you (Elsie Jane), and Daddy!"
Now, I began to try to offer a humble explanation. But, I was quickly cut off.
"You no...no talk to me. Dis is about ME! Dis about MY ANGER!"
And, so it was.
In addition to these moments we enjoyed visiting family, playing with cousins, and numerous Easter egg hunts. Here are the pictures from a few of those moments.
Feeding the horses with Uncle Mike
Easter Sunday at the Macdonalds (When will I learn to take the pictures of my girls before church? Then, maybe I would get one picture on a special occasion with Maggie not in the pajamas!)
Easter Egg Hunt at the Merchants
Thanksgiving Point with Cousins
Friday, April 3, 2009
A Day Late and $100 Dollars Short
Yesterday was World Autism Awareness Day. My friend, Melanie, asked others to post information about the warning signs of autism on their blogs to be entered in a giveaway for a $100 dollar gift card. So, of course, I read the challenge today. But, I really am not interested in the gift card (not that I would not always be able to spend $100 at Target) -- I just could not sit back and fail to try in this one small way to do something about autism. So, here is my autism post a day late.
I have thought a lot about autism. My first "real" job during college was teaching in a school for children with autism. I worked with preschool aged children across the spectrum. Some of the five year olds in my classroom were not toilet trained, had no verbal skills, engaged in repetative self-stimulatory behaviors, and responded more to holding their favorite pencil than having a parent walk into the room. Others were more responsive to other people, but struggled to connect in social settings or communicate with words. I grew to love these children, but never really knew if they loved me back.
Since those experiences, our family has had several dear friends with autistic children. I watch them raise and love these children with the same wonder I had for the parents of the children I taught. There are few answers with autism. No good causal explanations and no real cures that work for all children, so the process of raising an autistic child often is a lonely one with a lot of searching and a lot of hope required.
I have been thinking a lot lately about truly unconditional love: the type of love that requires NOTHING in return. In all honesty, most of us parents are imperfect. We love our kids, but not as unselfishly as we should. We expect them to love us back, to reciprocate, to be grateful for all we do for them, and in so doing our love is conditional. But, as I watched a show on autism just a couple of weeks ago, I finally put a few thoughts together that I had not had words for before.
More than almost any other challenge that a parent can face, autism requires unconditional love. That is the amazing quality that I have seen in the parents and caregivers of children with autism. They are able to love, fully and completely, without any expectation of reciprocation. They know they may never get the love or the behaviors that they would like from their child, but still they are able to love.
I have such respect for that capacity. I hope that I can learn to love like that more myself. I just felt the need to acknowledge the committment, the tenacity, the patience, and the love of families who experience autism. I am better for having known so many, and I appreciate the chance to love your kids and rejoice in their gains and progress.
So, on the off-chance that there are really readers of my blog who do not read Melanie's, and in honor of kids like Sydney, Jessica, Michael, Peter, Grant, Dylan, Alexandra, and others who have touched me, here are the warning signs to look for in early detection of autism.
If your baby shows any of these signs, please ask your pediatrician or family practitioner for an immediate evaluation:
No big smiles or other warm, joyful expressions by six months or thereafter
No back-and-forth sharing of sounds, smiles, or other facial expressions by nine months or thereafter
No babbling by 12 months
No back-and-forth gestures, such as pointing, showing, reaching, or waving by 12 months
No words by 16 months
No two-word meaningful phrases (without imitating or repeating) by 24 months
Any loss of speech or babbling or social skills at any age
*This information has been provided by First Signs, Inc. ©2001-2005. Reprinted with permission. For more information about recognizing the early signs of developmental and behavioral disorders, please visit http://www.firstsigns.org or the Centers for Disease Control at www.cdc.gov/actearly.
I have thought a lot about autism. My first "real" job during college was teaching in a school for children with autism. I worked with preschool aged children across the spectrum. Some of the five year olds in my classroom were not toilet trained, had no verbal skills, engaged in repetative self-stimulatory behaviors, and responded more to holding their favorite pencil than having a parent walk into the room. Others were more responsive to other people, but struggled to connect in social settings or communicate with words. I grew to love these children, but never really knew if they loved me back.
Since those experiences, our family has had several dear friends with autistic children. I watch them raise and love these children with the same wonder I had for the parents of the children I taught. There are few answers with autism. No good causal explanations and no real cures that work for all children, so the process of raising an autistic child often is a lonely one with a lot of searching and a lot of hope required.
I have been thinking a lot lately about truly unconditional love: the type of love that requires NOTHING in return. In all honesty, most of us parents are imperfect. We love our kids, but not as unselfishly as we should. We expect them to love us back, to reciprocate, to be grateful for all we do for them, and in so doing our love is conditional. But, as I watched a show on autism just a couple of weeks ago, I finally put a few thoughts together that I had not had words for before.
More than almost any other challenge that a parent can face, autism requires unconditional love. That is the amazing quality that I have seen in the parents and caregivers of children with autism. They are able to love, fully and completely, without any expectation of reciprocation. They know they may never get the love or the behaviors that they would like from their child, but still they are able to love.
I have such respect for that capacity. I hope that I can learn to love like that more myself. I just felt the need to acknowledge the committment, the tenacity, the patience, and the love of families who experience autism. I am better for having known so many, and I appreciate the chance to love your kids and rejoice in their gains and progress.
So, on the off-chance that there are really readers of my blog who do not read Melanie's, and in honor of kids like Sydney, Jessica, Michael, Peter, Grant, Dylan, Alexandra, and others who have touched me, here are the warning signs to look for in early detection of autism.
If your baby shows any of these signs, please ask your pediatrician or family practitioner for an immediate evaluation:
No big smiles or other warm, joyful expressions by six months or thereafter
No back-and-forth sharing of sounds, smiles, or other facial expressions by nine months or thereafter
No babbling by 12 months
No back-and-forth gestures, such as pointing, showing, reaching, or waving by 12 months
No words by 16 months
No two-word meaningful phrases (without imitating or repeating) by 24 months
Any loss of speech or babbling or social skills at any age
*This information has been provided by First Signs, Inc. ©2001-2005. Reprinted with permission. For more information about recognizing the early signs of developmental and behavioral disorders, please visit http://www.firstsigns.org or the Centers for Disease Control at www.cdc.gov/actearly.
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