While all the other zoo-goers raced to feed the goats in the petting farm, Addie seized upon the endless open gravel pit just outside. It was by far, the best part of the zoo for her.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Something for Everyone
While all the other zoo-goers raced to feed the goats in the petting farm, Addie seized upon the endless open gravel pit just outside. It was by far, the best part of the zoo for her.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Keep Tally: Be it Now Known that I Do
It's all about being fair, or trying to be, as a parent of more than one child. You count out the M&M's, you covertly use the length of your thumb knuckle to tip for measuring the width of cake you cut for each of them, you semi-consciously eye the amount of toothpaste on each brush... It doesn't feel critical to make things even all the time, you don't always have to hear the slow, indignant "Heeey! That's not FAAAAIR!" But a habit forms and becomes the default mode, ingrained.
I did not realize I was doing it, but apparently this is how I have tried to treat summer activities - one for one. Mind you, Cate is an extremely gregarious 9 year old, smiling, talking, emoting most waking hours. And Addie is loving, non-verbal almost 5 year old with a very strong personal agenda regarding freedom and movement. Every summer camp in the world is expecting a child like Cate. None are expecting Addie and few can do more than merely accommodate her (tolerance does not equal inclusion).
So maternal-types just have to get crafty. Cate has her activities and Addie has a few structured and a few made up ones. We go to the pool at the same times each time we go, hoping we'll see the same kids and that this will lead Addie to be comfortable enough to interact a bit with some. This routine has inspired a feeling of ownership in Addie, but has not really fostered interaction. Because she believes she is the boss of the pool (really a tiny water park) and all surrounding waters and including the sand pit, she moves through the pool trusting that all 'her guests' will get out of her way and bear with her splashes. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. Either way, it's not so much of a warm introduction. Still working on this and her awareness of others. It's the water she's come to be with, not so much the people anyway.
But in addition to activities, there are the summer extras. The invitations from friends and family to sleepovers, to festivals in other suburbs, to baseball games, to cook outs, to the zoo, to ride bike, to get ice cream, etc. Sure, we do these things as a family, sometimes asking others to join. But to be invited outside your own family is another thing altogether, much more exciting. Over these spontaneous surprises, I have no control. 100% of such invites are targeted at Cate, leaving Addie with 0%. As a result, Addie spends a substantial amount of time in her push chair or in her car seat, completing the entire round trip without getting out, for no other purpose than delivering or retrieving her sister to/from something thrilling.
It has always been like this, but I must have chalked it up to the age difference in the past, still seeing Addie as a baby myself in some ways. But she will be 5 in a matter of weeks, certainly not a baby, not even a toddler, but a school aged kid, with a little thing called Rubinstein-Taybi Syndrome thrown in the bucket along with everything else that makes her Addie. Cate was on her second summer of her own invitations and events by Addie's age.
So I find myself wrongly holding those that extend welcome to Cate and not to Addie in contempt. Not Cate's classmates and neighborhood friends because those truly belong to her exclusively, but more family friends and family itself, people whose relationship to Addie is the same as theirs to Cate, whether bound by blood or not.
I say wrongly because I understand it to an extent: Cate is older, she is more rewarding to be around - she'll tell you in no uncertain terms when she's having a blast and when she's blasted out. Cate has no health concerns, there is no confusion about what level of communication she can cognitively deal with. Cate doesn't run away in public places, she doesn't wear a diaper or dig in said diaper, she is aware of her own coordination and balance and so does not require vigilance when she moves about and climbs. Cate doesn't have pica, so there is no need to scrutinize what is in her hands at all times or watch her mouth for chewing motions when she has not been given any food. And she just so happens, according to her mother, to be a brilliant, beautiful, witty, kind and confident young lady. So I see why folks want to celebrate summer with her. And they do not see inviting Cate with no mention of Addie as exclusion at all. It's just a specifically addressed invitation, after all. I get that.
And yet maybe I thought these were offered with the intention of spreading the cheer with Addie the next time. Next time hasn't come in 5 years yet. I'm now willing to see that where I've turned a blind eye in the past.
Addie, like Cate, happens to be brilliant, beautiful, witty, kind and confident - to those that know her well, anyway: Mom, Dad, Cate and Mrs. Bautista. I am certainly not saying that others don't love Addie. They clearly do. But there is a difference between loving someone passively and loving them actively through high expectations and leaps of faith. There are also a few people paid to be in her life or people who see their time with her as charitable work, that see her beauty and potential. For obvious reasons I do not refer to these service oriented, obliged people in this rant. I also see graciously accepting requests to babysit my children, or even generously offering it out of the blue, as falling outside of this realm, though I am eternally grateful for these gifts. But they are gifts to me and my husband, not to Addie. I'm talking about the old "We're gonna do something fun and we just KNOW it will be even more fun with you there," kind of affirming proofs of genuine fondness. Things that go right to your 'I-know-my-value-meter' and boost it up a few units.
The gap is no bigger than it's ever been, it's just the looking at it straight on that becomes a call to action. What is the action? Part of it is teaching Addie how to demonstrate her independence and power, but more of it is teaching others how to see these things in Addie, how to relish them for their originality. Here's hoping 10 years in marketing will be of some assistance in this.
Just as there is a counter at the top of this page, I will need to tally Addie's "hits" going forward and adjust my PR and marketing efforts accordingly through analysis and education. Cate will continue her own successful campaign for herself and hopefully Addie and I will learn a thing or two from this apparent social champion.
I did not realize I was doing it, but apparently this is how I have tried to treat summer activities - one for one. Mind you, Cate is an extremely gregarious 9 year old, smiling, talking, emoting most waking hours. And Addie is loving, non-verbal almost 5 year old with a very strong personal agenda regarding freedom and movement. Every summer camp in the world is expecting a child like Cate. None are expecting Addie and few can do more than merely accommodate her (tolerance does not equal inclusion).
So maternal-types just have to get crafty. Cate has her activities and Addie has a few structured and a few made up ones. We go to the pool at the same times each time we go, hoping we'll see the same kids and that this will lead Addie to be comfortable enough to interact a bit with some. This routine has inspired a feeling of ownership in Addie, but has not really fostered interaction. Because she believes she is the boss of the pool (really a tiny water park) and all surrounding waters and including the sand pit, she moves through the pool trusting that all 'her guests' will get out of her way and bear with her splashes. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. Either way, it's not so much of a warm introduction. Still working on this and her awareness of others. It's the water she's come to be with, not so much the people anyway.
But in addition to activities, there are the summer extras. The invitations from friends and family to sleepovers, to festivals in other suburbs, to baseball games, to cook outs, to the zoo, to ride bike, to get ice cream, etc. Sure, we do these things as a family, sometimes asking others to join. But to be invited outside your own family is another thing altogether, much more exciting. Over these spontaneous surprises, I have no control. 100% of such invites are targeted at Cate, leaving Addie with 0%. As a result, Addie spends a substantial amount of time in her push chair or in her car seat, completing the entire round trip without getting out, for no other purpose than delivering or retrieving her sister to/from something thrilling.
It has always been like this, but I must have chalked it up to the age difference in the past, still seeing Addie as a baby myself in some ways. But she will be 5 in a matter of weeks, certainly not a baby, not even a toddler, but a school aged kid, with a little thing called Rubinstein-Taybi Syndrome thrown in the bucket along with everything else that makes her Addie. Cate was on her second summer of her own invitations and events by Addie's age.
So I find myself wrongly holding those that extend welcome to Cate and not to Addie in contempt. Not Cate's classmates and neighborhood friends because those truly belong to her exclusively, but more family friends and family itself, people whose relationship to Addie is the same as theirs to Cate, whether bound by blood or not.
I say wrongly because I understand it to an extent: Cate is older, she is more rewarding to be around - she'll tell you in no uncertain terms when she's having a blast and when she's blasted out. Cate has no health concerns, there is no confusion about what level of communication she can cognitively deal with. Cate doesn't run away in public places, she doesn't wear a diaper or dig in said diaper, she is aware of her own coordination and balance and so does not require vigilance when she moves about and climbs. Cate doesn't have pica, so there is no need to scrutinize what is in her hands at all times or watch her mouth for chewing motions when she has not been given any food. And she just so happens, according to her mother, to be a brilliant, beautiful, witty, kind and confident young lady. So I see why folks want to celebrate summer with her. And they do not see inviting Cate with no mention of Addie as exclusion at all. It's just a specifically addressed invitation, after all. I get that.
And yet maybe I thought these were offered with the intention of spreading the cheer with Addie the next time. Next time hasn't come in 5 years yet. I'm now willing to see that where I've turned a blind eye in the past.
Addie, like Cate, happens to be brilliant, beautiful, witty, kind and confident - to those that know her well, anyway: Mom, Dad, Cate and Mrs. Bautista. I am certainly not saying that others don't love Addie. They clearly do. But there is a difference between loving someone passively and loving them actively through high expectations and leaps of faith. There are also a few people paid to be in her life or people who see their time with her as charitable work, that see her beauty and potential. For obvious reasons I do not refer to these service oriented, obliged people in this rant. I also see graciously accepting requests to babysit my children, or even generously offering it out of the blue, as falling outside of this realm, though I am eternally grateful for these gifts. But they are gifts to me and my husband, not to Addie. I'm talking about the old "We're gonna do something fun and we just KNOW it will be even more fun with you there," kind of affirming proofs of genuine fondness. Things that go right to your 'I-know-my-value-meter' and boost it up a few units.
The gap is no bigger than it's ever been, it's just the looking at it straight on that becomes a call to action. What is the action? Part of it is teaching Addie how to demonstrate her independence and power, but more of it is teaching others how to see these things in Addie, how to relish them for their originality. Here's hoping 10 years in marketing will be of some assistance in this.
Just as there is a counter at the top of this page, I will need to tally Addie's "hits" going forward and adjust my PR and marketing efforts accordingly through analysis and education. Cate will continue her own successful campaign for herself and hopefully Addie and I will learn a thing or two from this apparent social champion.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Rite of Passage
When Cate, my firstborn, lost her first tooth it was a big event. The build up was grand. There was fear, joy, tears, laughs. We knew it was loose for so long - she skipped between dread of pain and elated anticipation of, well, cash under her pillow. She was 6 years old. When it finally came out, we were all wrapped up in the holiday that peaked with the 6 quarters under her pillow in the morning. Cate's celebration continued on Monday when she could finally get her name on the 1st grade graph of missing teeth. I even remember that it was December 8th because we'd placed bets on it.
Yesterday, Father's Day, my second born lost her first tooth. Without any ado at all. This is one of those times when the magnitude of difference is completely in focus for me.
Addie is not yet 5 years old and has a diagnosis of Rubinstein-Taybi Syndrome.
On par with those with RTS, Addie has a particularly small mouth, chin and jaw. We'd noticed that her beautiful little chicklet bottom teeth were becoming a bit crowded. But she is not one to let you have a good look or feel in there - she's got some serious mandible strength. You learn to get glimpses when you can.
Just before surgery at the end of May they asked if she had any loose teeth. We sort of chuckled, not that we know of, smug that at her age and size, of course not -all that excitement was yet to come for her. That was 2 weeks ago.
Cate and I had some top secret Father's Day errands to run (yes, last minute, too) yesterday. We came home to find my husband, Michael, and Addie - just up from her nap - enjoying the beautiful weather in our back yard. Michael nonchalantly mouthed to me something about Addie's tooth. I didn't quite get it. When I got closer he said that tooth we'd noticed had changed position was gone. Sure enough, I grabbed her little mug and wrenched her lower lip down. Before she shook me free, I saw the space where that little kernel of rice used to be.
Michael said he looked everywhere, but could not find the tooth. He did not know what I knew - that finding an RTS lost tooth was a rare feat indeed, as many are lost during sleep and swallowed. My mentors on the RTS list serve had regaled many a tale of disappearing teeth - some venturing to scout them out in diapers later, some researching how easily such things are processed in the human digestive system and letting it go at that. We are part of that later camp.
After taking in that little space in Addie's smile, I was stunned. But my natural reaction to all things 'child' took over. I got the camera and took over 70 pictures over the next 2 hours, in search of the most elemental documentation of this great (?) thing that happened.
Once I finally got the photo that told the story (my side of the story, that is - the one that says a milestone was hit. Though Addie looks happy in the picture, it has everything to do with being the bath and nothing to do with the missing tooth), I was free to think about what happened. Addie, my baby, lost her first tooth. And she was 100% completely unaware of it. I wouldn't be begged and bothered to find the tooth fairy pillow. She would not ask me to read the book again about what happens when you loose a tooth. She would not question what the tooth fairy wants with all those old teeth. She would not dream of how to spend her quarters. She would not ask me to take her to the local mom and pop "we sell everything" store, Winkies, as the quarters burn a hole in her pocket.
Michael remarked that it sort of forces you to get a grip on her age and that the differences between other kids her age will become more and more apparent.
Just as I was mulling all this over, deciding how to feel about it, my older daughter tripped over her own words, eager to lay out the plan for us. She would write a note to the tooth fairy. She would explain that the note was under Cate's pillow because Addie has pica and would probably devour the note before the fairy could read it. In the note she would also request that the quarters be left under Cate's pillow for the same reasons, but that Cate promises to get them directly to Addie in the morning. There would be a post script on the note after the thank you. It would read "Tooth Fairy. You know how I haven't lost a tooth in a really long time? Could you help me to lose one? Love, Cate."
Cate knows about Santa, she knows about the Easter Bunny and so I assume she must know about the Tooth Fairy, though we did not have a talk specifically about her, as we did for the others. But she probably also knew that I needed some help with my own faith at that moment, so she did what she does so often - filled in my gap.
The note was written, deposited under pillow and exchanged for 6 shiny quarters. Cate showed the windfall to Addie when she woke up. Addie pushed it away in favor of a cup of water to drink and play in. Cate set the quarters on the table and told me to put it in Addie's yellow bank, not her red and white one, because there is more room in the yellow one.
Like my own mother, who I thought was a lunatic for doing it, I have saved all the teeth collected. There is a little bag with Cate's name on it in a secret place. I added a bag with Addie's name on it and yesterday's date, but leaving it empty didn't feel right. I rummaged through my jewelery making materials and found a tiny clear crystal bead. I will put one in the bag for each of Addie's lost teeth. One day I'll attach them to a delicate silver chain for a necklace - she and I will share it.
Yesterday, Father's Day, my second born lost her first tooth. Without any ado at all. This is one of those times when the magnitude of difference is completely in focus for me.
Addie is not yet 5 years old and has a diagnosis of Rubinstein-Taybi Syndrome.
On par with those with RTS, Addie has a particularly small mouth, chin and jaw. We'd noticed that her beautiful little chicklet bottom teeth were becoming a bit crowded. But she is not one to let you have a good look or feel in there - she's got some serious mandible strength. You learn to get glimpses when you can.
Just before surgery at the end of May they asked if she had any loose teeth. We sort of chuckled, not that we know of, smug that at her age and size, of course not -all that excitement was yet to come for her. That was 2 weeks ago.
Cate and I had some top secret Father's Day errands to run (yes, last minute, too) yesterday. We came home to find my husband, Michael, and Addie - just up from her nap - enjoying the beautiful weather in our back yard. Michael nonchalantly mouthed to me something about Addie's tooth. I didn't quite get it. When I got closer he said that tooth we'd noticed had changed position was gone. Sure enough, I grabbed her little mug and wrenched her lower lip down. Before she shook me free, I saw the space where that little kernel of rice used to be.
Michael said he looked everywhere, but could not find the tooth. He did not know what I knew - that finding an RTS lost tooth was a rare feat indeed, as many are lost during sleep and swallowed. My mentors on the RTS list serve had regaled many a tale of disappearing teeth - some venturing to scout them out in diapers later, some researching how easily such things are processed in the human digestive system and letting it go at that. We are part of that later camp.
After taking in that little space in Addie's smile, I was stunned. But my natural reaction to all things 'child' took over. I got the camera and took over 70 pictures over the next 2 hours, in search of the most elemental documentation of this great (?) thing that happened.
Once I finally got the photo that told the story (my side of the story, that is - the one that says a milestone was hit. Though Addie looks happy in the picture, it has everything to do with being the bath and nothing to do with the missing tooth), I was free to think about what happened. Addie, my baby, lost her first tooth. And she was 100% completely unaware of it. I wouldn't be begged and bothered to find the tooth fairy pillow. She would not ask me to read the book again about what happens when you loose a tooth. She would not question what the tooth fairy wants with all those old teeth. She would not dream of how to spend her quarters. She would not ask me to take her to the local mom and pop "we sell everything" store, Winkies, as the quarters burn a hole in her pocket.
Michael remarked that it sort of forces you to get a grip on her age and that the differences between other kids her age will become more and more apparent.
Just as I was mulling all this over, deciding how to feel about it, my older daughter tripped over her own words, eager to lay out the plan for us. She would write a note to the tooth fairy. She would explain that the note was under Cate's pillow because Addie has pica and would probably devour the note before the fairy could read it. In the note she would also request that the quarters be left under Cate's pillow for the same reasons, but that Cate promises to get them directly to Addie in the morning. There would be a post script on the note after the thank you. It would read "Tooth Fairy. You know how I haven't lost a tooth in a really long time? Could you help me to lose one? Love, Cate."
Cate knows about Santa, she knows about the Easter Bunny and so I assume she must know about the Tooth Fairy, though we did not have a talk specifically about her, as we did for the others. But she probably also knew that I needed some help with my own faith at that moment, so she did what she does so often - filled in my gap.
The note was written, deposited under pillow and exchanged for 6 shiny quarters. Cate showed the windfall to Addie when she woke up. Addie pushed it away in favor of a cup of water to drink and play in. Cate set the quarters on the table and told me to put it in Addie's yellow bank, not her red and white one, because there is more room in the yellow one.
Like my own mother, who I thought was a lunatic for doing it, I have saved all the teeth collected. There is a little bag with Cate's name on it in a secret place. I added a bag with Addie's name on it and yesterday's date, but leaving it empty didn't feel right. I rummaged through my jewelery making materials and found a tiny clear crystal bead. I will put one in the bag for each of Addie's lost teeth. One day I'll attach them to a delicate silver chain for a necklace - she and I will share it.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Long Road Home
Nearly 2 weeks after surgery, I am ready to say that Addie is on the mend. She took the long route, by way of pneumonia and collapsed lung. She is still pale and tires easily, but a short return visit to her home element did her wonders this weekend. She has arrived:
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