Sarah and Me

My husband was attending an employer-required class (called “Non-Violent Crisis Intervention” . . . fodder for a future blog) when the news of Sarah Palin’s vice presidential nomination broke. When he arrived home, I met him at the door. “Did you hear who McCain chose?” I asked.

“Yeah. He picked YOU!” exclaimed Hubby.

I cocked my head at him so he clarified, “Well, not YOU . . . but someone a lot LIKE you!”

It was later, in the shower, when I began comparing and contrasting Sarah Palin and myself.

Our basic belief systems appear to be similar. (I’m a conservative Republican with liberal Democrat friends. She’s a conservative Republican with conservative Republican enemies.)

We both delight in our young sons with Down syndrome. (Although I haven’t had a chance to show mine off on TV, I plaster his picture all over the Internet.)

We both wear funny-looking glasses. (Note to self: Update blog photo one of these days.)

We’ve each given birth to more than the socially acceptable maximum of four children. (Have four children and people will say you have a large family. Have five or six and they suddenly find lots more to say about you.)

We both sell things on eBay. (I admit, her sales are a little out of my league. When she became governor, she sold the corporate jet.)

We both married incredibly handsome and successful men. (My husband reads my blog . . . )

On the other hand:

Sarah has won beauty pageants. I haven’t done that yet.

Sarah’s nickname is powerful and impressive: “Sarah Barracuda”. Mine is a little less imposing: “Smelly Kelly”.

Likewise, her children are creatively named: Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper and Trig. Mine are James, Julia, David, Carolyn, Faith and Joshua. Professional analysis of this could prove interesting.

Sarah hunts moose. I hunt for my car keys and mates to my children’s socks. 

I thought it was important to point out these similarities and differences to aid in the vetting process if anyone ever decides to call me out of the blue and ask if I’d be interested in running for Vice President of the United States.

Don’t tell me it couldn’t happen.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

During all of my pregnancies, we chose not to have any of “those tests”, because, I always told the doctor, it wouldn’t matter to us if our baby had a genetic abnormality. Our sixth child put us to the test by surprising us with a Down syndrome diagnosis.

 

A Poem For Joshua

 

The task had been quite difficult,

But now my job was done.

Fatigued beyond description,

I watched my newborn son.

A mass of blonde clung damply

To your squawling little head.

“Ten toes, ten fingers, perfect!”

That’s what your daddy said.

Months and months of waiting,

And here was my reward!

I marveled your perfection,

While your father cut the cord.

 

The doctor looked you over;

I saw his furrowed brow.

The nurses exchanged glances,

And they were frowning now.

The doctor turned to face us

With pity in his eyes.

His next words, said quite gently,

Still took us by surprise.

“Folks, your baby just might have

An extra chromosome.

We probably should do some tests

Before you take him home.”

 

I glanced at you, still sticky,

With infant lights above,

And all I felt that moment

Was overwhelming love.

The nurses were encouraging:

The doctor could be wrong!

The tests would tell for certain;

They wouldn’t take too long.

I knew about Down syndrome.

I saw the signs in you.

I didn’t need a test to tell

What I already knew.

 

The tests confirmed suspicion:

Our child was “one of those”.

I barely even noticed,

Still admiring all your toes!

“Take time to grieve”, one nurse advised.

“This must be such a trial!”

“His hair’s so nice!” was my reply.

“I think I saw him smile!”

“Patient’s in denial,” she wrote.

“She thinks her baby’s fine.”

The nurse just didn’t understand

About this child of mine.

 

“Low muscle tone” . . . I think that means

You’re cuddly as can be!

None of my other babies

Have snuggled so with me.

“Developmentally delayed” . . .

That’s just a way to say

You’ll stay “my baby” longer

Than other babies stay.

“Special Education” isn’t

What we thought it’d be.

The things you’ve learned pale when compared

To things that YOU’VE taught ME!

 

Predictably, the years have passed

And you are almost four.

Delightful, charming, funny . . .  

I couldn’t love you more!

Dancing with your sisters,

Playing ball with Dad,

These past few years have been among

The best I’ve ever had.

You sing, you sign, you give bear hugs.

It’s never crossed your mind

To miss the things you might not do.

And, yes, my baby’s fine!

 

When we go out, it seems that people

Have to smile at you.

How can they help it, when you grin

At them the way you do?

In all the time we’ve had you,

I’ve never grieved a minute.

I can’t imagine any part of life

Without you in it.

I look at you, asleep at night,

When our day is done.

I don’t see any flaws at all;

Just my beloved son.

Sweets for the Sweet

Our Youngest Son has Down syndrome. He’s three years old but, at a mere 24 pounds and with a toddling gait that he accomplishes with raised hands necessary to keep his balance, most people assume he’s barely past his first birthday. Outgoing and affectionate, he is a charmer who has learned to take advantage of the effect his antics have on his five older siblings.

Speech is usually a challenge for children with Down syndrome, so we are teaching Youngest Son sign language. Although it took several months for him to master his first sign, he now typically begins using a new sign after practicing it for five or six days. We found out recently that some signs are more motivating than others, though. I decided to teach him “chocolate”. I showed him that particular sign a grand total of THREE times when . . . BINGO . . . he started using it. Often. Insistently. With a pleading look on his little face.

Sign language has its limitations. Someone who understands his modified signs must be looking right at him for the sign to have any effect. Consequently, his constant requests for chocolate were largely ignored. With a spoken vocabulary that consists of words like Mama, Dada, and bye-bye, the word “chocolate” was a bit out of his league. Apparently aware of the possibility that three M&Ms could soon be deposited on his high chair tray, he decided to make a verbal attempt. The word came out as “caca”, much to the amusement of our other children, who wasted no time in pointing out the similarity in appearance between chocolate and . . . well . . . caca.

So, “caca” it is, at least for now. Can you believe what he did with those three M&Ms?