A Mommy Story

Dear Santa, I Want A New Computer

2009-12-09T21:10:00.006-05:00

OK, I know that's not exactly an easy request. Your toy factory likely hasn't fully converted to the digital age of electronics, and what conversions you have made are probably overwhelmed with requests for things like XBox, Wii, and iPhones.

And I know I haven't been as good of a blogger as I could be, but I don't think I'm on the naughty list yet. I'm still posting once a week, and I'm doing my best to keep my Bloglines under 1,000 unread posts. (Currently 931!) Work has consumed a lot of my time now, but that doesn't mean my computer has been gathering dust.

Santa, let me present a few reasons why I need my new computer:

1. I bought this laptop to replace the three-day old laptop that was stolen when our house was robbed in 2006. It's now over three years old. In laptop computer years, that means it's practically prehistoric. And I'd still like to move on and forget that traumatic moment in my life.

2. My CD-ROM stopped working over a year ago. Generally not a big deal, but every now and then it frustrates me when I can't upload a CD into iTunes.

3. About two months ago an intermittent grinding/whining noise started coming from my computer. It comes and goes, but occasionally is loud enough to make everyone else in the room stop and stare, thinking What got trapped in your laptop fan and is dying a slow, painful death?

4. Battery power? Ha. This baby lasts less than five minutes on battery. You can't even finish the start-up sequence before it gives you the low-battery warning and shuts down.

5. Last month my media card reader stopped working. Instead of popping my SD card from my camera into the media card slot to view photos of my adorable children, I now must go through a series of steps that involves the SD card, Aaron's computer, a flash drive, and my computer.

6. As of yesterday, the computer refuses to hibernate when closed. Instead, it remains on unless I turn it off completely.

7. As if that wasn't enough, there's this:

Did I mention I like taking photos of my adorable children?

So, Santa, if you wouldn't mind, could I please, please, please have a new computer for Christmas? I've already used a backup device to save my files, all ready to be transferred to a shiny new hard drive when the times comes. Don't leave a girl stranded without her technology, Santa.

(No, I'm not begging anyone in particular, other than Santa Claus. I still believe, Santa!)

This Will Have To Pass For A Post Today

2009-12-02T16:06:00.005-05:00

Things have been a little busy for me the past few days, no thanks to a crippling round of nausea and vomiting that struck yesterday. But there's been more going on than just that, only I'm too tired to write it all up. So, in summary form:

- Cordy lost two more teeth on Sunday, making it a grand total of three now. Actually, she lost one, leaving one tooth on the bottom with a gap on either side, which then made her reach into her mouth and yank out that middle tooth. If she loses any more teeth on the bottom, she's going to have trouble biting into anything. She's thrilled, though.

- Ever since Cordy's birthday in September, Mira has had two beds in her room - the crib and Cordy's old toddler bed. And each night we offer her the choice of "the big girl bed" or "the baby bed" for bedtime. She always chooses the crib. Until last week, when she decided she's had enough of the baby bed:

I thought we were in a for a long night of her getting out of bed and waking us up, but she slept the entire night. And since then she's not gone back to the crib even once. She also does better than I expected at staying in her room once it's bedtime. Is it possible for this transition to be this easy? Or is she lulling me into a false sense of security?

- And then there's this:

At first I saw this and worried that Mira was starting to develop Cordy's old quirks, like lining up toys in a row for no reason. But this is apparently "putting the trains to bed" according to Mira. Whew - at least she has a story for it.

I'm Going to War Against Artificial Food

2009-11-25T10:34:00.009-05:00

I was recently asked to take a survey about a new fruit snack. Normally I'm willing to be pretty open to new ideas for kids foods, trying to find the positive in them and give constructive feedback. But this time something in me changed.

The description of the product was "fruit-flavored snacks for kids" and I immediately stopped reading. Fruit-flavored. Meaning not real fruit, or probably not enough to meet FDA standards to call them fruit snacks.

I'm finished with fruit-flavored.

I'm finished with high-fructose corn syrup serving in the place of other sugars that weren't created in a lab.

I'm finished with artificial flavors made from ingredients like petroleum (artificial vanilla, anyone?). Yes, there's oil in your food.

I'm finished with artificial colors used to make foods look more "appealing" which in reality only make food look more unnatural. These same FD&C colors also make my five year old hyperactive, foggy-headed, and cause skin and gastrointestinal irritation that can last for several days until these chemicals work their way out of her system.

I'm finished with substituting a cheaper, less nutritious ingredient in place of a primary ingredient that makes the food what it is. (I'm looking at you, Hershey. Why the need to switch to vegetable oil in place of real cocoa butter?)

I'm finished with eating meat from animals that have been shot up with antibiotics and growth hormones so they can barely survive in miserable, crowded feed lots until they're turned into food.

The truth is, I'm not completely finished with all of those things. Unfortunately, I can't simply declare that my family is going all-natural and will be shopping only at Trader Joe's and Whole Foods from now on: our paycheck doesn't stretch that far. I like eating out sometimes, too, and I know I can't always ask for a full ingredient list for any items we order.

But I can take baby steps in moving toward that goal. So many products marketed to children are little more than nutritionally void junk, including fruit-flavored snacks. Sure, they may put a little fruit juice in it, touting 10% of a child's RDA of Vitamin C or whatever, but does that 10% really make up for the HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup) and artificial colors my child would also be eating?

Mira doesn't show the same sensitivity, but Cordy is extremely sensitive to artificial colors, especially FD&C Blue #1. (Made from tasty, tasty coal tar - YUM!) Give her a stick of rock candy (100% sugar) without any colors, and she's fine. Give her the same rock candy, only one that is dyed blue, and within the hour she'll become more hyperactive, less focused, more irritable, and generally unpleasant to be around for the next few days. I won't even begin to tell you the long trial and error it took to figure that out. Now Cordy has to avoid anything with FD&C Blue #1, which can be hard when her favorite color is blue.

It would take little effort for food manufacturers to rethink their policies towards additives in food marketed to children. When I spoke to PepsiCo at BlogHer this summer, I was invited to share my opinions of their products on a video that would be presented to the executives of the company. I told them that I do like many of their products, but would like them more and be far more willing to purchase them if they would work towards removing artificial additives from their foods. Even if it raised the cost of their products slightly, I think they would see a positive response from the consumer.

Since becoming a parent, I've become more concerned with nutrition and label reading, and as a result, I've decided against many of their products for my family. Should PepsiCo decide that their Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips or Cheetos don't need to be artificially vibrant orange to still be delicious, we'll eat them again.

I'd also like to see companies like Disney get more involved in removing artificial additives from foods with their licensed characters. We pass by the Disney Princesses fruit snacks in the grocery each week, and I've had to tell Cordy more than once that she couldn't buy those because the artificial ingredients would make her sick. Thankfully, she's a happy convert to Annie's bunny fruit snacks, which are completely safe for her to eat.

Sure, not all kids will have as dramatic a reaction to artificial ingredients like Cordy does. But I consider Cordy's sensitivity to be a barometer of things to come if we as a society don't start taking a closer look at what we're eating. I ate boxes and boxes of Fla-vor-Ice popsicles as a kid, and now I have a child who can't tolerate them without a reaction - did I somehow poison her system from years of abusing every cell in my body with junk food? While I'm not a scientist or a psychic, isn't it possible that our bodies will eventually hit a point where they can no longer tolerate this junk? Who's to say that many of the health problems we see today - diabetes, cancer, etc - aren't showing up more because of all the chemicals in our bodies?

I never intended to be a crusader, a hippie, or a "crunchy granola"-type person, and I'm in no way claiming that my family's nutrition is excellent. (It's not. Proof: I just had McDonald's for a quick lunch.) But I'm more aware now, and I'm standing up to say I'm sick of just how much junk is out there. I'm tired of reading every single label in the grocery, searching for hidden ingredients and deciding if a food is good enough or not for my cart. I feel like I can't trust anything on the grocery shelves.

I want better products to choose from. I want to buy deli meat without wondering if it has gluten or some other filler in it. I want cherries that haven't had a color makeover to bright red. I want more natural sources of food coloring used in products aimed at children.

And dammit, I want real buttercream icing. You know, made with real butter and powdered sugar. And chocolate with cocoa butter. If I'm going to have junk food, I want it to at least be real food.

Vote with your wallets, people. If you can't afford all natural, pick the worst offenders on your grocery list and start there. Making your grocery list healthier by one or two items is still one or two items for the better.

Fight For Preemies & Cherish The Babies We Have

2009-11-17T10:56:00.000-05:00

I remember sitting in my OB's office during my third trimester, hearing the confirmation of news I already knew: Cordy was breech. The stubborn child's head had been in my ribs for weeks, and at my urging the doctor performed an ultrasound to confirm that what was directly on the other side of my cervix wasn't a skull with a large brain, but instead little girl parts with the occasional foot kicking me in the cervix.

Disappointment washed over me. My choices were slim: attempt a breech birth, although at that time her positioning made it extremely unlikely, try an external version (where they try to turn the baby) and risk a cord accident, or have a c-section, which carries risks we all know. I asked my doctor which option was the least risky for Cordy, and c-section seemed the best option at the time. The risks of major surgery were obviously higher for me, but it was an easy decision to make.

In the end, I got what I wanted: a healthy, full-term (nearly 39 week) baby. And I know that my struggles with facing a c-section were minor compared to some of the harder choices other parents have faced. Or those who had any possibility of choice taken away from them. I never had to face a pre-term delivery, wondering if my child would survive outside of my uterus, praying I could keep her in for just a few days longer to improve her chances. It makes fretting about a c-section minor in comparison.

My mother still keeps an image etched in her soul of a 32-week infant daughter, head full of dark hair, half of her face bruised from the traumatic delivery, too little to breathe on her own. There were no photos taken of her, but my mom can still remember her features clearly. She had only enough time to give her a quick kiss before the baby girl was transported to the NICU, where she died just days later.

My mom is an incredibly strong woman, but I know she still mourns the daughter she lost. The details she can recall of those heartbreaking moments are vivid, moments that happened 34 years ago. I've asked her before if she's angry with what happened, upset that she was forced to go through so much pain only to bury a child she barely had the chance to meet. She responded with a reminder that if Krista didn't die, I wouldn't have been born, and in the end she's glad she has me. (Krista was born at the end of July. I was born in mid-June the next year. Roughly 11 months.) I don't know if that answer fully explains her feelings, but then again I think a lot of her feelings about those days are buried deep.

Today is Prematurity Awareness Day, sponsored by the March of Dimes. The March of Dimes recently released their report card for the nation, and I'm sad to say that the United States received a D. What's worse, Ohio (along with several other states) received an F, with a preterm birth rate of 13.2%.

While there will always be some elements out of our control, it is possible to bring down this number: better health care (and insurance) so all women have equal access to prenatal care, education about risk factors for premature birth, and a push for doctors to deny elective inductions before 39 weeks would be a great start.

In an ideal world, NICUs would be smaller and needed far less often, and nearly every child would be born without any need for life support. Until then, we can only raise awareness of our country's high rate of prematurity and support research efforts to improve prematurity outcomes and reduce the number of babies born too early.

Today I honor the memory of a baby born too soon, and I celebrate the lives of two healthy little girls who have made me the mother I am. Hundreds of bloggers are writing about a baby dear to them today, too. Will you?

Firsts - The Tooth Fairy

2009-11-16T16:50:00.003-05:00

I remember when I lost my first tooth. I was five years old, and I didn't even know it was loose. I went to my babysitter's house after kindergarten that day, just like any other day, and was greeted with a typical peanut butter and sugar sandwich. (Seriously, she sprinkled sugar on it. She was an old woman - let's not question her grasp of nutrition, OK?)

The sandwich was quickly devoured and my kool-aid was gulped down so I could watch afternoon cartoons. I must have laughed at something on TV, because my babysitter gave me a strange look and said, "Honey, open your mouth."

I had no idea why she was asking me to do something so odd, but I complied. "Did you lose a tooth yesterday?" she asked.

"No. They were all there when I brushed my teeth this morning," I replied.

"Go look in the mirror, sweetie," she instructed me, grinning. I'm sure I huffed as I got off the floor to go to the bathroom, irritated at leaving my beloved cartoons behind. I'm sure I thought she was nuts, since I had no dramatic moment of feeling a tooth fall out. Shouldn't I feel a tooth dislodge?

Standing on my tip-toes, I peered across the sink into the old, cracked mirror and slowly opened my mouth. There, in the center of my bottom row of perfectly aligned teeth, was a dark gap where a little pearly white tooth should be.

I was stunned, and my heart started to pound hard. Where was my tooth? When did it disappear? And most importantly, WHAT WAS I GOING TO TELL THE TOOTH FAIRY?

I don't remember what exactly happened after that. We figured out that I must have swallowed my tooth when I ate my after-school snack. I vaguely remember a mix of glee and horror, happy to have hurdled across another milestone in the journey of growing up, but worried that swallowing a tooth could somehow hurt me, and frantic that I was going to miss out on a payday from the tooth fairy.

It wasn't the ideal First Lost Tooth experience, although I believe the tooth fairy was understanding of my situation. (And for the record, my mom was NOT sympathetic enough to look for when the tooth came out the other end. My first lost tooth was never recovered, and I can't say I blame her for that.)

But I'm happy to say that Cordy did not share my first lost tooth experience. When she had dental surgery this summer the dentist warned us that, based on the x-rays, she was likely to lose a few baby teeth in the next year. The roots were shortening and her permanent teeth were beginning to form underneath.

About two weeks ago I noticed one of her teeth on the bottom looked out of line with the rest. When I wiggled it, I discovered that it was completely free in the back and just hanging by a tiny piece in the front. I expected a tooth fairy visit in the next day or two, but that tooth kept holding on.

Then the other night, while eating a chip, Cordy paused with a confused look on her face, reached into her mouth, and then handed me her tooth, shouting, "Mommy, I lost my tooth!" Apparently my child chews her food better that I did at five years old.

She put the tooth into a pouch, placed it under her pillow, and the tooth fairy replaced the tooth in the pouch with several coins for her piggy bank, along with two activity books. Cordy was thrilled.

Of course, further examination of her mouth reveals that the tooth fairy better not go too far away. Her permanent tooth is already coming in to that spot, and it's larger than the space available, now pushing out the tooth next to it.

What is the going rate for a tooth now, anyway? I'm hoping she doesn't ask at school. And if her permanent teeth are anything like mine were, we'll need to start saving for orthodontia now.

Guinea Pig for Hope

2009-11-14T16:29:00.006-05:00

Wow, I've been away for a week, eh? That was unintentional. This past week I completed my orientation at work and began my time on night shift, working 7pm-7am. So far? I'm in a fog. My brain and biorhythms can't tell if I should be awake or not at the moment, leaving me staring at the wall wondering if I'm really awake or just dreaming I am. I'm told it gets easier, so we'll all cross our fingers and hope that's true.

Even my days off haven't been very restful. Something I haven't shared with everyone yet is that back in September we enrolled Cordy in a clinical drug trial at OSU's Nisonger Center (University Center for Excellence in Developmental Disabilities). The Nisonger Center is an incredible resource for parents of children with autism, and I've been watching their research studies for a couple of years now.

I've considered clinical research studies for Cordy in the past, but never requested more information because either 1. Cordy was too young for the study, or 2. I didn't feel comfortable putting her in anything I considered risky. Unless the risks are slight, I'm not willing to let Cordy be a guinea pig, even if that research could be the key to unlocking new treatment options for autism spectrum disorders.

However, this particular clinical trial caught my eye. It's a study of an ADD medication for children with autism who also have ADD symptoms of hyperactivity and/or inattentiveness. The drug is already in use for children with ADD, the amount given in the study does not exceed recommended dosing guidelines already in place, and this drug has a very small list of rare, severe reactions, all of which are completely reversible by stopping the medication. Feeling like it was a relatively safe trial, I called and signed her up.

The first few meetings involved several screenings. Even though she already has a diagnosis, they had to determine for themselves that she really is on the spectrum with ADD-symptoms. By the end of those tests, the doctor in charge determined she was a perfect fit for the study. Then came all of the medical tests to be certain she has no underlying health problems. A blood draw was required for that, and I won't even go into the horrific details of how that went. Let's just say that they got to see Cordy's full meltdown, and again I'd like to apologize to the nurse who took the flying shoe to her head.

One of the more pleasant parts of the screening.

Now we go in once a week for a check-up. These meetings take about two hours, where I spend most of my time filling out paperwork and answering questions about her behavior for the past week. Cordy, on the other hand, spends about 15 minutes getting a quick exam by the staff (height, weight, B/P, etc.) and the remainder of her time charming everyone into letting her do whatever she wants. They let her watch videos, give her snacks (they keep a snack drawer stocked with organic snacks!), surround her with toys and paper and markers, and the student workers are thrilled to play with her. One in particular has said he wants to be there on the days when she's there, because he likes hanging out with her. All together now: awwwwww!

At the end of the meeting, I get another week's worth of medication for Cordy (they're slowly increasing her dosage) and Cordy, already stuffed from Annie's bunny fruit snacks, gets to choose a prize from the prize box. As you can guess, she now loves going to Nisonger, calling it her "office" and saying she "has to go to work."

We're only on week four of the ten week study, and we don't know if we have the actual medication or the placebo. The medication also takes 4-6 weeks to build up in the system. The good news is that we've yet to see any of the possible side effects listed for the medication. So we could have the placebo. However, in the past week we've also noticed that Cordy's repetitive motions (running "laps", flapping, awkward limb movements, etc.) have dropped off dramatically. So we could have the actual medication. Of course, it's supposed to help with ADD symptoms, not repetitive motions and flapping. So we could have the placebo. And at this point my head starts to spin as I think: And you must have suspected I would have known the powder's origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me...

So whether we have the real medication or not, we're not seeing a lot of results yet. But that doesn't mean they won't come. And at the end of the ten week study, we have the option of entering an open study where we can try the actual medication if we had the placebo.

I never thought I'd be a parent who would medicate her child. But with kindergarten looming in the distance, Cordy's lack of attention and focus is a concern. This is her last year of being in a special-needs classroom. Next year it's the real deal - mainstreamed in a class of typical kids. I worry she'll be eaten alive by kids who will pick up on her differences. I worry she'll have trouble sitting still. And most of all, I worry she will be left behind academically, as the quiet girl who doesn't cause any trouble, but also doesn't have the focus or drive to apply herself to her lessons.

She's generally not disruptive in the classroom, but her quiet zoning out could easily result in her being lost in the crowd. I can see her being the sweet child in the back of the class, distracted by her own mind and all of the sensory onslaught around her and then struggling when it's time to prove she learned anything at all.

Right now she gets personalized attention in her special needs pre-K, but next year she'll be lucky to share an aide in a classroom of 20+ kids. At this point we can't even guarantee a shared aide. While I plan to work with her at home as much as possible, I can't be in the classroom with her, meaning I'll exhaust every option to give her the best chance of success at school.

I have no idea if this trial will work or not. And if it doesn't, I'm back to searching for more options. But right now it's buying me just a bit of hope that we're moving in the right direction a little faster.

Drowning in Paper

2009-11-08T16:09:00.004-05:00

It's a sad realization about the state of my living room that I can remove an entire garbage bag stuffed full of papers, magazines, catalogs, etc. for recycling, then look at the room and realize I can't even see a difference.

Most of those papers? Stuff sent home by the schools. Seems like Cordy's backpack has a handful of papers stuffed into it each day, most of which is not-all-that relevant and could have been consolidated into fewer papers by using a font that wasn't so big my 89-year-old grandmother could read it without her glasses. Or, you know, that new little technology we have called e-mail.

Let's not forget all of the art projects that come home, too. Disclaimer: I love my children and cherish their creative spirits. With that said, I no longer feel guilty about throwing out some of those masterpieces. My mom has already given me grief for not saving every piece of art (apparently she has boxes of mine somewhere that I'm sure she's just waiting to dump on me whenever I feel like I've finally organized my house) but let me give one example of what I'm up against.

Cordy has seven sketch books from when she was three years old, all completely filled with drawings. Seven. And due to her affection for routine and repetition, they're all filled with THE SAME IMAGE ON EACH PAGE. Do we really need seven books filled with the same drawing, only in different colors? Will we really look back, years from now, and try to gain artistic meaning from why one drawing had more spikey hair while the other had less angles and more curves for the hair? And that's just from three years old.

And despite my Inbox being stuffed with online coupons and special sale offers, I still get a tremendous amount of catalogs. Of course, the holidays are nearly here, so I fully expect my daily catalog quota to triple in the next few weeks. Most go directly into the recycling before they ever touch a countertop, along with the regular credit card offers and other junk mail that keeps the USPS from raising our stamp prices sooner. (Seriously, I'd rant about all of the wasted paper for junk mail, but I am glad it keeps our mailman in a job.)

I've tried organizing everything, but it never lasts long. My organizers are quickly filled up and new folders are needed for things I never thought of. Maybe I should be asking for a giant corporate filing cabinet for Christmas? But where would I put it?

It's 2009, people. Why is there still so much paper cluttering up our lives? Where are our digital classrooms? Where are the paperless offices? And a little off topic: where is my flying car?

Perspective

2009-11-03T10:17:00.009-05:00

When I was a teen, growing up in a small Ohio town that I considered (back then) to be backwards, small-minded, and too confining for me, I dreamed of getting out of there and living a grand life. I had no idea what I wanted to do, but whatever it was, it was going to be exciting, it was going to open my world to new ideas and cultures, and I would never look back. Life would be one new experience after another.

It was also during that time in my life that I never planned to grow old. (I also was in my "Kids? NEVER!" phase of life.) No, I didn't mean I was going to find some fountain of youth - I actually thought that I would die before I ever had the chance to crack a wrinkle on my face. Growing old seemed uninteresting, and losing my vitality and my ability to keep up with the world was my greatest fear. Instead, going out in a blaze of glory while I was still young was far more appealing.

Let's not forget that, as a teen, 30 seemed old.

After I graduated high school, I didn't have quite the exciting life I dreamed up in my room at night. But I did do some cool things in my late teens and early 20's. I went to a university where I met people who were vastly different than those from my small hometown, and I did open my mind to new thoughts and ideas. I dyed my hair every shade of red imaginable. I spent a summer in England, almost refusing to go back home at the end.

I drove really, really fast. I conquered my fear of heights and did a bungee cord free-fall. I became a modern-day pseudo-hippie and joined the cast of a renaissance festival for nearly 10 years. I still had the motto that life was short and I wasn't planning on seeing old age.

And then I found a man I loved, and we married and had children.

The teen me never expected that part.

Now I'm in my thirties, with two young daughters, and I can't imagine that life I dreamed up when I was younger. I'm more cautious now. I still drive fast, but only a little over the speed limit, and less so when the kids are in the car. I care about things like nutrition and I see my doctor regularly. I stopped dying my hair when I was pregnant and haven't really gone back since. Surprisingly, I think I like the somewhat-routine life I've shaped in Columbus, Ohio, even if it is a little boring at times.

But I'm still struggling with the idea of aging. Part of the problem is I still feel like a teen at times. I'm still (mostly) in touch with pop culture: I listen to pop music, I love The Vampire Diaries, and I think I'm a pretty good texter. When someone looks to me as a voice of experience, I'm always surprised because I feel like I'm still the inexperienced one in all things. It amazes me to realize that teens now are closer to Cordy in age than they are to me. High school was half a lifetime ago. Wow. It doesn't seem that long. I can't really be in my thirties, can I?

As for dying young - are you kidding me? I have a family who needs me! I have two little girls to raise! At this point I'm trying to live to at least 100, if not 150!

This morning I opened a box from the mail and found a sample of anti-aging face cream. As I examined my face in the mirror, I knew I'd passed the imaginary "old" line that I drew in the sands of time as a teen. I have small wrinkles around my eyes now, probably from excessive laughing and never wearing my sunglasses. My skin is beginning to sag at my jawline, excess from my years of never turning down a pizza party or going to get ice cream with friends. My tweezers can no longer fight back the white hairs sprouting from my temples. (OK, those I blame entirely on my children.) And let's not forget those damn dark hairs I have to pluck from my chin and neck - where did those even COME FROM?

Truth is, I am the person anti-aging creams are aimed at. Not my grandmother, or my mom - ME. And it means I'm growing old. Those who know me in person know I'm not exactly vain - I'm about as low-maintenance as they come. I rarely wear make-up and I don't spend a lot of time on my appearance. However, I now understand why these creams and potions are so popular. I don't want to wrinkle, I don't want to slow down, but most of all, I don't want to acknowledge in any way that I'm creeping ever closer to old age and the end of my days. (Even if that time is a LONG, LONG, LONG way away.)

While I dislike getting older, the thought of not being here at all scares me far more. At this point in my life, I'll do whatever it takes to live longer and be healthy enough to be here for my family. Forget exciting and adventurous - watching my children grow and learn is far more fulfilling. I'll take reading books to my kids over backpacking in the Scottish highlands (nearly) any day now. I expect to be there for them through all of the challenges life throws their way. My family has given me an entirely new direction in my life.

I'm glad the life plans I drew up as a teen never materialized. I like being a mom and I appreciate my normal, often-not-exciting life. And while I may not like the wrinkles and what they remind me of, there will always be anti-wrinkle cream for that, right?

Edited to add: Now that I've written about how I always feel like the inexperienced one, David Wescott ~~tries to prove me wrong~~ honors me by naming me as one of his female role models. Considering the amazing women I'm listed with, I can only say thank you and I hope I'll continue to prove that I deserve to be among that group.

November is Prematurity Awareness Month

2009-10-30T23:39:00.001-04:00

As many of you know, earlier in the year I was asked to be a March of Dimes Mom, serving as a blog ambassador to help raise awareness about prematurity and birth defects. I've always been a supporter of the March of Dimes and their cause, and I am honored to volunteer my time and a little of my words and blog space for them.

I'm thankful that both of my daughters were healthy, full-term babies when they were born, but I can sympathize with those who aren't as lucky. My mom lost a daughter due to prematurity, a terrible moment in her life that I know she carries deep in her soul.

November is Prematurity Awareness Month, and March of Dimes will be releasing their Healthy Baby Report Card, a state-by-state rating of infant health care. I'm not sure where Ohio will stand, but I hope it's higher than I'm expecting.

Also, March of Dimes is teaming up with Bloggers Unite to promote Prematurity Awareness Day on November 17. The goal is to have 500 bloggers posting on that day about a baby that they love to bring awareness to the ongoing need for prematurity research funding.

From the Bloggers Unite website:

Medical advances give even the tiniest babies a chance of survival, yet for many babies premature birth is still a life or death condition. It’s the #1 cause of death during the first month of life. And babies who survive face serious health challenges and risk lifelong disabilities.

The rate of premature birth has never been higher. In half the cases, we simply don’t understand what went wrong. We need to fight for answers. And, ultimately, preventions.

November 17 is dedicated to raising awareness of the crisis of premature birth. The March of Dimes invites bloggers like you to get involved.

• Learn about premature birth at marchofdimes.com/fightforpreemies
• Put a badge on your blog during November, Prematurity Awareness Month®
• On November 17, blog for a baby you love and to help others

I'm planning to join in, and I'm hoping you will pencil in a reminder to do the same on November 17. You can also place a badge on your blog for the month of November to help raise awareness - right click and save any of the images below to your computer and then place the badge on your blog with a link to http://marchofdimes.com/fightforpreemies

Apple Girls

2009-10-25T21:01:00.008-04:00

Last weekend was my brother-in-law's wedding. Our girls were asked to be the flower girls for the occasion, although actually they were "apple girls" holding baskets with an apple and fall leaves. I was so nervous about how they would behave. White dresses, walking in front of a crowd, staying quiet during a ceremony - all things that could go very, very wrong.

And yet...

Everything went amazingly well. The girls were a little restless before the ceremony, but when the time came, they only needed a little push from me to walk down the aisle. (It helps that Aaron was a groomsman, so they knew to walk to daddy.)

Of course, at the reception they kept the dance floor hot.

And perhaps one of the most amazing moments of the day was that we actually got a photo of the four of us all together. It might be the first of all of us together, even if it is a grainy iPhone photo.

It was a lovely wedding, Cordy and Mira were perfect in their roles as apple girls, and I survived without having a stroke from the stress of keeping them clean.

Shot Up

2009-10-20T10:32:00.003-04:00

So it's good to know that I'm not alone in my blogger flu. Well, actually it's not good to know...I do feel bad for all of you who are also suffering, and I'm sorry you're in poor company with me. Here's hoping there is a cure for us soon.

Moving on to a different sort of flu: have you received your flu shot yet? Last week my hospital offered the seasonal flu shot for all employees. Some hospitals in our area have mandated the flu shot - as in, if you don't get the shot or have a medical/religious reason as to why you're not getting it, punishment will be enacted. I heard that one hospital in Cincinnati is mandating it with a threat of job loss for not complying. Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus told their employees that if they don't get the shot, they'll lose any chance at bonuses or raises this year. I didn't have quite that kind of pressure - we simply had to sign a form if we refused the shot.

Of course, I took the shot. I'm a nurse, in direct contact with patients who are very vulnerable. How could I not take the shot? It's my job to keep them healthy.

And then on Thursday, I was told about an H1N1 shot clinic for healthcare employees while at work. My co-workers and I all went to the clinic after our shift and rolled up our sleeves. Again, it wasn't mandated, but I work around pregnant women - one of the highest risk groups for swine flu. I wouldn't be surprised if eventually it does become mandated for labor nurses.

My general position on vaccinations is wobbly at best. Cordy has autism, and my memories of when she started to turn inward generally focus on that time around her big set of shots. There's absolutely no proof, of course, and I would never state that the vaccines caused her autism. I know the good the vaccines have accomplished - you rarely see children suffering from polio or measles or dying from meningitis today.

However, simple physiology tells me that it's a stress on the immune system to inject a child with 8 different viruses and expect the body to not freak out at trying to build 8 antibodies at the same time.

So my position is one of caution. Mira will get all of her necessary vaccinations, but they are delayed. She's caught up to the standard 1 year old schedule at this point. Everything is spaced out to put less stress on her, and as a result, we're not seeing the fevers and lethargy after a shot that we saw with Cordy. Cordy is also now on a delayed and spaced out schedule. I don't have a problem with making more doctor visits for vaccinations.

But what about the flu shot? Cordy got a flu shot with her first MMR when she was 15 months old, and she was miserable with a fever, vomiting, and diarrhea from that visit. Since then, neither of them has had a flu shot. And the H1N1 shot (at this time) does contain thimerisol.

My own personal preference is that Cordy and Mira will not get the seasonal flu shot because the they aren't the high-risk group for seasonal flu. I am, however, strongly considering the H1N1 vaccine for each of them. Assuming they don't get the flu while waiting for our area to have enough of the vaccine, of course.

The number of children who have died from swine flu is already too high for me, and even those with milder cases have still been miserable for days. And despite trying to teach my girls to be civilized, I've seen the personal hygiene habits of children their age: it would make a microbiologist pale and nauseous. If anyone knows how to keep a two year old from putting her fingers in her mouth, I'm willing to pay cash for that secret.

What about you? Are you getting either flu shot for your children? Is the flu already impacting your city?

Blogger Flu

2009-10-13T17:41:00.005-04:00

It seems that along with the swine flu, there have been several outbreaks of blogger flu going around the internet. I've been feeling particularly out-of-sorts myself, and I've read at least 15 posts from other bloggers having similar issues over the last month.

Symptoms of blogger flu include, but aren't limited to, feeling down or overwhelmed, trouble putting thoughts to the keyboard, difficulty in organizing coherent posts, and a generalized worry that no one would want to read about your boring life at the moment anyway. It's not quite to pandemic status yet, but I wouldn't doubt its ability to mutate.

I've wanted to write several times in the past week, but when the time became available, I sat down to the computer and my thoughts took on the consistency of pea soup. The harder I tried to craft a post, the more difficult it became. But then when I went back into my blog reader and started to catch up on the ~~thousands~~ hundreds of posts I'm behind on reading, I noticed I wasn't alone in my writer's block. It seems a lot of people are struggling with what to write, wondering if they've lost their blogging mojo. Some are dealing with a lot of heavy life issues, some are crazy busy, and some are feeling depressed. (And some are dealing with ALL THREE. And while there's no "I" in "some", there's definitely "me". Ahem.)

So I'm not going to stress out if the words aren't there. Because I know it's just a temporary illness and soon I'll be back. And I'm certain the words will yet again flow freely instead of being dragged from my head by force. I'll rest, regroup, conserve my strength, and come back better than ever.

Anyone else out there want to admit to a touch of the blogger flu? I promise I won't make you wear a mask.

Now You Know Why They're Not Models

2009-10-06T05:00:00.001-04:00

Scene: Fall festival, trying to take a nice photo of both girls. (Click any photo to enlarge.)

OK, girls, look at mommy and smile!

C'mon, Mira, smile for mommy! You're too young to be sullen! Oh...um, Cordy, I don't need your help making Mira smile...

Mira, c'mon, look at the camera like Cordy did. Cordy, are you looking?

What kind of a face was that, Mira? Cordy, please focus! Just one photo of the two of you smiling! That's all I'm asking for!

Good eye contact, Mira. If only you didn't look so bershon. Now can we get Cordy to look at the camera and have both of you smile? Please?

OK, clearly we're done here. Fine, I'll leave you alone to play on the stairs and wait for the hayride.

Wait...now you're smiling? Hold still! Let me get my camera out again! Don't stop smiling! Argh, I don't have enough time! *CLICK*

You two are determined to have me committed.

An Aching Back Isn't A Reason For An Early Induction

2009-09-30T22:09:00.004-04:00

There are so many things that I like about my new job. I mean, I get to assist in bringing new babies into this world! I get to pass on wisdom and knowledge about caring for a tiny human being to new parents! I have the chance to hold a laboring woman's hand and tell her that yes, she is capable of performing this incredible act of human endurance and strength.

But it's not all sunshine and soft baby butts, either.

I can list several things that aren't so pleasant about my job, too. Like the incessant charting of nearly every detail that we must perform, thanks to our litigious society. Or performing vaginal exams to check for cervical dilation - which is actually kind of exciting, until you think about the fact that you spend your day with your hand in other women's vaginas.

There is one particular part of my job that I truly dislike, however. Actually, it's not so much an aspect of my job as it is a type of patient. I'd like to tell you all that this type of patient is rare, but in my two months on the job I've already seen this type of patient appear at our doors several times.

(And for those who don't know, for the sake of privacy and HIPPA, I won't ever be telling detailed stories about individual patients. Any stories I share will be vague enough to remove all identifying information, or will likely be several stories combined into one sample patient.)

The patient type I am talking about is the woman who wants us to admit her and deliver her baby right away for no other reason than she's sick of being pregnant. And she's not even full-term yet.

I've seen women at 32 weeks declare that all they need from us is a little pitocin so they can get this baby out. When you try to explain to this patient that her baby is still too small to be born, and would likely face a number of problems if born now, you're dismissed and told that "My sister had a baby at 32 weeks and he's fine!"

No amount of education gets through to some of them. They're tired of being pregnant and want that baby out now, even though the pregnancy has no complications and there are no reasons to induce. Their own comfort is considered more important than the health and well-being of the baby they're carrying.

It takes a lot to make me really angry, but this patient type often does stir up at least some small fury from deep within. I try to talk to them. I make every effort to explain why feeling "as big as a whale" is not a justification for a preterm birth. I remind them of the possibility of a stay in the NICU if their baby is born too young. I'm stunned by how often they brush all of the facts aside because, "I'm sooooo tiiiiirrred!"

I know too many people who had a premature birth forced upon them, some with good outcomes, some with tragic outcomes. My own mother still makes yearly visits to the grave of the daughter she lost at 32 weeks, born too soon 34 years ago. Does she wish she could have kept that baby in her a little longer? Hell yes.

Now, I remember I had my own share of complaining about the third trimester of pregnancy. Those of you who were reading when I was pregnant with Mira will remember that I was pretty fed up with being pregnant. But in no way did I ever consider the possibility of wanting to be induced just to get it over with sooner. Babies come out when they want to come out. And Mira waited until a full week after my due date to make her appearance. My doctor was impressed with my patience. Honestly, I was a little impressed, too.

Cordy was a scheduled c-section at 38 weeks because she was breech, and I'm still beating myself up over letting the doctor schedule it so early. I remember how angry she was, how even though she was a term baby, she wasn't ready to come out yet. She wasn't ready to feed, making all efforts at breastfeeding incredibly frustrating for both of us.

Despite my exasperation with patients who come to us hoping to hear the magic word "induction" because they're tired of being pregnant, I still give them the same care I would any other patient. In fact, they often get even more of my attention, because I want to make sure they understand the seriousness of premature birth, and that just because we have the technology to grant them an early birth and provide support to a premature baby doesn't mean we should use it if we don't need to.

So we hook her up to the monitor, we check for any sign of contractions, check for good fetal movement and heart rate, check for any evidence of her water breaking, and if there's nothing to be concerned about, send her home. This patient is never happy with that outcome, and the nurses are often called bitches quietly (or not-so-quietly) as they walk out the door. Like we're trying to make them miserable for our own amusement.

I can handle that, though. Being called a bitch to keep that baby cookin' just a little longer is fine with me. Because no matter the patient that walks in, my goal, and the goal of any nurse in my unit is the same: a healthy mom and baby.

Make A Wish

2009-09-28T22:58:00.003-04:00

I don't know what she wished for, but when I asked Cordy if we could sing Happy Birthday to her on Saturday and she said yes, I got my wish.

Cordy's Fifth Birthday from Christina M on Vimeo.

I can't even begin to tell you how much progress is wrapped up in that one little song and her reactions to it. It was the main topic of conversation among family for the remainder of the party.

(And this year's cake was different, too. We avoided the usual cake, filled with artificial ingredients and enough artificial dye to turn the Scioto River red, in favor of an organic cake, with real buttercream frosting, no artificial ingredients, no HFCS, and dyes make from all-natural sources. For the first time at a birthday party, Cordy didn't get sick or have a meltdown after eating her cake.)

It was a great party.

They Tried To Make Me Go To TV Rehab...

2009-09-22T10:12:00.000-04:00

...and I said, "No, now pass the remote!"

Here's how my Monday evening played out:

8:00 pm - Make sure Heroes and House are recording on the Tivo, then Aaron and I rush upstairs to the other TV to turn on How I Met Your Mother.

8:30 pm - Run back downstairs and boot up Aaron's computer to watch the True Blood finale that we haven't had a chance to watch until now.

9:30 pm - Back to the upstairs TV again. House and Heroes are two hour premieres tonight, so the Tivo is still tied up downstairs. Watch Big Bang Theory premiere.

10:00 pm - Return to the downstairs again to watch the season opener of Castle.

11:00 pm - Aaron and I have a brief discussion over whether to watch House or Heroes tonight. House wins this time. Fire up the Tivo and watch House. Heroes will have to wait until tomorrow night.

The sad part is, that's only Monday. You don't want to know what my Tivo's schedule looks like for the rest of the week. Let's just say it's a good thing we have a dual-tuner. And weekends to catch up.

Five

2009-09-21T06:02:00.007-04:00

Five years ago, you were somewhat of an abstract being to me. I had no idea what was coming, and no matter how many babies I was around, it couldn't have prepared me.

My first impression of you was the angry baby being carried past me in the operating room. Your face was screwed up in an awful expression, angry at what you considered an untimely birth, angry at the doctor who pulled you out of your warm comfortable home into the bright, cold world. You spent the next six months angry at the world, and it took every ounce of strength and patience from your father and me to calm you, comfort you, and show you that life wasn't as bad as you thought it was.

Each subsequent birthday has presented us with a different child. Your first birthday, you were the girl who loved all the attention, but loved the cake even more as you attempted to eat the cake without hands by face-planting into it.

At two you shunned the crowd and most of the presents in favor of the safety of my lap and a few selected toys.

Three was a child who howled in pain when we sang happy birthday to you, hiding under the table to escape the auditory assault, only to later reappear and gorge yourself on the cake frosting.

Your fourth birthday was filled with balloons and friends, and this time you took notice of the friends around you, although you still didn't want to share your balloons. We knew you didn't like singing, so we settled for all saying "Happy birthday!" in unison, at a loud, but not-too-loud volume for you.

And now you're five.

At this year's birthday party, I expect to see you playing with your friends and if not enjoying the small crowd of people, at least tolerating your guests. You will tell me or your father when you feel overwhelmed, and even though it will likely come out as, "I'm scared of presents" or "I want to stay in my house forever," we will know what you mean. You'll eat your cake, and if all goes as planned you won't suffer from a tummy ache or a behavior shift thirty minutes later because this year's cake won't have any artificial dyes or corn syrup in it. We now know what you need to be happy.

I still can't believe you're five. Five feels so much older, as if I somehow missed that transformation from baby to big kid. I watch your concentration on puzzles, and I swear I can see your mind working behind that furrowed brow. When did you learn to concentrate? I wonder what happened to that goofy toddler I remember, counting everything in sight.

And I'll confess I don't wonder much about what happened to that sensitive, hair-trigger tempered preschooler and the screaming meltdowns that occurred on a regular basis. Some things are better left in the past.

I'm pretty amazed at the awesome little girl you've become, Cordelia. I can't wait to see who you'll become in this next year. Happy birthday to my Amazon warrior princess.

Wishful Thinking

2009-09-20T13:33:00.003-04:00

As I was kneeling down in front of Cordy yesterday, talking about some topic I can't even remember, I noticed her eyes suddenly fixed on mine.

Eye contact is hard for her, so I was amazed at how intensely she was looking into my eyes. For at least 15 seconds she was staring directly at me while I talked to her.

OMG, she is making so much progress! I thought. I was thrilled that she was not only listening to me, but looking at me while I talked to her, a task we've tried to get her to do with limited success.

I couldn't contain myself any longer. "Cordy, I'm so proud of you for looking at me while -- "

"Mommy! I can see myself in your eyes! I see Cordy!"

Oh.

Still Here, Trashing [Junk In] My House

2009-09-14T20:29:00.004-04:00

Oh hey, look at that - it's been a week since I posted. It wasn't an intentional lapse in blogging, at least I don't think it was. Leaving the blog for seven days on such a down note isn't something I like to do, but it feels good to be back.

I've spent the last several days in a heavy state of busy. I worked two days, one of which included taking charge of my first labor patient. She delivered six minutes after my shift ended, but I stayed until the baby was born just so I could meet the stubborn little girl who refused to hold still all day. I've never had to adjust an electronic fetal monitoring belt so much in a single day. I guess she knew I needed the practice.

We also ran away for two days this weekend. We packed up the kids and went to a picnic with a large group of friends, followed by an overnight with friends in Oxford, OH. Cordy got to spend time with her best friend, Mira got filthy playing in the dirt, Aaron got to geek out with fellow geeks, and I got to lose myself shopping in Ikea on Sunday while chatting with one of my best friends. It was a good time.

Other days of the past week were spent in a deep purge within my house. You see, it's been a busy few years, and during that time we've accumulated a lot of junk. A LOT of junk. Mira has yet to even have her own room - we simply carved out enough space in Aaron's "den" to shove a crib and a dresser against the wall. She was a baby - what more did she need?

Being depressed has a few benefits. It makes you hate many things about your current life and can sometimes give you the motivation to change it. I realized much of the junk, knick-knacks, boxes of clothing and old baby toys were not only cluttering up the house, they were cluttering up my psyche, too. I want open spaces and if it means shrugging off some emotional connections to inanimate objects, I'm ready to shrug myself silly.

So we've been carving through the sea of junk, clearing off shelves, cleaning out boxes, trashing anything that can't go to someone else or Goodwill, and rearranging our space. The bookcases have been moved from Mira's room to our bedroom, Aaron's computer no longer lurks in the corner, and all that is left in Mira's room is her furniture and toys.

Cordy's room is next, and we've decided it's time for her to have a big girl room. She'll be five years old in a week and she needs some new furniture. The toddler bed will go to Mira in favor of a twin bed for Cordy. Her dresser - with the changing table top - goes to the yard sale pile collecting in the garage, and she'll have a proper set of drawers.

The guest room is after that. Eventually, I'd like to give a makeover to the living room and kitchen. And maybe someday we'll paint or go crazy and hang something on the wall.

We filled our trash bin last week, and I hope to do the same this week. I like seeing the emptiness opening up from under the clutter. And the items I'm choosing to keep have so much more meaning to me now.

Thanks for the comments last week. I realize I am overwhelmed by so many changes over the past year. I'm working full time now, the girls are in school, Aaron is still looking for a job, the bills are being held at bay by the forces of good, but always threatening to scale the walls, and I'm adjusting to the realization that this is our life. Acceptance of this reality hasn't fully come yet.

So for now I am trying to control what little I have control over. And at this moment, my focus is on my house. Maybe next I'll tackle all 1,385 unanswered e-mails in my Inbox. Maybe.

Doing It All, Succeeding At Nothing

2009-09-07T14:43:00.004-04:00

I feel like I've been trapped between worlds in the past month: not quite a fully-functioning member of my family, my job, or my community. It sucks.

My online presence has been far less than I'm used to, partially due to the incredible time commitment of my job. I'm feeling like a lousy friend to so many people, with my feed reader reaching new heights of negligence, updates on friends going ignored for the time being.

I occasionally get the chance to send out a tweet now and then, but I worry people ignore my tweets as nothing more than background noise. And I wouldn't blame them, either. I've had so little to say lately that I'd consider interesting. The topics I do dwell on feel like a broken record: worried about Cordy and her school, bills hanging over our heads, feeling like a total noob at work, and my frustration with right-wing efforts to block health care reform.

(And OMG don't get me started on the fake uproar over Obama's speech to schools. I survived listening to Reagan more than once as a child and still don't buy into Reaganomics.)

Work is going well, although I'm still adjusting to 12 hour days. When I do come home, I have every desire to get online, get involved in conversations, and catch up with friends. What actually happens is I collapse in my chair, eat dinner, lurk on several conversations on Twitter, maybe read a few blog posts without commenting, then fall asleep.

I'm also still feeling a lot of stress at work. I feel completely disjointed in trying to learn what I need to know for my job as I follow the nurse I'm working with that day who has the most interesting patient. Well, now I'm generally doing most of the work, hoping that I'm doing it right and wondering if I'll ever remember it all. Add in doctors who are less than patient and quick to yell at you, and I go home every night feeling like a complete screw up.

Of course, I miss my kids. No matter how crazy they make me, I still hate going days at a time without seeing them. (And no matter how much I completely and utterly trust Aaron to care for them, I still feel I'm better at it. I think it's a mom instinct thing.) I hate not having time for them because I'm exhausted or because I have other chores I need to do, like paying bills or errands. And Aaron and I are kind of like ships passing in the night - we have little to talk about, so we spend most nights in our separate corners of the living room, watching TV or working on our computers.

I'm trying to be a superwoman who does it all, but in the end I'm doing none of it well.

I know I'm isolating myself away from friends when I'm not online, or when I'm lurking and no one knows I'm there. That's the one downside of social media and digital neighborhoods - it's far easier to pull away from everyone who cares about you when they can't call or show up at your house and force you to stop listening to emo music and come out of your dark, dreary shell already, dammit.

I don't like admitting that I might be depressed again. It frustrates the hell out of me, because I'm sick of fighting it off, tired of letting some small part of my brain get the better of the rest of me. I'm also embarrassed to feel so down about my life when I know so many have it far worse than me. Here I am whining about work being tough and missing my kids when I should be grateful I'm supporting my family with my job. Sheesh - sometimes I can barely tolerate myself.

I already have a yearly physical scheduled with my doctor (for late October - I got an appt. with my dermatologist a full month earlier than that - upside down world, eh?), and it looks like I may be bringing this topic up then as well. I don't want to go back on meds, but if there's no other choice, I will.

In the meantime, I'm going to make a better effort to socialize with friends, online and in person, and to use the magical endorphins of exercise in an attempt to boost my mood. (Let's not talk about how little I've exercised since BlogHer. It's not something I'm proud of.) Maybe I'll get the hang of my new routine before October and I'll look back on this and wonder why I felt so worried?

Or maybe I'm once again trying to tackle something larger than I can handle by myself?

First Day of School

2009-09-02T15:24:00.005-04:00

Waiting for the bus:

At the end of the day:

Still smiling.

Her teacher reported some rough moments during the day, including at least one time out, but overall Cordy had a good day. She says she wants to go back tomorrow. (And hopefully that will hold true tomorrow morning.)

So it seems that the only fallout we had on the first day of school was from Mira. I had to spend the day with a grumpy two year old who was pissed off that she didn't get to ride the bus and go to school like her sister.

Now I only need to figure out why Cordy barely touched her lunch? Normally she'd take off someone's arm before they got between her and her Annie's fruit snacks, but the package wasn't even opened today. And the sandwich and Goldfish were half eaten. Weird.

Another Autumn, Another School Year Begins

2009-08-30T20:53:00.004-04:00

School starts for Cordy on Wednesday, and this year will be very different for her. For the past two years, she's attended our district's special needs preschool, a half-day program. She's had the same teacher, a woman to whom I owe an enormous debt of gratitude for all she's done for Cordy. But Cordy turns five in a few weeks, and is really too old to continue in the half-day program.

Cordy's preschool teacher pulled a lot of strings to get Cordy placed in a special needs pre-K classroom on the other side of Columbus. We all agreed she wasn't ready for kindergarten, and her teacher assured us that this class was the perfect fit for Cordy. We got to meet her new teacher a week ago, and while Cordy was very hesitant to meet her, it was a pleasant meeting.

Her new classroom is twice as large, with additional resources like an indoor swing and a trampoline. She'll still have one teacher, but now two aides in the classroom, even though the class size remains at eight kids. They work closely with the kindergarten class, and should Cordy show a lot of progress in the first half of the year, she might get to visit the kindergarten for a few hours each week in the second half of the year.

Ms. K seems like a great teacher. She's thrilled to have a girl in the classroom this year, and I heard one of the aides already contemplating buying hair ties to play with Cordy's hair. They're also open to parents volunteering in the class. I'm planning to volunteer when I can, depending on my work schedule.

I worry about how all of this change will affect Cordy. I hope for an easy transition, even though deep down I know the chances of any transition being easy for her are slim. This will be a new school, a new classroom, new friends, a new teacher, a new routine, and a new bus. Unlike last year, she'll be there for a full school day, too. She'll also be riding the bus for an hour and a half each way, meaning she'll be spending 75% of her awake time away from us during the week. That's a lot of time away.

I'm preparing for epic bad behavior from her in return. On the upside, at least we only have to see it 25% of the time, right?

My real hope is that her adjustment period is shorter than it has been before. That she quickly adapts to the new routine and is happy with her class, her school, her teacher and her new friends. I want her to come home each day tired but happy from learning new things, being pushed just-far-enough, and enjoying her class.

And one small confession: I'll admit to being a little relieved at full-day school. Cordy is a joy to be around, and one of two small-yet-brilliant lights in my life, but she can also be trying. Very trying. I appreciate our time together, but I also appreciate our time apart -- needing that break from the daily juggle of giving her what she needs while trying to meet the needs of everyone else in our house, too.

She'll be fine. It'll all go well. (And yes, I know starting school is hard for many kids, but like everything else, Cordy seems to take the transition far harder than the average kid.) We just need to get through the first hard days.

--

And thank you all for your comments on my health care reform post. I'm thrilled that not a single comment was negative. (Proof we can have civil discussions about health care, or were the opponents just busy last week?)

For those who support charities, I wanted to let you know that I'm once again participating in Walk Now for Autism, and this year I'm hoping to raise twice as much money as I did last year for autism research and education. If you'd like to donate to my walk, you can do so directly through the Walk Now website.

Impish

2009-08-26T08:00:00.001-04:00

I can't even imagine how much trouble she'll be when she's 10. She knows herself, and she knows how to work anyone to her will. Her first day of preschool? Didn't even whimper when we left -- instead she ignored us and set to work making the room her own. When Aaron picked her up, they said she was "sweet" to everyone, and acted as if she's always been a part of that class.

Mira will rule them all through charm.

--
PS - Did you catch the Columbus Dispatch article where I (and a handful of other great local mom bloggers) shared our thoughts on the state of mom blogging? No? Go read it!

Health Care Reform & What It Means To Me, Part 1

2009-08-24T14:03:00.007-04:00

Meet Cordelia, my single most important reason for health care reform:

Many of you know her, either from in-person meetings or from this blog. She's four years old -- nearly five -- blond, blue-eyed, very tall, and exceptionally healthy. She rarely gets sick, and when she does it is minor and doesn't require a trip to the doctor. (Or massive, when she breaks her tooth in half.) She usually only sees the doctor once a year for her annual check-up.

But she also is on the autism spectrum. PDD-NOS to be precise. As a result of this, she has endured an uphill battle against herself. Two years ago, she was a different child. She spent her days lost inside herself, studying the curve of a toy car wheel, counting and lining up blocks over and over for an hour, and rarely making eye contact with those around her. Her speech was scripted, and while she talked a lot, it was often quoting entire episodes of Dora the Explorer. She'd run laps in the living room each evening, flapping her arms absentmindedly, oblivious to anything going on around her as she ran, jumped, and flapped.

Remember this video? You couldn't break her pattern. And re-reading that post, the signs were there, even at 17 months old. A longer version of the video shows how determined she was in her counting as she lined up her toys.

When she did answer questions, it had to be factual answers that she could draw from scripts. Never could she answer the question, "How are you feeling?" because the truth was, she didn't know. She had little to no sense of imaginative play. When we put her in a summer camp, she looked right through other children as if they weren't even on the same plane of existence as her. Kids would say hi, and she completely ignored them. Adults only fared slightly better.

Worst of all, the slightest change to her equilibrium sent her into violent meltdowns, often made up of primal shrieking, writhing on the floor, repeating a phrase over and over, and sometimes banging her head into something until she bled, unusual demonstrations of strength, and no recognition of anything around her at that time. Her eyes looked glassy, as if all higher functioning in her brain was shut off, and trying to soothe her or calm her down usually made it worse. This would go on for 15-40 minutes at a time. The worst of these meltdowns terrified me, as I always worried that she might never come out of it.

What set off these meltdowns? Switching activities. Touching something gooey. Different bedsheets. Putting her bare feet in the grass. A child singing. Leaving the house. The wind changing directions. A Buddhist monk in Tibet dropping his chopstick on a pillow. Nearly anything would trigger it, and we'd all suffer from these meltdowns on a regular, daily basis. Sometimes more than once a day. Sometimes more than once an hour.

Oh, we had several lucid moments. Moments when I'd look at Cordy and say There she is! There is my daughter! To the casual observer, she seemed like a bratty two year old that had been allowed to have her way too much. She could fool someone who only spent five minutes with her -- she'd either ignore them for some toy, or give nonsense answers to their questions that would make them think she was trying to be silly. But more often than not, my Cordy was hidden inside herself, trapped so deep that I couldn't reach her. I'd see that vacant stare and look deep into her eyes, desperately wishing for an ability to reach into her brain and show her that the world outside it was far more interesting.

With all of that backstory, allow me to describe Cordy today. She's happy. She likes going to school, although the idea of a new school this year is causing severe anxiety at the moment. Her speech, while still scripted at times, is clear and she can often answer your questions with a relevant answer. She's learning imaginative play, too -- recently she's been obsessed with pretending to be a doctor.

Just this past week she started sharing her emotions regularly, telling us when she's angry or sad. You've never seen a mom so happy to hear her daughter huff, "I'm feeling angry!" because it beats the alternative we're all used to.

She still has that vacant stare at times, and her eye contact isn't the best it could be. Her need for routine is just as strong as before, and we've also learned to cater to her needs to help her feel more comfortable. She still "stims" by running or jumping or flapping, but now she can tell me, "I'm feeling a little flappy today," to help us understand her actions. We can go out to restaurants with little fear of making a scene now, unlike years past. Sure, she'll occasionally get overstimulated and disappear under the table for a bit, but that's better than drawing the attention of an entire restaurant full of Asians trying to enjoy their Sunday dim sum.

Here's a good day, playing with her puzzle:

Cordy's puzzle from Christina M on Vimeo.

And here's an example of what she has to fight against all the time:

Flapping from Christina M on Vimeo.

Her meltdowns? The massive ones are no more than once every 2-3 weeks now, although we still endure minor meltdowns every 2-3 days, where she'll slap herself in the head, or withdraw into a closet or under her trampoline while she cries and talks herself down by repeating conversations of TV characters or a simple phrase over and over.

The world is still very confusing and frightening to her, and while we're seeing more and more of our daughter, it remains a battle we must fight every single day. She has a long, long way to go. While she was eligible for kindergarten this year, we chose to enroll her in special needs Pre-K instead, giving her one more year to show some progress before attempting to put her in a mainstream classroom. She's not ready yet, and I'm already worried if she'll be ready in time for next year.

But no one can doubt that Cordy has made amazing progress. So much of the credit for this transformation can be given to her special needs preschool teacher and the team of therapists in her classroom: OT, PT and speech therapists.

The one entity I can guarantee you gets NO CREDIT at all for her progress? Health insurance.

Because back when we were first told that Cordy was developmentally delayed, most likely autistic, and needed aggressive intervention right away, I sought out help where I thought it best to find it: the medical system. Cordy's pediatrician was very understanding and gave me a long list of therapists in the area for PT, OT and speech, as well as psychologists who offered additional testing, behavioral therapy and social skills classes. I left that meeting feeling ready to get started in helping my daughter find her way back to us.

And then I ran into the big health insurance roadblock.

I e-mailed our health insurance -- one of the "best" in the state of Ohio -- explaining our situation and double-checking how much coverage we would have for all of this therapy.

Their answer sent chills down my spine and made me physically sick: they provided no coverage for autism-related claims, insisting that autism was an "incurable and untreatable" condition. Zero coverage, end-of-story.

Not only were we stopped from pursuing any treatment (because it's tremendously expensive and we didn't have an extra $25,000-50,000 a year to spare), but in being honest with our health insurance, Cordy now had a big target on her head. Anything that could in any way be related to autism, even if it was the result of a different medical problem, would be denied by our insurance in the future.

I'm thankful that Cordy broke her tooth during a time when we were unemployed and the girls were covered by Medicaid. There was no way Cordy could have endured sitting in a chair for a root canal and repair of her tooth -- she needed general anesthesia.

Had we still had our old insurance at that time, they likely would have denied coverage of the anesthesia, saying it was related to her autism and not part of the regular course of treatment, leaving us with thousands of dollars to pay. (Or not getting the surgery at all and putting Cordy through pain and possible infection, which can lead to systemic infection and death. Which of course isn't an option, leaving us to risk bankruptcy or losing our house for the health of our daughter. Nice choice, right?)

Medicaid took care of the entire procedure. No bills to us, no questions about why she needed general anesthesia. Medicaid is the one health insurance in Ohio right now that cannot deny a child's treatment related to autism. (I'm in no way saying Medicaid is perfect. That's a discussion for part 2.)

We now have insurance again, thanks to my job. So we're all fully-insured again, paying $260 a month for the privilege to pay only 20% of the bill for health care. But Cordy is once again without any coverage related to autism.

Cordy's autism therapies so far have come directly from the school district. (Thank you, taxpayers - you're already paying for her therapy, only in an inefficient, roundabout way.) She receives one hour of group OT, PT, and speech each week in her class, during the school year only.

The medical diagnosis she recently received calls for way more therapy than that to give her a chance at the best outcome, but we can't afford it. She needs several hours a week of therapy, along with social skills therapy and ABA, two services not offered by the school system. It's likely she would be making better progress with more therapy, but unless we get insurance coverage for it, or we win the lottery, it ain't happening.

It infuriates me that health insurance companies are allowed to declare autism an "incurable and untreatable" condition and exclude any coverage for it. My daughter, who never gets sick and is otherwise a "good bet" for these companies, is uninsurable in the one area where she actually needs treatment.

Had we not sought out alternative treatments for her via the school system and the county MRDD funding, it's quite possible Cordy would still be acting out daily, her sweet personality lost to the world and to herself, all because some insurance company declared her to be useless to society. You want health care rationing? It's going on right here and now. Instead of paying the money upfront for therapy to help her, they would rather pay the money to later institutionalize her. (Which I'm sure works out to a much larger bill.)

It's true, too - institutionalization or group homes are often covered by insurance for adults who can't live on their own, while basic ABA, OT, PT and speech therapies are denied for children who could avoid those places if they only had the early intervention to help them.

Several states have already made it illegal to discriminate against autism for health insurance (not Ohio yet), but it shouldn't stop there. This needs to be addressed at a national level, and not just autism, but other pre-existing conditions, too.

What will Cordy's future be like? I don't know. We know from several experts that she's incredibly smart, although she often can't organize her thoughts well enough to demonstrate the full extent of her intelligence. It's possible she'll do well in school, but it's also just as likely she'll struggle. It's also possible that had we been wealthier and afforded expensive therapies for her, she could excel far beyond our expectations. Have we failed her simply because we don't have enough money to get her what she needs? Maybe, but I feel our health insurance has failed us instead.

My personal belief is that health insurance should not be a for-profit entity. (Backpacking Dad's explanation of the current system is fabulous.) Does my daughter deserve to have lower odds at success and happiness in life because we don't have the right insurance or live in the right state to protect her?

Yes, some might say I sound a little socialist. You expect the government to take care of you! I'm sure someone will say. Well, sort of. I expect the government to protect my most basic rights, and I believe equal access to health care is one of those rights. (Just like we all enjoy equal access to military protection, a safe food supply, equal access to the judicial system and several other protections the government provides.) In exchange, I work and pay my taxes for those services, and I'm happy that my taxes go to help those who have lost their jobs and need assistance. After all, we were those people just a few months ago. It's not my place to judge who is truly deserving of assistance and who is not.

As with so many of my posts, I've rambled all over the place, but this is an issue that is too large for one post. Or a week's worth of posts, honestly. I'm barely touching on the issues here, and instead choosing to show you one story of the injustice of the current health insurance system. Because this little girl?

(pretending to be Dr. Cordy, ready to fix any boo-boo)

She's my reason for fighting for reform. Knowing that other families are going through the same or worse than us is enough to make me stand up and say THIS IS NOT WORKING, PEOPLE!

So if you can look at that photo up there, and read all of the stories about Cordy I've written on this blog, and then tell me (and tell her) that she's not deserving of the therapy her doctors recommend to help her become a woman who could go on to do any of a number of things -- maybe find a cure for autism, or cancer, or find a way to feed the world, or maybe be nothing more than a loving mom who does a damn fine job as president of her school district's PTA -- if you can tell us that she doesn't deserve the chance to be her best, because she wasn't born in the right family, with the right resources, and because she had the nerve to be born with an autism spectrum disorder instead of a different neurological condition that might be insurable under current rules, then do me a favor: click that little red X in the top of this browser window and if you're subscribed, go ahead and unsubscribe from my blog.

Because if you truly believe she doesn't deserve the treatment her doctors say she needs, then I can only assume you really don't care about her or my family at all, and I don't know why you bother reading this blog.

And while we could (and likely will) debate the minutiae inside the current health reform bill until three presidents from now, I see it as better than our current situation. A good start. I don't have the luxury of waiting for the perfect bill to be crafted, because it never will. I need change, for my daughter and our family, NOW.

I'll never stop fighting to give Cordelia everything she needs to succeed, but it would be nice to not have to fight so hard for once. It would be nice for someone in a position of power to say "Your daughter deserves the best chance, not because you have the right influence, not because it's politically popular, but because it's the right thing to do."

No parent should have to lay awake at night, wondering if there was something she could sell, some additional work she could do, to make the additional money needed to give her child the health care she needs. No parent should have to feel the heavy guilt of knowing more is needed for her child's health, and know she's powerless to provide it.

This system isn't working. We need reform.

Maybe The Guess Jeans Weren't Worth It

2009-08-23T13:41:00.004-04:00

"It's the most wonderful time of the year!" I love hearing that song on the Staples commercial as the dad tosses school supplies into the cart while his two children look like they're walking to their execution. Back-to-school also means back to routine, and this family likes routine.

We've already received Cordy's school supplies list in the mail, and I'm amazed at all the stuff she needs to have for the first day. Glue sticks, hand soap, box of tissues, notebooks, liquid glue, baby wipes, backpack -- and this is just for Pre-Kindergarten!

Of course, thanks to all of the Miracle Gro and bovine growth hormone we feed her, she also needs a whole new wardrobe for the school year, too. (Amazon child.) While I am once again employed, the paychecks have only started to roll in, meaning they're flying out to pay bills just as quickly. But she needs the clothing, so she'll have it.

When I was a kid, money was always tight at back-to-school time, too. I wanted the "cool" sneakers that the popular kids had, and I resented that my mom fought me on every fashionable clothing choice. Back-to-school shopping was always a battle, and not just for clothing -- who wants a no-name folder organizer when you could have the hip Trapper Keeper in all the fashionable colors?

My mom eventually thought of a way to end the battle. She told me at the beginning of August how much money I had for clothing and supplies, and I could buy anything up to that amount. The clothing budget was kept separate from the supplies budget, and anything that the teacher required us to have (like the box of tissues) was not included.

This meant I had to learn to use my money wisely. I could have a few new items that were high-fashion, or I could shop for cheaper items that maybe weren't as cool. It only took one season for me to learn my lesson: I blew the majority of my fall budget on a pair of Guess jeans, and while those jeans were awesome, I couldn't wear them everyday. I got tired of wearing last year's worn jeans and tops, all because I had to have that one pair of incredibly expensive jeans.

We're not at a point where Cordy cares about her clothing. She rarely notices what she wears, and almost never complains about what clothing I pick for her. So until that point, I'll continue to do my best to buy as much as I can for the least amount possible, shopping sales, consignment stores, and accepting hand-me-downs, all while still trying to give her some sense of style. Eventually, she'll want a say, and at that time I'll present her with the rule I followed. She'll be given a budget, and can pick what she needs as long as it fits in her budget.

Cordy really has no sense of money yet, either, although not for lack of trying to teach her. She is starting to learn that we can't always buy her what she wants, and that some things cost more money than what we have. I'm sure we'll have that money talk when we go pick out a backpack for her this year. She always seems drawn to the most expensive blinged-out backpack, when I know she'll drag it on the ground, get it filthy, and spill something sticky inside of it before the first month is over. A simple backpack is better because I know the abuse it will take.

Do you set a limit on your child's back-to-school spending? Do you have a fixed amount, or do you allow some wiggle-room in picking out supplies and clothing? I'm curious to know how other parents handle the back-to-school routine, since we're still fairly new at this.

This post is part of the PBN blog blast, sponsored by Capital One and their new Moneywi$e e-Learning tool, designed to teach families about financial responsibility.

And I'll have you know I wore those Guess jeans until they had holes in the knees, and then made shorts out of them and wore them until they were no longer decent clothing. I think I even considered cutting off the little triangle patch and keeping it after that.