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Friday, March 6, 2015

Our culture of parenting: the fine line between support and meddling, independence and negligence

The other day, I picked the boys up from school and headed to the unholy land of Target, the one place that usually has everything on my list. I want to buy local, I really do. But I also want to pay the mortgage and spend less than 6 hours running basic errands. So Target it is. We have Atticus on what we call the "star system": good behavior earns him stars, while rotten behavior means we take stars away. Once he's built up 5 stars, he gets to pick out a new toy (read: Legos. It's always new Legos). This particular afternoon the boys were in especially good spirits for obvious reasons, and the sun was warm and shining for the first time in weeks. We traversed the aisles jovially, making small talk and singing songs with one another in our quiet voices so as not to annoy the many 20-something hipsters that frequent this particular central-Houston Target, and we were having a very low-key and low-drama excursion.

While we're in line, I notice a woman about my age with a toddler in the front of her cart (with one of those shopping cart covers designed to keep the germs away from precious Johnny's little hands), happily munching on organic, non-GMO mountain-air-popped corn and dressed in what I can only assume cost hundreds from the local baby boutique. If you've got it, flaunt it. No criticism here. But just as I'm realizing how put-together this darling pair appears compared to my dishelved brood, Quinn has decided to lick the safety bar on the shopping cart (which is decidedly NOT covered in an adorable Pinterest-worthy cart cover) while Atticus sings "Everything is Awesome" using fart noises instead of words.

I realize how we must look to outsiders: I am enormously pregnant, carting two small and noisy children, one of whom has special needs, around a relatively crowded store with no makeup on while the boys are still wearing half their lunch on their clothes. I should be more frazzled than I am, to be honest. Most days I would be, but as I mentioned before, we were having a good afternoon and all was right with the world. So when the well-dressed mom raced over to me in the parking lot, I was a bit taken aback.

Apparently, Atticus was standing up in the back of the shopping cart while I was strapping Quinn into his car seat and this mom was dreadfully worried for his safety. Keep in mind, Atticus is almost 5 years old and has no intention of swan-diving onto the asphalt, nor did his standing incite the level of maniacal fear this woman was exhibiting as she raced across the parking lot to "save him." And my first instinct was to be terribly insulted by this parenting interception. I felt like she was trying to say, "I'll keep an eye on your kid since you clearly can't." As soon as she explained her sudden presence, she told me that parenting is so hard and that my kids are adorable and she just wants to make sure they stay that way. And with a "you're doing a great job, mom," she walked away, leaving me confused and teetering between insult and gratitude.

I think this woman was sincerely trying to help, but I couldn't help but feel like my parenting was being criticized and her comments were condescending. Was I being too sensitive? Proabably. The reality is that most days I would have been immensely grateful for her intervention and her kind words, but today I was pleased with how well I was handling it all and her very presence made me feel like I must look less together than I felt.

I spent most of the evening rethinking the entire experience...was I that frazzled working mom always covered in food-stuff and trying to keep myself from driving the whole damn thing of a cliff at any minute? I know I'm not, but is this how the world perceives me? And if they do, how much should it really matter? I was pondering this and more of life's little quandaries when I came across the recent Washington Post article, "Would you call 911 on another parent?" If you're a parent and you haven't read this yet, you should. For those of you too lazy to click the enclosed link (*eye roll* You're no better than my high school students), I'll summarize it for you. Briefly. Because you deserve no better:

As the title implies, many parents are getting flack from other parents for their parenting. So much so, that authorities are being called to respond to what these meddling citizens see as child negligence. These are the instances you've likely read about in the news: the mom who let her 9-year-old play on a playground while she worked at a nearby McDonald's because she couldn't afford childcare, or the 10- and 6-year-old siblings who are allowed to walk home from school on their own (which I did, by the way, for most of elementary school). These so-called negligent parents are having to defend their choices because other parents felt like they knew better and the cops should be called. But how helpful is that? Wouldn't it be more helpful for these concerned citizens to offer to keep an eye on these kids instead of report them to authorities? Shouldn't we parents do a better job of supporting each other? We all know how hard it can be sometimes. And if a mother can't afford childcare for her 3rd grader because she's trying to support a family on minimum wage, how is a battle with CPS going to make her any better in the eyes of those most critical? It's a waste of resources, a waste of energy, and a waste of the time this mom should be spending with her family.

After reading this article, it hit me why I couldn't figure out how to feel about my encounter with posh parking-lot mom: I was irritated by her overprotective nature, but simultaneously pleased that she was willing to step in to help and support instead of wrinkling her nose at my "poor" choices. She was trying to build a community of parents who look out for one another and raise each other up. She genuinely wanted to prevent Atticus from loss of life and limb, even if she did silently judge me for my lax parenting skills, and went so far as to tell me that my kids were darling. If anyone here is the jerk, it's me for being offended.

But can we talk about helicopter parenting for a second? Just so you can see where I'm coming from...I teach anywhere from 140-165 high school sophomores every year. Of those kids, most of them are well-adjusted and able to handle the rigors of an advanced curriculum. But there are always a handful who repeatedly fail to complete their assignments or study for their quizzes, or are chronically absent due to a tickle in their throat. And while these kids make up a small percentage of my students overall, their parents make up 100% of those who are a pain in my ass. These are the parents who email me daily, sometimes multiple times a day, to ask for clarification on instructions that their child never bothered to listen to or write down, to beg for an extension on a paper they've had weeks to write, or to ask me for extra credit because their little angel is too embarrassed to ask me himself. These are also likely the parents who wouldn't let their teenager walk three blocks home from school on his own, let alone when he was 10 years old. These might very well be the parents who are judging (or even calling the cops on) the rest of us who are trying to muddle through while also giving our kids the independence they need to handle their own problems, nurse their own wounds, and get back up and try again when mistakes are made. And I'll admit, it's a delicate and difficult balance. I don't ever want my children to get hurt, but that might be the only way Quinn will ever learn to stop pilfering cans of soup from the pantry and dropping them on his toes. Because telling him "no" just isn't working well enough.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

The Waiting Game

I've learned something about myself this past month that everyone else probably already knew: I am a control freak. And lately, my skin is crawling with all the things I can't control. We're in a strange limbo land, where all major decisions and events in our life are completely out of our hands, and we're forced to wait for answers to our most burning questions:

1. Where will Atticus go to Kindergarten? The answer to this question is hinged almost entirely on the results of the Houston ISD magnet lottery system, a game that sounds way more fun and Vegas-y than it actually is. Our top schools have anywhere from 900-1500 applicants, but less than 30 spots each, meaning we'll likely send him to our neighborhood elementary school. It's not a bad choice, but also not our top one, so we wait...

2. When will this baby be born? Atticus was two weeks early, Quinn, five. According to my doctor, this means that Little Miss will arrive early as well. Or not. It depends. And when she arrives affects my decision to stay home for the first part of the next school year or start right back up in mid-August (as does whether we can find a daycare spot for her since our current preschool won't take her until she's 6 months old). Added to the stress of what-ifs is that we are supposed to attend three separate out-of-town weddings for dear friends/family in April and May. Given that Quinn arrived so early and quickly, my doctor will deliver her final say on whether or not I can travel to attend these events, but she hasn't said definitively yet. So we wait...

3. What will we name her? We have 4 different names picked out, but I honestly can't decide on any of them! We figure we'll know which one suits her when she's born and we see her sweet face, so we wait...

4. Where will all these tiny humans sleep? When we bought our house last spring, we had no intention of adding to our family for at least another few years. Our house is small and the layout is awkward. Our master bedroom is a converted attic space with low ceilings that works, but isn't ideal. The boys each have their own room, but will be forced to bunk up when Little Miss is born, as this kid has to sleep somewhere. But Quinn isn't ready to share a room or give up his crib quite yet, so the nursery remains his. And I remain impatient to decorate a girl's nursery, paint the walls and store the few things I have that will belong to her. So we wait...

5. To remodel or not to remodel? Given the aforementioned tiny house issues, Brian and I are considering remodeling our home to make it more liveable for our soon-to-be family of five. But tackling this project in a historically-protected neighborhood is no easy feat. First, we have to gain approval from an extremely strict historic preservation board and, second, we need to gain permits from the city itself. Then we need to find financing. The planning process will take just as long as the remodel process, and each step hinges upon the next, so we can't really approach this in small steps or phases. We meet with an architect tomorrow, who is drawing up some sketches of our plans to present to the historic commission with the hopes that they'll allow us to make some modest changes to our front elevation. But we need to be prepared for them to deny the entire project. Either way, it's going to take time. So we wait...

6. Will I ever stop feeling like crap? This pregnancy has been pretty rough on me physically. I had terrible morning sickness in my first trimester and managed to catch two different cases of gastroenteritis so far (the most recent of which was last week, when every member of my family had it for a FULL was a nightmare). Now that I'm entering my third trimester, I've become pretty darn uncomfortable. I'm only 5'2" and have a really short torso, so there's nowhere for this baby to fit. My organs are squished awkwardly under my ribs, which are bruised and sore. I'm having trouble breathing due to said organ-squishing and I'm already starting to swell in my ankles. I still have a looonggg way to go, though, before she's born and I feel any relief, so we wait...

I know, I know. I should stop whining. I've got it good. A fact that has not escaped me in the slightest. I've got a great job, a warm house, and a stocked fridge. My husband is amazingly supportive and has done a nice job of replenishing my Cadbury Cream Egg supply on the daily, and my kids are sweet as pie lately.


But the lack of control in my life, the waiting game, is wearing on my nerves. Even so, I'm confident that I'll look back on this time and wish my babies were still so close to me instead of starting their own lives. I'll long for the days when I need to rock Quinn to sleep, or read Atticus just one more book before bedtime, or feel this little girl squirm inside me. She hasn't even left me yet and I already see her slipping away someday, along with both my boys. It's part of parenthood, to simultaneously keep them close and teach them to be independent. It's harder than I thought it would be to even imagine, much less experience in a future that will come sooner than I ready to accept. So I should embrace the waiting game, which feels a lot like time is standing still. Maybe that isn't such a bad thing after all, given the alternative...

Friday, January 30, 2015

On parenting girls

I've always wanted a little girl. Probably because I am a girl and was once a little one at that. But after nearly five years of raising messy, noisy, yet sincere little boys, I'm starting to panic a little. Part of it is the sheer terror that comes when I realize that someday she will be fifteen and I will probably hide from her when her ex-best friend decides to steal her boyfriend or her favorite pair of jeans didn't get washed and the world is over. But I have a lot of time before those days, right? I think right now I'm more terrified of the things that will be projected onto this precious little creature, whom everyone assumes will be sugar, spice, and everything nice. Will people coo at her in high-pitched voices or treat her more gently than they did my boys when they were babies? Will her closet look like someone took a bottle of pepto bismol to the dresses and skirts and bows that line the shelves? Will she become obsessed with princesses? Barbie dolls? Beauty pageants?

Maybe it's because I was a bit of a tomboy growing up, or because I'm now a bit of feminist, but these prospects terrify me. And yes, I know I sound like the cliche modern hipster screaming "gender neutral!" and "girl power!" over the pleasant hum of my own satisfaction, but I'll be damned if my kid ever says that Legos are for boys. So how do I avoid what seems to be an inevitable fate? How do I nicely tell people not to buy her little toy vacuums and Disney princess-themed attire?

No, seriously. How?

This isn't some lead-in to my solution for little girls everywhere (and their parents) to avoid the stereotypes that keep them thinking they have to be soft and sweet and gentle. I'd rather prefer my daughter to be hell on wheels. I know. Famous last words. But I don't have the answers except to say that we'd like to instill in our daughter the sense that she is just as strong and fierce as her brothers without erasing the femininity that naturally exists in most girls. I'd like her to grow up believing that there are no "girl toys" and "boy toys." That the damsel-in-distress act in far too many princess stories is both silly and dangerous. That she doesn't have to like the color pink. That her interests, her skills, her future should in no way be determined by her sex.

And when she becomes a teenager, I hope she doesn't fall victim to the cliquish nature of many young women. I hope everyone is her friend. I hope she doesn't gossip, or take duck-face selfies, or worry too much about what other people think. I hope she enjoys reading and sharing ideas with her peers and playing an instrument and being goofy without being vapid.

I can't help but feel like parenting a girl will be much more challenging than parenting a boy, not because girls are so much different than boys, but because the attitudes we have about girls are so different than the ones we have about boys. And while we've come a long way since the 1950's, we still have a long way to go. Maybe my kids will be part of the first generation to embrace true gender-neutrality. And maybe, as a way to get the ball rolling, I'll dress my boys in something pink tomorrow. You know, for good measure.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

I'm growing a tiny human GIRL!

In all the excitement of the holidays and Quinn's birthday, I forgot to share the most exciting news of all: #3 is a girl! More details to come, but in the mean time rest assured that we are over the moon, despite my still-frequent bouts of nausea and recently-developed thunder thighs. Thanks, little miss. I still love you.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Quinn is TWO

Today my baby turns two years old. Two. And it's with bittersweet emotion that I type those words; bitter that the days are slipping by too quickly, sweet because there was once a time when we weren't sure we'd be celebrating two years with Quinn. There were so many "what ifs" and "how longs" in those early days before he arrived, and when he got here, I couldn't stop holding him. Now he's too busy to stop and be held. And for that I am thankful.

But there's something that happens when you raise a child with special needs that I try so hard to avoid. In fact, I hardly admit to myself that I'm doing it, but today it feels like it's very much at the forefront of my mind.

I compare.

I compare him to other kids his age. I compare him to his brother. I compare him to other children with Down syndrome. It's not fair, I know. But I do it anyway.

Here's Atticus on his second birthday. He's standing on a chair next to his cupcake. He blew the
candle out all by himself and even sang the words to "Happy Birthday." I remember how he carefully licked the icing from his cupcake and then peeled the liner away to take little bites before he tore from the table toward his pile of presents, impatiently awaiting permission to rip each one open. When he did, he thanked the giver before turning to the next one. These were gifts like toy golf clubs and remote-control cars, art supplies and soccer balls. In other words, typical gifts for a typical two-year-old. And I was blissfully unaware that the celebration would ever be different.

Yesterday I brought cupcakes to Quinn's class to help celebrate his special day. We had so much fun stuffing sugar-laden icing into our mouths and singing "Happy Birthday." But I also can't help but feel a twinge of sadness that Quinn really didn't know it was his birthday. He couldn't walk to the sink to wash the chocolate from his face without someone's help. He couldn't sing the words to the songs. Instead of daintily dissecting his cupcake, he shoved the whole thing, wrapper and all, into his mouth. To be honest, it looked more like a first birthday than a second one. And when we open presents this weekend, the gifts will be toys from the baby aisle that light up and whir and sing songs.

I'm far enough in to this special needs parenting gig to let those differences roll off my back. I can take it. And Quinn is downright awesome. But even the twinge of sadness at his development makes me feel guilty, which makes me feel ungrateful, which makes me feel even more guilty. That damn guilt is stronger than anything, really, and it seems to be a prevalent theme amongst my mom friends walking similar paths. We want our children to be the exception, and when we're disappointed that they're not, we struggle with the accompanying guilt. Or worse, we always feel like we aren't doing enough.

And it's at the moment when I'm reeling that my mom sends me a copy of the Houston Chronicle's article on Ezra Roy, a young man with Down syndrome who just graduated Magna Cum Laude from Texas Southern University with a Bachelor's degree in art. I've read quite a few stories about individuals with Down syndrome attending special programs on college campuses, but this is the first time I've read about someone with Trisomy 21 earning a true bachelor's degree. And I smiled to myself (ok, I also cried a little a lot) because Ezra's parents likely worried about his development and felt guilty when he didn't reach their lofty expectations every time. But maybe that worrying and guilt paid off, because it meant they never stopped encouraging him to achieve greatness. And as a result, Ezra proved that he's not to be underestimated. He's not to be labeled according to his disability, but rather his many abilities. And from what I understand, he is a talented artist and a dedicated student. Ezra has the entire Down syndrome community buzzing in celebration of his success. But more importantly, he has the academic world taking notice of just how much our kids can accomplish.

So, yes, Quinn is behind most two-year-olds. He's not walking or talking yet, but I'm going to spend the rest of his birthday thinking about all the things he CAN do, and the list is quite impressive:

  • Quinn can light up the whole room with his smile.
  • Quinn can bang his chest and grunt when he sees a picture of a gorilla.
  • Quinn can shove an entire cupcake in his mouth in one swift maneuver. But he can also use his pincher grasp to pick up individual cheerios and eat them one-by-one.
  • Quinn can communicate using sign language to let us know when he's hungry, thirsty, tired, or just plain over it.
  • Quinn can crawl on his butt faster than most grown men can run. Trust me; I've seen my husband  try and fail to catch him when he's on his way somewhere dangerous/important/forbidden
  • Quinn can give the best hugs and will pat your back with his little hand when he does. And he can make you melt in that one move.
  • Quinn can tickle his brother to the point of uncontrollable laughter.
  • Quinn can point to his nose, toes, eyes and mouth. He can sneeze on cue.
  • Quinn can say, "dada," "dog," "all done," and "more."
  • Quinn can make me slow down and enjoy the moment.
  • Quinn can build a tower of blocks for the sheer enjoyment of toppling them over.
  • Quinn can stand up on his own and take 4 steps at a time.
  • Quinn can steal the remote and use it to turn the TV on and off repeatedly.
  • Quinn can throw one helluva tantrum.
  • Quinn can entertain himself for hours if he has a tall stack of books.
  • Quinn can make people realize that different is good.
  • Quinn can forgive faster than any child I know.
  • Quinn can make our family happier than I ever thought possible.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Mennes, Party of 5

It's hard to believe it, especially since Brian and I were taking steps to avoid this very circumstance, but it seems I am knocked up again. Surprise! Trust me, we're just as shocked as you are. Yes, we know how these things happen. Yes, we also know how small our house is, how full our schedules are, and how crazy our lives will be with three kids under the age of 5. I spent a good two weeks crying fat, irrational, hormonal tears over these realizations (Brian, on the other hand, was trying to hide just how over-the-moon he was about this recent development, likely to avoid what typically follows hormonal tears: hormonal yelling and demands for odd combinations of food from across town at 3am). Now that the news has had a chance to sink in, I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that I will soon have a whole litter of children. At least they're cute.

This isn't to say that I didn't want another child eventually. Brian and I have talked at length about how we weren't finished, but we didn't intend to even consider the possibility of maybe trying for a third for at least another few years. Ideally, both boys would be out of preschool (and the tuition that comes with it) and we'd be more able to focus our attention on a newborn. Best laid plans, I suppose. And I can't help but feel terribly guilty that I have friends who are trying desperately to get pregnant and I can't NOT get pregnant. It just seems unfair. But also a good reminder that a baby is a blessing.

This particular pregnancy is so different from my first two. First, I'm pretty darn sick this round. I remember bouts of nausea with Atticus and Quinn, but nothing like this. Of course, this has everyone speculating girl, but I don't want to get my hopes up there. I would LOVE a girl, especially since this is definitely my last, but I kind of resigned myself to the idea that I would never escape a house full of testosterone and penises. So while a girl would be most welcome, I'm anticipating another boy. Brian's paternal grandmother had six boys because she kept trying for a girl. The last two were twins and she understandably gave up.

Second, I'm remarkably calm this time around. Since Atticus was my first, I naturally worried about every little thing. I avoided soft cheeses, deli meat, nail salons, and hot showers. I panicked if I didn't feel him move every few hours and read every baby book obsessively. With Quinn, I worried about some pretty serious and life-altering stuff following his diagnosis because our massive medical team insisted we should. So it stands to reason that I would worry that things would go wrong this time, but I haven't. What will be, will be. And even though we've done genetic testing to verify that all is going as expected (results should be in any day and I'm anxious for both what they'll tell me about this little one's health, and also the sex...the wait is interminable), we're pretty even-keeled about the whole process. It's odd. And maybe it's because we had the whole book of prenatal problems thrown at us last round and survived that we figure we can take what comes our way this time.

Third, I'm already showing, have a face full of acne, have gained a whole mess of weight in my hips, and cannot stay awake past 8pm. I was tired with the first two, but this kind of exhaustion takes on a whole new meaning. Exercise is supposed to help give me energy, but the thought of doing any kind of manual labor makes me want to vomit. So I'm in a holding pattern of first trimester misery, even though I'm already 14 weeks along and should be over it by now. Last week I did have entire stretches of time when I didn't want to puke all over everything, but then I smelled what the neighbors six houses down were cooking and BLEH.

All in all, we're taking this news in stride. We'll somehow manage to survive this pregnancy, which I do not do well. Seriously, who are these women who actually enjoy being pregnant? It's so miserably uncomfortable and stressful and the one thing that can ease said stress is one of the many things I can't have. So I turn to food and gain 40 pounds and complain about how fat I got and WHY can't I stop eating? My poor husband...

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Another school year started and already thinking about the next one

It's been a while since my last post and I've actually received a few emails asking what gives. Well, life gives, it seems. Not that things are going poorly, by any means, but new school schedules just mean transitions and adjustments, none of which are necessarily easy. But now that we're in the swing of things, it's starting to go a bit smoother. Juggling the therapies, pick-up times, and occasional illnesses has always been tricky with a full-time job, and this school year is no exception. But I'm lucky to have a great job with an understanding administration that makes it possible for me to keep working, a luxury that I refuse to take for granted. And even though one of my 10th graders just made a joke about poop that was alarmingly similar to the one Atticus made just last week, I really do love my kids and my job enough to work my butt off and balance them both. So far, so good!

Quinn and Atticus are doing great and loving their new school almost as much as I am. I've seen a vast improvement in not only their cognition and development, but in their general desire to learn. Quinn is walking with the help of push toys and cruising on furniture with ease. It's only a matter of time before he lets go and starts walking independently. He's learning more signs everyday and using them without prompting from us and starting to repeat sounds and words. He still has a way to go, but we're in the process of finding new private therapists to reinforce this development outside of school. Other things, like drinking from a straw and holding a toy phone to his ear, activities that most parents of toddlers take for granted, are starting to emerge with the help of occupational therapy (and teachers with more patience than rocks. I can't even imagine giving 8 toddlers open cups of milk at lunch time, especially since Quinn is prone to throwing said cup across the room).

Atticus is currently working on sight-reading and can't ride in the car without spotting words and letters that he knows. Our dinner table sounds like a quiz show: "Pumpkin does start with P! What else starts with that letter? If I had 4 pumpkins and gave two to you, how many would I have left?" Pumpkins are big right now, as are ghosts, candy, and pirate costumes, the combination of which makes for a rousing game of make-believe that leaves my head throbbing from the noise, but I digress. He's also writing his name, doing simple math, and coming up with creative solutions to his problems in a way that makes me confident in his future success. Of course, how he'll reach that success is a topic of lengthy discussion in our house...

Atticus will be entering Kindergarten next year and Houston is notorious for having a small handful of excellent elementary schools that are highly coveted, juxtaposed to an alarmingly large number of campuses that I wouldn't send my children to if they were the last places on Earth. It's an abominable system. The few transfer spots that exist on these exemplary campuses are based on a lottery admission and, from what I've learned this week, it's easier to get into Harvard University than it is to get into our top school choice. Yes, you read that correctly. Travis Elementary, which is 2 minutes from our house but out of our attendance zone, has a 6% admission rate for Vanguard transfer students, while Harvard's admission rate is closer to 10%. Of course, to even be entered into this lottery, Atticus has to pass the Vanguard test, which assesses his giftedness. He'll apply and take the test, but we're not putting too much stock into it. Even if he passes and is considered Gifted and Talented, he still has to be chosen in the lottery. The crapshoot of this system has me nervous. Our neighborhood school isn't a bad school, per se, but I'm worried that it won't be rigorous enough for Atticus and challenge him in the ways we want to see. I know this problem exists everywhere, but it's especially bad in Houston, where the best schools are in some of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the country. Even middle-class suburban neighborhoods (like where we moved from) don't offer the programs I'd like to see for my children. The selection is even worse for middle-class urban neighborhoods (where we are now). And last time I checked, we can't afford a $800,000+ fixer-upper of a postage stamp house zoned to one of the few good elementary schools in the city, so selecting a school that can cater to both of my boys' different needs is daunting, maybe even impossible. It shouldn't be this difficult for middle-class families to find quality public education. And yet, it is.
Homework with Daddy

So what do we do? Right now we're rolling with it. Maybe we'll win the academic lottery and Atticus will get a spot at one of the better schools in the area. Maybe we'll try our neighborhood school and see how it fits. But we definitely need a plan B in place, just in case the aforementioned options fail. The lack of good plan B's has me nervous...and seriously considering that commune we've always wanted to start in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Who's with us? I'll churn the butter and teach the kids, but we're going to need someone else to do the cooking, for everyone's sake.   

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Raising Spiritually-Full Children Without a Specific Faith.

Brian and I have made no secret about our Agnosticism. We are both former Catholics who spent some time considering our own religious paths independently, only to come to similar conclusions around the time we met in college. Our beliefs are pretty simple in that we refuse to define them. We are not godless, so to speak; I believe that there is likely some greater force in this world. But I struggle in giving this force an identity. And despite what some may doubt to be true, I am spiritually full.

Interestingly enough, I teach in a very conservative and religious community. My students are church-goers and take pride in their faith. And I respect this. While it’s not what I believe, I admire the power of their convictions and the people they are as a result of their religious upbringing. These kids are honest, thoughtful, selfless, and hard-working. They are true Christians. They are, for all intents and purposes, everything I want my children to become. 

So when Atticus mentioned Jesus the other day, I realized it’s time to start thinking about faith and its role in my boys’ upbringing. I will not force them to ascribe to a certain way of religious thinking, but I will encourage them to be spiritually full. In other words, I don’t really care what they choose to believe so long as they’re thinking about it, questioning it, and ascribing to a system of beliefs that honors kindness, empathy, and compassion for those around them. We don’t know exactly what that’s going to look like yet; we’re still ironing out the kinks. But we do know that a few tenets that will guide us along the way:

1. Religious Education

The first step towards respect is understanding. In college, I was in the middle of a civil, yet somewhat heated debate with my devoutly-Baptist friend. When I asked him why he was so sure his faith was the right one and not, say, Islam, he plainly told me “I don’t need to know about that because it isn’t the true path to God.” I can’t abide cyclical reasoning and at that moment I ended the conversation. But I continued to be amazed by how many religiously righteous people new next-to-nothing about faiths other than their own. It astounded me. So my children’s spiritual education will involve visits to temples, mosques, churches, and other houses of worship. They will learn how people all over the world choose to honor their god(s), not just those who live in our community. I wish more young people took the time to explore other religions; those who acknowledge and respect differing outlooks are the peace-makers, the problem-solvers, and the pioneers.

2. A Commitment to service

One of the noblest aspects of organized religion is their commitment to service to those in need. Homeless shelters, food and clothing drives, and soup kitchens are often the work of religious groups because most religions preach the need for selflessness and service. My children will learn the value of self-sacrifice in an effort to help those less fortunate, and we will volunteer both our time and material possessions to see these lessons through. Because developing empathy and helping those in need is good for the soul and society. 

3. Open dialogue

I was always told to avoid conversations about money, politics, and religion at the dinner table because I could never change a person’s mind on any of those topics. And for the most part, I agree. I’m not going to debate the Book of Revelations with my colleagues over lunch, but I do want my children to feel free to ask questions. I want to erase the notion that religion is a taboo discussion, especially if it's conducted with a level of mutual respect. I want them to open their minds to the many possibilities. And if they choose to have faith in a certain dogma after exhausting every query, then so be it. I respect that. But to believe in something without questioning and searching for truth is not really believing in much at all. It’s apathy. The questions might never be answered in absolutes. Heck, they might not be answered at all, but at least they’re being considered.

4. Connecting with nature

With our over-connected world and the constant onslaught of flashing, buzzing solicitation, it’s easy to lose one’s sense of inner peace. I am a firm believer in the power of nature. In fact, I might even argue that nature IS my religion. So taking the time to literally smell the roses and find my inner dialogue is an important part of my spiritual health. I’m not anti-technology. My kids watch TV. We live in the smoggy inner-city and drive our SUV to work and school every day. But I also instill in my children the idea that nature has power. It is a reminder of where we came from and where we are headed. So we need to take time to be outside, walk to the park, hike in the mountains, camp at the lake, swim in the ocean. It’s when we realize just how small we are in this vastness of nature that we can truly begin to consider why we’re here in the first place.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Quinn's Hand Surgery

I am writing this post at the ungodly hour of 5am from the lumpy armchair next to Quinn's hospital bed. Our little trooper just underwent hand surgery to release the syndactyly (fused fingers) on his right hand. While it was a relatively routine procedure, his breathing and oxygen levels are often a cause for concern, so the doctors made a last-minute decision to keep him overnight and observe his progress. True to form, he's surprised us all and spent most of the night either smiling or sleeping. Since I've been here since 7am yesterday morning, I haven't done much of either.

newborn Quinn's adorable little fingers.
The story of Quinn's syndactyly is one of my favorites. Those of you who have been following this blog for a while likely remember the chaos surrounding Quinn's birth. The Mighty was very early and arrived quickly; so quickly, in fact, that Brian almost missed it. Due to his prenatal Down syndrome diagnosis and a number of other concerning findings during my closely-monitored pregnancy, an entire NICU team was on hand in the delivery room. When Quinn came screaming into this world, he was quickly passed to the head nurse for a look over. He was, after all, early, and babies with Down syndrome often have problems with their lungs, heart, or bowels that go unnoticed until birth. Brian and I were waiting patiently but nervously for the nurse to let us know how our little guy was doing. It seemed like ages before she turned to us with a very serious look on her face: "I want to tell you what I'm seeing," she said gravely. I swear the patients three floors below us could hear our sharp intake of breath. My mind was spinning in those seconds regarding all the things she could tell us: that he was in heart failure or barely breathing or that his lungs formed outside of his chest.

"His middle fingers are fused on his right hand."

"That's IT?!" we said together. We can do this. Hell, as die-hard Texas Longhorn fans, we were pleased to see he was born with his horns up! Those fingers became a symbol for me of all the things that could have been wrong, but weren't. Of all the things that doctors and professionals would warn me might happen. All the worst-case scenarios we'll face over the years. Because Quinn has Down syndrome, many people in this world will expect him to be a burden medically, physically, and intellectually. It was like Quinn was born with not one, but two middle fingers in the air, challenging anyone to stereotype him or his abilities.

Of course, despite my love for those fingers, the right course of action was to give him full mobility in his right hand. Five fingers are better for fine motor skills than four and, even though the surgery and 6-week recovery will be tough on all of us, it was the right thing to do. And with the help of Quinn's incredible Grandma Cathy, who is a physical therapist at Shriner's Hospital in Houston, we had one of the foremost hand specialists in the country perform the procedure. Our guy was in good hands (pun intended) and is recovering well.

Now if only they'd let us go home so Mama can get some sleep...

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Summer 2014, so far

As a teacher, I begin every summer with a list of goals to accomplish. Some are complex, while others, like a quick blog post, are simple. And before I know it, I'm watching the end of summer approach at a break-necking pace without having done much besides building Legos with Atticus in my pajamas. Even at naptime, I struggle to simply reheat my last cup of coffee for the fourth time and check my email. That said, there are a few developments that deserve mention here, so here's my half-assed attempt at productivity.

I. Vacation:

Every other Christmas, my family decides to forgo gift-giving and spend our money on a vacation instead, because experience and togetherness beat stuff any day of the year, but this is especially true at Christmas. This year, we decided to head to Jackson Hole, WY over the summer to visit Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks. And let me bluntly say that it. was. awesome. Surreal, even. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves instead of driveling on:

II. Quinn:

Quinn's progress the past few months has left me speechless. Gone is the baby I knew. He is scooting faster than I can catch him, pulling himself to stand, and even saying a few words. I'm seeing his little personality blossom and it's incredibly fun to watch. He's social, happy, and dangerously curious. And, just like his mother brother, he has a tendency to get comically frustrated over seemingly insignificant things. But that's pretty normal for his age as he learns to manipulate the world around him.

He's scheduled for surgery in a few weeks at Shriner's Hospital here in Houston to separate his fused middle fingers on his right hand. While we've always loved that he was born with his "horns up" (hook 'em), full dexterity is imperative these next few years as he further develops his fine motor skills. The surgery is pretty straight-forward, but he'll be in a full cast for two months as he heals from the procedure. We'll keep you posted on that front.

III. Atticus

Atticus turned four in June and, like many four-year-olds, he wants to either a). do everything by
himself when we're in a mad rush to walk out the door (have you ever watched a small child put his shoes on? It's an interminable process), or b). insist that I get him something the moment I sit down. But I can never meet all his needs in one trip. First it's juice. When I finallly fill his cup and get back to what I was doing, then he wants a snack, so I get it for him and sit back down. And then he needs help with his puzzle. And then he spilled the juice. On the couch. The carpet. His clothes. You get the point. I'm never sitting down for long.

But annoying habits aside, Atticus is increasingly inquisitive and imaginative.We're pushing letters and phonics right now to hopefully have him reading by the spring. We've instituted a "letter of the day" this summer in which we focus on a letter and activities that begin with that letter. For example, on "C Day" we baked cookies for our friends and neighbors because "C" is for "cookie" and "caring." It's been a fun way to pass the dog days of summer.

IV. Brian and Me

We're gradually eating our way through our new neighborhood and loving every minute of it. Granted, our wallets and waistlines need a break before they both bust, so we're spending the rest of the summer trying to finish house projects and visit with friends. We recognize these are our last relaxing moments before school starts in the fall, and this year promises to be the busiest yet with the boys' new school schedule and insanely high tuition. But these are the sacrifices we signed up for when we became parents, so we'll take it in stride.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Has Quinn Changed your Perspective on Down Syndrome?

I'll be the first to admit, I was devastated upon receiving Quinn's diagnosis because I was harboring old stereotypes and misinformation about what Down syndrome meant. If you read the post I wrote immediately after our doctor made the call about Quinn's designer genes, you can see this clearly in my writing. I assumed my life would never be "normal" again. I assumed my child would be unable to perform even simple tasks like walking, speaking, or reading. And even though I pride myself in being an educated person with progressive thoughts, I was truly ignorant about the realities of Ds until Quinn came along. And I've learned that I was not alone in this attitude. I've had students ask me if Quinn will ever be able to learn, and strangers question whether or not I intend to "put him in a home" when he's older. Their innocent questions, while cringe-worthy, are steeped in the same ignorance I had before Down syndrome became a part of my reality, hence my desire to raise awareness about what Down syndrome really is. There's nothing like experience and education to put things into perspective. Down syndrome is no longer the scary thing I thought it would be two years ago and I see Quinn's similarities to other kids his age far more than I see his differences, and I hope that I've conveyed that message to you.

So I'm curious, in the time that I've been blogging and sharing my experiences in raising Quinn, has it changed your perspective on Down syndrome? Have I raised awareness about what my son is capable of becoming in the future? And is there anything that I should add to my posts to help you better understand what Ds is all about? I'd love to read your comments below!

Full disclosure: I totally stole this idea from a friend's Facebook profile, but I figure the more of us who ask, the more we'll know (cue shooting star graphic and inspirational jingle).

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

New Horizons

There have been some big changes here at the homestead, the most notable being our new home. When we moved to Houston in the summer of 2012, we were daunted by the task of buying a house in the city's crazy real estate market, a task made even more difficult by the fact that we were still living in Austin at the time. We were outbid on several offers, and lacked the resources or time to look in our most desired neighborhoods. Brian and I have always claimed that we could live in two places and two places only: the heart of the city or the middle of nowhere. Anything in between just wasn't for us. So we surprised ourselves when we bought a house in the West Houston suburbs where I grew up. It's a great little neighborhood and our house was a great little house, but despite its proximity to both our jobs, we weren't terribly happy there.

The Rise School of Houston
About six months later, we received Quinn's diagnosis and learned about The Rise School of Houston, a developmental preschool for children with Down syndrome. We took a tour when Quinn was very young and immediately put his name on the wait list; we had fallen in love with the school after our visit. With their integrated music, speech, and physical therapy, as well as a 3:1 student to teacher ratio and a gorgeous facility, we knew immediately that this was the best thing for Quinn's formative early years. The only problem (other than the insanely high tuition rate; that's a discussion for another post) is that it was on the opposite end of town from us, but ironically close to where we wanted to live when we first moved to Houston. Nevertheless, we went back and forth on ways to make it work from our home in the 'burbs without ever coming up with a solution. And after some reflection on where we were at the time, Brian and I made the decision to move to central Houston. We craved museums, coffee shops, and the charm of bungalow-lined streets. We missed seeing bicycles and independently-owned businesses. We missed the pulse and general weirdness that comes with an inner-city neighborhood and all its different perspectives. And, of course, it was the best decision for Quinn because it meant he could attend The Rise School.

We made an offer on the second house we saw, a darling 1928 Victorian bungalow on a corner lot in the an historic section of the Houston Heights, complete with a garage apartment (for extra income; our summer tenant moves in today) and a wrought-iron fence. We weren't exactly ready to move; we had just started looking to get an idea of the market, but just like when we toured the Rise School, we immediately fell in love with this house. When our offer was accepted, we rushed to get our other house listed. We were really lucky that the Houston real estate market was even hotter than when we bought the house less than two years prior, and we had two offers over asking price within three hours! Our agent said she had never seen anything like it.


We officially moved in to our new home last weekend and are finally starting to feel settled. We absolutely adore living in the heart of the city and being so close to all the things we love. And we love the charm and quirkiness of an historic home. Our upstairs AC is on the fritz, our behemoth dog broke the flimsy single-paned glass in our dining room window, and the water pressure makes Atticus's squirt gun look like a fire hose. But, hey, we have a clawfoot tub, an old front porch, and four capable hands that aren't afraid to get a little dirty.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Group Hug, Everybody!

Wow. Just, wow!

My recent post in response to the troll has now gone viral and I am so unbelievably grateful to the many people who have sent messages and left comments of support and love from all over the world. I can't even begin to express my gratitude; I wish I had time to respond to all your messages personally, but due to the overwhelming influx of support, this is simply impossible. So instead, please accept this post as one giant group hug. You all make this world better with your positive outlooks and selfless willingness to reach out to our family. THANK YOU!

And Quinn? He's just tickled:

Monday, April 14, 2014

An Open Letter to A Troll

Dear Troll,

Since I started blogging about my son Quinn and his disability, I knew this day would come. There’s no shortage of trolls on the internet who hide behind the anonymity of a screen name with the intent to be cruel, and I’ve seen their hostility many times before. In fact, just last week, in the wake of a robbery at the Down Syndrome Association of Houston’s headquarters, in which $10,000 worth of technology was stolen, there was no shortage of ignorant comments on the news story reporting the incident. One user asked, “how will they learn to count to potato?” Another claimed that wasting computers on “retards” was stupid anyway and that the organization deserved to be robbed. These comments, while offensive, simply serve to showcase people’s hate-fueled ignorance and aren’t worth my time. I grimace when I read them, but realize there’s little to be done about such stupidity. 

I don't want to make assumptions about you, but I can guess from your immaturity and ignorance that you know little about the helplessness that parents feel when caring for a sick infant with respiratory issues. Quinn was sick last week, but was feeling much better by Friday. We decided to sit in the backyard and soak up the sun after school. There aren't many things in this world more beautiful than seeing your recently-ill child light up in a smile, and I snapped a few photos to celebrate his recovery, then posted them on Instagram with the hashtag “#downsyndrome.” I love to look through those photos myself in my spare time because damn if those kiddos aren’t adorable. Of course, you feel differently because you found this photo and left a comment with one simple word: 


Thursday, March 13, 2014

On the fragility of life and the importance of our choices

Shattered Dreams drunk driving simulation: Stratford High School, 2014

Today Stratford High School presented Shattered Dreams, in which students, faculty, and community volunteers come together to simulate a drunk driving accident in order to raise awareness and prevent these types of tragedies amongst teens. At 9:00am, all upper-classmen walked to the street along campus where two cars were positioned to look as if they had run into one another, both full of actual students. The “driver” of one car had been drinking, while the “driver” of the other car had been texting. Over the course of an hour, students and faculty witnessed fire, police, and EMS pull students from the vehicles and strap them to gurneys, zip them into body bags, or throw them in the back of police cars. One student was life-flighted to Ben Taub Hospital. As the scene unfolded, friends and parents of the participants were present to witness and grieve for the victims. A hearse came at the end to take bodies to the morgue. Tonight, the student actors will fulfill their roles further, as if they were truly involved in the accident. Parents will write obituaries for their children. Those who died in the accident will actually visit the morgue. And those students who were injured will spend the night in the hospital, their families by their sides. The rest of the student body will remain in class today, listening to the sound of a heartbeat flat-line over the PA every 15 minutes to represent the rate at which someone dies in a drunk driving accident in this country.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

The R-Word

Today is the annual “Spread the Word to End the Word” campaign, in which advocates of the special
needs community encourage people to stop using the word “retard” and all its forms. It’s a day that means a great deal to me now, but wasn’t even on my radar two years ago. It’s probably not on yours either unless you know and love someone with intellectual delays. Even if you do, you might glance at this issue and shrug your shoulders, thinking to yourself that being overly-PC is more damaging to our society than the words we use to insult others. I probably would have agreed with you a few years back, to be honest. But there’s something about crossing to the other side that makes it possible for me to see where you’re coming from, but also insist that you consider a new place to go. Because using words that hurt others simply to be funny, or even because you “forgot” to check your tongue, aren’t good enough reasons to keep using them.

You see, when you use the word “retard” you insult an entire group of people who are often unable to defend themselves. It’s probably why the word has been slow to fall out of social acceptance, unlike words like “ni**er” or “fa**ot.” The goal of the “Spread the Word to End the Word” campaign is to make “retard” so offensive that even open-minded, censorship-hating bloggers like myself have to type it with asterisks instead of letters. But moreover, when you call someone a “retard,” you’re basically telling them that they’ve chosen to do something stupid and therefore deserve to be insulted. This word isn’t used with any positive connotation. It’s an insult, a joke, and a way to point out others’ bad choices. But what you’re really doing is taking away my son’s worth. You’re making him out to be your scapegoat for comedy. And you’re making yourself less of my friend. That’s harsh, I know. But if you can’t respect me and my son enough to stop using that word, then you don’t deserve my friendship (said with Mama Bear claws fully and unapologetically exposed).  

Friday, February 21, 2014

On Depression...

This is for my friend.

Sometimes, life is hard. I think I’m luckier than most in this world, and yet I still struggle with my own demons. I suppose that’s true of all of us, but not everyone faces the crushing weight of depression when things go wrong. For my friend (and anyone else) who is struggling to stay afloat, I want you to know, I’ve been there.

Depression isn’t something we like to talk about in our society. Mental health in general is a rather taboo topic, perhaps because for those with no history of mental illness, it seems as simple as a change in mindset. But depression is very real, and often very difficult to control.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

A Hodge-podge of Updates

I’ve been suffering a bit of writer’s block lately, but not for reasons you might expect. It’s not that I have nothing to say, but too much. My mind is racing of late with ideas, snippets, small iotas of information that I feel are worth sharing, but I don’t know how to organize these jumbled ideas into any sense of cohesive writing. So instead of waiting for it to all make sense, I’ll just share with you these tidbits and hope you can string some meaning from them.

Part I: Quinn

Quinn celebrated his first birthday just before Christmas and has radically changed before my eyes. There’s a moment that parents experience when they suddenly look at their babies and wonder when they grew up so quickly. I had that first moment with Quinn the other day. He’s just…bigger, you know? He’s alert and responsive. He’s starting to become more mobile and has found a way to wiggle himself across the living room floor. I won’t call it crawling just yet, but it’s close. He’s responding to signs and interacting more with us. He’s eating like a horse. Seriously, this kid can put food away. He loves to read books and actually cries when they’re over. The first time I witnessed this happen, I thought it was a fluke or that I had smacked his face with the stiff cardboard cover, but by the third time he screamed bloody murder when the story ended, I realized it’s not from pain, but anger. Clearly, he also has a penchant for the dramatic. But I can’t fault him for it; he is my son, after all. And I’m immeasurably proud of his love for the written word/pictures of cows.

Part II: Atticus

This kid is really blossoming into one of the kindest, most selfless children I have ever known. I knew some of Brian’s personality would show up sooner or later, but I wasn’t expecting it until well after puberty (boys will be boys and all that). And that’s not to say that he isn’t wild at times. He definitely has his moments where the world is falling apart because we ran out of Goldfish, but for the most part we hear a lot of “may I please?” and “thank you, Mommy” and “excuse me.”  He also loves his little brother. He absolutely adores him. Those two share a bond that I never knew could exist in children so young, and when I pick them up from school and they see each other after a long day apart, they both light up and fall into fits of giggles. It’s a pretty special thing to witness. Atticus is also a born entertainer. His dance skills are unparalleled, and he can chatter away for what seems like hours. If you try to simply nod and say, “oh, really?” and “mmm-hmmm” he’ll actually call you on it. “Don’t say, ‘okay’ Mommy. I telling a story!” He demands legitimate analysis of his tales. While exhausting, I know this will translate into something very special as he gets older.

Forgive the abysmal quality of this video. I think you'll find it's still worth watching.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Friday, December 6, 2013

My Son with Special Needs Taught me More about Education than Seven Years in the Classroom

I am the product of a classical education. My mother, an English teacher, and my father, an attorney, instilled in me a respect for education that I embraced in my youth, fought like hell against in my adolescence and rediscovered in adulthood. I realized my calling as a teacher while on a backpacking trip through Europe shortly after graduating college. At the time, I had $20,000 in student loan debt, a degree in English, and virtually zero career prospects upon my return from abroad (see reference to English degree). As we wandered the streets of Prague, Florence, and Paris, I found myself unable to avoid the pull of Kakfa, Dante, and Hemingway; these men had defined my understanding of these cities, and I talked Brian’s ear off about their influence on modern culture. In those moments, my desire to teach was born.

Of course, upon my return I had begun to sing a different tune and thought that I could “do better” than teach. But despite a top-notch education from The University of Texas and a set of useful skills, I couldn’t find a job. Like others from the everyone-gets-a-trophy generation, I expected the offers to come streaming in. Moreover, I was told that my college degree would be worth more than the debt I acquired to earn it. With limited options and a waning confidence, I decided to revisit the notion of teaching and applied to Texas State's graduate program in education. I earned my teaching certificate and Master’s degree in Secondary Education two years later and entered the classroom still wet behind the ears, but passionate as all get-out. I fell into my role rather seamlessly. I found I actually enjoyed puzzling through discipline problems and, even though I had practically no idea what I was doing that first year, I loved my job.

Now, in my 7th year in the classroom, the only thing that’s changed is the expertise that comes with experience. I don’t feel like a braggart admitting that I’m good at my job. I’m not perfect, but I enjoy it and I forge relationships with my students that are real and based on a mutual respect for each other and the subject matter. Most importantly, we have a good time and we learn, read, and discuss. And I’m fortunate to teach on a campus that focuses on real education, not just test scores and school data. 

But yesterday in class, my eyes were opened to something I’ve known all along: despite the aforementioned positives, I’m beginning to see the perils of traditional education. It began innocently enough. We’re in the process of reading Antigone, the classical Greek drama about a young woman who risks her life for a morally just cause. To tie in poetry and help them relate to the greater themes within the work, I decided to spend some time listening to and annotating protest music. While discussing Pink Floyd’s message of anti-establishment in “Another Brick in the Wall Part II” I described the band’s beef with traditional education and the notion that school is purely a stepping stone for one’s career. I explained this in the context of mid-century British prep schools, not realizing that everything I said was true of our own system of education until a student told me as much.  

Monday, November 18, 2013

Buddy Walk 2013

I’ve heard it said that it takes a village to raise a child. In our case, it takes a village to raise a family. And this family has one hell of a village behind us. Last weekend was Quinn’s first Buddy Walk, an awareness and fundraising event held in Houston each November. I spent much of this fall organizing Quinn’s team and sending out slightly obnoxious Facebook posts in an attempt to raise money on his behalf. The result was successful. We raised over $7600 in Quinn’s name and were the 6th highest fundraising team in the city, which is no small feat! We couldn’t have done this without the help of our generous friends and family, with a special thanks to our incredible parents, Larry and Patti Mennes, who personally matched every donation from Larry’s employees. We wouldn’t have raised nearly as much as we did without their help.

When it came time for the walk itself, we had over 60 people on our team in support of Quinn. His teachers at the daycare made posters and came out in droves for our little man, and many of my own coworkers walked with us to show their support. Even my dear friend Laura, who was terribly sick at the time, braved her own illness to meander through the crowds out of love for Quinn. The Stratford National Honor Society students walked with us for their service hours and, even though I don’t know any of these seniors, they all introduced themselves to me and made a point of meeting Quinn (and fawning over his cuteness). Nearing the end of the one-mile walk through downtown Houston, I came upon Stratford’s Junior Girls, many of whom were my students last year. They watched last fall as I coped with the news of Quinn’s diagnosis and celebrated with me when he was born during finals week. They were all there with signs and banners, cheering Quinn’s name just before the finish line. At this point I didn’t even try to hide my tears.

To say that this event was moving would be a gross understatement. I am beyond grateful for these people, this village that supports my family. Their love and encouragement sustain me and create an environment for Quinn that is inclusive and celebrates his unique qualities. Because the more I learn about Down syndrome, the more I see it as a gift. For the people in my life to recognize this too means that our family is erasing stereotypes and breaking down the barriers that he would have faced even a decade ago. But most importantly, it means that we are loved, and love is all we need.

Stratford Junior Girls

Quinn and Atticus' teachers

Gamma and PopPop cheer for Quinn

Brian and his Mom (aka, Grandma)
BFF's for life

Ace and Archie decorating the tent

Paula and the man of the hour
Aunt Kelly showing Quinn his posters

SHS students represent

Atticus with his superman facepaint
Brian, Quinn, and me with Archie and Lisa