The Very Best Kind of Homecoming

On Wednesday The Girl was crying so much I finally to put her to bed at the unholy hour of 6:30.  And, to my great concern, she went to sleep immediately without complaint.  Passed out, really.

Clearly she was sick, right?  I was sure she'd be up puking at 3am but she actually just snuck in my bed around 4 and ground her teeth next to my ear until I stopped pretending to sleep.  But she was chipper & ate so off to school she went. 

Last night I picked her & The Boy up after work and headed to the store for a lovely rotisserie chicken & maybe some fancy foccacia or garlic sourdough.  Maybe a bag o'salad.  Did I mention Matt has been out of town again?  Cooking during these times is a luxury my sanity cannot afford.    

She was asleep in the back seat before we left the gas station.  Are they making her run laps at school?  What the hell?  [It will surprise none of you that fatigue without other symptoms immediately set off a tsunami of alarms.  The fact that I did not call the ped and immediately demand a blood draw yesterday is, I believe, a sign of my good mental health and maturity.  Well... that and it was after hours.]

So in lieu of a happy organic chicken raised on love & hand fed oats, humanely slaughtered after a simple prayer to the great poultry god, & slow roasted over an open flame of sustainably harvested hardwood, we hit the KFC drive thru.  

Oh, yes.  We did.  Because we'd had McD's the night before and nutritional variety is important.  

But there are some things that will just never taste as good as they did when you were 6:  bright orange mac & cheese, IHOP, ice cream drumsticks, and -turns out- KFC.  

The Boy, however, is not yet legally at the age of reason and practically licked his plate. 

Two hours later?  Puke.  From the "healthy" one.   

You know what we're out of?  Paper towels.  At least he hit the toilet….  mostly. 

Sadly for him, Matt had in the interim landed and made it back home - just in time to fetch a huge bowl and a trash bag.  Welcome home!

Traveling (part one, hopefully. No promises because...obviously)

...Where were we?  Oh yes!  After 10 years of domestic isolation, Matt & I were happily forced to renew our passports.  Matt's oldest friend was getting married in Ireland and thanks to Matt's flight benefits & my dad, who agreed to mind both our two and four legged minions, we were able to make the trip.

Matt left early and was there for a full week, drinking his way across Eire in what might have been the longest bachelor party ever.  I played single parent for a few days without needing a plumber or ER room (success!) and didn't begrudge him the time - except when I had to reach him on his cell at $1/minute to sort through our new insurance options.  He had just finished a tour of the Jameson whiskey plant.  It was not a productive conversation.  Matt is, however, now an official Whiskey Taster with a Certificate to prove it, so if I can get my $5 back, we're all set to go buy the proverbial coffee and some aspirin.

My flight east was uneventful (aisle seat! no neighbors!) but Matt picked me up from the airport in his brand new rental car and immediately tried to pay for the trip by collecting my life insurance.

"Drive on the Left!

Leeeffftt!

LEEFFTT!"

Recovery

We hit a pub in Dublin that night to recover, met one of my dad's friends for breakfast the next morning, and then had exactly 32 seconds to sightsee before leaving for the west coast.  Lucky for us it was just long enough to catch a leprechaun.

Maybe?

The wedding was in an amazing 16th century castle, complete with its very own Irish Wolfhound.  There was a cocktail reception the first night, then everyone took off for more pub crawling.  We had great intentions to Party Across Europe but we'd skipped lunch so grabbed a bite in the oh-my-goodness-amazing hotel restaurant.  All motivation disappeared somewhere between the 4th and 5th course, and then they served something involving warm chocolate and Devonshire cream for dessert that was a breech of propriety to eat in public.  We didn't make it out that night.... but sadly because we were too full to move, not for any more interesting reasons.  Please don't revoke our passports!

The wedding itself was perfect - elegant, warm, sweet, funny, & full of love.  No white dresses though.  Theirs isn't my story to tell but they met just after Matt & I got married - which was a long, long, long time ago.  And while they didn't necessary need to travel across the pond to make it official (though I'm thrilled they did - Castles!  Wolfhounds!  Guinness!  On tap!), I find it pretty asinine they didn't have the option to do it at home.  The only thing undermining my marriage in the process was Matt's driving.  And maybe that chocolate dessert.

So there.  Lecture over.  Congratulations you two!

Oh, wait!  You knew that was too easy, right?  Naturally, there were shenanigans getting home.  We had to leave at 3o'clock the morning after the wedding, which somewhat limited the festivities, and I ended up dropping Matt off at one airport then driving cross-country on maybe 2 hours of sleep to get to a second airport.  Which all would have been fine, except I later learned my dear sweet spouse flew home in first class.  I?  I flew home in coach in the MIDDLE seat (of FIVE!) and then nearly got stranded in Philadelphia.  That part wasn't so good for the marriage either but the lifetime foot rubs will probably help. 

More recovery. 

Or, Gratuitous Booze shot

 Requisite Thatched Irish Roof Shot

 Requisite Armor in the Castle Shot

Completely non-Standard Massive Picture of a Dog in a Feather Boa, 

Hung mere feet away from the Requisite Castle Armor. 

Loved this place! 

Requisite Shot of the Rock Wall My Husband Nearly Drove us Into.

23/31 - Flight 2 of 3, Eavesdropping

On flight #2/3 yesterday, after a little nap to recover from my 4am wake up call, I started eavesdropping on the woman in front me as she told Random Guy all about her adventures with genetic counseling, searching for various specialists, and her child's eventual diagnosis with.... Wait!  What?  Darn chatty pilots.  Much as I love to talk special needs shop, my aversion to conversing with strangers won out so I didn't tap mom on the shoulder and demand to know which nurse at Children's she'd been complaining about.  Epitome of social refinement, I am.  What I gathered between revving jets and cockpit announcements was that her child was eventually diagnosed with something rare.

Also that the geneticist had apparently tried to reassure them (pre-natally?) by saying, "Worst case scenario it's Down syndrome."

Worst case?  WORST CASE?!  I have no idea what this child ended up with and/or what set of data they were looking at but methinks the geneticist needs to get out more.

I have read some horrific "finding out" stories this month, courtesy of 31 for 21.  Medical professionals who don't even bother to ask if, just when they should schedule a termination.  Doctors who deliver the news like a death sentence, then flee the room.  I've long believed my relatively easy adjustment was a twisted side effect of losing Brennan.  Heart surgery?  Scary.  Cognitive delays?  Not ideal.  But, hey, the kid's alive, so we can deal.

But in retrospect, and partially prompted by a conversation on facebo0k, I have to give a nod to a few people.  At the fourth (!) ultrasound appointment, when the tech took a long, long time and then went to fetch the doctor because The Girl's heart was missing its center, they marched me right upstairs to the cardiologist's office.  I vaguely remember Matt being there so I'm no longer sure if this was that  visit, when they told me about the exceptionally high correlation between AVSD and Down syndrome or a second prenatal visit after we'd confirmed her chromosomal count via amino.  I know Matt came that first day, but not if he arrived in time to meet the doctor.  I do remember the cardiologist saying, relaxed and upbeat, "They've completely revamped they way they teach these kids and she'll be more productive than half the people out there."

I don't remember having any conversations about it with my OB (I do like him but my pregnancy was mostly managed by the perinatal center), but at the first visit after our news became official, the OB nurse ran and grabbed a Christmas card from one of their patients - a little girl and her brother with Down syndrome, snuggling.  She said, "I only know one other family... but aren't they beautiful?"

She is reason I send Christmas cards to all our medical providers.

I'm also going to give a little reluctant nod to all the other people who told me what sweet, loving children "they" are.  It rankles me now as yet another stereotype, but at the time I'll admit a drew a little comfort from sweet & loving.  That didn't sound too bad, y'know?

You know what sounds bad?  Worst case.  You know what might color a mom's reaction to her newly diagnosed baby?  Worst case.  I'm not one of those mythical creatures who believe babies with a third 21st chromosome are angels sent by God - that little bit of extra does bring some extra wrinkles to life.  But worst case is not this girl, climbing all over the fort, requesting her favorite "bear book", and pouting tonight because Mommy was gone for 4 days.  Worst case is calling funeral homes to see if they can pick your baby up from the hospital morgue.  Worst case is a medical professional not knowing what.the.fuck. she is talking about.

22/31- 33,000 Feet

I know how much y'all look forward to my travel disasters but I was dangerously close to not having anything to report this trip.  I made my flight out (barely - last person on the plane WIN!).  No excessively intoxicated seat mates, no forgotten items, pleasant airlines peeps...  And then the consummate professionals I was going to entrust my life to, as we hurtled thru the air at 33,000 feet, decided there were other, more enticing Friday night options & didn't show up for work.  I least I think that's what happened.  There was a plane but no one to fly it.  There might be a sad story, flu, car wreck - who knows?  Maybe I should be grateful they decided they weren't up to the task?  All I know is that I spent another night in Texas.  It was not fun.  I was grumpy and stayed offline.  Your welcome.  I'm hopefully (!) on my way back home now but then I'm getting right onto another plane (hopefully?) to go see my brother & my sister in law and I will break my apparently not inviolate no baby shower rule because she's expecting and I couldn't be more excited.  Though this put a kink in my shopping plans so... Yeah.  This has nothing to do with anything except I miss my kids.  And Matt.

Montana!

During the blogging desert that was August, we went to a family reunion up in Montana.  I'm not sure what we did the rest of the month but I'm pretty sure I can get at least 2 more posts out of this one weekend, so that sort of counts, right?  Maybe even 3 if my sister sends me the photos I took on her camera (hint! hint!).

Montana is a breathtakingly beautiful state, complete with real life bears in the woods AND dinosaurs in the airport.  What more could a kid ask for?

Oh, actually seeing a bear?  Sorry, buddy!  Will a T-Rex do? 

We DID see family.  Lots & lots of family.  Lots of family I've never met before and whose names I had a hard time remembering.  Have I mentioned that I'm not the most social of creatures?

But we also got to see Family, and that was priceless.

Of course, no Xxxx family get together is complete without a little drama.

Don't we all look HAPPY?  

No parental units were pushed.  Promise. 

But even despite the pits, there can be cherry pie.

Like quiet afternoons by the river

And newfound long lost 5th cousins.

And forts. 

And brothers and sisters.

And wild flowers. 

What's all this have to do with Down syndrome, you ask?  Didn't I announce 31 for 21 only yesterday? 

Nothing.  And every

thing.  Joy in unexpected

places, in family. 

NDSC! Friday.

Guess where we were this past weekend?

The 40th annual National Down Syndrome Congress Convention!  This was the first year we went and it is definitely absolutely going to be an annual event going forward.  Even if we have to sleep on the sidewalk and eat nothing but beef jerky while there.  I am a quiet solitary creature but these were my people and it was marvelous to be home.

Well, they were mostly my people.  The lady behind me in the coffee line talking on her cell about all the "special angels" around her in the hotel - she might have more a second cousin on my ex-step-brother's side.  My daughter, for one, was decidedly not angelic on the flight home... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

She looks sweet here.  Don't let her fool you.

Instead of covering 48 hours in one marathon post, I'm going to try something novel and break this up into readable bits, starting on Friday:  Matt & The Boy were actually supposed to arrive before me but got stuck in Chicago for most of the day so I ended up at the "bloggers' sharing session" with The Girl.  The one session they specifically recommended you NOT bring your child.  Especially not a child that had been rudely woken at 4 that morning and who refused to nap all day.  Hmmm.

And while I don't want to start this off on a down note (ha!), this was the session I was most excited about and the only one I ended up feeling a bit meh about after.  Due in large part to that fact that I had also gotten up at 4 that morning, had checked into the hotel a mere 15 minutes before the session started at 3:30 (math whizzes will note that was Travel Hour 11.25), and then spent most of the time trying to keep The Girl's hands out of other people's purses.  There were some folks there that wanted to start a blog so a lot of the discussion was about wordpress versus blogger, about how often they should post, and what they should post.  Since my last post was spent pondering what sort of vibes I'm sending out into the universe, I'm not unsympathetic, but it wasn't quite what I expected.

My two cents, which I didn't share at the time because I was really, really tired:  just do it.  There's no magic formula.  Share what you want, adopt monikers, reveal your name, post pictures, don't, write bad haikus, share recipes, advocate, spend your time venting and unburden your soul, or become a Happy Pretty Blog and provide good PR for the rest of us.  Post as often as you want or just when you can.  Write about Down syndrome, therapy, kids, dogs, toenail polish, God, politics, work, or your latest trip to Target.  Or all of the above.  It's your space.  I don't have hundreds of readers so wouldn't be able to tell you how to snag them, but is that what you want?  It's not just about the numbers.  As you poke around on the internet you will hopefully find kindred souls, who make you laugh or think or cry, or maybe even all three and, if you are really really lucky, they will read your stories and enjoy them.  Even the one about Target.

And then one day you might meet them in person and you'll know they're just as fun & fabulous IRL as they are on screen & you will be so very grateful you stumbled into this community.

[And you might also meet a bunch of people you've been following for forever but haven't introduced yourself to and you might freak them out a bit with your stalker-like enthusiasm so you'll resolve to delurk on more blogs.  Just sayin'].

Totally unrelated photos taken with Matt's craptastic camera phone on Saturday.

Related photos, also of craptastic quality, but taken Saturday night at our little pizza party.  Which I think needs to become a tradition.  Am taking name suggestions - not quite BlogHer, how 'bout BloggeDs?  Some of my favorite people are missing - they either didn't make it to DC or went to the banquet instead.  Ah-HEM.

In no particular order:  Baxter Sez, *Results Not Typical, Unringing the Bell, Big Blueberry Eyes, and Life Decanted (at lunch).

Me(me), Nos. 10-11.

I've been struggling a bit to figure out what I should wrap this meme-business up with.  Organized people get it all done in one post, so there aren't these scraggly tail end items that cause everyone to yawn.  I'm also behind on my pictures, so will oh-so-casually drop some in from the park last weekend, to liven things up.

Lively!

10.  Not that we've had much occasion to travel without them, but Matt and I aren't allowed to fly together sans children.  If the whole family crashes, that's fine, but I don't want the kids orphaned because we flew off to Fiji for a weekend (because we jet off to exotic islands all the time).  I'm not sure if this was nature or nurture - when I was young I would fly as an unaccompanied minor while my mom & two siblings flew separately.  My dad, sitting out another trip to his in laws at home, didn't want to be the lone survivor should something happen.  I loved this rare, oldest child perk and considered myself quite the independent little jet setter.

It never struck me as odd till I mentioned it to a couple people who looked horrified at the dark, dark crevices of my psyche.  Almost everyone points out the most dangerous part of flying is getting to the airport.  That statistic always struck me as silly though, because two family sedans sideswiping each other, even at 65mph, will most likely not result in a fatality.  A jet going 500mph sideswiping the ground?  Different outcome.

Contemplating the Delta V of a landing plane

11.  Nothing new here, but I would love to adopt another kid or two.  Or three.  From domestic foster care?  International?  Reese's Rainbow?  How do you look through 100 pictures and pick just one kid?  Only offer your family to one child, knowing that the other 99 may never end up with someone who loves him best of all?  No one to kiss his boo-boos, cut his sandwich in triangles not squares, or rub his back during the flu?  I wouldn't even know where to start.  Should we go with the special need we know and love or be more open minded?  What about accessibility and our stairs?  If we adopt a child of color should we move into a more diverse neighborhood?  What about leaving all the cousins who live right next door?  What if we can't manage to bond?  What would be the one thing we really, really couldn't handle?

I spend a ridiculous amount of time thinking about these things and reading arguments for/against domestic/interracial/international adoption, but the truth is we're barely hanging on over here.  Squeezing money out of our budget for more daycare would be like squeezing a diamond out of charcoal - never mind the adoption fees or additional medical & therapy.  It also doesn't seem really fair to take someone "into your family" only to warehouse them in day care 10 hours a day.  I can't imagine that helps the bonding process (not that it's fun for our bio-kids either but it IS only 3 days a week and I doubt they worry much whether anyone's going to pick them back up again).  I also don't feel like I'm giving enough time to my current two, what with all the Saturdays and late nights at work.  Then again... doesn't having your own imperfect family trump foster care/orphanage?

All this would be solved if I could leave my job but soooo not happening.  *big sigh*

Siblings!

Well, that kind of ended on a down (ha!) note, didn't it?  Here's another picture of my girl climbing on her own - ever moving forward & up.  I should take notes.  

Climber!

Two men shrieking.

While sitting in any number of random airports this weekend I made a list on my fancy new phone of the 37 posts I've brilliantly scripted in my head - but then I was distracted by my travels and so, before sharing anything worthwhile (ha!), I wish to inflict on you the same feelings of horror and annoyance I recently felt.  Misery loves company and, oh, was I ever in such miserably close company!

Flight#1, STL-PHX:  Late booking so not only do I not get a direct flight, I am forced into the window seat.  I am a wee bit claustrophobic and don't so much sleep on the right or left side of the bed, but rather whichever side is nearer the door.  I find the window seat.... unpleasant.  Made worse by the exceptionally intoxicated large man sitting next to me.  He stank so badly of beer I spent two hours breathing thru my shirt.  And lest anyone is unclear, this was not the warm-bread-rising goodness at your local micro-brew & pub.  This is 24 hour bender/hadn't showered/frat boy with dirty gym socks stank.

But, revealing a disconcerting level of vanity on my part, I noticed he only tried to flirt with the blond in the aisle seat and not me.  It clearly must have been because her ability to plan ahead to buy aisle seats proved she was gifted with superior survival skills, akin to taking down the biggest bison, and not because of her pretty, pretty blond hair.

I'm still surprised they let him on the plane.  He was stumbling so badly he didn't so much return to his seat after a trip to the loo, as fall into it.  Yet when I got up he crawled up onto his chair like a 300# circus clown perched on the back of an elephant.  I don't think it occurred to him it would've been easier to just step out.  He was also wearing gym shorts and had an, ummm, wide stance.  Gross.  The plane was full so there was nowhere else to go but he didn't puke on me so that was good.  Also good was actually getting the chance to say, "Oh, HELL NO" when he started falling onto my shoulder.  I don't get the chance to say that very often.

Also good?  I'd left my wallet in my bag overhead (important plot point!) & decided I didn't want a drink badly enough to climb over him to get it.  The blond goddess on the aisle?  5 minutes later she got up and returned with a lovely G&T to replace my soda.  Dousing myself in my own irony alcoholic fumes did help.

I didn't know people like that existed.  I wanted to give her a hug but I'm not really a huggy person and that would have entailed reaching over the BierMeister.  What do you do?  Hi! Here's my card!  You have single handedly redeemed the entire human race in my eyes!  Want to have lunch next week?  I settled for about 30 obsequious Thank Yous and sympathetically rolled my eyes when BeirMeister tried to lean on her shoulder.

Flight#2, PHX-LAX:  I am pathetically grateful for the empty middle seat but the young lady on the aisle was wearing 12" high hooker shoes which she immediately took off, curling her bare feet up on the seat between us, and then she started singing.  Out loud.  Later she swapped life stories with the three people on the other side of the aisle and she was in that painful period during your early 20s when you have a Philosophy and wish to Share your Great Insights on Life.  None of which would have bothered me too much, since she was considerate enough to respect the universal sign of I am holding a book up 3" from my nose because I do not wish to converse with you, but her pants barely covered her lady bits and certainly didn't cover her red lace thong and so I spent an hour wondering when & how I had become the conservative old biddy in that scene.  Also, she was clearly tweaking, couldn't sit still, and I was worried she might puke.

[Two intervening futile work meetings and fabulous, fattening visit with Gigi & Others, to be covered later so you don't get bored and wander off]

Flight#3, LAX-PHX:  No talking, tweaking, or tankards.  Completely uneventful till we land when, before taxiing to the gate, some guy right across from me jumps up to grab his bag from the overhead.  The flight attendant starts shrieking at him, like that mom in Walm@rt who is mid-crisis and you consider following her out of the store to get a license plate to call social services.  He takes the guy's bag away and petulantly says he putting it in the back of the plane so the guy will now be the last one off the plane.  That'll learn ya!  The guy might've been a twit but I'm pretty sure I don't want to be at that flight attendant's door in the event of an emergency deplaning.

Flight#4, PHX-STL:  The otherwise presumably very nice gentleman in the seat next to me does NOT respect the the universal sign of I am holding a book up 3" from my nose because I do not wish to converse and insists on TALKING to me -  Quelle horreur!

But this flight I plan ahead and pull my wallet out in case I want to buy a drink (important plot point!) since I am once again in the window seat and am not above self medication.  But it's 10:30-11pm and I doze off instead (only to later wake myself with my own snorfling sounds - I am soooo sexy).  After we land I get aallll the way down to the parking shuttles before I realize my wallet is still on the plane.  And my phone was dead too, because I'd only pulled half of the 37 separate charger pieces out of the plug at Gigi's and my fancy new phone's battery has the half life of a squished gnat.  No wallet, no parking stub, no parking payment options, no way home.  No way to call home.  Awesome!  I head back to security but it's now midnight and they're all locked up.   So I round the corner to talk to the security guard... and he PANICS.   No exaggeration, he jumps up, shrieks at me to stop, and HIS HAND IS ON HIS GUN.  It was still holstered but holy crap.  I am a middle aged women in heels and a grey suit pulling a roll-y suitcase. 

[Though in fairness, those corporate issued pens can be lethal.]

If it had not been midnight & if I weren't worried about how I was going to get home, I would have found it hysterical but there was also something a little disturbing about that hand on his gun.  No, I'm not going to extrapolate this into a commentary on The News, though it's tempting.  And maybe I honed in on that because of The News.  Let's just agree that putting panicky people in positions of authority is a lousy idea. 

Anyway, I eventually found someone unarmed, who found my plane & wallet over in the cleaning hanger & I made it home by 1:30am.  I'd been excited to fly solo - no wiping up cracker crumbs or retrieving sippy cups or diaper changes in the 2' wide airplane lavatory - but lesson learned.  I'll take flying with my snotty, poopy kids every time.  Though this trip obviously provided LOTS of material, so there's that.

Hallowed ground

....Los Angeles, that is.  It was odd being back - such beautiful weather, such yummy Chinese food (delivered!), and yet such an oppressive mass of people.  Funny how you adapt.  Never thought I'd get used to driving by lonely cornfields either but here we are.

We spent Halloween with Matt's oldest friend & his partner, but one little girl was Not.Having.It.  There were tears and Rolling About on the Floor.  We ended up putting her in the stroller where she seemed perfectly content to let her brother collect all the goodies, never dreaming that he had no intention of sharing.  Oh, the inhumanity of it all!

We trick or treated in a lovely neighborhood that took its festive duties Very Seriously - huge outdoor movie screens playing Thriller and Ghostbusters, fog machines, bubble machines... and hundreds and hundreds of kids.  There were lines 30 kids deep just to get to the front door of some homes.  Craziness.  Also?  Next year at home is going to be a crushing disappointment. 

Thanks Mike & Nick!

Do I win last place for the latest Halloween photos to be posted?  Yeah!  The grand prize would probably be the single lifesaver some random guy on the street gave my son.  We were polite and thanked him but, needless to say, threw away all the lifesavers the next morning.  I also pulled out all the Whoppers, but for selfish reasons.  Cannot resist the Whoppers.

12 Pictures. No Profundity. 3 Jokes, abandoned.

We actually flew into San Diego first to see my sister and her new husband - she's been busy (*cough*!!) writing her thesis and he's in med school, but they nonetheless whipped up a yummy dinner & took us to the Wild Animal Park.  I want to make a crack about how busy they are vs how busy we seem but in truth I'm just really really glad I'm not in school anymore.  I was a terrible student.  Much easier to just tease my little sis' and whine about my long commute in the real world. 

Though their grad student housing does have a playground just outside the door - perfect for early morning PJ swinging.  The up side of not commuting. 

I was lamenting my camera yesterday (or not, depending on how you feel about wrinkles), but for some reason, these were actually in focus.

Awesome napping skills

[Funny joke about cobwebs and facial wrinkles, since I'm apparently feeling vain these days]

The happy couple

HATS!  WITH SNAILS!!

So many jokes.  So little time.  

(near the gorilla display)

So, so, SO very wrong.

BAY-BEE GORILLA!  OMG CUUUUTTTEEE.

(sadly, NOT in focus)

Unfamiliar 6 yr old male in an unpleasant mood during heretofore

identified FUN trip to the Wild Animal Park.

Despite or because of massive blue slurpy?
You decide.