NDSC Convention

Sunday 31 July 2011

The annual NDSC Convention is this coming weekend in hot, hot San Antonio, TX. Now I (almost!) wish we were still living in NM so we would be within driving distance!

We had such a fun time last year in Orlando, and in 2008 in Boston.

Just wondering who is going this year?

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"Misunderstood"

Saturday 30 July 2011

"Misunderstood"

You coddle me.
You fondle me.
Explicitly.
Sweet bliss to me.

Ridiculous.
So meticulous,
Yet very ubiquitous.
You dare to be conspicuous.

Such misery:
The way you disclose your plans
As I yearn for your moisture
But you tease me with your hands.

I just don't understand.
You say that I don't understand.

It makes you sick.
It smites your wick
To think I would withhold
Something so strong and thick.

It turns your stomach sour
To think I won't let you devour
And consume my flesh with power.
You anxiously count the hours

Until I hit the door
And you scale me like a tower;
And I pin you to the floor
Right before we take a shower.

But I still don't understand.
You still don't think I understand.

You captivate.
Your hands still navigate.
I would elaborate;
But it's already late.

You make yourself my concubine.
You say that I'm your magistrate.
You're so hungry; ready to dine
And only I can fill your plate.

You want your need.
You want to feed.
I let you take the lead.
I let you proceed.

My back against the door.
Knees planted to the floor.
I watch those hands explore.
You are in search of more.

I still don't understand.
You say you'll make me understand.

Instant pressure is built.
Soft lips stretched to my hilt
Without the least of guilt
And not one drop is spilt.

Just so damn reckless.
You leave me breathless.
Your chin is dripping wet;
But you want no pearl necklace.

You want no dripping chain.
You will not leave a stain.
You only aim to drain.
Every drop is yours to gain.

And yet, I don't understand.
You want to help me understand.

So plump. So soft.
Sensitive to the touch.
So slippery when wet.
That sweet spot I love so much.

Let's do away with cliche:
Of course it hits right.
Of course it tastes good.
Of course it fits tight.

I lay awake at night.
I sit back in my chair.
That's when you straddle me.
You take me; hard and bare.

And I don't understand?
Lay back. Release my hands.

You earn what you've provoked.
My dark side is now invoked.
You can't hide the words you spoke.
I take pride in what I tote.

Every inch. Tremendous girth.
Take it all. Let it hurt.
Show me what your words are worth
Until you squirm, contort and spurt.

Back up where your boasts are met.
I won't give in. I'm not done yet.
I give pleasure that you won't forget
As you recite in short, sharp breaths:

"Oh-my-damn-shit-grab-my-hands​.
Good-ness-gra-fuck-what-the-da​mn
Beat-it-ba-by-stroke-and-stand
I-see-now-you-un-der-stand!!!!​"

Deep sighs.
Moist eyes.
Then I pull out.

Open mouth;
But you can't shout
After such a bout.

No lofty wit.
No talking shit.
Just an ambitious man.

Now ask yourself
Without my help:
Do I understand?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

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The Walmart Heart Truck

Friday 29 July 2011

On Friday morning the kids and I went to see a very special truck.

 A new Walmart Heart truck...

 Hey, we know someone on this truck!

And here he is!

My buddy Nate!

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"My Life: Romantic Insomniac"

Wednesday 27 July 2011

"My Life: Romantic Insomniac"

I can't sleep at night.
My fear won't let me;
so I toss and turn till daylight
wondering if she'd forget me.
It all happened so fast.
I thought it was forever;
but it was swiftly cast.
We just couldn't keep it together.
We've a very extensive past
to say we didn't last long.
I still drive myself crazy
when I hear one of our songs.
It's almost impossible to breathe
when my heart is at the ocean floor;
so I take short breaths between tears
and stay far from my door.
I wreck my mind daily:
How could someone so receptive
confound and compel so effectively?
Nothing about her cites deceptive.
This wounded soul without a plan
is likely far from her sight.
Although she lays with her new man,
I still hope he treats her right.

I can't sleep at night.
Intrigue has snatched me.
Quaint conversing under moonlight
is all that seems to catch me.
This is so fresh.
A welcome break from the monotony
of those lonely, depressing nights
that served as my monopoly.
She is so interesting.
She is defined and underlined;
but nothing points to unrelenting.
She's full of new things to find.
I've never met her kind.
I doubt she even has a caste;
because we've become intertwined
without much help from my past.
We know where this will lead;
and we aren't trying to ignore
that each nocturnal meeting
reveals what is in store.
Infatuation rooted from planted seeds
makes us want each other more.
I plan to fulfill this need.
It's never felt like this before.

I can't sleep at night.
Love and Lust implore me
to travel four walls at night
as you embrace and explore me.
We abhor words.
Deep breaths are our only definition.
Every single moan heard
lends credence to recognition.
We orchestrate slow movements
but allow our hearts to race.
The furniture provides improvement
whilst we regulate the pace.
The flavor of that first kiss
distinctively lines these lips
that have housed themselves in bliss
completely across your legs and hips.
We drown in rich, juicy desire
but it just feels like sips.
Tears fall. Sweat drips.
Heads dip. Hands grip.
We lay there on the floor;
wading in our fresh puddle
but our minds and hearts implore
that we do much more than cuddle.
We try our best to rest;
but this is what we've longed for.
Every kiss upon your flesh
makes me want you more and more.

I can't sleep at night.
The loneliness won't endear me.
This is just the first night
that she isn't near me.
I forgot how bad it feels
to lay here by myself.
I try to clear my mind;
but it offers little help.
I don't want this solitude.
I've no need to be this shrewd.
I don't mean to come off rude;
but I don't need the multitude:
Visitors and deceitful wishers
hoping that I'll break this bond
that I've forged within her ocean
just to stand within their pond.
I've grown so very fond
of how profound and satiating
it is to feel her warmth;
but that goes without much stating.
I lay awake although it's late.
I like to count the days.
It doesn't make me feel great;
but it's the only way
that I can assure myself
that I'll see her again soon.
I write about her sometimes.
I even sing and croon.
I know she's thinking of me.
More than I could say before.
I know that she loves me.
Nothing ever felt this pure.
I know we'll find a way.
It won't happen in an instance;
but we'll be back someday;
So I deal with the distance.

I can't sleep at night.
So I dream throughout the day.
They place hope within my sight
so I no longer hide away.
I've always embraced this nightly role.
It imparts what most minds lack:
It exercises a dreamer's soul:
the life of a romantic insomniac. <3

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

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The Birthday Girl

It was almost two weeks ago, but here are a few pictures of the then-birthday girl.

Getting ready to bring rice krispy treats to Rolly Pollies camp.

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CiCi's Pizza Funtacular Giveaway

Tuesday 26 July 2011

CiCi's Pizza launched their Family Funtacular summer scratch and win contest on July 11th. This contest takes place at all 600 locations through Aug 28th.

Guests will receive a free scratch-off card with every guest check and large beverage purchase. Prizes include movie tickets, free buffets, family fun packs, CiCi's gift cards, carry-out pizzas, and beverages.

Two lucky families will win a grand prize of an all-expense paid trip for 4 to Universal Orlando Resort Vacation. The grand prize can be won through the scratch-off ticket, or just by signing up for CiCi's e-club: Pizza Perks.

I received 6 Family Funtacular scrach-off tickets. 1 for myself (which wasn't a winner; darn!), 4 I'm giving away to local families, and 1 to give away to a blog reader.

To enter to win a scratch-off ticket just leave a comment telling me if you have ever eaten at CiCi's and if so, what do you like best about it? Make sure I have a way to contact you if you are the winner!

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Speech Therapist In Training

Sunday 24 July 2011

To this day there are still several words that Kayla continues to mispronounce and two of them are 'dand-aid' and 'dirthday.' I usually try to correct her and emphasize the way a word should be pronounced and have her say it back to me. I'll say "BAnd-aid" and "BIrthday". When she stops and slows down and says it after me she can say the words correctly, but when she's talking in a sentence it just flows out easier for her the way she has been saying it.

When Lucas first started talking he picked up on the way Kayla pronounced words and he would say them that way as well. So then I was correcting both of them and emphasizing the way a word should be said.

I can't remember if Lucas was quite two yet, but one day Kayla said she needed a 'dand-aid' and Lucas said, "no, Kayla, BAnd-aid." I remember being surprised that he had picked that up so easily and recognized that was a word she wasn't pronouncing the right way.

I don't usually think about Lucas being observant, but he is very much so. He pays attention and listens to what we're doing with Kayla, and retains that. He seems to know that we help her with her speech, especially clarity and having her repeat things... and us emphasizing sounds. Sometimes he'll chime in after I've repeated a word to Kayla and he'll say it to her too, ("Like this Kayla ...") but he usually doesn't correct her on his own.

The other day as we were driving we passed the church where they both attended Vacation Bible School. If Kayla says all 3 words she runs them together and its not very clear what she is saying. Usually she'll say Bible School (although that comes out sounding something like Fible school). So that's another word I'll emphasize "BIble".

So as we passed the church they both called out Vacation Bible School. Lucas heard Kayla say 'fible school' and he told her it was, "Vacation Bible School." (I kept quiet and didn't say anything). She said it, or tried to, but saying 'vacation' and 'bible' ran together and it just sounded more like she was saying two words instead of three. He didn't think she was saying the "vacation" part so he slowed it down. "Kayla, it's Vacation Bible School. It's 3 words, see? Vacation. Bible. School." Kayla said, "Let me do it." She slowed down, concentrated on what she was saying, and got all 3 words. Lucas told her, "Yeah Kayla! That's how you say it! Good job!"

I guess I shouldn't be surprised if he's a speech therapist when he grows up!

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but now i can't use the curbstomp line as the post title

Thursday 21 July 2011

Totally zonked on Sherlock and word origins, but here is a spray of em dashes to consider:

—Players by DeLillo: amazing. Running Dog: not as good, very fun.

—Dobby Gibson is doing Poetry Crossfire and it's better than guaranteed financial collapse of the world's grooviest superpower. Ben Mirov and I faced off over Bei Dao's "Morning."

—30 Under 30, an anthology of words by folks who barely know how to shave—edited by Blake Butler and Lily Hoang—is now out. You should put it in your DVD player to express your outrage over Netflix's policy changes. You're welcome.

—Carrot cake conspiracy in the Advocate, which is something I advocate. What she says is "My actual songs don't seem political, but they are; they're about oppression and liberation of bodies—and not just human ones—and mourning, witnessing and healing at both political and personal levels."

—Speaking of carrot cake, the new Dinosaur Bees is a blast, and the new NOÖ Weekly is a blast of scuff-eyed soul.

—Finally, thanks to Tyler Gobble for reading my poem "Is That It's You" for a big audio thing on Small Doggies. Beat the heat. Curbstomp the heat until its teeth fall out.

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A Down Syndrome-Free Country

Did the blog post title get your attention? Yeah, it got mine too. How about this for a headline: Plans to Make Denmark a Down Syndrome-Free Perfect Society.

Forget for a moment the Down syndrome-free part; but perfect? Please. There is no such thing as a perfect society. There just isn't. And even if there are no people with Down syndrome in a particular country, it still won't make it 'perfect.' What about criminals? What about those with any other kind of disability? Why is Down syndrome always singled out as being expendable?

Back to the original point. This headline hurt. Like a punch in the gut. I know there is all this research to 'improve' prenatal testing for an earlier and more accurate diagnosis of Down syndrome (presumably so more abortions could happen), but for a country to come right out and basically admit they want, or are trying to have, a society free of individuals with Down syndrome? Wow. Just wow. Like a slap in the face.

The article doesn't say exactly how they plan on achieving this, just that they have "put their foot on the ground to promote increase abortions of fetuses suspected of having Down syndrome." Suspected of having Ds? Are they even going to confirm through an amnio or CVS?  

The article goes on to say that if "progress continues at this rate, the last case to be born with this illness will be the year 2030." Huh? How can you predict something like that? You can't prevent Down syndrome from happening since it happens at conception. And surely there are some Danish women who will either decline prenatal testing, or decline an abortion. I would hope they couldn't actually make women have an abortion because their baby was prenatally diagnosed with Down syndrome.

Apparently Denmark started to "control the number of children with Down syndrome born in Denmark" since 2004 (how in the world did they do this? Just highly encourage and persuade women to get abortions?). Whatever they are doing has worked though because the number of cases of Down syndrome births has fallen by 13% annually. 

I even took Kayla to Denmark a few months before her 2nd birthday. I have cousins over there (who happen to adore her; and I know you can't judge a whole country's citizens on what the government/medical establishment is doing. I know not every single Dane feels this way.) Joe and I had been talking about going to Denmark next year. He's never been and again, I have cousins over there we would like to visit. But reading this article sure did make me pause and reconsider if I really want to take my daughter to a country where they are actively trying to eliminate people like her. Although, maybe a whole bunch of families should take their loved one with Down syndrome over to Denmark and flaunt them around ... show them it isn't such a terrible thing. Show them they fit in just fine with their society. Show them they are living and loving life, thankyouverymuch.

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Special Exposure Wednesday

Wednesday 20 July 2011

One of my favorite pictures from our trip to Isle of Palms beach.

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GQ's Ignorant and Insensitive Remark

Monday 18 July 2011

GQ recently published their list of the 40 worst-dressed cities. They ranked Boston as #1. As if their opinion really matters. I wouldn't have given it another thought, except for a lovely little blurb by the guy who wrote up the Boston piece - John B. Thompson. His bashing against Boston included this quote, “Due to so much local in-breeding, Boston suffers from a kind of Style Down Syndrome.”

You won't find it mentioned in the online piece anymore. But the damage has been done. I read about it in the Boston Herald's article specifically mentioning that reference. By the time I went over to GQ's article that quote was already gone ... although I've yet to read anything from GQ on this issue, must less an apology.

In reading through the comments on the Boston Herald it seems a few people think this quote meant a "style-down" syndrome instead of a style "Down syndrome." I seriously doubt that. If that was the case why wouldn't GQ make a statement explaining that was how it was intended to be read? Why did they remove the quote online? If it was supposed to be 'style down' they would have put quotation marks around those 2 words, not capitalize the whole Style Down Syndrome. If they didn't mean "Down syndrome" there are plenty of other, more accurate, choice of words, or phrase. It was meant exactly as the put down was written.

Updated to add: According to Dr Brian Skotko's blog post about this, the full quote was actually, “Boston suffers from a kind of Style Down Syndrome, where a little extra ends up ruining everything.” I think it's pretty obvious this wasn't intended as a "style down" syndrome as some suggest. A "little extra" is a not-so-subtle dig at those with Ds who have an extra chromosome.

This isn't about being politically correct either. This was meant as an insult. This was a disparaging remark. How else was it supposed to be taken? "Due to so much local in-breeding Boston suffers from a kind of Style Down Syndrome." Really? Is this what journalism has come to? The author is that juvenile to think he came up with some kind of cool joke by making fun of Bostonians by saying their fashion style is like Down syndrome? What is that supposed to mean anyway? Is the breadth of his vocabulary so small he couldn't come up with anything else? Anything other than insulting the whole Down syndrome population?

Furthermore his ignorant and immature comment about "in-breeding" perpetuates disparaging, and untrue, misconceptions about Down syndrome. It attempts to make a connection between in-breeding and Down syndrome. Down syndrome is not caused by in-breeding (and this isn't the first time I've come across a reference like this).

Well GQ, here is my daughter proudly, and stylishly, sporting an extra chromosome and a Boston hat.

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"Suicidal Moths"

Saturday 16 July 2011

"Suicidal Moths"


I've watched them float.
I've watched them flutter.
Delicate creatures cast asunder;
Led to believe their lives are a blunder.
They chase wonder
All while wondering why:
"Why do I want to wonder?
Why do I even wonder?
I fly as high as others do.
I cruise through rain and thunder,
The chill of winter,
The sting of summer,
But I still often wonder....
....am I among the numbers?"


Their questions yield no answer.
Ignored inquiry is a raw deal;
So they float from thrill to thrill.
It's the closest thing to real....


....until there's nothing left to chase.
Others call their stagnancy complacency.
But they've grown weary of the pace.
Nothing cleaves more than latency.
They see no reason to save face.
It seems useless to hide from others
Whether their wings are dull in hue
Or arrayed in lush, vibrant colors.


They are the lost.
They are the weary.
Lulled into living without cost.
I've never witnessed something so dreary.


It's hard to see clearly
When gliding through the wind
With eyes so cold and teary.
They search for a friend:
Someone with leverage to lend.
Someone willing to extend hands;
But danger is found therein
On the palm in which they land.


Underlying motives.
Undisclosed plans
Line the fingers of the soulless.
Heartless purveyors of swiftly clasped hands.
The hummingbirds have their perch.
The blue jays have their branch;
But what of these delicate souls?
Is their every move left to chance?


I watch them flutter.
I watch them float.
I watch them fly away
As if to find a way
To just escape
Or perhaps search for a hideaway 
Or a higher way
Far away
Furthest from those hands
That sought to swat with every chance.
Or maybe in search of help.
Or possibly in search of self.


The sky is clear; yet it appears
That they've found a new direction.
It's where only they can steer;
So it's barely within detection;
But I've noticed from inception.
I've been watching that long.
I heard every love song
Among moments drawn out and prolonged.
They travel in public.
Not much is required of stealth.
Maybe they're running from oneself.
They think this will offer health.


I see them flutter.
I watch them fly.
I witness them running.
They travel sky high.
I slowly widen my eyes
As I stand to see where they run;
But I can't seem to ask why
As they draw closer to the sun.
I must admit that I understand
Albeit still shocked and stunned.
For them, life is no longer fun.
They've grown tired of being shunned.
It's quite the copious chore
To be okay with being ignored.
They are the ones floating about bulbs
Before being knocked to the floor.
They are the creatures looking around
As if in earnest wonder
In hopes of being seen on the ground
Awaiting feet to be flattened under.
It seems that no one cares
To even lend unsavory skill
To invoke an end to their misery;
So they cater to their own will.


They flock and gather around:
This collective in need of kill;
Yet they never make a sound.
Not one scream or painful shrill.
They've had their fill.
They've choked down pills,
Flown with broken wings,
And dealt with frigid wind chill.


There was nothing I could do.
My only option was to pray
That they would just come to
And change their route one day.
Flutter in my direction.
Float about my way.
I promise to offer protection.
I'll keep this world at bay.
I know it's highly unlikely
That they'll hear the words I say;
But it's always been just like me
To try to pull victims from the fray.


I know the sun seems warm;
But it will surely harm.


I know the light is bright;
But it will surely smite.


I just want them to be alright;
But I can't help them in this fight.


Such a lonely realization lingers
As I stare at ten bare fingers.


I don't have enough room
To pull them from their smoldering tomb.
The inevitable surely looms;
But I won't accept that it's coming soon.
Sunlight glows within my eyes;
But it can't stop the tears I cry
As it consumes and scorches them dry.
I never wanted to say goodbye.


Every single social butterfly
Was once a caterpillar, if given thought.
We give them support to get by;
But what of the suicidal moths?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

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Eight Years Ago

Friday 15 July 2011

Eight years ago I woke up thinking I wasn't going to make it to work. I just didn't feel well and was lethargic. I called into work sick saying that if I felt better later that morning I would come in.

Eight years ago I sat in the glider with a heating pad on my back, wrapped in a blanket, and a baby-name book in my lap. I fell asleep off and on for about an hour.

Eight years ago I went back to bed and tried to get comfortable in different positions with pillows. Most of the time I spent on my knees hunched over a stack of pillows, rocking, alternately rubbing my back and stomach, drifting in and out of sleep.

Eight years ago Joe called me from work to see how I was doing. I said I was pretty sure I was having contractions and was trying to time, and record, them. But maybe they were just Braxton Hicks. I didn't know for sure, but I just didn't 'feel well.'

Eight years ago Joe suggested I try to get up and walk around because, you know, we read that in all the pregnancy books. It might help. I mumbled 'mmm-hmm' but to myself I was thinking 'Oh whatever. Forget everything I read to prepare for this. All I feel like doing is lying on these pillows, rocking, and rubbing my back, and moaning through the bouts of pain.'

Eight years ago Joe came home on his lunch break and helped me out of bed to walk through the house for a few minutes. I told him I just wanted to go back to bed.

Eight years ago I decided to get in the tub, because supposedly being in the water makes the contractions easier to handle. Being in the tub only seemed to make it worse.

Eight years ago I called Joe at work and said he should probably come back home. Yes, now.

Eight years ago he came home to find me still in the bathroom, out of the tub, hunched over the toilet (lid down, thank you very much) rocking and moaning and rubbing my back.

Eight years ago Joe wanted me to get in the car. I didn't want to move from that spot. I didn't want to sit in a car and ride to the hospital. I told him to just call an ambulance because I couldn't move.

Eight years ago I made the blood drain from Joe's face when in a scared and urgent voice I told him I thought I could feel the baby's head now and to please look to see if he could see the head. (You can't be responsible for anything you say in the middle of labor, right?)

Eight years ago I told Joe to load up the car with my suitcase, camera, video camera, pillow, snacks, etc etc etc while I continued to wait in the bathroom and then I would leave to go to the hospital.

Eight years ago Joe finally managed to get me up off the bathroom floor and out to the car. I thought I would be too uncomfortable sitting up in the front seat, laboring, so I sat in the back so I could be semi-hunched over my pile of pillows.

Eight years ago Joe drove to the hospital pretty much one-handed while the other hand reached across the backseat so I could hold it and squeeze through the contractions. When we were half-way to the hospital he said I had 3 contractions, so that meant just getting through 3 more and we would be at the hospital. He was close...it was 4 more.

Eight years ago we parked at the hospital and I told Joe to leave all of our things in the car and just get me registered and in a room first, and then he could come back to get the bag and everything else. Because you know, first time births take hours upon hours upon hours.

Eight years ago we checked in to L&D at 3:00. It was calm and quiet at the desk, no one was in a hurry...had to answer questions and paperwork. I leaned on Joe and rocked back and forth and let him do the talking.

Eight years ago they got me in a room and told me to put on a robe and get on the bed so I could be checked. But at that moment I didn't want to lie down, I just wanted to stand on my feet and rock back and forth. The nurse told me the sooner they could check to see where I was the sooner they could probably let me back out of bed to walk around.

Eight years ago I finally got the robe on and got on that bed. There was still no big rush as the nurse got everything going for all the pre-labor preparations.

Eight yeas ago someone checked me and the nice, calm, serene, slow-pace was shattered as she yelled out, "She's complete with a bulging sac of water! Get Cindy (midwife) over here NOW!" Then my water broke.

Eight years ago I told Joe, "Guess it's too late for an epidural."

Eight years ago Cindy arrived within minutes, there were nurses all over my room. One of the nurses grabbed my thigh and told Joe to get my other leg, she gave me instructions on how to grab my thighs, breathe, push, something or other, and I could push now. I got all ready and then said something like, "Wait, can you explain that again?"

Eight years ago, at 3:45, 45 min after checking in to the hospital, I gave birth. There hadn't been time for Joe to go back and get all the 'stuff' from the car after all - including the camera. There are no just-after-birth pictures, and baby-being-weighed pictures, of Kayla.

Eight years ago I heard Joe say, "It's a girl!" (We hadn't found out during the pregnancy.)

Eight years ago they placed her across my lap, I looked into her face for the first time and said, in a voice that sounded very detached from the whole situation, "She does have Down syndrome, doesn't she?"

Eight years ago I became a mother. A mother of a daughter. A mother of a child with Down syndrome.

Eight years ago what I thought only happened to 'other people' became my reality.

Eight years ago my beautiful, wonderful, amazing, stubborn, strong-willed, free-spirit, arms-crossing-miss-attitude, impulsive, friendly, lovable Kayla came in to the world just as she was meant to be.

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Happy birthday sweet girl. I love you.

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Memory Recall

Thursday 14 July 2011

I wish I had the memory recall of my 3-yr old. I can't believe some of the things and details that he remembers.

Several months after we moved here I was helping Lucas get dressed one morning. Then I said, "Why am I getting you dressed? I know you can do this all by yourself!" (Because awhile before that I put clothes in Kayla's room for them to both get dressed and he came out fully dressed.) He said "Like I did 'last morning' in Kayla's room?" Yes that was what I was referring to.

I was relaying that particular conversation to Joe and Lucas overheard and said, "When I put the shirt on backwards?" I hadn't even mentioned that part, but yes, the day he got dressed in Kayla's room he did put his shirt on backwards.

I was talking to Lucas about something else he did and he mentioned, "When I had that blue shirt on?" Why yes, yes you did.

He listens when I'm telling Joe stories about something he said and will get more specific and describe something from the event like, "When I was in your bathroom I said that?" Yes, I was talking about that time in my bathroom, geesh!

Back in Feb I took Lucas for a speech eval. It seemed to me he was talking with a pretty pronounced lisp and I didn't know if that was typical developmental speech, or something we should be watching/working on. Since this was right around his 3rd birthday the evaluation was done at the nearest elementary school instead of through an early child development center.

This school just so happened to be the one Kayla woulda/shoulda attended since it is her home school. We were in that school twice - to register her for school and again for the initial IEP meeting. This was in Aug, 6 months previous to taking Lucas there for the eval. We hadn't been back there since. We walked in the front office and Lucas immediately turned to the right and looked on the side of the book case and then back at me and said, "Where'd it go?" I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about, but to be sure I asked him, "Where did what go?" He said, "The table." There was a small kids' table there with coloring books. I couldn't believe he remembered that from being in that building 6 months before.

Back in April we went to the Miracle League field for "movie night." Unfortunately it was cancelled due to the threat of lightening. As we were driving away Lucas said something about not liking something. We figured out that he was talking about the movie night from 6 months ago. I think he said something about the train scared him. There was a train in the movie, but at the time he never said anything about not liking the movie, or being scared. I wondered if he really even remembered the movie he saw one time, 6 months ago. So I asked him what the movie was about. He said, "Baseball." Ok .. maybe that was a lucky guess because we were at the field where Kayla plays baseball. So I asked him what else it was about. I don't remember his exact description, but he said something about the boy trying to get the bat back. That his dad thought he took it, but he didn't. That pretty much is what Everyone's Hero is about. I couldn't believe the details he remembered about that movie.



We pass by a restaurant and he says, "We ate there last time with Pepere and Grandma Linda."

We were at an office building and a couple months later went back. Walking up to the front door he said, "Last time the men were mowing the grass." I asked him "Where?" He pointed over towards the side of the building and it jogged my memory that yes, there were men landscaping over there.

If only my memory were that good!

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The Alligator Story

Tuesday 12 July 2011

It seems when you have a child with special needs you look at everything they say or do as an accomplishment, or mastering a skill, or reaching some milestone ... things that you wouldn't notice otherwise. Things that you would just take for granted as happening in the natural progression of growing up.

Such was the case the other day when Kayla and I were driving back home from the store.

Publix always has balloons available for the kids with a clip on the end to keep them weighted down. Kayla was playing with the clip, making it open and close (fine motor skills! strengthening her finger grip!) when she said "chomp chomp" (imaginary play!) and continued with "The alligator ate you up mommy!" (storytelling!)

I said, "It did?! Oh no! If the alligator ate me up then who is driving the van?" She told me "no one." (Good awareness about what just happened in the story!)

I continued the conversation with, "That's not good. If no one is driving the van then it might crash."

I really don't think I was expecting an answer from her; at least not some logical answer that would follow that train of thought.

She responded with, "Chomp chomp! The alligator ate the van."

Me thinking to myself: great logic there! If there alligator just eats the van then the van can't crash! Analyzing! Thought-processing skills! Following through with a made-up story! Logic! Drawing a conclusion!

These are the things in my day that make me smile.

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Isle of Palms Beach

Sunday 10 July 2011

The last day of our busy 4th of July weekend was spent at Isle of Palms beach. Kayla loves the water, and while Lucas doesn't mind the water, he much preferred making mud and building sand castles!

Sorry for the picture overload, but someone (hello mom!) is holding out on getting a Facebook account, so I still have to share pictures on the blog so she can see :)

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Red, White and Blue

Saturday 9 July 2011

After our trip to the Waterfront Park in Charleston we went home to rest and relax for a few hours. That evening we headed to Summerville for their annual Red, White, and Blue Festival. We met up with the same family we were with earlier, and also one of Kayla's friends from the Miracle League. The kids had such a great time.

They loved going down the big slides:

 I absolutely love this one of Kayla and her friend Maya:

Maya, Kayla, Emma, and Asher. 4 kids who don't yet realize they share a common bond of having an extra 21st chromosome:

It cracks me up that Emma and Asher are both in the stroller kicking back with one leg up by their heads!

Asher grabbing Kayla's nose...

So she grabbed his in return...

Asher was loving the attention from the girls:

The moms and kids:

Lucas and Hunter (who is a great big brother to Emma and Asher):

 

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