Early Christmas Presents

Today I picked Jacob up from school and his teacher met me at the sidewalk with three bags in her hands. "These are his Christmas gifts.  One was a donation from a nearby church. The other two..." she shook her head apologetically. "He chose them. I swear!" She shrugged and rolled her eyes. 

I thanked her profusely for the gifts, and ushered my kids back to the car, thinking nothing more of the comment.

When we got home, Jake snatched the gift with his name on it and ripped it open before I could get it under the tree.  Nerf guns and candy.  No wonder he was excited! 

I peeked inside and furrowed my brows before pulling out a leather day-planner from one bag, and a hand-made tissue holder in the other.  I looked at my daughter, and she looked back at me, equally puzzled. 

Jacob stopped playing commando with his Nerf gun and walked over to me, took the day-planner,  and nudged it toward my chest, indicating it was for me.  Then he did the same with the tissue holder.  He smiled briefly before returning to his Nerf gun and taking off toward the cat making shooting noises.

I stared after him, then at the gifts. He picked those gifts out for me? 

My heart swelled as I thought back over the last four weeks of sneezing and runny noses because of my allergies to our new cat.  He'd often brought me tissue whenever I sneezed. Had he thought of me when he saw the tissue container at school?

But the day-planner? Maybe he saw the two calendars I have on the wall next to my desk or the shelf of tabbed folders for each project I'm working on. Or maybe he just associated it with books because I have hundreds of them in my bookshelf, along with binders for my mystery game business, novels I'm editing, or half-written novels I'm writing.

I don't know what was going through Jacob's mind when he chose those two gifts. But he was clearly thinking of me. 

For the briefest of moments, I realized there is much more going on in that little mind of his than I give him credit for.  Though he may still be non-verbal, he is very aware of us. Of me. Of his family, and all those he loves and cares about. 

As he drifted off to sleep tonight, I hugged him extra tight and thanked him for his gifts.  He held up his hand, dropped the middle two fingers, and signed "I love you" before rolling over and closing his eyes.

This year, I got the most amazing early Christmas gift: Hope.

So I've Started a Thing...

A few weeks ago, I went to a writer's conference.  It's the third or fourth time I've been there, and this year I was on the conference committee, so I knew what to expect.  Plus, I went with two sisters, so we were excited

A few days prior to the conference, one sister mentioned she'd signed up for a pitch session (to pitch a book she was working on to a publisher or editor), but her book wasn't ready. She'd already paid the money to pitch, and would I like to pitch in her place.

"Uhhh. Sure." I said as my mind raced about a million miles a second.  The person she planned to pitch wasn't in my usual genre (contemporary and speculative YA). This person preferred non-fiction, religious, and sweet romances. 

But I did have a non-fiction story I'd considered writing for the past seven years.  I even had a name picked out and a writing partner who would co-author with me. I'd already gone so far as to submit my first 500 words to a Beginning of Book Contest at the conference. Just for kicks.

Where most novels need to be written and polished before you pitch the book, non-fictions usually require the first three chapters and a proposal.  If someone wished to publish, then you'd write the book to the publisher's specifications.

Could I pitch a theoretical book I hadn't completed, or even written a proposal for? Sure. What could possibly go wrong?

I should have asked: What can go write? (pun intended). 

I sat down for my pitch surprisingly calm for a person who had no idea what she was going to say. My pitch went something similar to this:

From the day I found out my unborn child was going to have Down syndrome, nearly every person who found out apologized and gave me condolences.  My doctor was required to tell me about abortion options. My mother was speechless.  Everyone treated me as if having a child with Down syndrome was some horrible tragedy.

However, I knew having someone with Ds was the gold standard in disabilities.  I knew he'd enrich our lives, and bring joy to our home.  He would be a blessing.  My doctor gave me books, and I bought books.  All of them were the same.  Nearly every story talked of how the parents were shocked and devastated, but then learned to love their child.  I threw the second book I read against a wall and refused to finish it.  It listed all the things that could go wrong with my baby, and nothing that could go right.  Nobody bothered to point out that every child--whether typically developing or having Down syndrome--has a spectrum of abilities.  Every child has risks. 

Now, other countries actively work to completely eradicate Down syndrome from their society through abortion and other means, as if it's some disease or curse.  Drug companies hope to "cure" us of Down syndrome. 

If everyone treats Down syndrome as a trial, a challenge, or an "issue" to be dealt with, of COURSE the general public will treat it with trepidation and fear.  But Down syndrome is none of these. 

Any and all growth requires being uncomfortable - physically, socially, or emotionally.  When you work out, don't your muscles hurt? When you go to school, don't you have to study? When you strive to better your craft, don't you have to learn, fail, and learn some more?

My story will be my declaration that having a child with Down syndrome is not a bad thing. It is something to be celebrated and excited for.  I don't want anyone to offer condolences for having my child.  There is nothing to fear. Nothing to apologize for.  And so so much to be excited about.

I want to write a new book that defines Down syndrome. And that book will be named, "Take your Condolences and Shove it." It will celebrate Down syndrome and all the good having a child with Down syndrome brings to lives, families, and communities.

Needless to say, she wants to see it. All of it.  Not the typical three chapters usually requested.  She wants me to write the whole book and then submit it to her. She doesn't care how long it takes. She will wait.

So, as I write my book, I'll be blogging more often, keeping you updated on where things go with the book.  And I hope to introduce you to my two co-authors (Wahoo! Three moms with three perspectives on raising children with Trisomy 21!).

If you have ideas on things I can include, or comments you'd like to be included in my book, please post them below! I'd love to have more than just three voices telling this story. 

Until next time...

Susan

Starting Second Grade Already?

He's off! Jake just boarded his bus, bound for second grade, and I'm not gonna lie.  I'm doing the happy dance!  Today is the first day in MONTHS that I've had all to myself. I'm resisting the urge to go back to bed.  I have way too much to do to catch up after an entire summer with kids in tow.

This summer has been amazing though.  After an ENTIRE SCHOOL YEAR in which the teacher did nothing.  I kid you not. Nothing.  I'd walk into class and find kids standing on the table, others running around, shelves cleared, and no work being done; Despite countless meetings and discussions with principals and Directors of Special Education, therapists, and everyone I could talk to, Jacob digressed instead of progressed last school year.  There was no inclusion last year.  How could we when he had begun hitting and spitting again? When he was found in the middle of a five-lane road, within feet of an active railroad line, and at a school that borders a highway? I spent most of last year clawing my out of a pit created by a teacher who didn't care about the progress of the kids.

I may have cried when I found out he was getting a new teacher--one he'd had in preschool and is gung-ho about making sure the kiddos have the best education possible.

The second Jacob started Summer break, I went about the business of fixing everything that broke during school.  We went to a developmental neurologist who recommended a book, "1-2-3 Magic" By Dr. Thomas W. Phelan - Because it's 18 months later and we STILL didn't have an ABA provider for Jake. Two days into implementing the book, and we began to see results.  MAJOR results.

He went from flopping and throwing tantrums for thirty minutes at a time, kicking, screaming, spitting, and attempting to bite, to 10 seconds of showing displeasure, then complete compliance.  No drugs (he was diagnoses with ADHD and they wanted to put him on Ritalin). No spankings.  No arguing. No frustration.  He is now manageable. Hallelujah!

He's beginning to talk too.  When he gets made, he'll sign entire sentences to me, which I try not to laugh at. But it's so darn cute to see him scowling as his little hands are gesticulating wildly telling me why he's upset. I love it!  When he speak,s he signs and tries to speak the words at the same time.  Every day he gets a little bit closer to being understandable. And he's gone from saying one syllable of one word, to trying to say two or three words at a time.  It's glorious!

His independence is increasing too.  Last year he wanted me to dress him and make his food. Now he dresses himself, and is beginning to work the microwave to help me fix him simple meals too.  I expect he'll be making his own sandwiches and other foods by the end of the school year.

Plus, there haven't been any elopements in months.  My stress levels are dropping and I'm having opportunities to enjoy my son, rather than just manage him.

Life is good.  Change is good--as long as it's in the right direction.  My little boy is growing up.  Not only physically, but emotionally and cognitively.  I think I'm gonna just sit here on my first day of school and bask in that knowledge for a little while.  Yeah.  Life IS good.