Today's post is by Jennifer, who wants you to know about having a child with Down syndrome: What I want you to know is that when I was 20 weeks pregnant with my second child, I got a phone call that changed my life for good. This phone call delivered the news from my amniocentesis test, that revealed that my baby boy has Down syndrome. I will admit that my first reaction was one of utter devastation. I had outdated ideas of what Down syndrome meant and God . . .
as I was saying . . .
Jafta’s open house was tonight. As I approached the classroom, I noticed the teacher had posted pictures that each child made, along with their answer to the question, “What is your favorite part of kindergarten?” Jafta’s answer: “My favorite part of kindergarten is going to the cafeteria because I buy lunch.” . . .
lunch money
Jafta is stoked on kindergarten so far. I’m actually a bit shocked at how little complaining there has been. One of his favorite things about school is the “hot lunch”. He loves everything about it . . . the greasy food, the compartmentalized plates, but especially the fact that he gets to take a wallet to school and buy it himself. It all makes him feel very grown-up and self important. We’ve been letting him get hot lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’m not . . .
if you give a mouse a drainpipe
We are finally settling our accounts for all of the repairs that had to be made from The Great Flood and Exile of 2010 – which seems like a very dramatic description of a laundry load consisting of two towels. But lest you think I’m being overdramatic, this rodent did some hefty damage. And as it turns out, it wasn’t even a rat. It was a tiny little mouse that wreaked all of this havoc. By taking a bite out of the drainpipe of the washing machine, and setting into motion: . . .
twice as nice (the beans and rice revolution)
Figuring out how to feed our growing family has been a challenge this year. I don’t know why, but I find lunches especially challenging. Probably because I find grocery shopping especially challenging. I never seem to have all of the right ingredients for lunch. Menu-planning has never been my forte. Maybe I have bread, but no peanut butter, or sandwich stuff but nothing to serve with it . . . and every family member has their own particular request. . . .
the best friends that weren’t
It feels like so often, I write about specifics of our journey with Kembe just as issues are starting to resolve. I think it feels safer that way. Things are getting better, every day. He has become much more bonded to me in the last month. I can see him relaxing into our relationship with each day, and the constant testing is becoming less constant. I can see progress, even in the midst of challenge. One of the things about Kembe’s homecoming that has been . . .
99 problems but hip dysplasia ain’t one
This week . . . was not my best week. It was one of those weeks with way too many things on the to-do list for one person, in part due to my inability to set boundaries for myself, and in part because of my knack for procrastinating. I am terribly overcommitted right now in several areas, which is it’s own post, but I did finally get some resolution on a few things that were raising my stress level from moderate to DEFCON 5. We have been living with a half-finished kitchen for . . .
what I want you to know: stillbirth
I am truly blown away by the submissions and the comments to this idea of telling our stories, and seeking to understand. I am posting the first today, about stillbirth. While I have not experienced this personally, I do know the grief of multiple pregnancy losses, and I appreciate what Tara has to say: My name is Tara Beth Warrick, I am 25 years old, I live in a small town in western North Carolina. I am a pediatric occupational therapist by vocation, a dance teacher for fun, and . . .
what does it mean to be white?
In my diversity class this evening, we will be discussing the identity of whiteness. I find that typically, white people have a really hard time defining their own culture . . . that we often see ourselves as either lacking in ethnic or cultural identity, or ascribing our personal culture as the default or “standard”. So, tonight I will be asking students to come up with the cultural values and traditions that are practiced by white Americans. What would your answer be? . . .
what I want you to know: an introduction
On occasion, I will have a little talk with myself about what I want this blog to be about. (Beyond whining about things like crib sheets and the sizing at Forever 21, of course). As much as I love to regale others with embarrassing tidbits of my daily life, I do want to put this space towards something meaningful from time to time. I’ve been teaching a new class this semester . . . one on the impact of diversity on the psyche. One of the assignments I’ve given each . . .
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