I don't know if urinary incontinence happens to every woman who has had children, but I surely know my share of moms who wet themselves when they cough, or when they laugh too hard, or when they are puking their guts out during their subsequent pregnancies. Which is not to say, necessarily, that I am one of those free-peeing women. Which is not to say, necessarily, that I am not.
My thirty-fifth birthday is approaching fast. By this time next week, I will be a year older. Ok, well, a week older, technically, but you know what I mean. And if ever a woman such as myself were to get smacked upside the head with a point to illustrate her advancing age, it would be a night out at the comedy club for said woman and her thirty-something friend, both of whom are wearing some sort of, shall we say, feminine protection from the wetness that could possibly present itself during a particularly funny bit. Hypothetically, you know.
In stark contrast to the sad (but possibly hypothetical) reality of having to wear a Poise pad on the first night in years I've actually been carded, I am looking forward soon to something that will make me feel so much younger and more vibrant: a dishwasher! I'm getting a dishwasher for my birthday! We initially thought we would have to get the compact kind because we have such limited space in our kitchen now. However, when the guy came to give us an estimate on installation, he discovered a way we could fit in a full-size dishwasher. Yippee!!!!
We used to have a dishwasher at our old house. I've been doing the dishes by hand for the last year and a half now, and I have to say I've nearly forgotten how easy clean-up can be. I'm going to save tons of time! And I'll even cook more! Yeah, that's the ticket! And I will try new recipes and make all sorts of nutritious stuff and make my whole family happier and healthier, all because of a dishwasher! It will change our lives! I am beyond excited! And now I shall do the birthday girl's dance of joy.
After I run to get a pad. Hypothetically, of course.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Monday, January 01, 2007
Holiday Wrap-up: Interfaith Issues and New Year's Hopes
I used to feel that sluggish, deeply dissatisfied, post-holiday let-down every year after Christmas and New Year's. I feel none of that this year. Instead, I am pleased to have the holidays over and done with. Not that we had a bad time, mind you. It's just that I'm much more an observer than a true participant in Christmas these days, and staying on the periphery like that keeps the season not only more enjoyable but also more in perspective.
We had a nice Hanukkah together -- it seems like ages ago by now. A note on Hanukkah, if for no other purpose than to remind myself for next year: Those really cheap gifts purchased for the last six nights of Hanukkah should be even cheaper next time. Like three for a dollar cheap. Or homemade cheap. The kids will get plenty of stuff from other people before January rolls around, whether we like it or not.
One more Hanukkah note: The super cheap Hanukkah candles we bought were cheap for a reason. They were not only slightly small for our menorah, but they also were not straight. They looked as if they needed Viagra. And anything that causes me to think of genitalia during holiday candle lighting, no matter the holiday's level of religious significance, cannot be good.
Now on to Christmas. All in all, things went very well. My mother's behavior toward my husband was friendly. I think she was in a particularly good mood because the kids and I visited her church with her on Christmas Eve morning. Sure, my son spent most of the service either crying or plugging his ears (he's not big on loud music and new things), and he asked loudly, "Can we go yet?" every time there was a quiet moment. But my mother still seemed happy.
In the parking lot of the church, another interesting thing happened. I overheard that my mother's best friend had converted to Islam. Although I had suspected she had been wanting to convert for a long time (her husband and children are Muslim), I was surprised to hear the news from someone other than my mother, especially since I ask about this particular friend frequently since the death of one of her children. Later, I asked my mom if I had heard right. Yes, she said. Her friend had converted over the summer. "Interesting," I told my mother. "I saw that coming a while back." My mother said nothing.
My mother's silence wasn't disapproval of her friend's conversion; it was apparent from the conversation I had overheard that my mom was supportive of her friend and perhaps even a bit protective of her. So why had she not mentioned it to me? And then it hit me. Whether my mother saw her friend's conversion coming or not, she's not so blind that she can't see the writing on the wall now. I think she suspects I will convert and fears/dreads that day; she wasn't about to mention another interfaith spouse's conversion to me and push me further in that direction.
Hm. So while I still worry about hurting my mother, I no longer worry about shocking her.
The topic of interfaith marriage and religion had already been brought up, so I asked my mother whether the people at church knew my kids were Jewish. I was surprised when she said yes, she had told the other women in her Sunday school class. Somehow I figured she was keeping that fact to herself, hoping we would change our minds. My mother is generally a very private person, so I find it comforting that she has confided in these women and has a support network. I feel more free to make the decisions I want to now that I know my mother won't suffer in silence.
And that leads me to New Year's. I'm not one for resolutions, really. And so I will stop short of pronouncing that I will most definitely speak with the rabbi. I will say I'm more inclined to now than I was. And I'll avoid all those eat right/exercise resolutions as well, even though I would like to be healthier. I was ready to join the Y even, until I found out the price. (How in the world do people afford to go there?) So I'll have to come up with a better plan.
I started off the new year at a friend's brunch this morning. There were so many bright and articulate people there, and all of them friendly. My speech wasn't too hot today, and I found myself keeping to myself, reading books quietly to the toddlers who seemed all to converge on my ample lap; somehow that was safer than the grown-up conversation. It didn't help that I hit my head on the dining room's chandelier as I was filling my plate, causing a very loud clinking and clanging, and voila, yours truly, right there in the spotlight. So I wasn't quite ready to open my mouth and and feel foolish again. There'll be plenty of time for that, though. It's only January 1st.
We had a nice Hanukkah together -- it seems like ages ago by now. A note on Hanukkah, if for no other purpose than to remind myself for next year: Those really cheap gifts purchased for the last six nights of Hanukkah should be even cheaper next time. Like three for a dollar cheap. Or homemade cheap. The kids will get plenty of stuff from other people before January rolls around, whether we like it or not.
One more Hanukkah note: The super cheap Hanukkah candles we bought were cheap for a reason. They were not only slightly small for our menorah, but they also were not straight. They looked as if they needed Viagra. And anything that causes me to think of genitalia during holiday candle lighting, no matter the holiday's level of religious significance, cannot be good.
Now on to Christmas. All in all, things went very well. My mother's behavior toward my husband was friendly. I think she was in a particularly good mood because the kids and I visited her church with her on Christmas Eve morning. Sure, my son spent most of the service either crying or plugging his ears (he's not big on loud music and new things), and he asked loudly, "Can we go yet?" every time there was a quiet moment. But my mother still seemed happy.
In the parking lot of the church, another interesting thing happened. I overheard that my mother's best friend had converted to Islam. Although I had suspected she had been wanting to convert for a long time (her husband and children are Muslim), I was surprised to hear the news from someone other than my mother, especially since I ask about this particular friend frequently since the death of one of her children. Later, I asked my mom if I had heard right. Yes, she said. Her friend had converted over the summer. "Interesting," I told my mother. "I saw that coming a while back." My mother said nothing.
My mother's silence wasn't disapproval of her friend's conversion; it was apparent from the conversation I had overheard that my mom was supportive of her friend and perhaps even a bit protective of her. So why had she not mentioned it to me? And then it hit me. Whether my mother saw her friend's conversion coming or not, she's not so blind that she can't see the writing on the wall now. I think she suspects I will convert and fears/dreads that day; she wasn't about to mention another interfaith spouse's conversion to me and push me further in that direction.
Hm. So while I still worry about hurting my mother, I no longer worry about shocking her.
The topic of interfaith marriage and religion had already been brought up, so I asked my mother whether the people at church knew my kids were Jewish. I was surprised when she said yes, she had told the other women in her Sunday school class. Somehow I figured she was keeping that fact to herself, hoping we would change our minds. My mother is generally a very private person, so I find it comforting that she has confided in these women and has a support network. I feel more free to make the decisions I want to now that I know my mother won't suffer in silence.
And that leads me to New Year's. I'm not one for resolutions, really. And so I will stop short of pronouncing that I will most definitely speak with the rabbi. I will say I'm more inclined to now than I was. And I'll avoid all those eat right/exercise resolutions as well, even though I would like to be healthier. I was ready to join the Y even, until I found out the price. (How in the world do people afford to go there?) So I'll have to come up with a better plan.
I started off the new year at a friend's brunch this morning. There were so many bright and articulate people there, and all of them friendly. My speech wasn't too hot today, and I found myself keeping to myself, reading books quietly to the toddlers who seemed all to converge on my ample lap; somehow that was safer than the grown-up conversation. It didn't help that I hit my head on the dining room's chandelier as I was filling my plate, causing a very loud clinking and clanging, and voila, yours truly, right there in the spotlight. So I wasn't quite ready to open my mouth and and feel foolish again. There'll be plenty of time for that, though. It's only January 1st.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Five More Things About Me
I have been tagged! By Meredith! Yea! I feel special! Okay, five things you don't know about me. Um. Hm. This is the place I come to talk about things I don't talk about with my friends and family. So you already know the deep dark secrets that people in "real life" don't know. But I'll try to make it interesting anyway.
1) I almost majored in music. I was a clarinet player back in the day and loved marching band in high school. (Insert obligatory joke about one time at band camp.) I even played in the concert band in college my first two semesters Not having majored in music is not one of my life's great regrets, though. I don't have the discipline to practice long hours, and although I was talented for my piddly little high school, I was not talented enough to pursue a career in music.
2) I had a hemangioma removed from my neck when I was four. It was only about the size of a strawberry, but it kept bleeding because the necklines of my shirts would rub on it. I can still remember being taken in for the surgery to have my "mole" removed. I called the plastic surgeon "the mole doctor" and used to answer every question he asked me with a robust shake of the head so I could feel my long ponytails whip around and hit my face.
3) I used to write poetry and even gave several (slow and stuttered) readings in college. I've written nothing but prose for a while now, though. I'm not sure why.
4) When I was a kid, I had a pony. My dad raises horses, and we lived out in the country, so it wasn't that out of the ordinary. I rode all the time until I was seven or eight when I was thrown. I wasn't hurt badly, but it scared me, and I never felt comfortable on a horse after that.
5) In the seventh grade, I wrote numerous shameless love letters (all G-rated, mind you) to a high school senior. Sheesh. My face still burns when I think about how bold and stupid I was. It was as close to stalking as one could come in paper form. That was my first real crush. I was sure it was true love, even though I had never actually met the boy face to face. And, hey, I just realized how funny it is that I never truly gave up the art of wooing men with writing. I did meet my husband online, after all.
Anyone who wants to be tagged and hasn't already been, I invite you to tag yourselves! Be bold! Don't sit around and wait! Just grab the bull by the horns! Shout, "Carpe diem!" Take charge! Go forth -- okay, you get the picture.
1) I almost majored in music. I was a clarinet player back in the day and loved marching band in high school. (Insert obligatory joke about one time at band camp.) I even played in the concert band in college my first two semesters Not having majored in music is not one of my life's great regrets, though. I don't have the discipline to practice long hours, and although I was talented for my piddly little high school, I was not talented enough to pursue a career in music.
2) I had a hemangioma removed from my neck when I was four. It was only about the size of a strawberry, but it kept bleeding because the necklines of my shirts would rub on it. I can still remember being taken in for the surgery to have my "mole" removed. I called the plastic surgeon "the mole doctor" and used to answer every question he asked me with a robust shake of the head so I could feel my long ponytails whip around and hit my face.
3) I used to write poetry and even gave several (slow and stuttered) readings in college. I've written nothing but prose for a while now, though. I'm not sure why.
4) When I was a kid, I had a pony. My dad raises horses, and we lived out in the country, so it wasn't that out of the ordinary. I rode all the time until I was seven or eight when I was thrown. I wasn't hurt badly, but it scared me, and I never felt comfortable on a horse after that.
5) In the seventh grade, I wrote numerous shameless love letters (all G-rated, mind you) to a high school senior. Sheesh. My face still burns when I think about how bold and stupid I was. It was as close to stalking as one could come in paper form. That was my first real crush. I was sure it was true love, even though I had never actually met the boy face to face. And, hey, I just realized how funny it is that I never truly gave up the art of wooing men with writing. I did meet my husband online, after all.
Anyone who wants to be tagged and hasn't already been, I invite you to tag yourselves! Be bold! Don't sit around and wait! Just grab the bull by the horns! Shout, "Carpe diem!" Take charge! Go forth -- okay, you get the picture.
Monday, December 11, 2006
And the Verdict Is . . .
Mold. The wee one is allergic to mold. You'll excuse me if I fail to swoon from the shock. After all, I believe I've been bitching about our wet basement for nearly a year now. I had narrowed her problem down to allergies or enlarged adenoids. The allergist has confirmed the former with the scratch test (which looked more like a poke test to me) and is sending L. for an X-ray to see about the latter.
The doctor recommended many things in addition to the two medications he put her on. He said we need to scrub the basement walls with anti-mold stuff or a bleach and water solution. He recommended an air cleaner and additional dehumidifiers and a hygrometer to monitor the humidity in the house. He recommended an exhaust fan be added to our bathroom. Oh, yeah, and he said we really need to try to get the basement guys to come fix our basement sooner if possible. I spent the afternoon researching air cleaners, bathroom fans, and mold cleaners.
My mom called later to ask about the appointment. I relayed the saga of our 2 1/2 hour visit to the allergist, including a detailed description of the two, count them two, poops my daughter made during the visit, my son's pre-appointment screaming fit, and his subsequent kind and loving brotherly behavior during the "scratch test" that sent L. into screaming fits despite the thirty-dollar numbing cream for which we had sprung. And then I told my mother at length about the two medicines the doctor prescribed and about all of his recommendations for decreasing the mold in the house.
"So I suppose you're going to try the medicines and that's all?" my mother said.
Well, actually, Mom, my first order of business is to knit her a scarf of mold. And I shall cover her bed with the moldy dust from under the oak leaves in the woods behind the house. And I'm working on mold earmuffs, and even a little mold pillow sprinkled with soft and dainty spores upon which she may rest her wee head. Oh, and we're moving her bedroom to the basement.
Furrowing my brow in confusion, I told her no, of course we are planning to get the air filter and the fan, and we are going to scrub scrub scrub. She sounded surprised -- you know, as if we were too cheap and lazy for such efforts. Because she's just our kid, after all.
My mom makes me laugh. Sort of. Nervously, sometimes.
But anyway, L. was still nursing all the little needle pricks on her arm and especially the giant welt that the mold scratch left near her right wrist. She refused to get in the bathtub tonight, pointing out her booboos as an obvious defense. Because clearly, what kind of monster would ask her to bathe with such terrible wounds? I am no such monster, as it turns out, and instead I let her sit on my lap while I washed her as best I could, stopping to kiss the giant mold booboo whenever she held it up to me. Which was often.
Since the scratch test and the bath had already proven traumatic today, I decided to enlist my husband's help in giving her her first dose of the new nasal spray the doctor prescribed. I mean, really, anything stuck up a toddler's nose is just not going to be easy. And here's how it went:
Me: "Okay, this medicine goes in your nose. It might feel a little weird. Ready?"
L: "Yeah."
Me: Squirt.
L: Blink blink.
Me: "Ready for the other side?"
L: "Yeah."
Me: Squirt.
L: Blink blink.
Hm. So she's a huffer. Forget the mold earmuffs. I'm making a tiny little mold inhaler so the spores can go directly up her wee nose. Because I'm cheap and lazy like that.
The doctor recommended many things in addition to the two medications he put her on. He said we need to scrub the basement walls with anti-mold stuff or a bleach and water solution. He recommended an air cleaner and additional dehumidifiers and a hygrometer to monitor the humidity in the house. He recommended an exhaust fan be added to our bathroom. Oh, yeah, and he said we really need to try to get the basement guys to come fix our basement sooner if possible. I spent the afternoon researching air cleaners, bathroom fans, and mold cleaners.
My mom called later to ask about the appointment. I relayed the saga of our 2 1/2 hour visit to the allergist, including a detailed description of the two, count them two, poops my daughter made during the visit, my son's pre-appointment screaming fit, and his subsequent kind and loving brotherly behavior during the "scratch test" that sent L. into screaming fits despite the thirty-dollar numbing cream for which we had sprung. And then I told my mother at length about the two medicines the doctor prescribed and about all of his recommendations for decreasing the mold in the house.
"So I suppose you're going to try the medicines and that's all?" my mother said.
Well, actually, Mom, my first order of business is to knit her a scarf of mold. And I shall cover her bed with the moldy dust from under the oak leaves in the woods behind the house. And I'm working on mold earmuffs, and even a little mold pillow sprinkled with soft and dainty spores upon which she may rest her wee head. Oh, and we're moving her bedroom to the basement.
Furrowing my brow in confusion, I told her no, of course we are planning to get the air filter and the fan, and we are going to scrub scrub scrub. She sounded surprised -- you know, as if we were too cheap and lazy for such efforts. Because she's just our kid, after all.
My mom makes me laugh. Sort of. Nervously, sometimes.
But anyway, L. was still nursing all the little needle pricks on her arm and especially the giant welt that the mold scratch left near her right wrist. She refused to get in the bathtub tonight, pointing out her booboos as an obvious defense. Because clearly, what kind of monster would ask her to bathe with such terrible wounds? I am no such monster, as it turns out, and instead I let her sit on my lap while I washed her as best I could, stopping to kiss the giant mold booboo whenever she held it up to me. Which was often.
Since the scratch test and the bath had already proven traumatic today, I decided to enlist my husband's help in giving her her first dose of the new nasal spray the doctor prescribed. I mean, really, anything stuck up a toddler's nose is just not going to be easy. And here's how it went:
Me: "Okay, this medicine goes in your nose. It might feel a little weird. Ready?"
L: "Yeah."
Me: Squirt.
L: Blink blink.
Me: "Ready for the other side?"
L: "Yeah."
Me: Squirt.
L: Blink blink.
Hm. So she's a huffer. Forget the mold earmuffs. I'm making a tiny little mold inhaler so the spores can go directly up her wee nose. Because I'm cheap and lazy like that.
Friday, December 08, 2006
December Dilemma
My son goes to a preschool that's run by a church. We chose the school because some other families at the synagogue had sent their children there -- there's no Jewish preschool in the area -- and had good things to say about it. The school receives state funding for at least one of its programs, so they keep the proselytizing out of the classroom. Christmas, however, at least in its secular form, is, of course, explored and celebrated extensively. This is my son's first time really dealing with the Christmas season and being an outsider to it all. While we do go to my parents' house for Christmas and "help them celebrate," we observe only the Jewish holidays in our home.
Because I'm not Jewish myself and have no childhood memories of Hanukkah, I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to dealing with all of S.'s questions. He wants to know why the clerks at the store keep asking him about Santa. He wants to know more about Santa. He wants to know why his grandma and grandpa don't give him gifts at Hanukkah but give him gifts on Christmas instead. It's all so complicated. I think I've done pretty well with most of his questions, but the last one, about gifts on Christmas, is more tricky. I would really like it if my folks gave the kids at least one of their gifts on Hanukkah and wrapped the others in Hanukkah or generic paper. However, it's not so simple when we haven't been doing it that way all along. Three weeks before Christmas might not be the time to change the rules on them. And besides, it's not just my parents. There's my extended family, too, and I have a problem with telling other people how to wrap or refer to gifts that they choose to buy for my children. I always thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I mean, gifts are gifts. But now that we're getting these questions, I'm thinking maybe we've been doing this wrong.
I have to admit it makes me feel uncomfortable and a little guilty when I hear him sing Christmas songs. He's learning (and the emphasis should be on the ing, for clearly that learning is incomplete) some Christmas songs at school. Last week he was singing, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, all a sudden way." I have no idea what that meant in his little head. His lyrics were so weird and so totally him that I couldn't bring myself to correct them, though. After school today, he sang it again, his earlier error now corrected, and yet, it was oh-so-far from accurate. Now it sounds something like, "Jingle bells, jingle bells. Jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride -- one whore, us, and sleigh!" That one we might have to correct, but not until after my husband gets home and hears it. I'm not messing with it until then!
I guess, as a non-Jewish mom, I'm always worrying that my kids will be "less Jewish" than the other kids at synagogue. It's one thing if a child of two Jewish parents, or even the child of a Jewish mother and a gentile father, sings a Christmas carol. But it seems somehow more noticeable when my kids do it. I'm always afraid they won't be "Jewish enough."
And yet my son, after watching my husband light his father's yahrzeit candle recently, today pretended to light a candle and began to recite his own made-up Kaddish. It sounded distinctly Hebrew and even had a few real Hebrew words thrown in, along with an occasional English word like died. The rhythm of the language is in him. And clearly, when he does things like this, I see that he is part of something much bigger, much older, than this family.
I'm hoping a few Christmas carols and a little Santa wrapping paper can't take that away.
Because I'm not Jewish myself and have no childhood memories of Hanukkah, I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to dealing with all of S.'s questions. He wants to know why the clerks at the store keep asking him about Santa. He wants to know more about Santa. He wants to know why his grandma and grandpa don't give him gifts at Hanukkah but give him gifts on Christmas instead. It's all so complicated. I think I've done pretty well with most of his questions, but the last one, about gifts on Christmas, is more tricky. I would really like it if my folks gave the kids at least one of their gifts on Hanukkah and wrapped the others in Hanukkah or generic paper. However, it's not so simple when we haven't been doing it that way all along. Three weeks before Christmas might not be the time to change the rules on them. And besides, it's not just my parents. There's my extended family, too, and I have a problem with telling other people how to wrap or refer to gifts that they choose to buy for my children. I always thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I mean, gifts are gifts. But now that we're getting these questions, I'm thinking maybe we've been doing this wrong.
I have to admit it makes me feel uncomfortable and a little guilty when I hear him sing Christmas songs. He's learning (and the emphasis should be on the ing, for clearly that learning is incomplete) some Christmas songs at school. Last week he was singing, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, all a sudden way." I have no idea what that meant in his little head. His lyrics were so weird and so totally him that I couldn't bring myself to correct them, though. After school today, he sang it again, his earlier error now corrected, and yet, it was oh-so-far from accurate. Now it sounds something like, "Jingle bells, jingle bells. Jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride -- one whore, us, and sleigh!" That one we might have to correct, but not until after my husband gets home and hears it. I'm not messing with it until then!
I guess, as a non-Jewish mom, I'm always worrying that my kids will be "less Jewish" than the other kids at synagogue. It's one thing if a child of two Jewish parents, or even the child of a Jewish mother and a gentile father, sings a Christmas carol. But it seems somehow more noticeable when my kids do it. I'm always afraid they won't be "Jewish enough."
And yet my son, after watching my husband light his father's yahrzeit candle recently, today pretended to light a candle and began to recite his own made-up Kaddish. It sounded distinctly Hebrew and even had a few real Hebrew words thrown in, along with an occasional English word like died. The rhythm of the language is in him. And clearly, when he does things like this, I see that he is part of something much bigger, much older, than this family.
I'm hoping a few Christmas carols and a little Santa wrapping paper can't take that away.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Evaluation, Take Two
The early intervention speech therapist, whom I will call P., came this morning for L.'s informal speech evaluation. She happens to work with the woman who conducted the formal (expensive) evaluation, and she had gotten some basic information from her last week. After that, P. called me and said that from what the original evaluator said, L. probably would not qualify for early intervention services. She went on to tell me about normal speech disfluencies and how they are different from genuine stuttering. The call upset me, partly because I felt they thought I was crazy or stupid, and partly because it worried me to think that L. would be denied professional help when her father and I knew that her speech was not normal. Fortunately, P. has since changed her mind and believes L. will qualify after all.
When P. arrived today, she said she just this morning had spoken with the initial evaluator, who told her that she had (finally) viewed the speech sample tape I gave her. L.'s speech on the tape was "significantly different" from her speech in the clinical setting. I could've told her that, and in fact, I did when I gave it to her. Gee, I'm glad she finally decided to watch it. Anyway, after doing whatever fluency-counting test they do on the clinical sample and the video tape samples, she told P. that L.'s stuttering was mild in the clinical setting and moderate to severe on the videotape. Finally. Confirmation of what we already knew. P. listened to her speak some today and noted several disfluencies herself, including some occurring in the middles of sentences rather than just on the initial sounds. That, she says, concerned her. The secondary behaviors also were a "red flag," she said.
It sounds awful to say this, but I am so relieved -- relieved that someone else has seen the problem and can shoulder some of the responsibility with us. I knew L.'s disfluencies were significant. Now that we have that out of the way, we can get on with the business of helping her improve her speech and/or become comfortable enough with speaking the way she does that it does not interfere with her life.
Although I liked the initial evaluator pretty well, I like P. even better. She has a son who stutters and -- I didn't know this until our meeting this morning -- a father who stutters severely. When I answered the door this morning, she said, "I'm P. You must be M." It's the little things like that. The little things like gracefully taking away the pressure of introducing myself. She didn't do it in a condescending way, either, just in a natural way. The way someone would if she had lived with stutterers her whole life.
She also was able to detect L.'s disfluencies when she was across the room playing with her brother and P. and I were conversing. I was impressed that P. would stop what she was saying and listen attentively to the kids' conversation in order to pick up some of L.'s disfluencies. She has a good ear for this kind of thing. In the initial evaluation, I was repeatedly frustrated that I could hear L. stuttering while the evaluator was talking to me and seemed absolutely oblivious to the "evidence" right there before her. I hadn't wanted to interrupt her to say, "Listen! She's doing it now!" Today, with P., I didn't have to.
When P. left, she seemed absolutely sure that L. would qualify for early intervention. She seems to think that while L. is too young to start the Lidcombe program, there are aspects of it we could do. She didn't elaborate too much but will do so in our first meeting after the L.'s eligibility/IFSP meeting next week, I am sure.
Finally, one of the best things P. told me was a story about her son, who is in elementary school. He was in speech therapy for his stuttering for several years, and now that he is old enough to really express his opinions and talk about speech, he is saying that his stuttering, his blocks, don't bother him. He stutters fairly severely but doesn't let it get in his way. They eventually dropped the speech therapy because he just wasn't interested. She was afraid the story would be a downer for me since it didn't have a fluent happy ending. It was quite the opposite. Her son's story reminds me that even though blocks and severe stuttering episodes were very upsetting to me when I was young, they might not be to every person who experiences them. Her son has an attitude that I didn't begin to have until I was in my twenties. Perhaps the influence of a grandfather who stutters and a mother who respects and understands stutterers is part of what made his attitude so different from mine. I can't fix L.'s speech for her, but I think I can influence her attitude about it. And attitude is more important than fluency anyway.
When P. arrived today, she said she just this morning had spoken with the initial evaluator, who told her that she had (finally) viewed the speech sample tape I gave her. L.'s speech on the tape was "significantly different" from her speech in the clinical setting. I could've told her that, and in fact, I did when I gave it to her. Gee, I'm glad she finally decided to watch it. Anyway, after doing whatever fluency-counting test they do on the clinical sample and the video tape samples, she told P. that L.'s stuttering was mild in the clinical setting and moderate to severe on the videotape. Finally. Confirmation of what we already knew. P. listened to her speak some today and noted several disfluencies herself, including some occurring in the middles of sentences rather than just on the initial sounds. That, she says, concerned her. The secondary behaviors also were a "red flag," she said.
It sounds awful to say this, but I am so relieved -- relieved that someone else has seen the problem and can shoulder some of the responsibility with us. I knew L.'s disfluencies were significant. Now that we have that out of the way, we can get on with the business of helping her improve her speech and/or become comfortable enough with speaking the way she does that it does not interfere with her life.
Although I liked the initial evaluator pretty well, I like P. even better. She has a son who stutters and -- I didn't know this until our meeting this morning -- a father who stutters severely. When I answered the door this morning, she said, "I'm P. You must be M." It's the little things like that. The little things like gracefully taking away the pressure of introducing myself. She didn't do it in a condescending way, either, just in a natural way. The way someone would if she had lived with stutterers her whole life.
She also was able to detect L.'s disfluencies when she was across the room playing with her brother and P. and I were conversing. I was impressed that P. would stop what she was saying and listen attentively to the kids' conversation in order to pick up some of L.'s disfluencies. She has a good ear for this kind of thing. In the initial evaluation, I was repeatedly frustrated that I could hear L. stuttering while the evaluator was talking to me and seemed absolutely oblivious to the "evidence" right there before her. I hadn't wanted to interrupt her to say, "Listen! She's doing it now!" Today, with P., I didn't have to.
When P. left, she seemed absolutely sure that L. would qualify for early intervention. She seems to think that while L. is too young to start the Lidcombe program, there are aspects of it we could do. She didn't elaborate too much but will do so in our first meeting after the L.'s eligibility/IFSP meeting next week, I am sure.
Finally, one of the best things P. told me was a story about her son, who is in elementary school. He was in speech therapy for his stuttering for several years, and now that he is old enough to really express his opinions and talk about speech, he is saying that his stuttering, his blocks, don't bother him. He stutters fairly severely but doesn't let it get in his way. They eventually dropped the speech therapy because he just wasn't interested. She was afraid the story would be a downer for me since it didn't have a fluent happy ending. It was quite the opposite. Her son's story reminds me that even though blocks and severe stuttering episodes were very upsetting to me when I was young, they might not be to every person who experiences them. Her son has an attitude that I didn't begin to have until I was in my twenties. Perhaps the influence of a grandfather who stutters and a mother who respects and understands stutterers is part of what made his attitude so different from mine. I can't fix L.'s speech for her, but I think I can influence her attitude about it. And attitude is more important than fluency anyway.
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Basement Blues
I've been feeling a little blah. I figured it was just the time of year at first, but, as is often the case, I was eventually able to figure out what's really bothering me. Fortunately, it's nothing serious.
Problem #1: A wet basement. Our first estimate on the basement repair nearly knocked me over. I thought I had prepared myself for the worst, but I wasn't even close. Very depressing.
Problem #2: Fleas. They are back. But it's too early to spray again. Wet basements make flea problems much harder to get rid of, I have learned. They love dampness. Great.
Problem #3: Snot. For over a month now, my daughter has had what they were calling a sinus infection. She has been on antibiotics three times, and she isn't getting better. Her doctor said this morning that she will refer her to an allergist. My best guess? She's allergic to mold and mildew from our wet basement.
Problem #4: Feminine issues. I was on antibiotics myself for a sinus infection a few weeks ago, and I am left with the antibiotics' lovely sidekick, the yeast infection.
Problem #5: Feminine issues times two. I started my period the day after I started using the three-day yeast infection treatment. No tampons allowed during the treatment period. Great. Nothing like being crampy and itchy AND grossly uncomfortable.
Problem #6: Holiday shopping blues. We've been worried about money, especially after the basement estimate that took our breath away. I haven't had any work yet from the part-time venture I mentioned a while back, and all the shopping for my family's gifts overwhelms me sometimes.
Now, all in all, this stuff isn't much to complain about. The yeast infection and the period are both only temporary. We had a second basement estimate today that was only one seventh the cost of the first one (and we feel better about this company for other reasons, too). If we get the basement dry, then the fleas should be easier to get rid of. Also, if the basement is dry, L.'s snot levels might decrease, allergist or no. And shopping, I have to say, will be easier if we aren't destitute. Bring on the sump pump, baby!
Problem #1: A wet basement. Our first estimate on the basement repair nearly knocked me over. I thought I had prepared myself for the worst, but I wasn't even close. Very depressing.
Problem #2: Fleas. They are back. But it's too early to spray again. Wet basements make flea problems much harder to get rid of, I have learned. They love dampness. Great.
Problem #3: Snot. For over a month now, my daughter has had what they were calling a sinus infection. She has been on antibiotics three times, and she isn't getting better. Her doctor said this morning that she will refer her to an allergist. My best guess? She's allergic to mold and mildew from our wet basement.
Problem #4: Feminine issues. I was on antibiotics myself for a sinus infection a few weeks ago, and I am left with the antibiotics' lovely sidekick, the yeast infection.
Problem #5: Feminine issues times two. I started my period the day after I started using the three-day yeast infection treatment. No tampons allowed during the treatment period. Great. Nothing like being crampy and itchy AND grossly uncomfortable.
Problem #6: Holiday shopping blues. We've been worried about money, especially after the basement estimate that took our breath away. I haven't had any work yet from the part-time venture I mentioned a while back, and all the shopping for my family's gifts overwhelms me sometimes.
Now, all in all, this stuff isn't much to complain about. The yeast infection and the period are both only temporary. We had a second basement estimate today that was only one seventh the cost of the first one (and we feel better about this company for other reasons, too). If we get the basement dry, then the fleas should be easier to get rid of. Also, if the basement is dry, L.'s snot levels might decrease, allergist or no. And shopping, I have to say, will be easier if we aren't destitute. Bring on the sump pump, baby!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Happy Thanksgiving
We got home not long ago from a very nice Thanksgiving trip. My husband and I have had some nice Thanksgivings since we've been together, but I think this one was the best yet. For the first time, my husband and I didn't have to decide which side of the family to upset. This year my in-laws joined us at my parents' Thanksgiving dinner. It was nice -- for everyone, I think. Here are just a few of the things for which I am thankful.
- my husband, who has made the last seven years of my life wonderful (and who is currently washing dishes, bless his heart)
- my children, who make me laugh every day
- my extended family, who welcomed my in-laws yesterday
- my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, who braved one of my family's get-togethers
- my health
- the health of my loved ones
- our home
- my friends, both on- and off-line
There are other things, too. Lots of them. Like The DQ pumpkin pie Blizzard. And Glide dental floss. And naptime.
A belated Thanksgiving to you all, my readers. And that goes for both of you.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Assessing the Assessment
The early intervention people came this week and started the intake process. L's evaluations should be done and an IFSP written by the second week in December. During the private evaluation, which we had to pay for, L was totally fluent. Strange as it seems to say it, I hope she is at her worst for the early intervention people.
Her stuttering is certainly cyclical. She was in a fluent period when she was evaluated, but she is now on the downswing. Her original secondary behaviors have been replaced by new ones: whispering and tilting her head to one side. These behaviors are cuter and more socially acceptable, and so people now don't even realize she's stuttering. In fact, she's so quiet, people don't even realize she's talking.
When she was stuttering at her worst in early October, there was a day she went to the grocery store with me and drew LOTS of attention from people. Every time she started a sentence, she would repeat the initial sound, stuff her hand against her mouth, and allow the pitch and volume of her voice to rise dramatically. People thought she was just yelling to be mischievous. One man even scolded her and said, "Is that you making all that noise?"
Now she does the other extreme: she repeats a sound until her air runs out, and then, rather than inhaling again, she continues to "speak" by moving her mouth but making absolutely no sound. No one else has noticed this but me. It's hard to notice. Sometimes I glance at her and see her little mouth working silently, and I realize she's been trying to talk to me for some time.
She is communicating less, or at least making fewer audible attempts to communicate. When I catch the tail end of one of her "silent stuttering" episodes, I can't understand what she has said because it's either too soft or too distorted by her use of residual air. I ask her to repeat herself, and she just pops her thumb in her mouth and turns away. Too much work. Yeah, baby, I've been there.
Again, it's not so much that she stutters. It's how she stutters that worries me. She just struggles too damn much sometimes, especially for a toddler. I cannot tell you the anger and disappointment I feel when well-meaning people dismiss as mere noisemaking my daughter's efforts to speak; she is only two, but people's reactions to her communication attempts will help shape who she is. I wish I could protect her. I wish I could live the rough parts for her.
And I wish a professional could see her when she is like this. I wonder if they would be so reassuring then. As much as I want L to experience the ease of fluency, I hope she stutters up a storm the next time a speech therapist is near her. I want an assessment based on all the evidence.
Her stuttering is certainly cyclical. She was in a fluent period when she was evaluated, but she is now on the downswing. Her original secondary behaviors have been replaced by new ones: whispering and tilting her head to one side. These behaviors are cuter and more socially acceptable, and so people now don't even realize she's stuttering. In fact, she's so quiet, people don't even realize she's talking.
When she was stuttering at her worst in early October, there was a day she went to the grocery store with me and drew LOTS of attention from people. Every time she started a sentence, she would repeat the initial sound, stuff her hand against her mouth, and allow the pitch and volume of her voice to rise dramatically. People thought she was just yelling to be mischievous. One man even scolded her and said, "Is that you making all that noise?"
Now she does the other extreme: she repeats a sound until her air runs out, and then, rather than inhaling again, she continues to "speak" by moving her mouth but making absolutely no sound. No one else has noticed this but me. It's hard to notice. Sometimes I glance at her and see her little mouth working silently, and I realize she's been trying to talk to me for some time.
She is communicating less, or at least making fewer audible attempts to communicate. When I catch the tail end of one of her "silent stuttering" episodes, I can't understand what she has said because it's either too soft or too distorted by her use of residual air. I ask her to repeat herself, and she just pops her thumb in her mouth and turns away. Too much work. Yeah, baby, I've been there.
Again, it's not so much that she stutters. It's how she stutters that worries me. She just struggles too damn much sometimes, especially for a toddler. I cannot tell you the anger and disappointment I feel when well-meaning people dismiss as mere noisemaking my daughter's efforts to speak; she is only two, but people's reactions to her communication attempts will help shape who she is. I wish I could protect her. I wish I could live the rough parts for her.
And I wish a professional could see her when she is like this. I wonder if they would be so reassuring then. As much as I want L to experience the ease of fluency, I hope she stutters up a storm the next time a speech therapist is near her. I want an assessment based on all the evidence.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Happy Birthday, L!
Today is my baby's birthday. As hard as it is to believe that L is already two, her birth seems so long ago. Postpartum depression as well as severe pre-eclampsia that kept me hospitalized until L was two weeks old made it difficult for me to be the kind of mother I wanted to be right away, and when I think of her birth, I feel more guilt than anything else. I remember the intense anxiety I felt as the nurses brought her to my hospital room each morning. I remember a sense of relief, followed immediately by guilt, when I was put on a medication incompatible with breastfeeding. So many times I think I'd like to just start over with her.
Now when she comes into my room in the mornings, she makes me laugh first thing. Just recently she has discovered she has the power to get up from her toddler bed when she wants. This morning S woke up cranky, and although I convinced him to climb into bed with us and calmed him down, the noise had already awakened L, who soon came pitter-pattering into our bedroom, announcing, "I up!" As my husband hoisted her up onto the bed, she said, "Hi, Daddy!" She giggled as we all hugged and kissed her. She is such a joyful child. I have trouble finding words to express how much I love her.
Apparently, S does, too. When he leaned over to hug and kiss her this morning, he laughed and crooned, "Wittle metucky fwied chicken!"
I couldn't have said it better myself.
Now when she comes into my room in the mornings, she makes me laugh first thing. Just recently she has discovered she has the power to get up from her toddler bed when she wants. This morning S woke up cranky, and although I convinced him to climb into bed with us and calmed him down, the noise had already awakened L, who soon came pitter-pattering into our bedroom, announcing, "I up!" As my husband hoisted her up onto the bed, she said, "Hi, Daddy!" She giggled as we all hugged and kissed her. She is such a joyful child. I have trouble finding words to express how much I love her.
Apparently, S does, too. When he leaned over to hug and kiss her this morning, he laughed and crooned, "Wittle metucky fwied chicken!"
I couldn't have said it better myself.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Nine Weird Things
Because I'm all about the self-tagging, I'm stealing this meme from Writergrrl. Nine weird things about myself? This one, I have to say, should not be too hard for me.
1. I am fascinated by my children's earwax. I look in their ears frequently to see if there is any ready to harvest. I am slightly disappointed when I don't see any.
2. My husband and I met online. No, we didn't have a torrid Internet affair and meet for the first time on our wedding day. We met through a personals site, met in person a couple weeks later, and dated for a year before getting married.
3. When I walk, I do a weird spelling/typing thing with my feet. I think of a word, and I imagine I'm typing it out on a keyboard, so I say each letter to myself (silently) as I step down on the appropriate foot -- the left foot for letters typed with the left hand, and the right foot for letters typed with the right hand. If two consecutive letters are typed with the same hand, I have to wait another step until that foot comes down again to continue spelling. Each word has its own weird walking rhythm. For example, the word rhythm would be R(left) H(right) (left) Y(right) T(left) H(right) (left) M(right).
4. I am really good at Pig Latin. My father used to have long, involved conversations with my brother and me in Pig Latin when I was small.
5. As I get to know new friends, I notice myself taking on some of their mannerisms. It bothers me a bit. I don't do it on purpose at all, and it makes me feel like a phony.
6. Not only do I sometimes pass out at the sight of blood, but I sometimes pass out at the mention of blood. I passed out in health class in elementary school a few times, always during the chapter on the circulatory system. And I passed out during my mother's first talk with me about menstruation. (Fortunately, the anticipatory talk bothered me much more than the actual event.) Once I passed out in an acquaintance's car when she casually mentioned that her baby's penis had bled inordinately after his circumcision. Somehow we didn't make that leap from acquaintances to friends. Go figure.
7. Some melancholy music just sucks me under. Certain songs by Nine Inch Nails, for example, can put me in a deep, dark funk for days.
8. Even at my very largest and my most out of shape, I have always been able to sit on the floor with the soles of my feet together, my heels back close to my body, my knees touching the floor, and my head to my feet or the floor. It's a fairly useless talent.
9. I have a bad habit of leaving the kitchen cabinet doors open. After I've made dinner, it's not unusual for almost every cabinet door to be open. Is it dangerous and annoying? Yes. Does that compel me to close the doors? It seems not to.
1. I am fascinated by my children's earwax. I look in their ears frequently to see if there is any ready to harvest. I am slightly disappointed when I don't see any.
2. My husband and I met online. No, we didn't have a torrid Internet affair and meet for the first time on our wedding day. We met through a personals site, met in person a couple weeks later, and dated for a year before getting married.
3. When I walk, I do a weird spelling/typing thing with my feet. I think of a word, and I imagine I'm typing it out on a keyboard, so I say each letter to myself (silently) as I step down on the appropriate foot -- the left foot for letters typed with the left hand, and the right foot for letters typed with the right hand. If two consecutive letters are typed with the same hand, I have to wait another step until that foot comes down again to continue spelling. Each word has its own weird walking rhythm. For example, the word rhythm would be R(left) H(right) (left) Y(right) T(left) H(right) (left) M(right).
4. I am really good at Pig Latin. My father used to have long, involved conversations with my brother and me in Pig Latin when I was small.
5. As I get to know new friends, I notice myself taking on some of their mannerisms. It bothers me a bit. I don't do it on purpose at all, and it makes me feel like a phony.
6. Not only do I sometimes pass out at the sight of blood, but I sometimes pass out at the mention of blood. I passed out in health class in elementary school a few times, always during the chapter on the circulatory system. And I passed out during my mother's first talk with me about menstruation. (Fortunately, the anticipatory talk bothered me much more than the actual event.) Once I passed out in an acquaintance's car when she casually mentioned that her baby's penis had bled inordinately after his circumcision. Somehow we didn't make that leap from acquaintances to friends. Go figure.
7. Some melancholy music just sucks me under. Certain songs by Nine Inch Nails, for example, can put me in a deep, dark funk for days.
8. Even at my very largest and my most out of shape, I have always been able to sit on the floor with the soles of my feet together, my heels back close to my body, my knees touching the floor, and my head to my feet or the floor. It's a fairly useless talent.
9. I have a bad habit of leaving the kitchen cabinet doors open. After I've made dinner, it's not unusual for almost every cabinet door to be open. Is it dangerous and annoying? Yes. Does that compel me to close the doors? It seems not to.
Friday, November 03, 2006
L.'s Evaluation
L. had her speech evaluation today at a local university clinic. Initially we were told she couldn't be evaluated until January, but only a few days later we got another phone call saying someone could evaluate her sooner after all. It turns out they weren't initially anxious to see L because of her age; stuttering apparently begins when children develop more complex expressive language skills. To quote the speech pathologist, "When I first heard that a twenty-two month old had been referred for a fluency evaluation, I said, 'It's impossible. She's too young.' But then when I read the case history and the sample sentences she was saying, I decided okay, maybe I'm wrong."
During the evaluation, L. was incredibly fluent. Naturally. It reminds me of the Michigan J. Frog cartoon. There were only two or three moments when she stuttered, and even those were minor. I did, however, give them a tape of her talking at home, one segment from several weeks ago when her speech was quite severe, and one segment done last night when she was just mildly disfluent. Once they watch the tape, they'll realize why I took her in, I'm sure.
The plan right now (pre video viewing, of course) is to watch her for a while. They will contact me once or twice a month to check in, at which point we will decide whether or not they should see her again, based on how her speech is then. I am also to call if it becomes severe again. They gave me a list of things to do (slow my speech, encourage turn-taking when both kids are vying for the spotlight, etc.) , most of which they said they noticed I'm already doing. If L is still stuttering in 12 months, they/we will start an intervention program that seems to work well with preschoolers.
L. was very well-behaved for the evaluation and just ate up all the attention. She did manage to embarrass me a bit with her insistence that every doll's clothes must come off. Both the pathologist and her student couldn't get over L's language level. They were most impressed with her use of the word manatee (she saw one at the zoo and liked it) and the sentence, "I pretending Mommy a bunny." It was kind of funny watching these two grown women nearly wet themselves over the jabberings of a small child. The elder woman was orgasmic over L's correct use of the "-ing" ending.
Because I'm too lazy to put the rest in paragraph form, here are a few of the main points from our post-evaluation conversation:
During the evaluation, L. was incredibly fluent. Naturally. It reminds me of the Michigan J. Frog cartoon. There were only two or three moments when she stuttered, and even those were minor. I did, however, give them a tape of her talking at home, one segment from several weeks ago when her speech was quite severe, and one segment done last night when she was just mildly disfluent. Once they watch the tape, they'll realize why I took her in, I'm sure.
The plan right now (pre video viewing, of course) is to watch her for a while. They will contact me once or twice a month to check in, at which point we will decide whether or not they should see her again, based on how her speech is then. I am also to call if it becomes severe again. They gave me a list of things to do (slow my speech, encourage turn-taking when both kids are vying for the spotlight, etc.) , most of which they said they noticed I'm already doing. If L is still stuttering in 12 months, they/we will start an intervention program that seems to work well with preschoolers.
L. was very well-behaved for the evaluation and just ate up all the attention. She did manage to embarrass me a bit with her insistence that every doll's clothes must come off. Both the pathologist and her student couldn't get over L's language level. They were most impressed with her use of the word manatee (she saw one at the zoo and liked it) and the sentence, "I pretending Mommy a bunny." It was kind of funny watching these two grown women nearly wet themselves over the jabberings of a small child. The elder woman was orgasmic over L's correct use of the "-ing" ending.
Because I'm too lazy to put the rest in paragraph form, here are a few of the main points from our post-evaluation conversation:
- L's good language skills give her a better shot of overcoming stuttering.
- Secondary behaviors are indeed rare in children, but they are not unheard of.
- L's being a girl gives her a better chance of outgrowing the stuttering.
- The fact that my dad and brother outgrew their stuttering is another sign in her favor.
- Stuttering usually begins very mildly and without any tension. It's rare for it to come on so strongly.
- They said it was a good sign that the few disfluencies L had today seemed to be without tension. (I am not sure I entirely agree with their assessment on that point. True, there wasn't much tension. But I think it was there. Just a touch, under the surface. Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive, or perhaps it is my stuttering radar picking up on what others don't hear. I'll hope for the former.)
- They recommend the Lidcombe Program of Early Stuttering Intervention if she does happen to continue to stutter after twelve months. (I had my initial misgivings about the program when they first explained it to me, but the more I learn, the more optimistic I am about it.)
Overall, I am pleased with the evaluation and the professionalism of the evaluators. They were really good with my daughter and did indeed know their stuff. And they left me with the hope that L might very well shrug this thing off and trample all over it like a jacket she's determined not to wear. Nothing would make me happier.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Hello Operator
Have you heard of video phones for the deaf? And that there are now video relay services in addition to the old text relay services so that deaf people can sign their phone conversations and have a real live interpreter voice for them? Yeah, I didn't either until I got a call from a former student a couple days ago. Wow. Let me just say that communication is so much smoother with the video relay service than it ever was with the old relay. For one thing, there's none of the super slow talking so the relay operator can type, and there's none of that GA/SK business to contend with. Plus everyone gets to communicate in his or her own language.
Still, the relay, video or otherwise, kicks my stuttering ass.
Talking on the phone under normal circumstances is hard enough for me. I was in my late twenties before I really got a grip on phone conversations; now I handle most phone calls with some easy stuttering at the beginning to clue the other person in and to get myself off on the right foot. But the relay takes me right back to my mega-blocking days of yore. What is it that is so stressful for me? There's a lot going on with a relay call -- two different languages spoken, the message being relayed through a third party -- but the pressure really isn't on me; it's on the relay operator. Yet my throat closes up on those calls. In fact, it has crossed my mind that I could just not answer the phone when it's the relay. But I gave up the drug of avoidance a long time ago; one hit, and I'm a goner.
You know, one of my funniest stuttering stories involves a relay call. When I taught at a residential school for the deaf years ago, most of my friends were deaf. One day a friend was visiting me at my apartment and needed to call her husband at work. She and her husband are both deaf, and at the time, I didn't have a TTY. So here's how the phone call worked: my friend signed to me, I voiced her message to the relay operator, and the relay operator typed the message to her husband, who read it on his TTY, and then the whole process was reversed. Complicated. And a potential pit of stuttering madness.
It started off okay, though. My speech was reasonably under control, and we were able to get through the first few exchanges okay. Then, THEN, the relay operator, a very smug-sounding man, interrupted me and said, "You know, lady, this would be a lot easier for me if you wouldn't stutter."
Dumbfounded, I began the usual spiel to educate my listener: "Well, it would be easier for me, too, but I have a speech disorder . . . "
And then my blood started to boil as I thought: Is the relay not a service for the hearing and SPEECH impaired? Are these people not TRAINED to talk to people with whom communication is guaranteed to be ANYTHING but EASY? The humiliation of being caught off guard and of having to educate someone who should already have been educated, hit me like a truck, and I finished my "education" with . . .
"SO F*CK YOU!"
And I slammed down the phone. Only then did I look up and see my friend and the look of horror on her face.
She signed frantically, "Why did you hang up on B.?"
Oh. OH! I had forgotten all about him! And her, for that matter! I apologized and quickly explained what had happened. Then I took her advice and called the relay back to speak with a supervisor about the operator's need for some sensitivity training (I also threw in a sheepish apology for the profanity). And then my friend and I had a giggling fit.
The relay center, by the way, called me no less than three times over the next twenty-four hours to offer their sincerest apologies. The call had apparently been recorded. I wondered how many times they replayed my outburst. And I hoped I hadn't gotten anyone fired.
I guess maybe that's what I worry about when I'm on a relay call now: the responsibility of speaking and maintaining everyone's employment. It can be too much for a girl sometimes. I'm going to have to look into getting me one of those video phones.
Still, the relay, video or otherwise, kicks my stuttering ass.
Talking on the phone under normal circumstances is hard enough for me. I was in my late twenties before I really got a grip on phone conversations; now I handle most phone calls with some easy stuttering at the beginning to clue the other person in and to get myself off on the right foot. But the relay takes me right back to my mega-blocking days of yore. What is it that is so stressful for me? There's a lot going on with a relay call -- two different languages spoken, the message being relayed through a third party -- but the pressure really isn't on me; it's on the relay operator. Yet my throat closes up on those calls. In fact, it has crossed my mind that I could just not answer the phone when it's the relay. But I gave up the drug of avoidance a long time ago; one hit, and I'm a goner.
You know, one of my funniest stuttering stories involves a relay call. When I taught at a residential school for the deaf years ago, most of my friends were deaf. One day a friend was visiting me at my apartment and needed to call her husband at work. She and her husband are both deaf, and at the time, I didn't have a TTY. So here's how the phone call worked: my friend signed to me, I voiced her message to the relay operator, and the relay operator typed the message to her husband, who read it on his TTY, and then the whole process was reversed. Complicated. And a potential pit of stuttering madness.
It started off okay, though. My speech was reasonably under control, and we were able to get through the first few exchanges okay. Then, THEN, the relay operator, a very smug-sounding man, interrupted me and said, "You know, lady, this would be a lot easier for me if you wouldn't stutter."
Dumbfounded, I began the usual spiel to educate my listener: "Well, it would be easier for me, too, but I have a speech disorder . . . "
And then my blood started to boil as I thought: Is the relay not a service for the hearing and SPEECH impaired? Are these people not TRAINED to talk to people with whom communication is guaranteed to be ANYTHING but EASY? The humiliation of being caught off guard and of having to educate someone who should already have been educated, hit me like a truck, and I finished my "education" with . . .
"SO F*CK YOU!"
And I slammed down the phone. Only then did I look up and see my friend and the look of horror on her face.
She signed frantically, "Why did you hang up on B.?"
Oh. OH! I had forgotten all about him! And her, for that matter! I apologized and quickly explained what had happened. Then I took her advice and called the relay back to speak with a supervisor about the operator's need for some sensitivity training (I also threw in a sheepish apology for the profanity). And then my friend and I had a giggling fit.
The relay center, by the way, called me no less than three times over the next twenty-four hours to offer their sincerest apologies. The call had apparently been recorded. I wondered how many times they replayed my outburst. And I hoped I hadn't gotten anyone fired.
I guess maybe that's what I worry about when I'm on a relay call now: the responsibility of speaking and maintaining everyone's employment. It can be too much for a girl sometimes. I'm going to have to look into getting me one of those video phones.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Progress
Remember back on June 9 when I did a meme including my goals for the year? What?!?! You don't have every one of my goals committed to memory? Sheesh. Okay, okay. Here's a link. WHAT? You don't feel like clikcing on it? Oh, for crying out loud, what is wrong with you people. Fine. I'll list my goals here so that you may refresh your memories. (sighing loudly)
In the next year I will . . .
- begin my conversion process. (See, I'm being decisive today.)
- find a pre-school for my son.
- find a way to get out of the house at least one day a week, whether it's
through membership in some kind of organization, a class, or a part-time
job.- find a babysitter so that my husband and I can go out more.
- go on our very first vacation as a family of four.
- enjoy every minute of my children's silliness.
Okay, to be perfectly honest, I had to cheat and look myself. So no hard feelings. But my reason for bringing this up is that I realize I've done several of these things already. Yay! And yeah, I know, many of them were not earth shattering. In fact, some of them are just silly. But still, I know life can throw things at us sometimes and knock us off our feet, and I am so thankful that I've been lucky enough to be able to move vaguely in the direction I wanted to go.
Let's see . . . well, the conversion process has not started yet. But I have become more active in the synagogue. I know that doesn't count.
My son has started preschool. It's a good preschool we picked, too, I have to say.
I'm getting out of the house a little more now because I've made some friends. I am also (drumroll please) preparing to begin some part-time work very soon. It's the kind of work that is unpredictable -- I have to wait for them to call me when my services are needed -- but I'm just a few days away from being officially on the list as a service provider. Yippee!
My friend now babysits for us sometimes. She's awesome!
We went on our family vacation back in July.
And I am still enjoying my kids' silliness. I squander a few moments here and there when I'm feeling overwhelmed or grouchy. I regret that. But I love them, those little boogers. They're such cuties. I'd do anything for them. Even convert.
But maybe not quite yet.
Friday, October 20, 2006
This One's Going Right Back to the Library
Last night my husband and I watched one of the items I got from the drive-through library. It was this video about children who stutter. Aside from the strange choice of camera shots and the uber eighties glasses the narrator was wearing, the video was just so-so. It was supposed to contain clips of children stuttering. Real kids doing real stuttering.
But we were left with the feeling that they picked four kids who were borderline cases at best to make the techniques they were suggesting look good. Either that, or L. is the only kid in the world who stutters so severely. Which is our fear. There's not much written or videotaped about kids with stutters like hers.
Okay, so there was one cute little blond boy who was shown briefly -- demonstrating both the prolongation and the block, of course, since the other children seemed to have never experienced either -- doing some hard core stuttering. But they didn't show him again in the section where the parents were using the suggested techniques with their kids. All the kids in that section were almost completely fluent. And little Mr. Blond Boy was the only child who didn't make it onto the cover of the video, too. What the hell? It's a stuttering video! Let the kid with the biggest stutter win for a change! Naturally, I considered the possibility that the parenting techniques had no effect on a more severe stutter and that any footage of the blond kid was destroyed. Or maybe they were afraid showing a severe stutter would scare parents? Or . . . or . . . what?
As a parent of a kid with a stutter worse than little Mr. Blond Boy's, I was a bit offended. And alarmed, really. I mean, I've said before to my husband that my daughter stutters like an adult, that I've never (in my admittedly limited experience) seen a child stutter that way. Last night's video viewing reinforced that idea. It left my husband feeling down about L.'s prognosis, too.
Not that we think less of her if she stutters. Not that the stuttering itself bothers us. It's the thought that she will have to struggle, that she might feel the need to hide parts of herself, that people might not always recognize her immediately as the bright and charming person she is.
I said the other day that she was demonstrating two of the eight warning signs associated with increased risk for stuttering into adulthood. She has already added a third: she has "expressed concern" about her speech (when she asked me to help her . . . which, by the way, she has done twice now).
She also substitutes words. She had conned me into reading one of those insipid, plotless Dora the Explorer books yet again and, pointing to a picture of Dora, said, "I-i-i-i-i-iiis D-d-d-d-d-----d-d-d---- (pause) She w-w-wear sssswimsuit?" She gave up on saying Dora and substituted with she. That is such an adult way to stutter. Crap, part of me is proud of her ingenuity. She's not even two, for crying out loud.
I can remember being totally fluent when I was a young child. Or, at least, I can remember not knowing anything about stuttering, at least not being aware of it, not ever feeling tension when I spoke. I can remember a time when I said what I wanted to whomever I wanted, a time when I didn't have to weigh my words or judge the receptiveness of listeners. I remember a time when I didn't know speaking fear. And later I always saw myself that way, as just normal, but with this thing that happened to me and kept people from seeing the real me when I spoke.
What if L. retains none of those fluent memories? What if she remembers only fear and tension and being different?
But we were left with the feeling that they picked four kids who were borderline cases at best to make the techniques they were suggesting look good. Either that, or L. is the only kid in the world who stutters so severely. Which is our fear. There's not much written or videotaped about kids with stutters like hers.
Okay, so there was one cute little blond boy who was shown briefly -- demonstrating both the prolongation and the block, of course, since the other children seemed to have never experienced either -- doing some hard core stuttering. But they didn't show him again in the section where the parents were using the suggested techniques with their kids. All the kids in that section were almost completely fluent. And little Mr. Blond Boy was the only child who didn't make it onto the cover of the video, too. What the hell? It's a stuttering video! Let the kid with the biggest stutter win for a change! Naturally, I considered the possibility that the parenting techniques had no effect on a more severe stutter and that any footage of the blond kid was destroyed. Or maybe they were afraid showing a severe stutter would scare parents? Or . . . or . . . what?
As a parent of a kid with a stutter worse than little Mr. Blond Boy's, I was a bit offended. And alarmed, really. I mean, I've said before to my husband that my daughter stutters like an adult, that I've never (in my admittedly limited experience) seen a child stutter that way. Last night's video viewing reinforced that idea. It left my husband feeling down about L.'s prognosis, too.
Not that we think less of her if she stutters. Not that the stuttering itself bothers us. It's the thought that she will have to struggle, that she might feel the need to hide parts of herself, that people might not always recognize her immediately as the bright and charming person she is.
I said the other day that she was demonstrating two of the eight warning signs associated with increased risk for stuttering into adulthood. She has already added a third: she has "expressed concern" about her speech (when she asked me to help her . . . which, by the way, she has done twice now).
She also substitutes words. She had conned me into reading one of those insipid, plotless Dora the Explorer books yet again and, pointing to a picture of Dora, said, "I-i-i-i-i-iiis D-d-d-d-d-----d-d-d---- (pause) She w-w-wear sssswimsuit?" She gave up on saying Dora and substituted with she. That is such an adult way to stutter. Crap, part of me is proud of her ingenuity. She's not even two, for crying out loud.
I can remember being totally fluent when I was a young child. Or, at least, I can remember not knowing anything about stuttering, at least not being aware of it, not ever feeling tension when I spoke. I can remember a time when I said what I wanted to whomever I wanted, a time when I didn't have to weigh my words or judge the receptiveness of listeners. I remember a time when I didn't know speaking fear. And later I always saw myself that way, as just normal, but with this thing that happened to me and kept people from seeing the real me when I spoke.
What if L. retains none of those fluent memories? What if she remembers only fear and tension and being different?
Thursday, October 19, 2006
A Morning of Pampery Goodness
Did I tell you I've made a friend? A really good friend? We met at the dreaded storytime last summer, and we soon found ourselves making playdates for the kids just so we could get together. She and her family moved her a few months ago, and it turns out that before we moved here, we lived only ten minutes from her. And we know some of the same people. Including another interfaith family. And she used to work with one of my best friends. Freaky.
Anyway, the point is that my friend decided I needed a morning to myself. She very graciously offered to keep my daughter (who is just the best of buddies with her daughter) while my son was at preschool, so that I could do whatever I wanted. Yes, that's right. Whatever I wanted. At first I couldn't think what that meant. And I admit I wasn't very good at it since most of what I chose to do was in some way related to my children, but hey. It was still pretty cool.
So after I dropped my children off, I went to Toys R Us to do a little birthday shopping for the wee one, who will be two in just a few weeks. Mind you, we cannot go into that store with my son, for it turns him into a screaming and whining beast. So I got to shop at my leisure and even purchased a Chanukkah gift or two while I was there. Yea, me.
Then, then, I did the coolest thing. Okay, which I totally could've done with my kids. But still. I drove through at the library -- the one we dared not enter yesterday -- and picked up an assortment of reading and viewing material for the family. This was my first time placing a hold and picking up the books at the drive-up window. I must say it was exhilarating. Okay, so I could've gone in today for I was without child. But I didn't. I drove through. And I see a lot of that driving through business in my future.
Next, I drove through another establishment, picking up a strawberry milkshake just because I wanted one and because I could do so without having to buy one measly thing for my messy offspring. I then drove around town slurping my milkshake until, finally, I went over to my friend's house and claimed my daughter.
It was a lovely time. Really. I'm pretty bad at using my free time these days since it's such a new thing for me. I feel like a cave man looking at a computer. He pokes it, chews on it, rubs it with a stick to start a fire, finally sits on it. Give a mother a fish, and she looks at you as if you're crazy. Teach a mother to fish, and . . . well, she says, "When the hell do you think I'm going to have time to do that?"
Um, but as I was saying, I had a nice morning. And it made me extra patient when my daughter, apparently paying me back for having abandoned her, threw a big fit in the parking lot of the preschool. I patiently and calmly peeled her up from the asphalt three different times, waited while my son retrieved his dropped backpack twice, and didn't even make an obscene gesture to the totally evil and snooty and perfectly made up high cheekboned beeyatch who, rather than waiting the twenty seconds for me to get my children out of the way of her gas guzzling SUV, tried to drive around us and rolled her window down, opened her thin little impatient mouth to say something snotty but -- and she should thank herself for this -- thought better of it.
Ah, amazing what catastrophes a little me-time will prevent.
Anyway, the point is that my friend decided I needed a morning to myself. She very graciously offered to keep my daughter (who is just the best of buddies with her daughter) while my son was at preschool, so that I could do whatever I wanted. Yes, that's right. Whatever I wanted. At first I couldn't think what that meant. And I admit I wasn't very good at it since most of what I chose to do was in some way related to my children, but hey. It was still pretty cool.
So after I dropped my children off, I went to Toys R Us to do a little birthday shopping for the wee one, who will be two in just a few weeks. Mind you, we cannot go into that store with my son, for it turns him into a screaming and whining beast. So I got to shop at my leisure and even purchased a Chanukkah gift or two while I was there. Yea, me.
Then, then, I did the coolest thing. Okay, which I totally could've done with my kids. But still. I drove through at the library -- the one we dared not enter yesterday -- and picked up an assortment of reading and viewing material for the family. This was my first time placing a hold and picking up the books at the drive-up window. I must say it was exhilarating. Okay, so I could've gone in today for I was without child. But I didn't. I drove through. And I see a lot of that driving through business in my future.
Next, I drove through another establishment, picking up a strawberry milkshake just because I wanted one and because I could do so without having to buy one measly thing for my messy offspring. I then drove around town slurping my milkshake until, finally, I went over to my friend's house and claimed my daughter.
It was a lovely time. Really. I'm pretty bad at using my free time these days since it's such a new thing for me. I feel like a cave man looking at a computer. He pokes it, chews on it, rubs it with a stick to start a fire, finally sits on it. Give a mother a fish, and she looks at you as if you're crazy. Teach a mother to fish, and . . . well, she says, "When the hell do you think I'm going to have time to do that?"
Um, but as I was saying, I had a nice morning. And it made me extra patient when my daughter, apparently paying me back for having abandoned her, threw a big fit in the parking lot of the preschool. I patiently and calmly peeled her up from the asphalt three different times, waited while my son retrieved his dropped backpack twice, and didn't even make an obscene gesture to the totally evil and snooty and perfectly made up high cheekboned beeyatch who, rather than waiting the twenty seconds for me to get my children out of the way of her gas guzzling SUV, tried to drive around us and rolled her window down, opened her thin little impatient mouth to say something snotty but -- and she should thank herself for this -- thought better of it.
Ah, amazing what catastrophes a little me-time will prevent.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Why We Spent the Morning Reading Quietly at Home
We played hookey from storytime today. Oh, the guilt. But our last library visit for storytime ended in sibling warfare, serious mommy embarrassment, and some substantial kid grief over my confiscating the identical blue balloons over which they were fighting. I had to drag my children kicking and screaming (and I do mean that literally) into the elevator and through the normally quiet library lobby. If not for the kind look of sympathy from the first-floor librarian, I might well have been frustrated and humiliated enough to advertise both of my offspring on ebay that very afternoon.
So it was official: I became one of THOSE mothers. You know, the ones whose parenting skills I used to question silently in my childless days of yore.
This morning when my son asked if we were going to storytime, I said yes, but then I proceeded to remind him of the proper way to behave, and how he lost his balloon last time, and how if he ever acted that way again at the library I might never ever ever ever take him back, and did he think he could stay quiet and obey me. At which point he said, "I don't think I want to go."
And yeah, I felt some guilt that my warning was dire enough that I might have made him afraid to try again, but on the other hand, I was relieved that I had an excuse to stay home. Because really, it is hellish. I'll take them again next week. I'll be a really good parent then. Somehow I'll manage not to be one of THOSE mothers.
So it was official: I became one of THOSE mothers. You know, the ones whose parenting skills I used to question silently in my childless days of yore.
This morning when my son asked if we were going to storytime, I said yes, but then I proceeded to remind him of the proper way to behave, and how he lost his balloon last time, and how if he ever acted that way again at the library I might never ever ever ever take him back, and did he think he could stay quiet and obey me. At which point he said, "I don't think I want to go."
And yeah, I felt some guilt that my warning was dire enough that I might have made him afraid to try again, but on the other hand, I was relieved that I had an excuse to stay home. Because really, it is hellish. I'll take them again next week. I'll be a really good parent then. Somehow I'll manage not to be one of THOSE mothers.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
More Notes on L.
Today was a really bad speech day. L struggled on nearly everything she said, especially this evening. I wondered if she was aware of the struggle. Actually, I wondered how she could not be aware.
And then tonight, after struggling on one word for fifteen seconds or more, she cried a little, tried the word again, and then stopped, looked me in the eye, and said, "Mommy, help me."
So I guess that answers my question.
And then tonight, after struggling on one word for fifteen seconds or more, she cried a little, tried the word again, and then stopped, looked me in the eye, and said, "Mommy, help me."
So I guess that answers my question.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Bedtime Conversation
My Son S: Mommy, where am I going when I wake up?
Me: You have preschool tomorrow.
S: Will you take me there when I wake up?
Me: Yes, and we have to remember to pick out some nice clothes for you to wear because you're having school pictures taken.
S: Well. Okay. But I'm not going to say cheese.
Me: And why's that?
S: Because I think I'm going to say vagina.
Me: You have preschool tomorrow.
S: Will you take me there when I wake up?
Me: Yes, and we have to remember to pick out some nice clothes for you to wear because you're having school pictures taken.
S: Well. Okay. But I'm not going to say cheese.
Me: And why's that?
S: Because I think I'm going to say vagina.
Calming Down
Well, things have settled down here. I am no longer panicking. I received my packet of information from the National Stuttering Association, and I have regained my perspective. The NSA is just awesome. I used to be a member and even led a local chapter, but then I got busy and not nearly as active, and eventually I failed to renew my membership. I rejoined last week. One of the booklets I got from them for a meager fee is called Young Children Who
Stutter. It answered several of my questions. Here's what I've learned:
Stutter. It answered several of my questions. Here's what I've learned:
- Secondary behaviors can indeed happen in young children.
- Even children who stutter severely enough to have secondary behaviors often "outgrow" their stuttering.
- Only about 25% of preschool stutterers continue stuttering into adulthood.
- There are eight risk factors that might indicate a childhood stutter will continue. (My daughter exhibits two of the eight: a family history of stuttering, and signs of struggle and tension when she stutters.)
Also, on a visit to my parents' house this weekend, during which my daughter stuttered some but not nearly as much as she was doing in the middle of last week, I was able to ask my parents a few questions. Here's what I learned:
- I began to stutter at age 4.
- For the first year or so at least, my stutter was not as severe as L.'s is.
I think what was scaring me last week was that her stutter seemed more severe each day. Finally, by Friday afternoon, it was improving. I was afraid she would struggle like that every single day. Stuttering is cyclical, I know, but it worried me to think that her cycles might go from severe stuttering on her bad days to moderate stuttering on her good days and never any higher. I see now, though, that she still has almost-fluent periods. I'm glad of that. She'll appreciate them.
And Teej's comment about L.'s having an advantage because I stutter myself reminded me of the stuttering daughter of an adult stutterer whom I met several years ago when I was active in the NSA. I remember watching her discuss her stuttering openly in a group meeting. I never would have felt comfortable doing that at such a young age. So maybe I can't give my daughter fluency, but I can show her by example that stuttering is nothing to be ashamed of. I think I was twenty before I figured that one out.
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