Chewymom

Years ago, the Chewyfamily viewed Halloween with great disdain and suspicion. We, along with most of our friends at the time, refused to even call it by the name “Halloween.” We acknowledged it only as “Reformation Day” and would do fun stuff like sit around and discuss Martin Luther nailing the 95 theses to the door. A big day in protestant history, to be sure. But hardly exciting to small children!

In the late 90’s, we moved to Atlanta and decided to amend our ways and let our kids dress up and attend a church festival. That was great, but we had just moved into our new home in a great neighborhood two weeks prior. As we met neighbors over time, they expressed their disappointment that we had not trick-or-treated at their door. Many had waited to meet this young new family with the four boys that they heard had moved here. But we never came.

Here we are, ten years later, and five of the seven of us trick-or-treated. Ben had to work tonight, and Drew is at a friend’s house. The rest of us dressed up - yes, even Chewydad and me. Brig and Sam used our ancient, but still quite useful M&M costumes. Sally was a princess. I was a nun, and Scott was a monk. Making some wonder what we were doing with so many children.

When we decided to start trick-or-treating, Chewydad lamented that we had not done it before. As he said, “When else do neighbors actually WANT you to knock on their door? When else do our neighbors show up at our house?” It’s a perfect way to build relationships with neighbors.

And yet tonight, as we went from house to house, Chewydad and I became really exasperated. We wanted to get on with it - hurry from house to house. Collect as much candy as possible, you know! But Brig would stop and engage EVERY PERSON in conversation. He might ask which veterinarian they used for their dogs. And then announce that he works for a particular one. He might realize that he knew one of their children or neighbors. But whatever the conversation was about, the point was that he was engaging the person at the door. He was doing the very thing Chewydad and I claim to want to do. Getting to know the neighbors. Showing an interest - a real, genuine interest - beyond just grabbling a candy bar and moving to the next house. Brig had more in mind than just filling his candy basket. He was networking.

And you know, I have to laugh. Brig knows everybody in this town, and I often am surprised and wonder how he does it. But that’s exactly how. He engages people in conversation. People remember him when they see him around town, because he is the kid who asked after their pet, their son, their mother. He remembered that they drove the red truck, or they live in the yellow house. He has commented (positively) that they have an Auburn hat or (negatively) an Alabama shirt.

Brig challenges me constantly. Often he does it by trying my patience, or by nearly making Ben late for school. But he also does it by showing me in his own way, how to engage the world around me. He just knows how to love people. He makes them feel valued and cared about. Who else thinks to do that on Halloween?

Brig said this. And let me just say that in this election, he actually will get to vote, because his 18th birthday is just days before the election! He is so excited! Anyway..

I asked Brig, “Why do you want to vote for McCain?”

Brig replied, “You know Sarah Palin? Her son Trig? Well, Trig rhymes with Brig!
[We had already had the conversation about Trig having Down syndrome, which really intrigued Brig.]

So I said, “That’s fine, but I thought you were going to vote for Obama.”

Brig replied, “Well, I still want Obama to win.”

Ya know, I’ll bet there are others out there who base their election decision on about the same criteria!

Dear Sarah,

I hope you don’t mind if I call you Sarah. I mean no disrespect. But I keep thinking that we could so easily have met through an on-line message board and become fast friends. We are both forty-something moms of five kids, we both profess to be Christians, and some of our kids are the same age. We both have kids with Down syndrome, and get this–their names rhyme! Brig-Trig! Had we met on a message board, we would be sharing stories. I would be telling you what life is like for Brig at age 17–how he is a senior in high school, and I would be reassuring you that Trig is going to have a great life! You would be full of questions: Should you start early intervention? What kind of carriers, strollers, and shoes are best? Depending on Trig’s health, you might be asking about cardiologists and ENTs. Our on-line community would be walking with you and supporting you during your daughter’s unplanned pregnancy. We would grow close and truly care about each other, and likely exchange Christmas cards.

But here you are, thrown into the public eye as a vice-presidential candidate, and the fact is, I don’t know you. And that’s a big problem, Sarah. Why are you letting the Republicans hide you away? Why will you not allow people to get to know you? The thing is, I really don’t know a thing about you. And I do have some questions and reservations.

First, I want to know why you would choose to place your family under such scrutiny during such a vulnerable time in your daughter’s life? I cannot imagine being Bristol and having the media discussing my sex life. (And speaking of your daughter’s sex life, I would also like to know if you still support abstinence-only sex education. I’m not sure it worked out so well in your case….But that’s getting pretty personal, and like I said, I don’t really know you.) I have been a mom for almost 18 years, and time and again I have to weigh my own desires against what is best for my family. Often I come second, as I place the needs of my children above my own. That’s what parents do. Is that what you are doing? Or are you sacrificing your daughter’s privacy in order to gain power and influence?

Second, I wonder how you plan to handle things with Trig? If you are elected VP, will you personally attend his IEP meetings? Will you push for inclusion? Will you be available to work with him in between therapy sessions to build his muscle tone? I remember when Brig was a baby…now granted that was a long time ago. But we drove back and forth to the hospital for his therapies four days per week. He had occupational, physical, and speech. And on the fifth day, and early intervention specialist came to our home to work with him. It was important that I be present so I could learn how to help him outside of his therapy sessions. I’m not saying a woman can’t work and have a child with Down syndrome–it certainly can be done. But I do think certain jobs would make that very difficult, and I know many moms who have had to make a career change to accommodate their child’s therapy schedule. Can you accommodate it as vice-president? Can you as a candidate?

I want to tell you how much I applaud your decision to give birth to Trig. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Did you know that 90% of those who are given a pre-natal diagnosis of Down syndrome choose to abort? It’s a shocking number. I know that doctors do not always paint the kindest picture of life with a child with Down syndrome, but I am here to tell you that although you will face challenges and make sacrifices, Trig will change your life in amazing ways. A part of me is excited about the thought of watching Trig grow up before the nation’s eyes. But then I wonder about that as well. As I mentioned above about the IEPs–will that be typical of the experiences of “normal” parents if you are VP? What school system would say no to any of your requests? And will you want the same things so many do–inclusion? Full access to everything any other student has access to? I don’t know. And I wonder if you will make it look so easy to get what you want, that the rest of us will look like whiners when we complain about tedious IEP meetings and fighting school systems. Or will you just hire a tutor and not mess with the public education system?

Since we’re talking politics today, let me switch over to the other no-no topic of religion. I wish I understood more about what you personally believe. Do you believe that women are to submit to their husbands? I know you think women can do anything men can do. That’s a different issue. Do you submit to your husband? Is that why you copy him on government emails? Is that why he spends so much of his day, when he is not working, hanging around and sitting in on meetings, even though he is not an elected official? People complained about Hillary when she was first-lady, because they felt like she had too much influence. It seems to me that Todd has even more influence in Alaska, and I wonder what that will look like in Washington.

Last, and I know I am being cynical here, have you ever wondered why you were picked? I mean, there are so many other more qualified candidates in the Republican party. Women, even. Kay Bailey Hutchison comes to mind. Why you? You have definitely “energized the base” as so many are saying. I think it is your super-conservative Christian leanings and your living out your pro-life stance by giving birth to Trig. And honey, I applaud that. I really do. But do you ever feel like Trig is being, shall we say, used? That if you had given birth to a child with 46 chromosomes, that you would never have been given a second glance? Because I do think that. And I’m not sure I’m okay with it. Brig has brought many opportunities into my life, and it is because of him that I have done some things and met certain people. But I’m not sure if becoming VP because of a child with Down syndrome is something I can get behind. Because I think there are others who would be better-suited to take over should the unthinkable happen to Mr. McCain as president.

I guess it comes down to this, Sarah. I think you and I could really like each other as people. I truly wish we had met on a message board for people who love someone with an extra chromosome. If you read this and click in my side-bar, it will take you to a wonderful online community should you need that support. Because I don’t care who you are or what office you hold, everyone needs support! But honestly, unless I vote only based on our similarities–our age, lots of kids, a child with an extra chromosome or our v@ginas– I just cannot cast my ballot for you at this point. I will be watching the debate to see if you can change my opinion, but at this point it is doubtful.

Respectfully yours,

Chewymom

Back in college, I wanted to major in Education, but my parents were vehemently opposed. They were adamant that I needed to get a my degree in a “regular” subject and go back for a master’s in education. So I majored in English. And then I got married, and the master’s never happened.

I moved to California and landed a job in October teaching a third-grade class whose teacher had quit after a few weeks. It was a private school, so my lack of a teaching certificate was acceptable.

I jumped in and tried to make sense of lessons plans and teacher text-books and such. I found it easiest to simply follow the curriculum that was handed to me and to branch out very little. Meaning I taught the subjects in the order they were presented in my teacher manuals. Our history course was American history, and it was in chronological order.

Fast forward a couple of months to January, and the Martin Luther King, Jr., holiday came and went. And then my principal called me into his office.

A parent had complained that I had failed to teach the class about MLK, and since I was from the south, she was wondering if it was because I was a racist.

Talk about stereotyping!

Thankfully my principal stood up for me to the parent, but he did ask if I planned to teach my class about Martin Luther King, Jr. Of course I did! IN APRIL when the textbook taught recent American history!

That wasn’t the only time it was assumed that because I said “y’all” and “mash the button” that I must be a racist. Another time I was talking to a colleague about my childhood and let it slip that when my mom went back to work while I was in high school, we hired a maid.

I might as well have said we had her shipped straight from Africa, that we beat her, and that we called her a slave. This was the ’80’s, folks. We had not quite progressed to the politically correct term of “housekeeper.” And besides, in the late 70s and early 80s, we DID call her a maid! She cleaned our house, got paid, and my dad even withheld Social Security and reported her as an employee.

This same colleague who expressed her shock and horror at our maid had no qualms about calling the many hispanics in southern California “wetbacks.”

We lived in the basement of a house that looked out over a beautiful valley. In the distance, we could see the tip of the San Diego Wild Animal Park. There was an ostrich farm below us, and a winery just beyond it. It was a truly breathtaking view.

Unless you glanced to the left and looked closely among the brush. And noticed the blue tarps. With Mexicans living underneath them. Literally, LIVING there. The living conditions of the Hispanic population were appalling. And the racist attitudes even worse. And again, this was the late 80s. I can’t imagine what the attitude must be like now, when the population of illegal immigrants has literally exploded.

And racism is sadly still alive and well in pockets in the south, as evidenced by the people who still tell “n-word” jokes (yes, they exist) and the life-long Democrats who refuse to vote for Obama but hem and haw about their reasons.

I long for the day when our nation can see with blind eyes–looking not at the outside, but at the heart of a person.

I’m dusting off the laptop this morning, trying to get my brain in gear and trying to remember how to log into my blog so I can write a post. I jest about dusting off the laptop. But the brain and the blog, not so much. As my lone reader who still checks in occasionally knows.

Over the summer I found that having five children under foot all day, every day tended to crowd out the things my own brain was trying to say to me. And my fingers spent more time picking up dirty socks and applying sunscreen than they did pounding out posts.

So here I am, my house has been quiet for almost four weeks now, and my brain is just now figuring out how to formulate coherent thoughts again. I alluded to it before, but I am taking the year off from classes. I have kids in 12th, 11th, 8th, 5th grades, and Kindergarten. And somehow word has gotten out that I’m at home with nothing to do. Which isn’t exactly true, although I am sitting in my kitchen in my pajamas at 10:14am. But anyway….I am on just about every volunteer list there is, which is great. And busy!

Last Wednesday I had to cancel some of my school-related activities, because I needed to spend the day waiting. We had scheduled a washing machine repair person, someone to replace a broken window, a large delivery requiring a signature, and a flooring person to replace some damaged floor boards.

So I got up before the kids and showered and dressed, so as to NOT get caught in my pjs at 10:14 am. And then I waited. And waited. And finally, at about noon, the flooring people showed up. And informed me that they would actually be SAWING out the old flooring, meaning dust EVERYWHERE in our very open kitchen and downstairs. I panicked, knowing we were expecting houseguests in two days, and I had planned to do a laundry marathon before they came, seeing as how the washer had been out of service for a solid week.

So they began sawing at 12:00. And still I waited (in the safety of the den with the doors shut). And finally at EXACTLY 5:00, the delivery came, the window person came, and the washing machine repair person came. Meaning I certainly could have done my volunteer stuff, and avoided a whole lot of dust inhalation.

And the point of this post, in case you were getting worried that I was going to ramble on forever, is actually to tell you what was wrong with my washing machine. We have a Whirlpool Duet, and we had been getting an F21 code, which means it is not draining properly. This had first happened about a month ago, and with the help of a neighbor we unstacked the washer and dryer and blew out the drain hose. It seemed to fix the problem, but that only lasted a few weeks and the code came back. We unstacked them again, blew out the hose, and nada. There was still a clog, and every time we tried to make the washer run a little to drain, it added water.

The repair guy opened up the bottom, pulled out the pump, which released about 3 gallons of water. So much for low water usage on these front loaders! And guess what was lodged in the pump????

A pocket.

That’s right, a pocket.

Which obviously makes me ask first, who is missing a pocket? And second, how did it come off of someone’s pants? And get UNDER the washer in the pump???

As it turns out, front loaders have a space between the door and the drum, and there is no filter in there. The gap has to be there for the drum to turn. So large objects easily make their way into the space and clog the drain. Things like pockets, which you know, are normally floating around independently in the machine.

So there’s a little helpful tidbit for you. Beware of small things like the usual pop tabs, tiny pencils, rocks, and most of all, pockets, if you own a front loader. Or you, too, may be out $130 for a service call. And waiting until 5:00 pm for the repair person to show up.

So, I hope that both of my blog readers haven’t missed me too terribly much. I had the illusion that once I finished classes and the kids were out of school, we would start enjoying the lazy days of summer. And I would blog. Instead I have traveled in and out of town more times than I can count, and when I have been here, I have either been confined to the laundry room or the pool. That, I suppose, is the one down side to having a pool–I became the instant lifeguard. For the neighborhood. Not that it’s all bad, mind you. I have quite a nice tan, considering I am usually pasty white with a few freckles.

So, a curious thing happened to me this past week. I had a glimpse of God’s sense of humor. Or maybe it was just his providence or his grace, and in my warped mind, I took it as humorous. It doesn’t take much to make me laugh. Which is why I still crack up whenever someone says, “fart.”

So anyway, I had some surprising time to think, and I became aware of a really strong sense that I needed to make a change in my plans. I’m not one to normally get all spiritual about sensing God’s direction in my life, because my God-experiences have more typically been that I weigh out pros and cons, pray, and then follow my heart. But I felt this strong sense that I needed to take a year off from school.

I had applied for nursing school at the end of May, after spending the last two years taking prerequisites and pulling up my GPA from my previous college work at Furman, twenty years ago. During which time I seemed to major in having fun. I still don’t understand why it annoyed my dad when I assured him that I was really becoming a well-rounded person.

Anyway.

I applied to nursing school and was told I would hear about my acceptance sometime in July. I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I knew that I would be accepted because the applications are ranked on a point system. There are a total of 200 possible points, and typically people with scores as low as the 140s-150s get in. I applied with the full 200 points. And until about a week ago, I had every intention of starting class in August and plugging away for the next two years so that I could graduate in 2010 and start working just in time to start putting kids through college. Since Ben has had his heart set on an out of state school since first grade.

But suddenly, I knew I needed a year off. Sally starts Kindergarten in the fall. Lots of field trips I could potentially attend–which is something I have missed out on with most of my other children since I had young ones at home. Sam will be in 5th grade–the last year in elementary school, and my last year to be welcomed by him to eat lunch with him. Drew will be in 8th grade, his last year of middle school, and although I can’t think of anything terribly significant about that, since he would rather stick pins in his eyeballs than have me show up at his school to spend time with him, still–that seems like a milestone year that I should be available to take part in. Ben is heading into his junior year with college applications and testing and such looming. And then Brig will be a senior. His last year of Special Olympic volleyball and basketball games, which take place during the school day. Not to mention the fun paperwork I have ahead as he turns 18.

I was fairly settled in my decision, but still, I kind of wondered if I was making the right decision.

I returned home after a week away and began sorting through the mountains of mail. I picked up an envelope from my community college and tossed it aside, commenting, “…and there’s my acceptance letter….” Later I tore it open, prepared to file it in my special nursing information folder. I glanced over the letter and saw blah, blah, blah…”high standards…” blah, blah, “regret…” blah, blah….WHAT??? REGRET?

I didn’t get in. My perfect 200 points, and I was rejected. My GPA was too low. Okay, now I had already decided not to go, but this was a blow to my ego! I knew I had the GPA. It’s a state law that you must have a 2.5, and I had not only earned a 4.0 at the community college (to counter the previously mentioned GPA from Furman), but I had the highest grade in many of my classes–averages above 100.

And yet the letter was confirmation. I had made the right decision. I did not need to pursue my nursing degree this fall. God’s sense of humor. Or maybe his grace, because he guided me into that decision before I got the rejection letter, allowing me to read it with mild annoyance and a bruised ego, rather than despair and shock. Had I not made the decision to take a hiatus, I would have been devastated. But I was not. Although highly offended would definitely describe my feelings.

So I marched my bruised ego right into the nursing office today to find out what happened. Because even if I’m not attending this fall, by darned, I wanted to be accepted so I could reject them! And besides, I have full intentions of pursuing my goals next year, so I wanted to be sure there really was some weird mistake, and that it wasn’t on my end.

Sure enough, rather than just trust that people at Furman University (or rather, computers at Furman University) can do math, and using the credit hours and quality points they had listed on my transcript, someone who apparently needs to go back and retake basic math had hand added my points on the bottom of my transcript. And forgotten to give me my quality points for one class, effectively making it count as an “F.” And lowering my apparent GPA. When the individual’s numbers came out different than the numbers on Furman’s computer system, the genius trusted…himself. And denied my nursing school app and wrote “nonqualifying GPA” across the top of it.

All is good now, though, because the director of the nursing program has given her approval, noted the error, and assured me that my letter of acceptance will be forthcoming.

And I will promptly reject it and restore my ego.

Mongoosemom tagged me for a little meme, so here goes:

1. WHAT DID YOU DO 10 YEARS AGO?

Ten years ago, I was facing my most difficult transition as a parent. For me, going from three to four kids after Sam was born was really hard. I think it was because I had kids in school, so I no longer had the option of just staying in my pjs, and being lazy when the baby hadn’t slept the night before. Plus, my kids were all so young–7, 6, 3, and newborn–grocery shopping was challenging, to say the least, and Chewydad was traveling a lot for work.
We were living in Atlanta, renting what had to be the ugliest house I have ever seen. It was “modern”–meaning it had a fabulous interior, but they just did whatever the heck they wanted to on the outside, so the front had these bizarre things jutting out everywhere–like the staircase and an upstairs closet. It was very weird.

2. FIVE ITEMS ON YOUR TO-DO LIST TODAY:

1-Call about guitar lessons for kids
2-Bake my Amish friendship bread
3-Schedule getting my mammies grammed
4-Go to dinner with girlfriends
5-Swim in our pool

3. SNACKS I ENJOY:

Oh my–I just enjoy anything called a snack!! Chips and dip, crackers, banana….Although really if it’s a “snack” I tend to like salty. Now, if you put the label “dessert” on it, that’s a whole ‘nother story!

4. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WERE A BILLIONAIRE?

This is a hard one. I know it would involve Africa in some way…helping the very poor over there. Make sure all of my nieces and nephews could go to college–fully funded. Sponsor more Compassion children. And travel and show my children the amazing world we live in!

I tag Molly, Nicole, and Skerrib.

I opened the door to the refrigerator to see this on the bottom shelf. Yes, it’s a paper plate with crumbs and a fork, and beside it a mostly-eaten container of Pringles, all on top of my vegetables. And I just have to ask…why???