NBA Players Pull Guns in Locker Room – Gilbert Arenas, Wizards teammate fought over gambling debt.

Amy, Reid and I started learning American Sign Language as a method to communicate with Ava. As Ava has grown, so as my skill with ASL, but it’s very fair to say that I can only manage “toddler” ASL. Amy and Ava are much better, and Reid’s skills are stronger still. I’m very grateful for learning it, for it was only through ASL that we learned of Ava’s advanced reading and receptive language capabilities. Even though Ava has Down syndrome and is very delayed with her speech, we discovered that at age 3.5 she was reading at a kindergarten level. Without ASL, Ava would have been a very bright child trapped without much ability to express much beyond frustration.

I boarded the Southwest Airlines jet, and began to look for a seat. I noticed that the boy was sitting by himself near the window in a row toward the front of the plane. I took the aisle seat in his row, hoping that I might work up the courage to test my ASL skills and attempt to communicate with him. At the very least, I thought, I might be able to help him if he needed it. I sat surprised at my nervousness and at the level of adrenaline coursing through me. I leaned over and got the boy’s attention by tapping him on his arm.

I signed, “I. Know. Little. A. S. L.”

He got a pleasantly surprised look on his face and signed, “Thanks.”

I signed, “I’m s-e-a-n.”

He smiled and signed, “r-o-b-e-r-t.” At least I think that’s what he signed. I’m quite sure, but I was so nervous and shocked and giddy at the prospect of actually signing with someone that I almost forgot to muster the considerable concentration required of me to recognize even his slowly manipulated (for my benefit) finger-spelling.

I gave him a “Hi” sign and he returned the favor. Relieved that I had accomplished that much, and eager for a break from the anxiety of my first signing communication with anyone outside my family, I took the opportunity to settle into my seat. Robert seemed a typical kid of his age, and wasn’t terribly interested in conversation. Again, I was partly relieved, having sustained a high degree of anxiety that he would be frustrated at my lack of communication skills. When the flight attendant came by for drinks, I asked him if he wanted one. He said yes, but only shrugged when I asked him what he wanted. The flight attended suggested a Coke, and he agreed.

That pretty much summed up the majority of our communication, except for his nod and my wave when he departed. But it was enough for me. I can only hope that I helped eliminate some of his travel anxiety if he was feeling it. Robert gave me an expanded possibility for communication. And he gave me yet another reason to be grateful for my little girl, Ava.

All that guilt and all those gifts make Mother’s Day one of the most commercial holidays of the year. According to IBISWorld (via Wikipedia), a publisher of business research, Americans will spend approximately $2.6 billion on flowers, $1.53 billion on pampering gifts — like spa treatments — and another $68 million on greeting cards. According to the National Restaurant Association (also via Wikipedia), Mother’s Day is now the most popular day of the year to dine out at a restaurant in the United States. We’re expected to spend close to $3.51 billion in 2008 on dining out for Mother’s Day.

But Mother’s Day is not just another Hallmark holiday. You may not know that Mother’s Day in the United States was started by Julia Ward Howe as a call to unite women against war. Which war? The American Civil War. Nice thought, but apparently we still haven’t learned much from Ms. Howe. On Mother’s Day this year, in addition to the billions we’ll spend on gifts for Mom, we’ll also spend $720 million on the continuing war in Iraq. We’ll spend it again tomorrow. And again the day after. All that adds up to an estimated $3 trillion bill for the invasion and occupation of Iraq. But that cost pales in comparison to the nearly 100,000 lives lost so far. How’s that guilty motivation now? This year, in honor of Mom and Mother’s Day, I’ll spend a little more money. But this time it will be spent in the form of a donation to an anti-war organization. Maybe CODEPINK?

Lastly, I received a nice Mother’s Day gift today. Reid, Ava and I were at the grocery store this morning rounding up provisions for a nice breakfast for Amy. We were in the checkout line and the store clerk was carrying on a friendly conversation with us. He looked at Ava in the cart seat and asked, “And how are you?” Ava pointed at something in the cart and said, “I got that.” The clerk replied, “You got that? Well I’m sure Mom will like that.”

It was the first time that Ava has said anything to a stranger that was perfectly understood and replied to. I’m sure Mom will like that. Dad did too.

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Addendum: I made two donations in honor of Mom today: One to the Collateral Repair Project to help Iraqi refugees, and one to CODEPINK’s campaigns to end the war in Iraq. Both of them made via the CODEPINK website.

But therein lies the quandary. The wondering if it’s the phase or the Down syndrome. Because Reid did the same thing. I remember with him, when he was 3, wondering why people always referred to the “terrible two’s” when it was when he was 3 that he really gave me a run for my money.

Sometimes I really struggle with the “is it just Ava or is it Down syndrome?” question. As much as I have accepted her for who she is, it’s still often in the back of my head, and I have to admit, that it really sucks sometimes.

In so many ways, throughout so much of her lifetime, it is she who will be expected to perform more, to do better, to be “ignorant until proven intelligent.” And all from a girl that has one of the keenest perspectives on her life, on others, on teetering the line between normal and different. So it’s times like this, when she’s frustrated that she can’t express everything that she can understand, or communicate in ways that all of us comprehend, that she (understandably) reacts with different means than you or I. That she whines, tugs, hits and struggles to get herself heard in a society that yearns for everyone to mold to the norm.

And so, despite my frustration and lack of patience, I am also beckoning my Catholic upbringing and feeling some guilt about my own feelings. If I, we, don’t believe in her, who the fuck will? And yet, if I don’t allow myself to feel the things that I am feeling, what then?

It seems to be a fragile line sometimes, this whole parenting thing–special needs or not aside (a whole other topic here). That balance between caring for yourself vs. caring for your children/spouse/family. Sometimes I feel on the top of the world, the “Ubermutter,” and other times, well, I just feel like a complete failure. This is one of those times when I find myself perfectly in the middle.

Merry Christmas everyone.

I have big happy.

This broadcast was very interesting to me for a number of reasons.

First was the discussion of the tests for BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes which have a direct correlation to breast and ovarian cancer. Since my mom’s battle with stage IIIC ovarian cancer nearly 15 years ago, me and my 3 sisters have wondered if we, too, might have it some day. They have all had a CA-125 blood test performed.  The test is not diagnostic but is routinely used to detect and monitor ovarian cancer. I have never had a CA-125 because I’m not quite sure what I would do with the information at the ripe age of 37 (it was originally suggested to me when I was 23).

Interestingly, many years after my mother’s recovery (she is one of the very lucky ovarian cancer survivors), she was approached by a documentary company called Kartemquin Films of Hoop Dreams fame. They are working on a film called In The Family. The director of the film, Joanna Rudnick, had found out that she was a carrier of the BRCA genes and, in her quest to decide what to do with the information, set-out interviewing women who had survived breast and ovarian cancer. She found Mom and invited her and me and my 3 sisters to a discussion at our mother’s kitchen table, all under the eyes of the camera.

What ensued was a discussion of what we would do if a. Mom found out she was a BRCA gene carrier, and b. what we would do if we found out WE were carriers. The opinions varied wildly.

One sister exclaimed, “Just take it all out. Why not!? It’s not like I need those parts any more.” Another ran on the assumption that she would, indeed, have ovarian cancer one day and thus was living a very healthy lifestyle in an effort to avoid it. My third sister recoiled at the idea and exclaimed, “No WAY!  My insurance company is already flaky enough.  Give them this kind of information and they would probably drop my coverage.”

At the time of our kitchen table chat, Ava was already a part of my life.  Which led me to feel like I was the most uncertain of all of my sisters as to what I would do–I didn’t have any genetic testing for my baby, so why would I have it for me?  I don’t feel like I hemmed and hawed, but I certainly viewed the discussion in grayscale.  Would I have prophylactic surgery if I found out I had the BRCA genes in me even though I’ve yet to develop any symptoms or disease?  Is it worth it to even find out?  How would my life change?  Would I constantly worry–did I pass this on to my children?  (I know Mom was really worried about this–incidentally, she’s not a carrier.)

Nothing seems black and white to me anymore.

Which leads me to the second reason the Talk of the Nation broadcast was so interesting to me.  The overwhelming majority of callers that got on-air discussed prenatal testing.  The new recommendation from ACOG (American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology)–that ALL pregnant women, not only those of “advanced maternal age,” get screened for Down syndrome and other “abnormalities”–was brought up a number of times.  The show’s host, Neal Conan, the expert panel, and a number of callers kept referring to Down syndrome and other genetic conditions as “problems,” and shared their opinions on matters like termination, further testing, living with a person who is “disabled” in some way.  (By the way, not a single caller actually HAD a child with a disability.)

I know that many people view something like DS as a challenge.  Something they might feel is not worth it.  Something that would compromise their lifestyle.  That  it’s “not fair” to both the parents and the child.  Don’t get me wrong–there are days when having a child with DS seems like more work, more challenge.  But is it really?  Aren’t all children challenging at some point?  Don’t all of us parents wonder if we are doing the right thing?  Supporting our children in the ways in which they need to be supported?  Accepting them for WHO THEY ARE?

I see so much effort in our society, in our educational system, in the workplace, places of worship, doctor’s offices, the damn grocery store, for people to be “normal” or “regular” or whatever you want to call it.  For children in our schools to conform to some dreamy standard of perfection.  For parents to be “hyper-parents” that home school and only play Mozart at home.  For men to be the “warrior” and women to be the “sex-pot.”

What I want to say to the people that are so hell-bent on having the perfect child, having the perfect, disease-free body is this:  Isn’t it all just a matter of perspective?

Why would I want to change two pivotal situations in my life that taught me what was really important?  Sure, those pivotal situations were not ones I expected, and they were incredibly dificult to work through, but isn’t that how we discover the beauty in life?  Isn’t that how we grow, let go of overblown expectations and just be?

I truly wish I could share my personal experiences in a way that might help others to embrace the uncertainty which is life and thus use that uncertainty in more positive ways, rather than trying to perfect ourselves with tests and treatments. I’m curious if Mom would say that her life has grown, rather than withered, in more ways since having ovarian cancer.  I know for certain that since Ava became a part of me that I have blossomed in ways I never imagined.  Surely, neither has been without struggle, without pain, without sadness and joy, uncertainty and hope.  But it is what it is, and I can’t imagine taking a test that would erase all that I’ve learned.  To share the joy of an utterly unconditional hug.  To share the pain of illness and the thrill of survival.

That’s my perspective.  What’s yours?

I don’t think I could have heard it any more clearly.

There was a woman at the mall yesterday with one of those long-haired chihuahua (sp?) pooches. She was carrying it around in a sparkly, pink bag, and then letting it roam all over the place. People were oohing and aahing the thing.

I really don’t understand not only why people bring their dogs with them all over town, but why in the world businesses let them. Has Paris Hilton-esque culture become the predominant factor in our society? If so, Lord help us all.

One thing I’ve thought about quite extensively is that even though we’ve lived in Tejas for 10 years now, it’s really only seemed like HOME for about 3 or 4 years. I wonder why that is. I have very strong Cancerian tendencies to root and reminisce, nest and be homey. My environs play an enormous role in my emotional health and well-being. I know that. And I know I can be pretty anal about it sometimes, too. To the point of annoying.

But part of that nesting and rooting is what makes me ME. I love to tinker around the house, organize things, move furniture around. Things that might seem like adding to the chaos, but that for me make things more homey, more comfortable.

I know I will find roots in California, that I will nest and explore and enjoy. It’s just always hard for me to leave home behind. And in all of this, I am coming to realize, once again, that home is within me, with my family, with my stuff, with the spirit of those I love that are near and dear to me. So even though we are leaving Tejas, all of those things will come with me, to my new house which, in time, will become my home.
So…. I guess I better get back to packing.