tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61637665356388712722024-02-19T08:03:35.856-08:00The Adventures of My Sammie B and Our Little Family Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.comBlogger372125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-11528091828044932012014-09-29T22:58:00.002-07:002014-09-29T22:58:13.863-07:00ProudMia is swimming without fins or floaties or anything now. Just swimming. Blows my mind. And on Saturday, when Sammie saw Mia go, go, go for the first time with nothing on, she just said (squealed, actually): "Look at Mia! She's swimming without anything on! I'm so proud of her!" and my heart nearly burst. <br />
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I worried how it would feel for Sammie, and honestly, for me, when Mia conquered motor stuff before Sammie. But just like when <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2012/08/mia-mia.html" target="_blank">Mia took her first steps</a>, Sammie is my guide. She cheers the hardest and the loudest for all things Mia. And every other feeling I <em>could </em>or that I thought I <em>might</em> feel just melts away, as I relish in the beauty that is each of my girls, and both of them. <br />
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-68258576677864492852014-09-25T23:22:00.004-07:002014-09-25T23:22:53.483-07:00Six Years of Sammie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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She's six, and while my brain knows it is true, somehow, I can't believe it. Six years of this little girl, who is suddenly looking and acting so grown up. I keep thinking about what I want to say in her annual birthday letter, and honest-to-goodness, I haven't yet found the words to convey it all. I never could have imagined I could love someone else so much until I became mama, and she was and is the perfect little girl to have made me a mama. I adore her with every piece of my soul, am so, so proud of the little person she is, and I just can't believe she's six. Six. I'll keep searching within for the words for her birthday letter, but for now, just this. Six. Six years of my Sammie B, six years of magic, six years of awesome. <br />
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-31853966710002313292014-09-19T06:10:00.001-07:002014-09-19T06:10:49.634-07:00Weepy ReminiscingIn just 5 days, my big girl will be 6, and in exactly 29 days, my little will be 3. When people ask how old my kids are, I've already started saying that I have a six-year-old and a three-year-old. It blows my mind, and I wish I could slow down time (except that each new age keeps getting better). I'm traveling for work this week (just a quick one-night trip) which always, always leads to weepiness, but when I looked down at the date in the corner of my computer screen this morning and realized how very close we are to Sammie's birthday, my heart skipped a beat. Six. So fast. She's been ready for her birthday for exactly 12 months (since the last party!) and she's had her party planned for nearly as many months (since the movie Frozen came out, to be exact, at which point, she declared she would definitely have a "Frozen" party), but I feel like I'm never ready to admit that another year has indeed flown past. But it has. She will be a six-year-old, Mia will be three, and we'll have a (joint) "Frozen"-themed party. And then we'll start another year. One that I hope is every bit as fabulous as the one we are putting behind us. <br />
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With that, I leave you with the collages B created last year for their birthdays when my mind was blown over "5" and "2" (which I'd intended to post with their birthday letters <em>last year</em> but never did. Time flies and all that, and I dropped this ball). I love collages that show them growing. That show time flying by in the most wondrous of ways. <br />
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This year, there will be birthday letters. Promises. <br />
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My Sammie B, from 4 months old (bottom left) to "5" </div>
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November 2012 - September 2013 </div>
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Mia Mia, birth to age "2" - we lost the shirt to the bear we intended to be her birthday picture bear (and he looks ridiculous without it) so change of plans. </div>
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My two greatest loves. </div>
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Sammie B and Mia. Your guess as to which one is which is as good as mine ;o) (I *think* Sammie is on top!)</div>
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I love them with every inch of my soul. I also really miss them right now and can't wait to fly home tonight and kiss their sweet cheeks while they sleep. </div>
Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-34252343757258258002014-09-15T00:06:00.002-07:002014-09-15T00:06:49.023-07:00This DayIf ever there was a day I would like to etch into my memory forever and ever, it would be last Sunday. Just a few days before, I'd gotten an email from one of Sammie's new classmate's moms saying that her little boy was having an ice skating birthday party and had sent the invites out before school started and wasn't inviting the whole class, but really wanted Sammie to come . . . she'd already called the rink and asked if an adult could bring Sammie out on the ice, but understood if we couldn't swing it. <br />
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Honestly, my gut reaction was to say "sorry, but we can't make it," as I've done with a few of the indoor playground types of parties that I know just won't have much for Sammie to do. But I didn't. Instead, I came home, asked B "how well can you ice skate? well enough to keep you and Sammie up?" He said he could (I knew I could <u>not</u> . . . I've only ice skated a handful of times in my life!) so I talked to Sammie about it. Actually, I first told her that this certain little boy in her class really wanted her to come to his birthday party, and asked if she wanted to go. She did. So then I said, "well, it's an ice skating party." And she said, "well, I don't know <i>exactly</i> how I will ice skate!" I told her that B thought he could take her out, and that we'd just give it a shot. And so, we did. <br />
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B and I both fully expected Sammie to get there and refuse to go out on the ice. With things like this -- new physical activities -- she often really <b><i>wants</i></b> to go, until she gets there, and then she just wants to leave. I think she just gets overwhelmed, and she is, after all, so very, very aware of her challenges. Anyway, we decided not to go for the full two hours of skating and just went about 45 minutes before time for cake. We got there, rented skates, and took Sammie to see the ice. And then, they got out there. At first, Sammie lifted her legs up, just for a minute, and refused to go, but B so very patiently coaxed her into putting her feet down, and then when she got a little scared (of the slippery ice) and kept picking her feet back up, he said, "You don't have to skate, just pretend you are walking." And so that's how they ice skated -- two times around the entire rink. B skating, helping her stay up, and her just walking (and chopping into the ice with her heels!) and <b><i>squealing and giggling with absolute glee.</i></b> It was a moment I didn't expect, and I was so, so proud of her. I stood by on the sidelines, running around the outside of the rink like a crazy woman trying to snap pictures (until my dumb phone died), holding Mia, tears in my eyes, and well, <b><i>also squealing with my own glee.</i></b> It was awesome. awesome. awesome. Sammie was so very proud of herself, and just absolutely stoked to be out there, <i><b>doing it</b></i>. And her little classmates that were there (all boys!) were so excited to be out there with her. There was so, so much joy. Incredible. My heart darn near burst.<br />
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After Sammie went around twice, Mia Mia also got brave (when we first got there, she'd clung to me and said she didn't want to skate) and so B and I traded girlies. Sammie hung with me while B and Mia went around the rink. A whole lot more squealing and giggling. A lot more joy.<br />
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That night, I felt like I was floating on air. I kept looking back at the pictures, hearing Sammie say "Well, I don't know <i>exactly</i> how I will ice skate," and then picturing her <i>doing it</i> with the help of her dad, and the encouragement of her peers. As I sat looking at the pictures, B walked in and said "I keep looking at the pictures from today! I'm just so proud of her!" Yep. So proud. <br />
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The day I watched my three favorites ice skate, two of them for their first time. This day goes down in the books as one of my favorites ever. <br />
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So, so proud of these two little girls. And also so, so grateful that they've got this guy as their dad. I'm pretty lucky to be sharing this life with these three. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-49962779841704540272014-08-27T11:53:00.000-07:002014-08-27T17:35:41.714-07:00In the Summer Time . . . A Season In Pictures We had a bit of a whirlwind of a summer. Sammie's private preschool went pretty late in the year (until mid June) and her public elementary school started early, so we only had two months. Her preschool had a sweet graduation ceremony, Sammie picked out a new dress (which was an event all in itself; every dress we looked at at the mall, she said, "I like it, but NOT for graduation." I honestly wasn't sure what she had in mind, and finally said "pick one Sammie or I pick." She settled on something simple, and looked adorable.)<br />
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I loved that her teachers spent so much time talking to the class about graduation, and about how they would all be going on to kindergarten, and to new and different schools. All summer, anytime her new school would be mentioned, Sammie would remind us that was not until August. <br />
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Her first three weeks of her "break" were spent in another intensive physical therapy program, like <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/07/fifty-one-hours-of-rockstar.html" target="_blank">the one we did last year</a>. She did AMAZING (so amazing that it deserves its own post!). But then, after those three weeks were up, still not much time for "summer". Our regular nanny took a few weeks off, so we hired someone for just a few weeks and Sam loved her and they went on tons of fun adventures to the science center, aquarium, etc., and we even had the temporary nanny hang on a few extra days after our regular "banana" came back, so that she could do the same sorts of adventures with Mia, who is usually in day care and doesn't always get to do those things during the week. But overall, we had a pretty tame summer. No big trips (more on that in a moment), just lots of hanging out and being a family. And a lot of work. Meh. <br />
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For those lawyer-moms still following this blog, I had the busiest summer at work that I've ever had. I had two different big cases that both blew up at once, one of which I only jumped on last minute to help with the chaos because the team lost a few members, one to maternity leave and one to another job. I took more depositions this summer than I'd taken in the 6 years prior. I was traveling for depositions, preparing all night, taking them all day, then going back to my hotel to work all night to finish briefs for other cases, catching red-eyes cross-country so as to not miss a moment with my girls, and just <u>running on empty</u>. That was the part of the summer I did not like. We even skipped our plans to drive up to Tahoe for a week because of the craziness of it all, and I totally regret it. [Lesson learned and advice for other lawyers: No loosey-goosey vacation plans like "we'll just drive up to Tahoe for a week sometime this summer," because it is far too easy to abandon those plans or postpone them and then suddenly school is starting and you never went. BOOK vacations, with actual reservations, block them out on your calendar, and communicate to your teams "I'll be out such and such week" and gooooo.] Anyway, we are making this up to ourselves with a mini-getaway to Palm Springs for Labor Day weekend. We've booked a house with a hot tub and a pool, and plan to just relax, swim, and "be." Sammie's favorite friend from last year's preschool class is also coming with her family and they've rented a house super close. We are so excited, and it is a much needed break. I also have a massive brief to finish between now and then, so I am <em>earning</em> that vacation, no question. <br />
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A friend recently asked me if work had gotten better/easier since I made partner. Here's my answer: <strong><u>NOPE</u></strong>. A whopping, resounding I thought that after making partner, the work/life balance thing would get easier, but honestly, it hasn't. It's different, but harder in many ways. Now, it's not always another partner emailing me needing something right away, it's client calls I'm needed on, and questions from associates that need my answers (lest things get slowed down or bottle-necked). I also feel far greater responsibility for my cases -- I'm answering to the clients now. It isn't the same as just taking on some discreet part of the case as my project and sending work product off to someone else on the team. They are my cases, I'm supposed to be aware of all the moving pieces, and thinking about overall strategies. Strategies that keep me up at night. Or cause me panic in the shower or driving down the road. A lot of responsibility. Rewarding in many ways, yes, and there are moments that I feel so stinking proud that I made it <i>here</i>, and clients call me for legal advice about bet-the-company questions, but it has by far been <i>the most stressful year of my career</i>. The pressure to respond to emails right away is even more intense now than it was as a first-year associate; the emails are just from different people. Rewarding in a ton of ways, but also the work/life balance part has been hard. Really hard. Like cry in my office hard. I had a few slower months in the spring, and consistently left early enough to pick Sammie up at gymnastics, be home for dinner every night, etc., and well, the girls got used to that. We all did. And that made the busier times even harder. But somehow we made it through what (I hope) was the worst of it unscathed, and I know I've grown as a lawyer this year. Times many. But still, there were days/weeks where it didn't feel sustainable and I have a lot of mixed feelings about it all. On the one hand, the flexibility of my work is something that can't be beat. I can ALWAYS work from home on a day Sammie has an appointment, and I do work from home or take off the vast majority of Wednesdays to take her to appointments. . . that's the (supposedly) <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2010/12/random-musing-and-reflections-on-my.html" target="_blank">reduced part of my schedule</a>. BUT that often means I'm actually just working until 3 am on Tuesday night so that I can have that Wednesday off. Tough. Anyway, I'm not entirely sure what to say except that it was a hard summer, challenging in many ways that I loved, and many ways that made me cry in my office. I love the substance of what I do tremendously, but sometimes, it feels a little (or a lot) unsustainable. I'm hoping that with a full-time school kiddo now, that swings back the other way a little.<br />
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The craziness at work also led me into a spiral of eating like crap all the time, not taking care of myself, and I'm really, really working hard to reverse that now. I want to be a good model of health for my girls, and I want to live a long, healthy life with and for them. So, some new leaves being turned over (again) by me.<br />
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But wait! This isn't just a pity party because here's the thing . . . despite all of this, we had some great times this summer. My parents visited twice, and while they came (purposely so, to help us) during my two busiest weeks at work and hardly saw me, they got to spend TONS of great time with my girls. It made my heart lighter to know that while I was at work, missing my girls, they were getting so, so much extra love (and B and I even got a day-date with friends to wineries in during one of my parents' visits, and an overnight trip to the beach when his parents visited . . . so really, all was NOT lost this summer, despite the workload). <br />
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After a week of billing 88 hours in less than 5 days (yes, gross), I took two days off and spent one with my Sammie B at Disneyland, and the other with just Mia at Disneyland. It was amazing, and just what we all needed. We each needed some one:one special time, and we each needed a day that felt like a vacation. It was glorious. <br />
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<u><b>Sammie's Disney Day with Me:</b></u> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her mother is a sucker, so she got a new dress. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaGZnFsc7HEw3o4OhKCggl-ZZmih2MNqD-I6qJ3zvHo2bxUcY5wzSOV_ePnc2kIKUxTAD-HXHB1enPKnYGgWnbLYd1w8ZKOQPtNibUlz0OYs5Ics0Qr1Q-gFOc-Vn0xN_BpRK2p8Tvtkt/s1600/sammie+frozen+princesses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaGZnFsc7HEw3o4OhKCggl-ZZmih2MNqD-I6qJ3zvHo2bxUcY5wzSOV_ePnc2kIKUxTAD-HXHB1enPKnYGgWnbLYd1w8ZKOQPtNibUlz0OYs5Ics0Qr1Q-gFOc-Vn0xN_BpRK2p8Tvtkt/s1600/sammie+frozen+princesses.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her dream come true. (Also, she refused to touch Elsa's hand. Wise girl). </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-dTf6UP-KfXFBS0uM-5VyHeitvS9QcGxadtscuxwL0QV_c86EQMCoycL-c8QNGtguI4_dLVxLzDCqtNuCCPhBB7_6TuVjXsMz7mOmDlU25EUe8HRUBTFQoEB997gBDKx-abFUgDDSLhM/s1600/sammie+pure+joy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-dTf6UP-KfXFBS0uM-5VyHeitvS9QcGxadtscuxwL0QV_c86EQMCoycL-c8QNGtguI4_dLVxLzDCqtNuCCPhBB7_6TuVjXsMz7mOmDlU25EUe8HRUBTFQoEB997gBDKx-abFUgDDSLhM/s1600/sammie+pure+joy.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hope I always make her laugh this hard. </td></tr>
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<u><b>Mia's Disney Day with Me:</b></u><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She had SO much to tell Minnie. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6KtS48CfTlIwp7-2AW8dTnfzbalCHYhGSeoHdbwrHLHGWtoMADi6gSxSmpu-WZ8CKv_N3SI4JvcVGHBlmMmd0mflgltJYSbK3Tkj9rGftNv5Cs5sfGIwQbFCNNj4VBSzUuCywOrVEUPF/s1600/mia+disney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6KtS48CfTlIwp7-2AW8dTnfzbalCHYhGSeoHdbwrHLHGWtoMADi6gSxSmpu-WZ8CKv_N3SI4JvcVGHBlmMmd0mflgltJYSbK3Tkj9rGftNv5Cs5sfGIwQbFCNNj4VBSzUuCywOrVEUPF/s1600/mia+disney.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her mom is also a sucker ;) her dress pick. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The time alone with each of them, just having fun, was just what I needed after things settled down at work. I felt re-charged. When things are crappy, these two have the power to lift me up, every single time.<br />
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We also had a couple of beach days, which were awesome, particularly after we got Sammie B's new beach wheelchair from <a href="http://www.steppingstonesforstella.org/the-beach-buggy/" target="_blank">this amazing organization</a> She was an absolute celeb at the beach the day we took it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That was me, trying to get a selfie with Mia. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Okay, okay, after seeing the beach pictures, I feel a little bad whining about no vacation. But we needed a week away. Just our little family and we should have done it. We didn't, and in spite of that, we managed a lot of "daycations" that were also awesome and fun.<br />
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Our Saturdays were spent at ballet with Mia (just a low-key class at our YMCA), swimming and then lunch out. We've hit the same little diner every single Saturday for years. I love our Saturdays (though the girls have given up naps. I miss Saturday post-swim family naps. Really, really miss them). <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MiaMia Ballerina on the right with B </td></tr>
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One of THE most exciting developments this summer has been Sammie's new bike from <a href="http://www.freedomconcepts.com/" target="_blank">Freedom Concepts</a>. I will be honest. It cost a pretty penny. A LOT of pretty pennies, and the decision to buy it was a tough one. We took a leap and it has been worth EVERY CENT. She rides it, completely independently, up and down our street, shreeking with glee . . . "Look at me!" "Look how fast I'm going! I'm going so fast! <b><i>I'm so proud of me</i></b>!" (My heart hath exploded, ya'll!). She and Mia race up the street, having the times of their lives. One night, Sammie said "Mia this is so fun!" and Mia turned to yell back to Sammie "Yeah! I know!" Seriously, the best. I've run up and down the street chasing them, taking pictures, and generally just bursting with joy. We've spent so many evenings just going up and down the street with the girls on their bikes. This bike has changed our world. Changed HER world. If you could just HEAR those squeals of glee. Worth every pretty penny. <br />
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AND another new set of wheels . . . after a year-long process of back and forth with insurance the vendor and God only knows who else, Sammie FINALLY got the power wheelchair she was approved for a year ago. So we've also been taking spins up the street on these wheels. This thing weights 300 lbs, so it's intimidating to say the least (I was not expecting it to be so intimidating to me; I can't even imagine how she feels). If you've never taught a 5 year old how to drive a 300-lb piece of machinery, you haven't lived. We have a lot of practicing to do, and aren't sure this will ever be her "primary chair" (she's so comfortable in the manual chair, she propels it well for short distances, and it's easy to pop in and out of any car, so practically speaking, it actually would be easier for her if the manual chair were her primary one) but we want her to have this option for longer distances. So, we're working at it! We've made some, um, mistakes along the way (as evidenced by the hole in our drywall in our foyer from a little crash) but those things can all be fixed. [When it happened, her eyes got so wide, she got so sad, and she said, "I'm so sorry." I made sure she knew I wasn't mad, we are all learning together, but this is something that we have to be very, very careful in.] We are indeed all learning together -- I also took out a plant in the front yard when I was trying to drive it, and Sammie yelled, "you are a terrible driver!"<br />
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Eventually, we'll get a converted van ourselves so we can take these wheels out and about, but for now, while we are just practicing, we are signed up for our city's public transportation for disabled people. To qualify, Sammie B and I had to go downtown to the bus station, the appointment took HOURS, and she had to take a little driving test with the power wheels (ha!). She did fabulous, and we were approved. Now, we can take the power chair out to practice in malls, etc., not just up and down our street. (By the way, when the van came to pick us up for the appointment, she was enthralled. She immediately said "we need a van like this mama! it has a ramp for me!" my heart my heart. . . now we just need to "find" forty thousand dollars or so!). In the meantime, we are lucky to have the public transportation option available.<br />
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We've managed to get in a few hikes, which is something new for our little family. B loves to hike and hiked a lot before I came along, then drug me with him on many in our youth (ha!) (including one where he proposed) but since having kids, we haven't really hiked. Initially, B could wear Sammie on his back for a hike but then Mia came along, and I wasn't sure I was strong enough to wear her on the hikes B chooses, and pushing Sammie up was REALLY tough, so we sort of just let this fall onto the "too tough for us to do" list. But this summer, I discovered a park near us with tons of hiking trials and great views, and some trails that aren't even that steep. I took Sammie out there one day after a particularly crappy few days at work, in search of some perspective (I found it . . . there's nothing like an incredible view to help me feel small in the world again . . . ). Sammie and I loved it so much that we had to take B and Mia back. We managed to hike up a pretty steep incline to get to the top, each with a girl on our back. A feat for our family in so many ways. I feel like between finding a way to make hiking ours again, signing up for this public transportation that allows us to go places with the power chair, the beach wheelchair and the new bike, we've taken a whole lot of things on the "too hard for our family" list and knocked them out. Shown Sammie that we will find ways to make sure her life is unlimited. Find ways that work for us, for her, to do whatever we can. And that feels darn good.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helping Mama find perspective, without even knowing it</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture symbolizes so much to me. Knocking down barriers. Him being her legs. Also, I hiked up a steep incline with Mia on my back and I lived. She did tell me I was walking too slow, but I've forgiven her. </td></tr>
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Finally, we did one of the color runs where they throw dye at you. Not totally our character to even do organized races, but I'd been running some (pre-being slammed at work) and signed up. Sammie LOVED it, Mia did not appreciate the people throwing colors at her, but nonetheless, a fun experience.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Before Shot</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeQa3xmf14VPLeWhfYTSF5Xb2-gn6cWDQD8FTBXTWAWOu9YAa6_znHg5Yi5G3OXr3FKuECjmaMRdr8XsmYoSrnvD5cKxOJSIAAlbW0gIR9fywPj-pODSuDuhtkXQOKEpaSPNnSfYNfRKrU/s1600/color+run+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeQa3xmf14VPLeWhfYTSF5Xb2-gn6cWDQD8FTBXTWAWOu9YAa6_znHg5Yi5G3OXr3FKuECjmaMRdr8XsmYoSrnvD5cKxOJSIAAlbW0gIR9fywPj-pODSuDuhtkXQOKEpaSPNnSfYNfRKrU/s1600/color+run+5.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mia's face tells her story here. She was not having it. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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So even without a vacation, even with a summer of more work than I would have chosen, it was still a summer full of adventure, love and silliness. And I couldn't ask for more.<br />
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<br />
Everyone always says the secret to "balance" as a mom and lawyer (particularly in a big firm, and a litigator who is often a slave to court-set deadlines) is to learn to suck it up during the crazy times knowing that during the slow times, it will all right itself. I know that to be true -- and certainly, once I'm not busy, I can just choose not work for a week or two or three and soak up everything with my girls. And I have done that this past spring and summer, as the workload ebbed and flowed, but<i> </i>the guilt and sadness (not to mention stress) that comes with the insane times are sometimes hard to bear. I'm working hard to help the girls understand that I'd pick to be with them everyday, every time, but we all have to work hard, and this is part of me working hard. I hope someday, they remember all of these amazing family things. That they remember how they literally LIT UP MY WORLD every time I walked into see them. I hope I always light up their worlds in the same way. For they would always, always be my first choice to spend time with. <br />
<br />
It was an incredible summer. Despite vacations that didn't happen, there was so much fun, and so much joy, but at the same time, I'd be being dishonest if I didn't "own" the fact that it was also personally a very, very trying summer. But 15 years from now, I won't remember the sad (humongous) plates of delivery food I devoured alone in my office at 9 pm. I may not even remember working until 3 or 4 am only to come home, shower, nap for an hour, and then get the girls up and ready for the day before heading back downtown to do it all over again. I'll remember the days at the beach, the bike rides up the street, the days at Disney, their dress-up costumes, the hikes, and all the other moments in between with these girls and B. I hope those are the moments that remain forever etched in their memories too. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-59752895924333470042014-08-25T11:18:00.000-07:002014-08-25T11:18:31.312-07:00Three Posts, Three DaysAfter months of not posting, I'm back and back with a fury, I guess?! Three posts, three days. The thing is, I miss this blog when I'm away. It is an outlet for me. It is something I do, just for me, sitting at my desk or on my couch, that is <u>not</u> work, and <u>not</u><i> mindlessly</i> scrolling through social media, and I need this outlet. So, I'm back, and I'm hopeful that I haven't lost all my readers in the interim. <br />
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Just one quick thing for this post . . . I forgot to tell you something about my Sammie B's new school!<br />
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UNIFORMS (or really, a dress code)! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhij5SMOyQMV46vhyphenhyphenV0TfmQav2kWGhnzEyE5D-T-ikPZpEaK3u8zAEDdmLadrhh1616ECt5f3lANJU96WeCsRtonqHTmG2ZiPCXBtBYXoKGRfsmYod2SbpPUx9TtexhuMotuZNxxbzlXx/s1600/school+uniforms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhij5SMOyQMV46vhyphenhyphenV0TfmQav2kWGhnzEyE5D-T-ikPZpEaK3u8zAEDdmLadrhh1616ECt5f3lANJU96WeCsRtonqHTmG2ZiPCXBtBYXoKGRfsmYod2SbpPUx9TtexhuMotuZNxxbzlXx/s1600/school+uniforms.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying on new school clothes after a shopping spree!</td></tr>
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How stinking cute is she? So cute.<br />
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Who knew plain navy, blue, white and khaki could be so cute? <br />
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They do have free dress Fridays every week, and Sammie B has already told me on Fridays, she <i><b>will </b></i>wear purple, and "sometimes, fancy dresses." <br />
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And let's not forget little sister in all the back-to-school flurry. Mia doesn't change classrooms at daycare until the New Year, but this morning, as I left to take her to daycare, with her wearing a dress that I bought for Sammie right when Mia was born, I looked at Mia, and the "little girl" looking back at me just took my breath away. She's growing up too. In the blink of an eye, just like her big sister. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 2013 - August 2014</td></tr>
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Time slips away so quickly, doesn't it? <br />
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How blessed am I to be the one they call mama. <br />
<br />Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-59808043912699181332014-08-24T11:50:00.001-07:002014-08-24T12:43:53.212-07:00Five First DaysI already posted about <a href="http://www.mysammieb.blogspot.com/2014/08/in-blink-of-eye.html" target="_blank">Sammie's first day of Kindergarten</a>, and we now have one week of Kindergarten in the books. My heart has been weepy and nostalgic all week, but at the same time, joyful and optimistic about the promise and potential ahead for our girl. And last year's school experience really showed us that with the right community of people around us, school really can be a wonderful, incredible part of this girls' (and our family's) journey. It takes a village and all that, and this school . . . well, this school is a pretty incredible village. They've already gotten two different walkers for her, and been trying them out in ways that don't disrupt her day or her time with the other kids. She has the support she needs while still being included with her peers in a real, meaningful, seamless, <i>inclusive</i>, way. The way inclusion should be done. I truly nearly dissolve into happy tears a million times a day.<br />
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This little girl. Oh wow. She's gone from a sweet little baby, to a sweet little toddler, and now, just a sweet, cool little girl that I adore more than words could say. Heart so full it could burst kind of adoration.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97uCa73JjVl_m6RmEvW_0K5IiuWAJJ2vlDcGlTuE_3wp5f1sHfcTz964n9ikpUE3JjBq3oHa0I1op9RfW8LmxeLDJcPwRt1jL67orhCy28HB0_HL447tjR7NyjK8AadvoFvIxhCG2MJcK/s1600/1ST+DAY+UCLA.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97uCa73JjVl_m6RmEvW_0K5IiuWAJJ2vlDcGlTuE_3wp5f1sHfcTz964n9ikpUE3JjBq3oHa0I1op9RfW8LmxeLDJcPwRt1jL67orhCy28HB0_HL447tjR7NyjK8AadvoFvIxhCG2MJcK/s1600/1ST+DAY+UCLA.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 2010 (Starting an EI Pre-School Program at 2 years old)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLD_opixyFuozTtxPZ8jNNM5dUsxnP87no65hMMM-Bey_PFoCoYMG3lpUnKCp5u4Ux-FzEIK3PADGJXWhVuuo9EDcI0l-tp1xNebebIldaAt_IhZZhwSxGtaO1-60_GexY8DrqMhRl9yMQ/s1600/1ST+DAY+BEETHOVEN.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLD_opixyFuozTtxPZ8jNNM5dUsxnP87no65hMMM-Bey_PFoCoYMG3lpUnKCp5u4Ux-FzEIK3PADGJXWhVuuo9EDcI0l-tp1xNebebIldaAt_IhZZhwSxGtaO1-60_GexY8DrqMhRl9yMQ/s1600/1ST+DAY+BEETHOVEN.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">October 17, 2011 (First Day of Preschool, 3 years old)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
[Also, much to our surprise, her last day as an only child, baby sister Mia surprised us all and arrived the next day!] </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGlY-UgmYAVQ-ZbQ3256no6bO1Mgh_3jcvJL3eFAeycXg1AECNkYUHGC55WhyphenhyphenOwa-M4G0KQPpeJgsVqTdTlY-DlE0xUpI8yeGiYIDxlUDef6gCPwPRXgVeAo60oF_5zLLuY2tdzED4AXl/s1600/1ST+DAY+2D+YEAR+PS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGlY-UgmYAVQ-ZbQ3256no6bO1Mgh_3jcvJL3eFAeycXg1AECNkYUHGC55WhyphenhyphenOwa-M4G0KQPpeJgsVqTdTlY-DlE0xUpI8yeGiYIDxlUDef6gCPwPRXgVeAo60oF_5zLLuY2tdzED4AXl/s1600/1ST+DAY+2D+YEAR+PS.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 2012, 2nd Year of Preschool</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdODo8E0oiDTzNX9yMQEy7hKc5TOdHyblO40mNxTxe1Tw62knS4RcrM4smtajY7xQ8khHjqwUSNHAIWCmNGrDfxMWmhbA6TTvr2xMoHZ6MNULPhZvAhIDIy3Suyf_urMNr1lx-OUSiiavt/s1600/1ST+DAY+PK+AKP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdODo8E0oiDTzNX9yMQEy7hKc5TOdHyblO40mNxTxe1Tw62knS4RcrM4smtajY7xQ8khHjqwUSNHAIWCmNGrDfxMWmhbA6TTvr2xMoHZ6MNULPhZvAhIDIy3Suyf_urMNr1lx-OUSiiavt/s1600/1ST+DAY+PK+AKP.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And her last year of preschool; September 2013</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jt6P25VfDnNpZE2Zf-xIcOZywj0e6mo6iKmryxBIVoLBFftBXxvTLfWE14UhtAnWtkVD32iGynePptx6TdJIli5FNVoinyL407sByN6QBv_Ty_74mf1cpX6HcoealT4v9GCAAyiwZHo_/s1600/lunchbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jt6P25VfDnNpZE2Zf-xIcOZywj0e6mo6iKmryxBIVoLBFftBXxvTLfWE14UhtAnWtkVD32iGynePptx6TdJIli5FNVoinyL407sByN6QBv_Ty_74mf1cpX6HcoealT4v9GCAAyiwZHo_/s1600/lunchbox.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for Kindergarten; August 2014</td></tr>
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From our little baby in the lavender glasses, to our little girl in the fuchsia ones. It really does happen in the blink of an eye. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-32064537224665401252014-08-22T15:53:00.001-07:002014-08-22T20:59:31.531-07:00In the Blink of An Eye . . . We have a kindergartener. It's been a little surreal to say the least. I spent a month juggling all of her usual appointments so that once school started, we could keep the most important ones to us (PT, vision therapy) and all the fun ones (horseback riding, swimming and her adaptive gymnastics) and eliminate others because well, there's only so many hours in a day . . . .<br />
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We did "meet the teacher" day, we met Sammie's aides, we bought new school clothes (uniforms!), new school supplies, and suddenly, here we were. Sammie is at <a href="http://www.mysammieb.blogspot.com/2014/04/we-won-lottery.html" target="_blank">a school we love</a>, and one that is perfect for her. <br />
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Leading up to the big day, I asked her what she was most excited about, and she said, "learning to read like 'Super Why!' and getting my own pencil box." Both important things!<br />
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She was so, so ready.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jVQKwOtzjD8o27RTIpeQGwT8QBmwh1pvd_GbOOCpVidiCpjao5ZRr8IE4EOB5ifulh-001wTou3xLMq10Qd1pYNQjl0qKtF7B68nmOgOSCT17o1yAN3zxVmOQ62AkRDcZe1jFWo7vZ38/s1600/lunchbox.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jVQKwOtzjD8o27RTIpeQGwT8QBmwh1pvd_GbOOCpVidiCpjao5ZRr8IE4EOB5ifulh-001wTou3xLMq10Qd1pYNQjl0qKtF7B68nmOgOSCT17o1yAN3zxVmOQ62AkRDcZe1jFWo7vZ38/s1600/lunchbox.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super stoked about her new Doc McStuffins lunchbox. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUU9nm78OvL7eNIUi8KtRQv3Tgsb3rmCmXTL-O45XXuInh4-E6_qCXYmbMUlIaUSTrqz8mdK4WzYBrgpAqzddMY1HtdFi7f0uTce3kMHQQpIJdg3d4B7hd5pHOOi5hMGLooVc40lfMdWSv/s1600/banana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUU9nm78OvL7eNIUi8KtRQv3Tgsb3rmCmXTL-O45XXuInh4-E6_qCXYmbMUlIaUSTrqz8mdK4WzYBrgpAqzddMY1HtdFi7f0uTce3kMHQQpIJdg3d4B7hd5pHOOi5hMGLooVc40lfMdWSv/s1600/banana.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Our beloved "Banana" who has been Sammie's nanny for the last year and also her aide at preschool is starting with her at the new school, helping with the transition to new aides. Hannah will also be working at the school two days a week, and still with Sammie after school. Pretty amazing that this all worked out so well. </td></tr>
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<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption">Sitting so very, very proudly at her desk. </td></tr>
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Dad's "high-five" good-byes. (I was alternating between taking pictures and hiding tears at this point). </td></tr>
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Our annual first day of school "party." My mom made brownies every year for me, I've <b>bought</b> cupcakes every year for Sammie. This year included a song Mia wanted to sing . . . "Happy Kindergarten to you!" </td></tr>
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B and I stood around at the back-to-school, meet the teacher festivities and just kept commenting that it felt <i>surreal.</i> How do we have a kindergartener? And why does everyone else look like such grownups when we still feel like we are still kids ourselves? Why is life is moving at warp speed? <br />
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I have <i>zero trepidation</i> over this school year, and that's a feeling I've never felt. It's amazing. Our IEP meeting lasted an hour (only an hour! Do you know our last few have spanned <i>days</i>?) because everyone was on the same page. Everyone there is interested in Sammie's success. Incredible.<br />
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<br />
This is going to be a good year.<br />
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She loves it, and her favorite part so far (as reported on Day 1) is "working on writing [her] name," which made my heart so happy. Something that is, without question, <i>difficult</i> for her. Yet, it's her favorite. This kid rocks my socks off. <br />
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She's already rocking it, and I'm so, so proud.<br />
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And sweet Sammie, if you look back at these pictures and wonder where Mama was on your first day? I was right there, behind the camera, simultanously beaming with utter and total pride, and trying my darndest to hide my tears from you.<br />
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It was a big day. And while I still sit here, typing this, thinking "for real? where did the time go?" my heart is so, so happy because I know my girl is in great hands, at a great school that is perfect for her -- one that will challenge her in the areas she needs to be, and support her in the areas she needs that (!), and she is so, so ready. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-18736706117522369122014-05-11T02:41:00.000-07:002014-05-26T21:11:47.656-07:00Just Doing It - Part II: The Mia Mia Edition <br />
I started this blog as a way of chronicling our life as we navigated the world of physical, occupational, etc. etc. therapy with our Sammie B, who has cerebral palsy. So, understandably so, the Sammie B-emphasis is heavy here . . . but then Mia came into our lives, and while she may not be the focus of as many posts, she is, just as much as her big sister, the focus of our lives. Mia is the perfect little fourth puzzle piece to our family. We couldn't have picked a more perfect fit for our family than this girl. Really. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mia Mia, from four months until now (center picture). Growing up. </td></tr>
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So, here's an update on all things Mia.<br />
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First, as I think was evident in my "<a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2014/05/just-doing-it-part-i-sammie-b-edition.html" target="_blank">Part I</a>" post about Sammie, Mia Mia so looks up to her big sister. She finds her sister hilarious (and the feeling is mutual). While, like any siblings, they bicker (what feels like non-stop some days) over toys, and Sammie sometimes does things that she knows irritates her sister, there are so, so many moments where Mia just leans in and gives Sammie a big hug and kiss, and moments where they tell the other one "I love you" and those moments make all the bickering seem so insignificant.<br />
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Mia loves music and dancing. She turns everything into songs, and indeed, her voice even has a sing-song quality to it. When they lay in bed talking at night, and Sammie fades off first (as is usually the case; Sammie rarely naps, Mia always does), Mia just sings to herself. About everything. Last night she was singing about how when she woke up, Mama would come in and she'd drink milk and it'd be so nice and yummy. <br />
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She's learning and understanding feelings, and expressing herself so well. When she cries, she will throw herself on the floor and say "I'm so sad because I'm not happy!" She feels sadness for others (like when B was traveling for work - "I'm so sad dada is not here"). <br />
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She once asked me what B was doing on a work trip (it was a conference) and I said, "he's going to talk to people," so now she always says B "talks to people" at work, and one day, she grabbed her own little bag, and said, "Bye, I'm going to work. I have to talk to the people." I adore her.<br />
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I especially love when phrases and words come out of her mouth in the exact way Sammie says them, with the same intonation and everything, like "I have an idea!" or "I'm just having a rough time" and "Don't be mean to me!" (When she's told "no" by one parent, she'll usually come running to the other one saying, "I'm so sad. Dada's being mean. Dada told me no!") <br />
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I love to watch her with her baby dolls. I love to watch her imitate the things in her life - the things I say, her teachers say, etc. I once heard her with her baby doll saying "it's okay baby, your mama will be back, I promise. Your mama is going to work, and then she will come back." That made me feel so good about Mia's daycare. Watching her nurture her babies tells me my girl is getting enough nurturing herself. She's modeling it. Just by the virtue of our life circumstances (and the fact that Sammie needs my arms a little more) I have worried that I haven't held Mia enough, that she's been forced to be more independent at such a young age -- though my hunch is she would be any way -- but watching her with those babies, watching her rock them and soothe them and talk to them just as I talk to her when she's upset, or watching her run to another kid at the park or at school if they are hurt, to ask them if they are okay, to kneel next to them and try to comfort them, then I know . . . she's getting enough. As much as I - and most mothers - worry that we are not enough, on this page, I think I am. And my proof has come in watching her model me.<br />
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The girls want each other all the time. We often run an errand with just one of them, and call it special time, but usually, they ask for the other one to come too. And if given a choice, they would always pick for all four of us to go everywhere. I love that.<br />
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When Mia was one, I <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2012/11/youre-one-and-then-some.html" target="_blank">wrote</a> that she did everything in a big, big way. She still is. Big tantrums, big giggles, big fun, big drama, big love and big joy. And I wouldn't change that for anything. My hope for her is she keeps doing life in her big, big Mia way. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bz3o5SeSeClMFQiJndkIO0mdm5KVywGxt5SVvzVa_6SdOE3k0hSiwuUrWBQdp2SJKcJoixZ2f1YBP5eOjx23j6lx_Vxh4kDEoflVptOd1iCas7qL2Hg5KF6c-Q7wMrroRvguFRZNG37l/s1600/mia+big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bz3o5SeSeClMFQiJndkIO0mdm5KVywGxt5SVvzVa_6SdOE3k0hSiwuUrWBQdp2SJKcJoixZ2f1YBP5eOjx23j6lx_Vxh4kDEoflVptOd1iCas7qL2Hg5KF6c-Q7wMrroRvguFRZNG37l/s1600/mia+big.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just enjoying a little post-cupcake-making cake batter.</td></tr>
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I've gotten a total kick out of the fact that Mia prefers t-shirts to dresses and nightgowns (polar opposite to Sammie) and she makes it known. At night, Sammie insists on a nightgown, Mia insists on a t-shirt. The few times we can get them in matching nightgowns have made Sammie's entire week, but for now, Mia is mostly a t-shirt girl. (Sammie also wants Mia to dress up as princesses with her all the time, and that's just not Mia's thing. She LOVES princesses, but dressing up as a princess, not so much). <br />
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But when MiaMia does dress up (though rare), it's her own way. Her own style. And we all dig it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZuYMiwk2DA403IKNU1qGCw8D5evSyKhLPnZ6ud0jmKyyAnOb4FMg_4OP2QN32ve7sV6nsUIMKy2yFilpwfmOJ_L8uAm9mFnWUJhWLEaE6-vubnD3iUWpQj0p0mwwDVEShWZolXpIgxck/s1600/Mia+dress+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZuYMiwk2DA403IKNU1qGCw8D5evSyKhLPnZ6ud0jmKyyAnOb4FMg_4OP2QN32ve7sV6nsUIMKy2yFilpwfmOJ_L8uAm9mFnWUJhWLEaE6-vubnD3iUWpQj0p0mwwDVEShWZolXpIgxck/s1600/Mia+dress+up.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MiaMia marches to the beat of her own drum; outfit styled by her.</td></tr>
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Speaking of princesses, we've now taken Mia to Disneyland several times and she goes crazy over meeting the princesses. She pops out of her chair, screams the princess's name to call them over to her and then proceeds to talk the princess's ears off. Showing them her shirt, her band-aids (that's an obsession all in its self). During her last trip, we overheard her telling Snow White it was her birthday, and then changing her story to "it's almost my birthday" (it was not). <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After telling Snow White the whopping birthday lie.</td></tr>
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The band-aids and boo boos. Oh my goodness. If Mia falls, she is a mess. She needs a band-aid immediately and after skinning her knee a bit, she will, I kid you not, limp <b><i>for days</i></b>. Days. And sob over the thought of getting in the bath for fear her band aid will come off. Mostly, B and I try to be compassionate here, but it's tough. We can't let the kid go weeks without a bath because she skinned her knee. We went and bought these HUGE waterproof bandages that we now tell her are magic bandages just for the bath, and that's helping. There was even a morning when Mia was still limping around after a not-serious-at-all fall the day before that Sammie B said with all the seriousness in the world, "maybe Mia could use my wheelchair today." (The skinned knees, by the way, are new territory for us, and what they represent is not lost on me. My littlest girl who has the freedom to climb, explore, run, jump, etc. <i>Skinned knees</i>.).<br />
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MiaMia is a bit of a daddy's girl but I'm the first person she runs to when she's having a rough time, and in the moments when she's really struggling, she'll just look at me and say "I'm having a rough time. Rock me!" and I do. MiaMia, in those moments, you own me. Really. You are growing so fast. So fast. And I want you to want me to rock you <i>forever</i>. <br />
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I've worked hard not to compare my two girls' journeys. I find myself silently marveling at Mia running ten-feet ahead of me. In those moments, it's not like I'm sad <i>at all</i>; I'm not even thinking "I wish Sammie could walk." I'm not. (Remember that now, Sammie now gets to <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2014/05/on-typical.html" target="_blank">dart off</a> ten feet ahead too). But because of the journey we are on, the ease with which Mia darts ahead is just not lost on me. I must have 30 pictures of just that -- Mia running ten feet ahead of me. I'm chasing and then it hits me -- the beauty of the moment, and I stop to take a picture, to appreciate the beauty in her running, with ease.<br />
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A friend posted on Facebook that her littlest one had started walking, and she said, "there's nothing like watching the miracle of new mobility as our baby took his first steps, though we've witnessed just as many miracles through his big brother, who's never taken a step at all." So true. Their stories are their own, but <i><b>our stories are intertwined</b></i>, and <i>of course</i> the way in which I take in Mia's experiences is affected by our journey with Sam. But "affected' in <i>beautiful ways. </i>Our stories are meant to be intertwined, and their stories -- each of them -- are made more beautiful by that very fact.<br />
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I am constantly watching and listening as Mia makes sense of how her sister has a hard time doing some things, but mostly, I've marveled at the fact that Mia hasn't seemed to notice. One night, when we were listening to them on the monitor at bedtime, Mia was telling Sammie "stand up Sammie! stand up!" and <i>my heart</i> leapt a little, waiting for Sammie's response, wondering if Sammie would be upset. Wanting to protect her feelings. But Sammie just said with such grace and so matter-of-factly, "Mia, I can't. I don't know how to stand up." Mia repeated her demand, Sammie repeated her answer, and they moved on. But my heart was still fluttering. Tears came streaming down my cheeks<i>, </i>having that "I wish it were easier" feeling, but B wisely and so simply said, "Sammie wasn't upset. They've already moved on to telling funny stories." And so, I too, wiped my tears, and I moved on. <br />
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Last night, during their bedtime chatter, Sammie told Mia "stand up in your crib," and Mia did. And then Sammie said, "Mia you can stand up all by yourself. I can't do that. Good job!" Again, my heart leapt a little. But they moved on. Or in moments when I'm carrying Sammie in from the car, and Mia wants to be held too, and I have to say "baby, I can't carry you both, but will you hold my hand?" and Sammie says so gracefully (99% of the time), so matter-of-factly, "Mia, you <i>can</i> walk, I can't, so Mama will carry me, and you walk." My heart leaps, but they move on. Sammie's simple explanations, told with such grace, and Mia's simple acceptance of those explanations. Sammie is so acutely aware of her differences, and I'm fascinated, marveling at these two girls, and learning from them, as Mia is taking it all in, and making sense of it. Their <i><b>beautifully intertwined stories</b></i>.<br />
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I watch as Mia hops into Sammie's wheelchair and propels herself around the house, giggling, or climbs into Sammie's walker. As she uses a medicine syringe and pretends to inject something into her stomach and says "I'm eating like [M]" (one of our little buds with CP who has a feeding tube) and I marvel at her perspective. Or how she runs to my friend's little boy, who is (for the most part) hooked up to machines and non-verbal, and she just runs over and says "hi" to him and starts telling him about what's on television or showing him toys. Her story, her view of the world, is being shaped by kids like M, and kids like Sammie, and the beauty in that is something that takes my breath away. <i><b>Beautifully intertwined stories</b></i>.<br />
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I've giggled as I realize that to Mia, our normal just <b><i>is</i></b> "normal" (whatever "normal" means). For years, I've taken "wall pictures" of Sammie in outfits, and very early on, when I asked Mia if I could take her picture, and she would immediately run to and stand against the nearest wall, the way I would position Sammie for a picture. Never occurred to Mia that we do the pictures that way <i>with Sammie</i> because that's what Sammie needs to stand. To her, the wall is just where we do pictures. <i><b>Beautifully intertwined stories. </b></i> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWurU2HelA6iZOy2zUYG8ZhGB3Yvv2BIqKEPIarB2mSZe0qNeHrztGrSR1ggTCD-keVONzr9KlTozc0bfAlnt2gWXmdS89CIm-8vWIaX5GUIFREB47IFgRDM-AfAm_E_G5sB9eMr7m025/s1600/Mia+Mia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWurU2HelA6iZOy2zUYG8ZhGB3Yvv2BIqKEPIarB2mSZe0qNeHrztGrSR1ggTCD-keVONzr9KlTozc0bfAlnt2gWXmdS89CIm-8vWIaX5GUIFREB47IFgRDM-AfAm_E_G5sB9eMr7m025/s1600/Mia+Mia.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wall picture of a snazzy new-to-her outfit, with some dancing thrown in.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxm3qiTRL8_maXkSM3TKC8i5EjQF_noMIJe9RHePoJSkd3lYqn4g9AXmcDtDwhyphenhyphencQ_NiC9VN4PH7yXlriI3yJSUJewlP-KOn-M1_5V3Jc3nDuk53NNPf_ybiDDo8au9E_CbTfHEBhDsDS6/s1600/Mia+skirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxm3qiTRL8_maXkSM3TKC8i5EjQF_noMIJe9RHePoJSkd3lYqn4g9AXmcDtDwhyphenhyphencQ_NiC9VN4PH7yXlriI3yJSUJewlP-KOn-M1_5V3Jc3nDuk53NNPf_ybiDDo8au9E_CbTfHEBhDsDS6/s1600/Mia+skirt.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another new-to-her outfit, wall picture. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg815AounH3K3G8f0LNj6x-PEsepRScTepnxCqwu5km54RJrRn6JeAZslJ8LiUbGz0U7l3uP5By7I4Jt4qHh6S_mwei06LnEPlQHgfhgVnx9fzfgkJdtJQChnlg7JlI_EpGtVWfRUvEqxnA/s1600/Oh+Mia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg815AounH3K3G8f0LNj6x-PEsepRScTepnxCqwu5km54RJrRn6JeAZslJ8LiUbGz0U7l3uP5By7I4Jt4qHh6S_mwei06LnEPlQHgfhgVnx9fzfgkJdtJQChnlg7JlI_EpGtVWfRUvEqxnA/s1600/Oh+Mia.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No words needed. She was feeling so glam in this rain coat. This picture so captures our MiaMia.</td></tr>
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We've had a lot of fun firsts with Mia lately. Her first time trying out a big girl bike (at a birthday party) (which ended in a scraped knee, two days of limping and three days of no bath). It honestly just hadn't even occurred to me to TRY a big bike for her. But she saw it and wanted on. And when she got on, and pedaled, with B trailing along, I watched, and I marveled, and my eyes filled with tears. <i>Happy</i> ones. I delighted in it all. I was <i>so proud</i>. And Sammie B, sitting next to me, marveled. And cheered her sister on with utter and total glee. <i><b>Beautifully intertwined stories. </b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1puVPnAtVG3PnsvsrKlNoaiiUkamtEtIBcaXPR_3Axd3BiniNox1W7KqMveKY98kWLirnFpOM9p2dbnyprWKuF-2qfLXG9R_bv1E6LkuwRifyc4hIV0QSrM4lCTd1sPpt73MGiOI-9VEg/s1600/mia+bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1puVPnAtVG3PnsvsrKlNoaiiUkamtEtIBcaXPR_3Axd3BiniNox1W7KqMveKY98kWLirnFpOM9p2dbnyprWKuF-2qfLXG9R_bv1E6LkuwRifyc4hIV0QSrM4lCTd1sPpt73MGiOI-9VEg/s1600/mia+bike.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Her first ballet classes, and her first ballet recital. As I stood and watched her, I felt nothing but pride. Such intense pride and happiness. Such joy watching her do new things and her feel joy in doing them. Such surprise when instead of running off the stage or being timid, she walked right onto the stage and danced during her first performance (even though later, she did run down a few times to stay "hi" before running back onstage to dance some more!). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUm7GYVlv_q5elLVx7rJXDAMYUCF3tAzJ6ETNYdj_A78hC8Sf0DB4xFjxpUiNPdNKmHdjQA8nFwrqnB8ek1wLTLMQ0QWjVBYG8bT_K0-o0hGUvDcNqc1UHxCOtLabAVjcxIRRLLDBfa5E/s1600/Mia+Ballet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUm7GYVlv_q5elLVx7rJXDAMYUCF3tAzJ6ETNYdj_A78hC8Sf0DB4xFjxpUiNPdNKmHdjQA8nFwrqnB8ek1wLTLMQ0QWjVBYG8bT_K0-o0hGUvDcNqc1UHxCOtLabAVjcxIRRLLDBfa5E/s1600/Mia+Ballet.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leotard on, ready for first ballet class. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UBKnbxB04Lt3SVCpiOdfNbIQK5Mm0OLo5B7xltgoH5eSDk47vwefcRVWEcPr02nMolFT2vPtBYXZA-2zMqemxKd-6z7eTSJ2qQ0ynJE72mx5jYzR2LECxpA1cDdGnkWjZG2VPpUdxO2K/s1600/Mia+Ballet+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UBKnbxB04Lt3SVCpiOdfNbIQK5Mm0OLo5B7xltgoH5eSDk47vwefcRVWEcPr02nMolFT2vPtBYXZA-2zMqemxKd-6z7eTSJ2qQ0ynJE72mx5jYzR2LECxpA1cDdGnkWjZG2VPpUdxO2K/s1600/Mia+Ballet+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oops. Was she supposed to wear pink? Mia's first ballet class. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HvA3b0SnxPxnP_d-BTxooS06Tnhrtg8VpkuQvGBvueC3eumbnO5DwMnhmQVZSbMs6iaGRzCUODZDavvqWRUPc8bYbNQ7AUvXmi2tYoRvmMohwPNj3EEhxFH8Dq5QKuoPfZhTgt76RdYG/s1600/ballet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HvA3b0SnxPxnP_d-BTxooS06Tnhrtg8VpkuQvGBvueC3eumbnO5DwMnhmQVZSbMs6iaGRzCUODZDavvqWRUPc8bYbNQ7AUvXmi2tYoRvmMohwPNj3EEhxFH8Dq5QKuoPfZhTgt76RdYG/s1600/ballet.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And their first public performance (at the mall). </td></tr>
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If I'm being honest, and this is a hard thing for me to admit, but I worried, early on, that when Mia crawled and walked and rode a bike and did ballet and chased a soccer ball and all of these things for the first time, that I'd be sad. Sad for Sammie. But in those moments, there's been no sadness. I've stood, and I've marveled, and I've felt nothing but pride in my littlest as she grows and does new things. As she writes <i>her story</i>, which is, of course beautifully intertwined with her sister's story. Her sister who, without exception, in these moments is always Mia's biggest cheerleader. Her sister who asks to wear a tutu to Mia's ballet class ("so I can look like a ballerina like Mia") and insists on sitting front and center to watch Mia do ballet, and who asks Mia at home to do her ballet moves. Her sister who cheered louder than anyone when Mia crawled for the first time, and took her first steps, and learned to jump. A big sister who is so, so proud of her little sister. A big sister who is just delighting in what her little sister can do, while at the same time, keenly aware that many of those same things are things she can't do. Yet accepting it all with grace. <i><b>Beautifully intertwined stories. </b></i><br />
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And that makes me prouder of both of them than I could ever, ever possibly convey.<br />
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<i><b>Two beautiful stories, so beautifully intertwined. </b></i><b>How lucky am I to be a part of (and help shape) those stories. Their individual stories, their intertwined stories, and our family story. <i>Beautifully intertwined</i>. </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68i0LSium8Fz-UoygWQcyeSUmKwb9xIMEAKY5jA_TQEhHZ2rQSWQEzAUUGaoDq3SSu_oLdJgNOsCJkyBde4zaPXiVwJE7O3JTy4Tc-wvP92CnwvNYmrkcmeZNaIgo55cAQToWHfo72NV8/s1600/Ronnies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68i0LSium8Fz-UoygWQcyeSUmKwb9xIMEAKY5jA_TQEhHZ2rQSWQEzAUUGaoDq3SSu_oLdJgNOsCJkyBde4zaPXiVwJE7O3JTy4Tc-wvP92CnwvNYmrkcmeZNaIgo55cAQToWHfo72NV8/s1600/Ronnies.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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MiaMia, I love you so. I could not have designed a better little girl to be our littlest one. I hope I can always be the mama you need me to be. I love you with all that I am. And the pride I've felt for your firsts - your unique firsts -- is a pride that is just too big for words. I want you to always know that. I'm so lucky to call myself your mama. <br />
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<br />Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-88366690545873729852014-05-09T00:01:00.000-07:002014-05-09T01:05:59.329-07:00On "Typical"I guess this might the be the Part I.B edition, because I was thinking of a few more things I wanted to add to yesterday's post about our Sammie B right now. So, here's the thing. As Sammie gets older, sometimes, her differences seem more pronounced. It isn't just that her peers are walking and she's not, which is where we were three years ago. They are running. And jumping. And starting to ride bikes without training wheels. And trading in bikes for scooters. And writing letters and numbers and she's still struggling with straight lines and circles (though she's getting it, ya'll, she is!). It stinks that her little body doesn't cooperate with her brain. And so it frustrates me <em>for her</em> that she's this little girl who recognizes her letters, <em>gets</em> the idea of writing them, <em>gets</em> it when I write them, <em>recognizes</em> some words, but whose little hands just won't cooperate in writing those same letters herself. If only I could give her the "easy" she deserves, right? (Yes, yes, I say that often). <br />
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Anyway, a few more snippets of thoughts I just had to add . . . . <br />
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One morning, not long after she started this school this year, she was sitting at the table coloring -- something she now really LOVES to do (which thrilled us because there was a long time when it didn't hold her interest for long and she wasn't even really confident enough to TRY). Anyway, she was sitting and coloring and she said to me, "I just color. I don't draw anything. I'm not good at drawing." And, my heart crumbled a little. I don't like to hear her say "I'm not good at . . . " and that was the first time I'd heard that. There were a few times after that that she told me her friends draw pictures of rainbows and "I don't draw anything, I just color." I told her "just coloring is fine, and she's really good at that and always picks the prettiest colors." My heart hurt as I had this conversation with her, and I asked her aide if any of the kids had ever told Sammie she wasn't good at drawing. I wanted to know and understand where that thought was coming from. Her aide said they hadn't, but that they often ask "what are you drawing?" to each other, and that Sam's answer is always "nothing, I'm just coloring." <br />
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One of her genius therapists suggested buying her some abstract art books for kids and taking some art museum trips -- to show her that a drawing doesn't have to be of "something" to be good or celebrated. I can't wait to do that with her. <br />
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I've also been marveling at some other very "typical" milestones with Sammie. Given her love of fashion, it is no surprise that Sammie LOVES the mall. It is one of the few places I never, ever have to encourage her to propel herself in her wheelchair (rather than having me push her). She takes off. I always notice people looking our way and smiling as they see this sassy little thing zipping by in her wheelchair, giggling and saying to me, "I'm running away!" and I think to myself, "FOR FIVE YEARS I WAITED TO 'CHASE' THIS CHILD THROUGH A STORE! AND HERE WE GO!'" I've said that to a few people - like a young'ish guy at the mall that was really laughing and talking with her. She had wheeled over to him in a store and said "what's your name? I'm here to buy a shirt for my dad. His favorite color is blue." I encouraged her to let the guy just shop in peace, but he was laughing and helping her find a blue shirt! And she kept telling me - "I'm running away from you mama!" I looked at the young guy, and said, "I waited five years for this little girl to be able to run away from me in stores!" and he got tears in his eyes. I'm not kidding. You know what? This little girl is changing perceptions, everywhere she goes. And I dig it. There've been a few times in the mall or stores where I look away for one minute and then hear her, an aisle away saying "look what I found, mama!" I will never.ever.ever take those moments for granted. I even texted B from the mall one night and said, "I just had to talk to Sammie about strangers and not wheeling away from me in places." As I typed that to him, happy tears filled my eyes. <br />
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Running away from me. Typical. <br />
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There's more. She makes poop jokes. All things "poop" are funny. She's learned that at school, and it's so typical and age-appropriate that I have a hard time reprimanding her. Poop <em>is</em> funny.<br />
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And finally, mischief. Sammie B was always so obedient and <em>rarely </em>got into trouble. But lately, she tests her limits. Typical. Age-appropriate. Frustrating (yes!), but I still dig it. Case in point: last night, the girls were in bed, and I heard Sammie tell Mia to open the sock drawer (close enough to Mia's bed for her to reach) and throw socks all around. I went in there just as Mia was executing said directions, and told them to stop. I told them I didn't like having to clean up that mess, and they needed to lay down. Sam looked at me, then looked right back at Mia and said, "I want you to see if you can throw them all the way to me." I told Sammie to please not tell her sister to disobey me, and I walked out. As I was closing the door, I heard Sammie say "Mia, just do it!" with a total little giggle in her voice, and even though I knew I had to go back in and reprimand her, in my heart, I was smiling. <br />
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Typical. Age-appropriate. She's just another 5 year-old little girl, and a really stinking cool one at that. I dig her. <br />
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Don't worry -- the Just Doing It: Part II - MiaMia Edition is coming soon. Can't leave that littlest one out - she deserves her own post! Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-84038170570828354962014-05-07T11:04:00.001-07:002014-05-07T11:51:02.969-07:00Just Doing It (Part I: The Sammie B Edition)<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sit down for a bit, if anyone is still checking in. This is going to be a long one. For weeks, I've had a folder of pictures saved on my computer for a blog post; I've had a draft blog post and "finish blog post" has been on my to-do list that I carry with me everywhere. But that list also includes things like "call Dr. x and reschedule," "read list of iPad apps," (from developmental optometrist); "check on insurance for power chair," "review IEP goals," "IEP meeting," "send marriage certificate to insurance" (which for some unknown reason suddenly has questioned whether I should be on B's insurance) along with a million work to-dos, and for whatever reason, I've been unable to tick off the to-do list the way I usually can/do. Sure, I've made all the phone calls, I've been to all the appointments, I've done the work that <i>has</i> <i>had to be done</i>, but the optional things on the list, or the "can wait until later" things, haven't gotten done. Sometimes, it feels like I can never do enough, and I fall into these schlumps where that "I can't do enough" feeling overwhelms me, and makes the weight of the day seem like <i>too much</i>. I know that about myself, but it never makes the schlump any easier to climb out of. But tonight, after a stressful evening and a few days of being solo with both girls (B is traveling for a conference), some rough bed times (our every night lately) and one little girl (whose name starts with an "M") who always has a rough time when B travels, I know that right now, I need to sit and finish this post. I need to write about all the every day, amazing, wonderful moments that make my heart feel like its going to burst with love and joy when I think of them. I need to focus on those. Not the overwhelming to-do list, the brief that needs to be written, or the bed time drama. Tonight, I need to focus on the magic. And writing about it always helps me do that. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">So . . . . </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">These two girls. My Sammie B and MiaMia. They rock my socks off. Cliché as it may be, it is utterly surreal to me that I have these two girls, these two little people with opinions and ideas and stories and experiences and such amazing perspectives on the world. Both of them talk non-stop, and the things that come out of their mouths blow me away. Not a single day goes by that I don't think to myself, "I never even knew it was possible to love someone else as much as I love these little girls." The two of them absolutely delight in each other, and I delight in them. <i>We</i> delight in them. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzj9IW25p5XgzCqm6gZH6Cz95vQczTghSPs2Vw0uLvqXBC6acFN-8pFfcduNIcr14yQy6kSIB1ph2QTcFemxkbOiK82EiOK47yu99xCxKIuwW4oV8sgJGsQ7G4aqs0N2YNDBQ51w1lhFUf/s1600/easter+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzj9IW25p5XgzCqm6gZH6Cz95vQczTghSPs2Vw0uLvqXBC6acFN-8pFfcduNIcr14yQy6kSIB1ph2QTcFemxkbOiK82EiOK47yu99xCxKIuwW4oV8sgJGsQ7G4aqs0N2YNDBQ51w1lhFUf/s1600/easter+4.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">In their Easter Best . . . </span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And here's a little bit about what's been going on with us, and a little bit of the magic I'm delighting in, day in and day out. I couldn't possibly capture it all, but I do have a little list of things I jot down (that were in my draft blog entry) because I want to remember them always. (I warned you, this is going to be long . . . much of this little chronicle of our lives is for my own purposes; I want to remember them, exactly as they are, always, but I also love sharing with you. I love sharing this journey, and while my lack of blog posts has made me think maybe I should just hang it up, I'm not ready. Because this world -- the internet and community of mothers I've met on here -- the sharing of our stories, our children's stories, and our lives, in particular on this "special needs" road less traveled, has brought me so much sunshine. I'm not ready to <u>not</u> do this, however infrequent my posts have been. Psstt. Leave a comment, let me know you are still there!). Anyway, a long post is long overdue, and so I'm breaking it up into parts. Starting with my biggest girl:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>My Sammie B . . .</b></span></span> <br />
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At five-and-a-half, Sammie B has an intense need to know what we are going to do each day. I am a planner by nature (and I always joke that social plans with us can't happen unless you get on the calendar weeks in advance; not because we are so popular, but because, I am a Planner; spur of the moment is not my style, though I've been working on that (and finding joy in it!)). Anyway, I wonder where this comes from with Sammie -- is she too just a planner? A little Type A? Is it because her world is so full of appointments (some of which are no fun for her) that she has anxiety and needs to know what's next? Is it just who she is? Is it just a typical kid thing? Her first question, everyday, is "what are we going to do today?" and then "what about tomorrow?" and "the next day?" I patiently go through each day with her. I get it. The girl likes to know what to expect. I can also totally understand that if your world is filled with appointments, some of which move around week-to-week, it's nice to know what to expect, and when to expect it. I'd made an awesome pinterest-worthy picture calendar for her, but like many things, we weren't consistently remembering to use it each day (something I loathe about myself, but I'm going to ride the "self-forgiveness" train tonight and not beat myself up). We do a lot. Routine is not<strike> always </strike>our strongest suit. </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie is the first to tell her sister when she's misbehaving (with a "MIA, NO. We do NOT do [fill in the blank]!" (which sends Mia immediately into tears, saying "Sammie told me no! I'm so sad!"), but Sammie is also the first to tell her sister that she loves her when Mia is sad. When Mia cries at bedtime, Sammie always says, "It's okay, Mia, I'm here. I love you, Mia." and I melt. They really, really love each other. </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The other night in the bathtub, Sammie sat between Mia's legs, and Mia combed Sammie's hair, and Sammie called out to me, "Mama, I feel so happy! Mia is making me happy!" <i>That</i> made me the happi<i>est.</i></span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I recently told Sammie that my mom (a teacher) might have a little girl in her class next year who has cerebral palsy, and I said, "You can teach Gigi about CP. Is there anything you think Gigi should know about CP?" and she said, "it makes you tumble!" Well said, my girl. I still look at this child, at how hard she works, at how she perseveres, and I feel such intense pride, but also a wistfulness that I can't completely explain. While Sammie B, <b><i>exactly as she is</i></b>, has enriched our world -- not just OUR world -- but THE world -- in immeasurable ways, I still wish she didn't have to work so damn hard. Oh if only I could give her "easy." </span></span></li>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie B has such an incredibly sweet and cool connection with my mom. When my mom visits, Sammie lights up. One of my own shortcomings is that I don't just sit and play well . . . I'm restless, and in general, don't do "just sitting" all that well. I sit to play games with the girls, or to draw, or play with play-dough, and I am constantly up and down doing other things. But my mom. She can sit and play with my girls for hours on end. And they love it. She must have sat for HOURS playing with Sammie's new Frozen princess castle at Christmas time. And the "teacher" in my mom is just incredible with Sammie. Patiently teaching her new things, giving her the confidence to "just try" and celebrating like a crazy lady when she does. Playing tic-tac-toe, helping Sammie make "O's," talking to her in the most magical of ways. I <i>love sharing my girls with my mama.</i> It might just be one of my favorite things ever. When my mom visits, Sammie B insists that my mom sit next to her in the car, she asks for her the second she wakes up, and she recently asked to call my mom and then said, "I wish you could visit everyday." Oh Sammie. (Gigi agrees!). Their bond is just something special. The last time my mom visited, Sammie B played sick at school for the first time ever! I got a text message saying "Sammie says she doesn't feel well and wants to come home," and then moments later, "Never mind, I pressed her a bit, and she said, 'I'm not really sick, I just want to go home because mama's mama is visiting and I want to be with her!'" Sweet lover. </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Speaking of my mom, she taught Sammie to play "I spy" on car rides, and now every where we go, Sammie wants to play it. Mia has learned it too, and the way they say "I spy with my little eye" is so cute. Neither one of them quite "get" that you have to <i>actually</i> SPY something before you name it (rather than just naming a random color and saying "no" to everything the person names) or it is sort of NOT FAIR to the people you are playing with, but we have fun. (Well, to be fair, Sammie does "get" that, but she thinks it is hilarious anyway). </span></span></li>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Playing dress-up remains a constant favorite for Sammie. "#costumeoftheday" is a frequent instagram label for me. Sammie would be dressed "in character" all the time if she could, whether as a doctor, princess (mostly princesses), pirate, or chef. She loves it. I love her imagination. </span></span></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tinkerbelle, possibly over-accessorized</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mermaid Barbie</span></span></td></tr>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie B is a girly girl that <i>loves clothes</i>. Every single day she asks me to wear a dress, and every single time we go to a store, she asks for a new dress. I love this about her. Last week, we had an unexpected afternoon, just the two of us (one of her appointments was cancelled) and she chose to go shopping. But the entire time we were looking for a new shirt for B, she was declaring "I'm so bored! This store is boring!" and then asked, "Can I have a new dress?" When I said, "Sammie you have tons of dresses!," she said, "but they are all dirty! [not true, by the way] I have nothing new to wear to school!" How old is this child?! I'm just happy she's thrilled with a sassy new dress or shirt from Target, so her love of fashion isn't a huge financial hardship. </span></span></li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLoljX0prXmWDRg4Fx4dQYjL3lh4M7CSaRrP4j4bXwiunKrefsA-_aDG11JexUtikh3VWTHmkYQEShj-Ml_SBJEmT0hhJhWLt9DGDcvNi-8ewMioEy2tfJWNB7XCT-XRpLvNkcx5EyFg5/s1600/sammie+dress+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLoljX0prXmWDRg4Fx4dQYjL3lh4M7CSaRrP4j4bXwiunKrefsA-_aDG11JexUtikh3VWTHmkYQEShj-Ml_SBJEmT0hhJhWLt9DGDcvNi-8ewMioEy2tfJWNB7XCT-XRpLvNkcx5EyFg5/s1600/sammie+dress+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">A new dress Santa brought + a little sister photo-bomber </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmyLlFUpezuhReP-WCySqTMo4PondHpGQqZAmmoO7e9Y-6vOJyV0cz3lQWTmyjVB5xsFtksnlrnNIVjVtwFZqe2JCwbaAm4fGF-_DmsjgQE9uEN8uANQBxMsOUlrFzNaU0wmwaQapnbkb/s1600/sammie+dress+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmyLlFUpezuhReP-WCySqTMo4PondHpGQqZAmmoO7e9Y-6vOJyV0cz3lQWTmyjVB5xsFtksnlrnNIVjVtwFZqe2JCwbaAm4fGF-_DmsjgQE9uEN8uANQBxMsOUlrFzNaU0wmwaQapnbkb/s1600/sammie+dress+up.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">New spring duds! thank you, Target. </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt03N24QOd2viNZ5BDduFiWIlJ-RxKc7W5AgfzdMaJpJj8lQypCs200YTIpz0S8UaTPL3rBMmJnAYLh4UzcmIu6cEQ5_OwMGwQAI7Focda63Vu2FblYTjxURSYvrsgkqoxD9YHW8LW9t7q/s1600/Sammie+Dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt03N24QOd2viNZ5BDduFiWIlJ-RxKc7W5AgfzdMaJpJj8lQypCs200YTIpz0S8UaTPL3rBMmJnAYLh4UzcmIu6cEQ5_OwMGwQAI7Focda63Vu2FblYTjxURSYvrsgkqoxD9YHW8LW9t7q/s1600/Sammie+Dress.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">A new dress picked by Sammie on the way to checkout at Target - I'm a sucker. </span></span></td></tr>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our only real Easter tradition is that we let Sammie (and this year, Mia) pick out their own Easter dresses. Since Sammie B loves poof and lace and all things sparkly, Easter is really her season. This year, after she saw the Easter Dora special, she was also convinced she needed an Easter hat. So, B took her to pick one out. She also got one for Mia, because Sammie B never, ever picks out anything for herself without getting one for Mia too (melt!). </span></span></li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ubu_XOLpxRgFCmeB5_C6sr0OgYdY-mwJfpBDghBvgsXISZlHjPkAF8gE6yaXGqAm_Vky87z2prdVWeSGZCqPZkZX9-_D5xooShCpqcP5fCuaLO6_QW88LfKef7fdrlpj8DjYLoDYwdwB/s1600/photo+1+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ubu_XOLpxRgFCmeB5_C6sr0OgYdY-mwJfpBDghBvgsXISZlHjPkAF8gE6yaXGqAm_Vky87z2prdVWeSGZCqPZkZX9-_D5xooShCpqcP5fCuaLO6_QW88LfKef7fdrlpj8DjYLoDYwdwB/s1600/photo+1+%25281%2529.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">More Easter fanciness - for an egg hunt at Mia's school</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmfNHi66ExBbikFJ1YunoKmHs-2fZI6XwJspaXGmBLK1TJtTil_Tt_PECSnWLjkXqCUaNPY9Ffxlp-7QFZw8Pr5Y_S_uK1L_jtozPSN6ab8FmF2io1Eg5jrrJZ9lfY_AYEzcjzQpEEe4n/s1600/easter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmfNHi66ExBbikFJ1YunoKmHs-2fZI6XwJspaXGmBLK1TJtTil_Tt_PECSnWLjkXqCUaNPY9Ffxlp-7QFZw8Pr5Y_S_uK1L_jtozPSN6ab8FmF2io1Eg5jrrJZ9lfY_AYEzcjzQpEEe4n/s1600/easter.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Officially my favorite photo "shoot" ever. Photos by B. </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAwgNGCHwUbqdOhXqyG6CkleMbguCP37Zwm-aGjwiaVf_GmrnmmLPCJ_j2TjV204Pg9NpGUfwyqX_EEnGwdAdcGXTryoB_78zRS3vhdc3nrxGxTtCt_-xB_GQQiRmIwfxK3dSKDiskzOw/s1600/easter+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAwgNGCHwUbqdOhXqyG6CkleMbguCP37Zwm-aGjwiaVf_GmrnmmLPCJ_j2TjV204Pg9NpGUfwyqX_EEnGwdAdcGXTryoB_78zRS3vhdc3nrxGxTtCt_-xB_GQQiRmIwfxK3dSKDiskzOw/s1600/easter+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">My new phone wallpaper, and a picture that makes me smile at least 8,000 times a day. </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXN0jyhXt6ix_t_zv4L555Kp7yG2JpFy94LlMTmjKAHFns8F8EkLgQxBujxVEimD4JFToYVsHuDBlFXULaF9g56gwyz-UmW4nEgVOK513RJOXepCQ48mCh-ni1NqrAp2dEwZwbDfNFlkce/s1600/easter+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXN0jyhXt6ix_t_zv4L555Kp7yG2JpFy94LlMTmjKAHFns8F8EkLgQxBujxVEimD4JFToYVsHuDBlFXULaF9g56gwyz-UmW4nEgVOK513RJOXepCQ48mCh-ni1NqrAp2dEwZwbDfNFlkce/s1600/easter+3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Easter at home (we had an egg hunt with friends here, and mimosas. It was a perfect day!) PS. Another favorite picture. No words for the way Mia looks up to her sister. </span></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie B's confidence has exploded this year, and that makes me happier than words could say. We attribute a ton of this to her <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/09/this-new-school.html" target="_blank">new school</a>. Sammie's personality is just such that we often worry that her fear of failure is keeping her from trying new things (she's her mother's child), so we made "confidence" our <u>number 1</u> goal for her this year, and <i>are over the moon with joy</i>. She swims up to other kids at the pool, asks their name, what they like, how old are they, etc. After one of those times, she swam back to me and said with utter and total glee, "mama, I made a new friend!". I was (and am) so, so proud of her. School this year has exceeded our wildest expectations. It's been, in short, amazing. </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We decided to start giving Sammie B an allowance -- if she cooperates and works hard all week at all the things she has to do, if she chooses good behavior, etc., she gets $5 on Sundays. (MiaMia gets $1). If she chooses bad behavior during the week, we have something we can take away. She has a sparkly purple wallet, and she loves it. Except she won't take it anywhere with us. "Why?" you ask. Because, as she so clearly explained to me, she would rather have me spend my money and her save hers. Well, bless her honesty. Really. That child. (PS. at school, they were talking about mother's day and they were sharing nice things about their mom. Sammie B raised her hand and said, "my mom buys me nice things! I like that!" Yes, she does. And she's lucky her mama is a sucker for a sparkly purple wallet too.)</span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie B <i>loves</i> dinner time. She likes for all of us to sit around the "big table" (in our dining room) and chat. She isn't a big eater (a source of much arguing and bribing <i>all the time</i>) except for when it comes to dessert, but she loves dinner time. She loves for each of us to talk about our day, and she always asks Mia, "what did you do at school today, Mia?" The other night, it was just the three of us (B's conference), and I came up with a new dinnertime game --- the "I love you game" where we each took turns telling each other something we love about the other person. Sammie told Mia she loves when Mia helps her do things that are hard for her (I melt!) and she said she loves when I let her sleep on my shoulder, and when I pick her up at school. (I melt!). [At two, Mia didn't quite get the game, but she said she loves when we roar like lions, so we did, she giggled in delight and we all had a blast.]</span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bedtime at our house is . . . exhausting. We give the girls ten minutes of talking, but they call us back in there no less than 8 zillion times every night. But still, despite sometimes wanting to bust down the door and tell them to JUST GO TO SLEEP, it is a charming time. Some nights, for an hour or more, the two of them just talk and talk and talk. B always says it is "their time" and it is true. They take turns telling each other what to do, they perform for each other, Sammie makes up stories and tells Mia, they show each other pictures in their books, they get into mischief. I love it. I also love that when they are doing things they aren't supposed to do in there at night, and I either talk over the monitor or go in there to tell them to stop and go to sleep, Sammie knows she's been busted and immediately flops down and pretends to sleep, while Mia just stands there smiling. That makes me giggle. Big time. They make me giggle. </span></span></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nothing makes Sammie happier than matching nightgowns. Much to her chagrin, MiaMia is often more of a t-shirt girl, but occasionally, we convince her to wear one of the MANY matching nightgowns Sammie has picked out for them. </span></span></td></tr>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">They love each other, and Mia also gives Sammie the confidence to try new things. Sammie can be (though much less so these days!) so timid and shy about trying new things, or even new words, but there's something about laying in bed, with her sister in the bed next to her, that gives my girl <i>so much confidence to share. </i>They talk and talk and talk, and we listen, and we (mostly) laugh. We delight in it. When I was pregnant with Mia, I feared that by adding a new kid to the mix, we'd be taking something away from Sammie. That we wouldn't have the resources or time to do all that we were able to do for her, simply because we'd have a new little person needing our resources and time. In a moment of panic, I cried, and made B promise me we wouldn't let that happen. That we would still make sure we did everything we could for Sammie, everything she needed. And now, thinking back to that moment, and those fears, and looking at our right now, I can say, with so much confidence, that Mia gives her sister so much more than she could ever take away. So much more. They give each other so, so much, and I love it. Love them. The duo. What a gift they each are to the other. </span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDY4SxN2_H4rxEFALhujHVpXik9WlJTyiBOTVIkbE7tXAk42NCiEwJ6mt24-a9s2oKQw9RY93uMonNk4AbFoZAE6P18Erdei3qDDX0yFdzG6je6ba_U9QmXrRSz-4y3rpGx1D2vZdGLxGL/s1600/giggling+sisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDY4SxN2_H4rxEFALhujHVpXik9WlJTyiBOTVIkbE7tXAk42NCiEwJ6mt24-a9s2oKQw9RY93uMonNk4AbFoZAE6P18Erdei3qDDX0yFdzG6je6ba_U9QmXrRSz-4y3rpGx1D2vZdGLxGL/s1600/giggling+sisters.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last night, I was just sitting down to start working (or procrastinating work, which is more accurate and honest) and the girls were in their room talking. Suddenly, it was quiet, and then Sammie B started laughing so hard. Like belly laughs. And then Mia burst into tears. I went in, and there was Mia, standing in the middle of the bedroom floor. Sammie could barely get the words out she was laughing so hard: "Mia just climbed out of her crib all by herself." Thankfully, other than having bit her tongue when she landed, Mia was okay (but my plan to keep her in a crib until college is now foiled; we'll be converting the crib to bed this weekend), but crying. I told Sammie, "Sammie, stop laughing! Mia is hurt, and that's not funny!" And Sammie said, "but it <b><i>was funny when she climbed out of her bed! And I'm going to tell her to do that again!</i></b>" We had a talk about safety, I marveled at how Mia accomplished it, and asked Sammie to explain <i>how</i> Mia got out of her bed, and Sammie kindly gave me a play-by-play. Mia promised she wouldn't do it again. Today, Sammie told everyone about it. Such a highlight of her week. (I also recently read a blog about things you'll learn from your second-born child, and one of them was something about how you will learn that the youngest child will do <i>anything</i> again if it makes the older one laugh, and the older one does not laugh at good behavior. . . . so very true in our home!)</span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back in the fall, we hit a wall in physical therapy with the therapist we've worked with for the last two years. In short, Sammie B was <b><i>over it</i></b>. And in my head, I get it. She deserved to be feeling over it, to be burnt out. For four and a half years, Sammie B has had up to 8 therapy appointments <i>a week</i>. She's been told what to do, how to play, and what to play with far too much. She is, as our developmental pediatrician put it, a little "over-therapized." Add to that her cognitive abilities -- Sam KNOWS what the therapists want her body to do; she knows what <i>she wants her body to do</i>, but her body doesn't cooperate. And she resents the efforts to try to "trick" her into doing things her body just can't do. That makes for a frustrating therapy session (for all involved). She'd become so complacent, so despondent in therapy. She said "no" to everything, there was little joy, it wasn't play. Not at all. She was done. She couldn't be tricked into working anymore. And so, that was when our PT (who I trust implicitly) suggested we take a PT break. I cried. I felt like our PT was "giving up," and it just felt like one of those punches in the gut that come along with this journey (that have the power to knock us over if we let them). But a sweet (and smart) friend reminded me that Sammie was getting so much stronger in <a href="http://www.cuevasmedek.com/" target="_blank">CME</a> therapy, that it was just "traditional PT" that had little to offer Sammie <i>right now</i>. And I knew that was right. So, we pulled back from traditional PT (just seeing her once a month for a "check-in" and equipment consults), and have instead focused our PT efforts this year on CME (which we'd first done with Sammie last year during an <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/07/fifty-one-hours-of-rockstar.html" target="_blank">intensive therapy session</a>). That method of therapy just works so well for Sammie. There's no tricking her. There's no "work" under the guise of "play." Just work and honesty and transparency and clear expectations. It's just "we are going to exercise your body;" "we need to do 5 of these and then we will do something else." Honestly, I believe it works so well with Sammie <i>because we aren't trying to trick her into thinking we are just "playing"</i>. We are just leveling with her. Talking to her like an adult. And as a result, she's really doing it, and I'm so, so proud. We find Sammie using her dolls and blocks and making them do CME (and she's tough, she says things like "nope, that one didn't count, start over!" just as her therapist does). </span></span></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Standing, with heel support only. (On wooden disks that allow the therapist to provide additional balance/gravity input. This method of therapy is amazing). </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Standing PROUDLY on blocks, with NO ONE touching her!!!! Again, the therapist has the ability to offer correction for balance when needed. </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking with head support in CME. The most natural gait I've ever seen from her. I sat, photographed, cried, and kept saying "Sammie!" </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking with B supporting only her thighs. A CME-exercise. </span></span></td></tr>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the therapy center where Sammie does her CME therapy, they hosted a family day on the weekend after they opened their new facility, and Sammie was SO proud to take B and Mia and show them. She said, "daddy will love it so much, he will cry!" And she insisted her little sister do some exercises before we could leave . . . </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I also recently joined a gym, and have started working out. We tell Sammie B how important it is to exercise her body, and she does. Oh does she. Hardest working little girl I know. And I've known for a long time that I needed to lead by example. She should know I exercise too. So, anyway, I took her to the gym, and showed her where I work out, and her first question was "do you have a PT here?" and my heart . . . oh my heart. The perspective this little girl has. Incredible. Perseverance. Perspective. I could learn a few lessons from her in both of those things, no question. And as I push myself to exercise even when it's hard, even when I don't want to, I close my eyes or I look down to my purple! running shoes, and I hear my own voice telling Sammie in a PT session, "come on babe, I know it's hard, just push through and we'll be done!" Sammie B always pushes on. I need to as well. </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the same time that we cut back on traditional PT, we also found an adaptive gymnastics place for Sammie B and so she's doing "tumbling" once a week and LOVES it. It is incredible. Everything they do with her there is very PT-like (like climbing over tumble form things, standing at parallel bars, etc. - which she would flat refuse to do in PT) but she's more intrinsically motivated because, well, it's not PT. It's tumbling. And she's surrounded by other kids, big and small doing the same thing. She's doing gymnastics, and wearing a fancy leotard, and that makes her confidence soar too. I'm so enchanted with her.</span></span></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Day 1 of gymnastics, her new leotard picked out by HER of course. Purple and sparkly, what else?</span></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">While the "break" or cutting back of PT was a hard pill to swallow, that's part of this journey. I know my fellow special needs mamas will understand this . . . that feeling like something always needs adjusting, tweaking, and little tweaks make big differences. But for someone who herself finds change a little uncomfortable (ME!), this can be hard. But if ever there were a girl worth this - it's Sammie B. And the tweaking always leads us to new and exciting and things and opportunities. Always. Like the gymnastics. </span></span></li>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie B cannot be tricked. That's also made therapy challenging. The "oh you want to color, okay, then let's walk over and get that marker" business isn't going to work on this kid. I sometimes laugh when I hear adults tell Sammie B the kinds of things we all say to placate kids (the empty things, the "because I said so" kind of things) and she immediately calls them out on it. Makes therapy hard, yes, but I'm certain that spirit is going to take her further in life than any PT session ever could. She's a cool kid. No question. </span></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sammie B is a mama's girl. She still begs to sleep with me, and while I don't often indulge that (mostly because I can't sneak out of her bed in the mornings to get ready without waking her), when I do, she crawls onto me, puts her head on my shoulder, and I melt. Still. I love this little mama's girl. With all that I am. And when her head is on my shoulder, and she's softly breathing in and out and sleeping, all the worries, and to-dos and thoughts of tweaking and planning and adjusting really do melt away. And in those moments, even the longest of to-do lists seem insignificant. </span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whew. Knocked this blog off the to-do list and am glad I did (well, knocked 1/2 of it off my to-do list - stay tuned for Part II - the MiaMia edition). There's nothing I like spending time sitting and thinking about than my sweet moments with my girls. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>To my two girls, I delight in you. Each of you, and both of you. You are amazing. I am so, so lucky to be yours. I love you with all that I am. </i></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>One of my greatest wishes for each of you is that you will always delight in each other the way you do now.</i></b> <b><i>That you will always look for ways to help the other feel a little more confident, a little more brave, and a lot more joy. </i></b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Turned around in the car and saw this, and you guessed it, I melted (and grabbed my phone to take a picture). </span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <b><i>May they always reach for each other. </i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">[I hate that the formatting of this post is all messed up and pictures are not aligned. Some day, I'll find the time and technical know-how to get off of blogspot. I've aligned every single picture the same, and it looks right in my drafting window, but not in the actual blog. Same with the formatting for the bullet point about Sammie not being able to be tricked. Just randomly appears messed up. Am I the only one that has blogger formatting problems OFTEN lately? Hate that, blogspot! I was near the pounding-on-they-keyboard point, and lest I lose my zen moment post-blog, I gave up.]</span></span><br />
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<br />Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-91721534389448637162014-04-15T21:43:00.000-07:002014-04-15T21:44:06.670-07:00We won the lottery!Okay, not <em>that kind </em>of lottery, but it feels like it. After so much worry and wonder about where Sammie B would be next year for Kindergarten (if you've been following this blog for long, this worry and wonder is no news to you), we found out that this year we got into <em>the charter</em> that was our top pick! A charter that is founded on a model of inclusion, designed to teach <em>all children</em> in the same classroom. A school with general education and special education teachers there to serve every student, a school with tons of "typically-developing" kids learning right alongside those with challenges, a school with PTs, OTs, and STs there to lend their expertise. A public school committed to making sure that my little girl's physical challenges don't impede her ability to learn and thrive. I truly cannot even have designed a more perfect school for our vision for Sammie, and we are thrilled. <br />
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Beyond thrilled. <br />
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The worry and wonder leading up to this year's IEP was consuming me. Absolutely consuming me in a way I'm not proud of (because I wish I didn't let that stuff consume me, but it is who I am), and after last year's IEP and all that led to our decision to pull Sammie out of the district's program, I guess my worry was justified. But now . . . . relief. <br />
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I honestly feel like a 10,000 pound weight has been lifted from me, and while I stand by my sentiments about how horribly unfair it is that <em>this kind</em> of education isn't the norm, and that my kiddo getting into this school had to be determined by her random number being drawn out of a hat, right now, I couldn't be happier or more relieved!<br />
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Happy, relieved, <em>and freaking out a little that she's really going to start Kindergarten?!!!! </em><br />
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Where has the time gone?!<br />
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When did she become such a little lady? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our "this outfit is too stinking cute not to be photographed" pictures. Thank you, Target!</td></tr>
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I think <em>she's </em>ready for next steps, but I'm not so sure I am! But I'm just really glad the next steps are leading us to the right school. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-3961015003928315292014-02-27T23:06:00.002-08:002014-02-28T09:20:52.498-08:00A Punch in the Mama GutIf you've been following the blog for awhile, you know what a struggle finding a great school for Sammie has been. We made what felt like a massive leap of faith and pulled her out of public school -- away from the supposed "experts" -- and put her in a private school with no PTs, no OTs, no special education specialists, and she has <strong><em>thrived</em></strong>. (You can read a little background <a href="http://www.mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/09/this-new-school.html" target="_blank">here</a>). The problem is, the school is a preschool, that just happened to have a classroom for 4 and 5 year olds, like Sammie, whose parents wanted an extra year before kindergarten. So, now that this amazing year is nearing an end, we are back to square one. Back to charter school lotteries, crossed fingers, prayers, IEPs, assessments, and worry. Back to hoping beyond hope we can find <em><strong>another</strong> </em>good fit. Though at least now, we are armed with a better idea of what works, and what works well, but the bar is set high. This new school has set the bar amazingly high. I cannot even put into words how wonderful it has been. That our little girl's confidence has <em><strong>exploded</strong>, </em>that she's made friends. A best friend even. One whose hand she holds while they watch their favorite princess movies. And for the first time, I left a parent-teacher conference crying <em>happy tears</em> because I knew those teachers were taking the time to <em>get</em> my girl (they shared stories of her asking great questions, remembering <em>everything</em>, occasionally "interrupting," (and this from the little girl who the IEP team last year said wouldn't talk in the group) her silliness, her joy, her magic). It has been an amazing year. <br />
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A year that gave us the confidence to seek out private schools for next year, even in this crazy town of pretentiousness and private schools that get hundreds of applications for 50-60 spots. So that if the charter lotteries don't work out (again), we'd have a plan B. I called school after school. I toured school after school. I looked for schools with missions and environments that promoted community, empathy, and diversity, and we applied. I was very forthcoming on the applications, about Sammie's cerebral palsy. I encouraged them to call me to chat ahead of time. We spent <strong><em>a lot </em></strong>of time investigating our options. We had a top choice, and it seemed like such a great extension of the school where Sammie is now. Sammie even did the "student interview," and nailed it. The psychologist who did the interview/informal assessment remarked about how "astute" and "clever" our girl is, how she was an absolute gift, and said she had <u>no concerns about Sammie succeeding there</u>. We were so, so optimistic. So much so that I abandoned a few other private school applications. <br />
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There were a few things that put me "off" a little during the process. A principal who referred to the "issue of whether they could 'entertain' the idea of having Sammie there." The probing financial questions. But I sort of chalked that up to him being an old fart who isn't very PC, and the school being a slightly pretentious southern California private school, like the rest of them. The thing is - we <em>could</em> afford it. Yes, it would mean we would be incredibly strapped (because we'd also be funding our own one:one aide, as we have been for years now). But we could. <br />
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And today, I got a call. The admissions committee met and they decided not to offer Sammie a spot. She fed me some bullshit company lines about how they were just thinking of Sammie's best interests and thought she'd be better served in a public school because they have the types of resources Sammie might need. You mean the resources we said we'd provide <em>at our cost</em>? And "what Sammie needs?" You mean you don't have good teachers and a caring and nurturing environment? (And yes, I said that to her). Because that's what Sammie needs. I also told her that Sammie would have been an asset to their school who could have taught them all some invaluable lessons in empathy and community and compassion and that it was their loss. And then I hung up. Shell shocked. <br />
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And then I cried. I felt punched. And yes, it truly, truly is their loss. But the thing is, this was a punch. And I think I've been so comfortable in our world lately. With school this year just going <em>so smoothly </em>(not just smoothly but really truly fabulously well), that I haven't felt punched like this in awhile. And what hurts the most is that this time, I got to take the punch. I took it, and Sammie doesn't even know that this happened. But I won't always be able to take the punches for her, and I hate that. I hate it. I hate that her best friend, the one she holds hands with and giggles with and is learning right alongside this year, gets to go to this stupid pretentious school (that we were in love with) and Sammie can't. And for no good reason other than a bunch of close-minded, pretentious assholes. <br />
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And I hate that I can't protect her from close-minded pretentious assholes. I hate that I can't take <em>every single punch for her</em>. <br />
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I hate that I can't even count on a school that says its "mission is to create a community of lifelong learners that <strong><em>nurtures students from diverse backgrounds</em></strong> to reach their full potential and inspires them to <strong><em>contribute to the world with confidence</em></strong>, creativity, curiosity, <strong><em>conscience</em></strong> and <strong><em>compassion</em></strong>," will <em>accept</em> my girl. <strong><em>I call bullshit</em></strong>. Conscience and compassion, my arse.<br />
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I am just so angry. And sad. And disappointed. I hate it. It was a punch in the gut, and I sobbed all the way home today. Then I came home, had dinner with my two magical girls (and B) and sat and laughed and giggled and wished I could wish away the pain and disappointment and worry in the pit of my stomach. Then, I called my mom, and cried some more. Then I talked to one of my dearest, wisest friends, and she said exactly what I needed to hear:<br />
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It's not fair. The world is full of assholes. But Sammie is surrounded by loving people who know her value and worth, and she will share those gifts with the world and live a life with purpose. She already is. Some people will miss out on that. Their loss. <br />
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Indeed, their loss. I just wish it didn't sting so much. <br />
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The other night, I was laying in my bed with Sammie, and I told her I was tired and frustrated and a little crabby (because Mia had thrown a hundred, I mean, a few, tantrums that night) and Sammie said, "would it help if I lay on you and snuggle you?" And she did, and it helped. The crabbiness melted away. <br />
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So tonight, I'm going to do what I usually do when those old, familiar, nagging worries or the pissed off "it's not fairs" creep in. I'm going to go climb into bed with my big girl, let her lay her head on me, and I know . . . <em>it will help</em>. <br />
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And for tonight, I'm not going to think about what the loss of "Plan B" means. I won't think about how this means we are right back into a world of IEPs and stupid formulaic goals and measures and assessments that tell me nothing about my girl's magic. Nothing. <br />
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Tonight, I'm just going to hold her. And be glad that this time, I got to take the punch. <br />
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Sammie B, there will always be assholes in the world. There will be people who underestimate you, or who just don't "get" you. But my girl, know this -- you are amazing, wonderful, incredible you. You are magic. And for anyone that doesn't get that, or see that, it is <em>their loss</em>. For those that see you, that get you, that get to walk this journey with you, we are the most blessed people on earth my love. And baby, if I could somehow take every disappointment and punch in the gut for you and your sister in life, I would. In a heartbeat. That's just part of being a mama. And I'm lucky to be yours. <br />
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Sneaking into their room in the middle of the night, watching them both sleep so soundly and sweetly, sometimes, that heals me in ways I never knew possible. And tonight, I hope it will melt away a little of the pain and sting and disappointment and anger over what is truly, truly <strong><em>just not fair</em></strong>. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-36188210825892138622014-02-24T00:55:00.001-08:002014-02-24T00:55:19.204-08:00Billable Hours with Someone Special For the past few months, I've worked far more than my "reduced-schedule" commitment, but the last month took it to entirely new proportions as I was in pre-trial mode. (Any illusion that making partner means less work can be thrown out the window). <br />
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Anyway, I'm an adult, and I've done this all before -- I know the slammed times always pass and give way to some amazing days/weeks at home with the work/life balance swinging in the other direction -- so while being away from my family so much stank, I knew it was "just for a season." But Sammie really, really struggled with it. One day, she started crying at school (a first) and said it was because she "missed her mommy." (My heart broke upon hearing that, though I felt a little better that night when she told me it was just a rough day because (1) she missed me and<em> </em>(2) <em>I sent a hot dog for lunch when she really wanted a waffle.</em>). <br />
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But, when Sammie hits phases where she's whinier than normal, misbehaving more than her normal (which is hardly at all), I know that it's because something is bothering her, and it never, ever fails that instituting some "special time" with just her and I always seems to really help. We've done this since Mia was born -- a date out for Sammie with me while B has a date with Mia, or vice versa, and we label it as our date/special time. And somehow, at the end, we all feel magically refreshed. I knew this was all just a season, and she just needed us to "love her through it" and we are doing just that. <br />
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Sammie has also pretty much stopped napping so I've used Mia's naptime as a way to squeeze in some time with my big girl, and lo and behold, she's rebounding. <br />
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Today, when asked "where do you want to go during our special time?" she picked, of all places, my office. So off we went. I think it helps her to see what I do there, and for "mama is at work" to not just be some abstract idea. We've talked about how I work hard all week, she works hard at school and in her therapies, and on the weekends, we get to relax and be together (which is of course, complicated when I have to work weekends, but I've managed lately to work minimally during the girls' awake time on the weekends by just <em>never sleeping myself</em> but it's a sacrifice that is well worth it). <br />
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Anyway, she had a blast at my work. She loves to type and tell me what letters she's typing and then have me print it so she can bring it home to show B.<br />
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When I took the middle picture, she said, "I'm pretending I'm a lawyer." <br />
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I hope she always sees my office as an exciting place and not one that she resents. I so want her to come to understand, appreciate and respect that I work so hard . . . and not to resent my work as a reason why I'm not always home when she gets home, why I don't send the home-baked cupcakes to school, etc. (hey, I do buy from a fantastic bakery!). <br />
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I hope she knows if given a choice, I'd pick being with her (and her sister) every.single.time while at the same time understands that my work has tons of value, and brings tons of value and enjoyment and satisfaction to me. (and pays the bills so brings value to our family!!) Just not as much as she and her sister bring! <br />
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Being a working mom, particularly the higher-earning spouse/mom and working in a demanding career that sometimes feels like I'm on call 24/7 is <em>no easy balance</em>. It is not. But it <em>does bring value,</em> and allows us to do so much extra stuff for the girls that we otherwise couldn't, and well, it is what it is, and I love it (most of the time). I am just not sure I know how to instill in my girls that mama's work is not something to resent . . . I know I all too often use language like "mama has to go to work, I'm so sorry," and I'm trying to turn those statements around into "mama has a challenging and fun project to finish at work, but I'll go work hard and then we can have some special time later -- let's both work hard today, okay?" But the messaging is not easy . . . <br />
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I hope, hope, hope I'm getting this part of the journey right, and doing right by my girls in this regard. <br />
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I miss them when I'm not with them. Heart-aching, longing to be home with them, miss them. But I'm also blessed to have a career I find exciting and one that brings so much value to me <em>and us. Oh how I wish I didn't feel like the two are so often at odds. </em><br />
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Work-life balance-schmalance. Sometimes you just do what you gotta do. And take the slow-times and seize them with all that I am. Which is exactly my plan for this week. Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-21430466140398722012014-02-16T23:53:00.005-08:002014-02-17T00:19:24.329-08:00SistersLast night, I read "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rolling-Along-Wheelchair-Rehabilitation-Institute/dp/156145219X" target="_blank">Rolling Along, The Story of Taylor and His Wheelchair</a>" to the girls at bedtime. (Of all the kids' books about CP that I've bought, this one is my favorite. I've purchased multiple copies and will give it to Sammie's new classroom teacher every year to share with the class). As we went through it, Sammie B smiled (as she always does) when I read the parts that also pertain to her like "each week, I see a physical therapist." Mia (a child who rarely sits for an entire story, at least at home, particularly one as wordy as this one) sat and listened intently to <em>every </em>word. At the end, I said (to both of them) "do you know anyone who has cerebral palsy?" Sam said, "me!" and Mia said "and me!" I then said, "Mia, you don't have cerebral palsy, but Sammie does. That's what makes it hard for her to do some things, like walk." <br />
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And with that, my sweet two-year-old did something that showed a compassion, empathy and understanding far beyond her years . . . <br />
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She looked so sad, and so concerned, and leaned over, hugged Sammie, and said, "Oh Nammie. It okay, Nammie. It okay" and patted her big sister on the leg. It was as if she had never even noticed that Sammie doesn't walk, and she was learning this all for the first time. I explained that it was okay, and we didn't need to be sad about it, it just is. That we are all different, so Sammie would do things in a different way. And within seconds, we were back to giggles and play. <br />
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And inside, my heart was both melting and swelling with pride. <br />
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No question, my sweet Mia Mia is blessed to be Sammie's sister, and Sammie is blessed to have her Mia Mia. And me? Well, I'm as lucky as they come getting to be their mama. <br />
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Mia came with us to Sammie's hippotherapy session last week, and ran around the outside of the ring alongside Sammie and Fancy the whole time. They were absolutely delighted to have this experience together. My heart my heart. </div>
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-1483738013025914372014-01-05T22:32:00.001-08:002014-01-06T14:31:32.405-08:00Tickled PinkI'm determined to post more in this new year than I have the past few months. I think I've had an epiphany the last few weeks (home! no work! down time! do you hear the angels singing?! our nanny needed two weeks off and the stars aligned that I was able to stay home and barely work at all. It was <i>everything</i> that I needed). <br />
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In the downtime, I've realized something that I hope will serve me well in 2014 and beyond . . . <br />
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I keep waiting for things to get less complicated. For it -- life -- to get easier. For there to be less to do. Less to worry about. For my to-do list to not overwhelm me (or for a day without one). For marriage to feel easy and breezy, and not like a constant work-in-progress. Waiting and waiting and waiting. I'll have some future deadline or event in my head and think "after x, things will be easier" or "after x, I'll be able to get y done, and then, it'll be easier." After the new school year starts, after I make partner, after after after. But the event or my artificial deadline comes and goes, and nothing is really any easier, and the to-do list never, ever seems to shrink. (P.S. Big news - I made partner in my law firm in 2013, but guess what?! I still work my rear off. Not easier.). <br />
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Or just as things feel less complicated or even a little easier for some brief time, something happens that adds to my to-do list or gives me some new worry (and let's be real, "worry" is practically my middle name, it is who I am). A therapist suggests some new "thing" for me to research, I have an unexpected trip out of town for work, someone mentions another school to check out, we get an insurance denial for something (that winds up costing us a fortune), etc. etc. etc. <em>Something always needs tweaking. </em>I see glimpses of friends' lives via social media or whatever, and somehow, it looks like their lives are <em>so easy </em>and effortless. You know, friends with just as many (or more) kids than I have, made up, dressed up, having dates nights, their kids' hair looking neater than mine, their houses bigger or more perfect, <i>whatever</i>, and I think "when is it going to get easier? when will it be less complicated? when will it be <em>our turn</em> for 'easy'?"</div>
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But here's the thing (the epiphany). Things aren't getting easier. But <i><strong>every single day, the joy and the love in this house, this family, this life, multiples</strong>. </i>I didn't know it was possible to love these two girls anymore than I did, but yet, every day, they amaze me with their giggles, their love for each other, the things they say (oh!!! the things they say!!!), all of it. I must smile hundreds of times each day,<em> because of them</em>. And every single day, my heart seems to grow 1000x times. I never, ever, ever could have guessed this story would be ours. Never could have dreamed it. Couldn't have fathomed the amount of love and joy and giggles and goodness this life would bring. Or that it would just grow and grow and grow and grow and multiply 1000x a day. </div>
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Couldn't have dreamed it. So, even in the midst of complicated, and endless to-do lists, it just <i style="font-weight: bold;">keeps getting better</i>. Not easier, but better. And that's what matters. </div>
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I wouldn't trade this life for anything in the world. </div>
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So, my New Year's resolution? To stop waiting for the "easier," and instead, just relish in what is. Because what "is" is pretty stinking fabulous. </div>
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Couldn't have guessed this life. Couldn't have dreamed this life. Wouldn't trade this life. For anything. </div>
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For this little family of mine? I am so lucky to be theirs. So, so lucky. They tickle me pink. </div>
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This life of mine is a blessed one. This family amazing. And I wouldn't trade it for all the "easy" in the world. Not a chance. I'm one lucky mama, and these two little girls make me a better person <em>every single day</em>, and even on the days I'm not the mama I strive to be, I fall asleep full of so much love and joy and determined to do even better the next day. For they deserve no less. <br />
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So forget coveting or dreaming about easy, for I'll take this. I'll take them. Over and over and over. <br />
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* * * </div>
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And these pictures?! Could anyone have captured our family any better?</div>
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Do you see the love in these pictures? The melt-my-heart, I wouldn't trade this life for anything, love? Captured by my sweet friend <a href="http://www.capturingmotherhood.com/2013/11/some-of-my-favorite-people/" target="_blank">H, from Capturing Motherhood</a>. Another sweet blessing. (You can see some higher resolution versions of these images if you click on the link because, well, H does fancier stuff with her blog than I know how to do!)<br />
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* * * </div>
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Forgive my lapse in posting, and please, please keep coming back. I think 2014 has a lot in store for this little family, and I can't wait to share it with you.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: magenta;"><strong><em>xo</em></strong></span><br />
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-70857046685638697442013-12-08T01:40:00.002-08:002013-12-08T20:56:10.053-08:00OverwhelmedI'm not sure why I haven't come back to this little space to write for so long. I can't believe how long it has been, or how many "post-worthy" moments I've not written about. I think I've let the must-do posts pile up so much that I'm overwhelmed by the need to get caught up. My annual birthday posts to the girls, birthday letters to them, Halloween, Thanksgiving, their birthday party, the annual neurologist appointment . . . all these things passed me by that I have <em><strong>always</strong></em> posted about, but I've been drowning in work, and living, and doing, and just didn't post. But we are still here. We are good. We are great even. The girls couldn't be better. Sammie is still absolutely thriving at school, and I cry happy tears at least once a week from some story of some way that she's "shared" who she is at school. Something that wasn't happening last year. This new place has set the bar high though and I'm absolutely overwhelmed by the "well what now?" that next year entails. This school only goes up to age 5. . . so we are back to square one for next year except that we've seen the difference between our girl in the "right" environment for her versus the "not right" environment. Finding this "right" environment again is proving to be no easy task. On top of all the other usual to-do's I have11 school tours to go on in the next month and a half. Yeah. I'm overwhelmed to say the least. <br />
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My work-life balance has pretty much sucked lately -- so all my late-night time that I used to spend blogging or catching up with friends or sleeping has been spent working. I've managed to keep some semblance of normalcy for the girls; I still come home for dinner/bath/bedtime 95% of the time (I only miss it when I'm on a work trip or have a filing that keeps me in the office, but then we face time "goodnight" and they love it), but even on the nights I make it home, the second the girls are in bed, I start the "third shift" so to speak. I don't know when the last time I slept a full-night's sleep was. Most nights I'm so dog-tired that I nap from 9- 10 pm or so after the girls are in bed, and then I get up and work for 3 or 4 more hours before sneaking in another quick nap before the girls wake up at 7. I look beat up at work most days, and I feel it. I know this pace isn't sustainable, and I just keep hoping things slow down soon so I can sleep, and blog, and get my hair highlighted, or blow dry it at least for goodness sake, and well, just have free time and don't constantly feel like I'm suffocating by work. Overwhelmed. <br />
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Not the rosiest of posts, but it is what it is. <br />
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Good news: I haven't thrown myself out my office window yet, mostly because (1) they don't open, but also because (2) of these two. They are my heart. They carry me even on my worst days. I find myself, daily, thinking about how they are now "2" and "5" and that sends me spinning. It's almost as if I feel overwhelmed by how quickly they've become little girls and not babies, and how fast this whole life thing seems to go. Overwhelmed by how much I love them, how much I want for them. How amazing they are.<br />
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I cannot wrap my head around it, and I wish I could slow down time. I do. Because it feels like time is moving at warp speed all the time, and I want to savor every moment with them. . . . every giggle, every "mama, hold you" from Mia, every little joke or inquisitive question from Sammie B, every single time one of them wraps their arms around me. Every single moment (okay, except maybe not Mia's tantrums, because those moments are <em><strong>rocking.my.world</strong></em>. That stuff is uncharted territory for us, and well, I'm not savoring it.). <br />
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<strong><em>My heart.</em></strong> <br />
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I hope that somehow I can convey to them, through both actions and words, that hard work pays off, that I work *this* hard so that I can give them the life I want for them, and that they won't look at me, my job, my work, and grow to resent it all. I hope. I hope they won't see the "overwhelmed" nearly as often as I feel it, but that they'll feel the love every time I feel it, which is of course, all the time. <br />
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I hope they will both grow to know that the *best* part of my days, my every day, are the moments I'm with them. No question. <br />
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<br />Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-81511303314117377312013-09-26T04:02:00.001-07:002013-09-26T04:02:19.933-07:00She's Five. I cannot even wrap my head around it, but it is true. Five amazing years. Five years of beautiful, delightful, joyful, magical, stubborn, wonderful, giggly, inquisitive, amazing Sammie B. <br />
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Five couldn't be any cuter, any more joyous, or any more magical.<br />
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If I had searched the universe for a little girl to make me a mama, I couldn't have picked a more perfect one than her. I love her. With all that I am. <br />
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** More details on her big day (and parties) to come when I kick this cold that's kicking me. **<br />
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-44368331968163315922013-09-23T23:00:00.001-07:002013-09-24T11:50:49.343-07:00This New SchoolTwo weeks ago, our big girl started a new school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve written a lot about our struggle to
find the right placement this year <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-spot-where-we-are.html" target="_blank">(here</a>, <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/03/insert-profanities-here.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2013/09/my-whole-heart.html" target="_blank">here</a> for instance.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sammie B was in our district’s special education
preschool (in a class for kids with mild to moderate delays) for the last two years, and
while we always said it was “fine” we knew there were issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We knew it was "fine" for now, but we knew a similar placement wouldn't be "fine" enough for kindergarten or beyond. S</span>he was the only kid with real mobility
challenges in the classroom; many had cognitive disabilities as well; she was
one of the few not on the autism spectrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Just not a great fit. And there were no typical peer models. Not even an ounce of inclusion. </span>We sat in IEP meetings and felt like the people at that table weren’t “getting her” (and
that most of team wasn’t even really trying . . . the speech therapist (the
only one with any one on one time with her) seemed to “get her” but not the
others, and in particular not her teacher).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Because we sent our nanny as Sammie's one:one aide (as a result of an informal due process issue), we had "eyes" in the classroom. And we knew that Sammie's class consisted of several kids </span>with serious behavior challenges,
and she was getting lost in the fray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A quiet, cautious little girl content to sit
on the sidelines to watch was doing just that . . .<em> watching</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A spectator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We knew that wasn’t enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">In the spring, before her "transition IEP" (for kindergarten) </span>I
toured the classroom the district was recommending for her for this year and
suffice it to say we walked out of there and knew we had to figure something else out, and that we'd likely need a special education attorney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My exact words: <em>“over my dead body will
Sammie B be in that classroom.”</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
not a place where learning was happening. During our (very very short tour),
one child was running madly around the room while an aide chased, one child was
trying to stab himself with scissors while an aide tried to keep him from doing so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was mayhem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> When I asked the teacher if she'd ever had a kid with a physical disability like CP, she said she hadn't. Nor did she seem particularly excited about the prospect. She seemed put out. Annoyed. No thank you. </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Other than that classroom (the "oh hell no" classroom as I started calling it), the <em>only</em> other option the district gave us was to put Sammie B in a mainstream kindergarten class with 25 - 30 kids, and <em>one teacher</em>. We <em>knew </em>that wasn't right either, particularly since Sammie B meets the kindergarten cutoff by only 6 days, and would be the youngest in her class. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Sammie’s teacher had always said Sammie seemed to shut
down in the group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They told us at her
IEP that she was mostly speaking in one word utterances at school (while at
home, she was saying things like <em>“I need a stethoscope to listen to your
heart!”</em>) and that she wasn’t participating in the group, just watching and
didn’t seem that interested in the other kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
The speech therapist (who spent one:one time with her as part of her IEP), however, said she was "bright, inquisitive" and had a "sense of humor beyond her years" and that she really "shined in one on one settings." </span>At her IEP though, the OT said something that made a light bulb go off
for me . . . when talking about Sam’s interest in the other kids, B and I said,
“<em>we don’t understand what’s holding her back at school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We see her approach other kids at the pool
and in other contexts,</em>” and the OT said, “well it is important to remember
she’s in a classroom of kids mostly on the autism spectrum, so while she may be
interested, they aren’t reciprocating and she has <em>no typical peer models</em>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And then, I started thinking . . . maybe she's not trying because many of her peers are not reciprocating. Maybe she needs to be with typical peers modeling typical social behavior. And I thought about how they said she "shut down" and I wondered if it was simply the group size, or the chaos. I struggled. I tossed and turned and tried to figure it out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">We saw a developmental pediatrician who again confirmed that cognitively, Sammie belongs in an inclusive setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gave us tons of ideas of how to best support her in that environment, some of which I raised at the IEP and the team dismissed (you know, like ideas about how to be proactive -- like working with her to learn to type since handwriting will likely be a challenge; they said we needed to wait until it is actually a problem . . . you know, like wait until she's struggled and failed . . . before we could get technology assessment . . .bullshit I tell you). We tossed around the idea of selective mutism, trying to figure out why Sammie is such a chatterbox at home but would barely say anything at school, and knowing that it stems, at least in part (probably HUGE part) from a confidence issue. She knows she's hard to understand. She knows in a classroom of loud kids (or any sort of chaotic environment) she can't say what she needs fast enough and clearly enough for her voice to be heard (at least not all the time). And that holds her back. It keeps her from trying. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">After a lot of struggling, thinking, exploring, talking to her developmental pediatrician (who also happens to be a friend we trust implicitly), we knew. This program that </span>we had deemed
“fine” (and to be fair, the school program was only 2 hours and 20 minutes a
day and we’d decided for now, that was okay because it allowed us to do a lot
of private therapies and activities outside of school) no longer was. It was
holding her back, in ways we didn't completely understand, but it was. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
And so, I did what I
do, and I went into intense mama mode. Researching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Figuring out alternatives (particularly after
we didn’t get into the amazing charter school lotteries).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My mom listened to <em>lots of </em>crying and volunteered to fly out and tour schools with me or to pay for a lawyer (God Bless Gigi!) </span><br />
<br />
I lost sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Trying to figure out where she would thrive. Trying, as I often do, to "figure her out" so we could find the place and environment where she would thrive. I called school after school, mostly to learn that the campuses weren't accessible. The private schools in our area that are focused on special needs cater to a (largely) autism population, and we knew that wasn't necessarily the right fit. Most other private schools (particularly religious ones) are in old buildings with stairs. A little Lutheran school near us sounded PERFECT on the phone. They said they only had one step up, but they could put a ramp up (!), and they'd love to have her (!). Then I drove by. And the entire playground was mulch. No way could I sent my child to a school where she can't play on the playground. So, defeated, I sat in my car in the Lutheran school parking lot, and I cried. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
And then, we went out for ice cream one night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We always ask Sam if she wants to take her
walker places, and she usually (okay, always) refuses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night, she didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So we loaded it into the van and off we went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got to the ice cream place, we put
her in it, and she proudly started walking to the store, but then spotted a
family with two little boys outside and stopped in her tracks (this has been a
theme; she wants to use the walker, but freezes when she sees new people; we
don’t know what this trepidation is, it just is).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We encouraged her to keep going, and she
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then one of the little boys ran
over to say “cool! your wheels light up!” and they LOVED her walker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dad struck up a conversation with us and
said, “where does she go to school?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That question came at a time when I was struggling and crying and
talking to lawyers and had no idea where Sam would be in school, and I sort of
said <em>that</em> in a nutshell and told him we were really struggling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he said, “oh you should call [his son’s
school].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an amazing moment . . . because he didn’t assume that because
my child was in a walker that she belonged at some <em>other</em> school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> That we should call <em>his son's </em>school. </span>There’s so much beauty in that. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
The next day, I called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve always said we want Sammie in the classroom or at the school that
wants her. With the educators who see the gifts that SHE has to offer not just the extra ‘work’
her challenges might bring to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wanted her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The director explained to me that she founded
the school on a model of inclusion, and while the few special needs kids
they’ve had over the years have mostly been kids with mild ADHD or speech
issues, having Sam would be a wonderful opportunity for her staff and the other
kids to grow and learn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> That Sam would offer so, so much to the school. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
We toured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We loved
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made the decision - a hard one -
to pull Sammie out of public school and send her to this private one (which sadly,
is only for one year -- she’s in a class for 4 and 5 year olds who wanted an
extra year before kindergarten, they don’t have kindergarten, so next year we are back at square one).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are 18 kids and 3 teachers, and our
nanny still goes as Sammie’s aide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
A week before school started, we took Sammie in to meet
the teachers, see the school, and drop off her equipment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night before, I had a panic attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were pulling her out of a public school
with “experts” like physical and occupational therapists, and putting her in a
program with none of those experts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
may sound silly, but I laid in bed, panicking, and thinking “no one will help her
<em>with scissors! </em>They aren’t trained to do that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She needs an OT there. . . . etc. etc. etc.” Panic panic panic. <br />
<br />
But we suited up (Sammie in a her "fancy white dress") and we headed to meet the teachers. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJr342IK66Q73VmbHjVxdymwhMe4Inxc9kiw0PzMOUw_biHVhtDeNL3WtuCaaUVtL7Oyi6Qg7R9LcSw1xtT5FLulC6_DtAQzXtckGfhnwLe-DSeqU1I9i7Qn40it1niFQqsMNl-HUyrIw/s1600/Photobomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJr342IK66Q73VmbHjVxdymwhMe4Inxc9kiw0PzMOUw_biHVhtDeNL3WtuCaaUVtL7Oyi6Qg7R9LcSw1xtT5FLulC6_DtAQzXtckGfhnwLe-DSeqU1I9i7Qn40it1niFQqsMNl-HUyrIw/s320/Photobomb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mia is the cutest photobomber EVER. She rarely lets us take a picture of just her. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6q4GdGTbfEipiUerchjb8ZxbKFD3n4UNap1dGwE78iuS3PrH8eSMUaEN0rQJjl7p1eMbnjAqfBHWYogXFfNJDMehd18b6U5WlUBP9M7SBHCV14mPcJIv7vmLa8tIjiPhpOaLVyxL-1RlH/s1600/meettheteacher1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6q4GdGTbfEipiUerchjb8ZxbKFD3n4UNap1dGwE78iuS3PrH8eSMUaEN0rQJjl7p1eMbnjAqfBHWYogXFfNJDMehd18b6U5WlUBP9M7SBHCV14mPcJIv7vmLa8tIjiPhpOaLVyxL-1RlH/s320/meettheteacher1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
That meeting was everything I needed it to be to quiet my panic. Sammie played while B and I
sat with the teachers for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">an hour and a
half</i> and just talked. I told them about Sammie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her journey, her challenges, her quirks, her gifts, her
talents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They asked me what our goals
for her were, and I explained everything about last year and how we knew
something was holding her back because she was a different child at school than
at home, and I said, “so our goals for this year are (1) confidence and (2)
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the rest is just icing on the
cake.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a beautiful conversation,
there were tears (not just mine).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> They asked what she was interested in, and listened. One of them said she'd go home and drag out some old princess costumes in her garage to add to the pretend play area for Sammie. They listened. Really, really listened. Not just to what Sam can or can't do, but to <em>who she is and what she has to offer.</em> </span>I
walked away knowing this was the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">perfect</i>
place for Sammie. <br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<br />
This Sammie. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKF0CUPn2t4SrTnXjQO8U56Y6TCNQ5vEAlYsPqX2fGaJh0s4G4CXJVrqbh1aNnukjHCCbkMvy7CPutoxMA3JO9k3LxGzeplRPekvkl1XfcFW7dE1_Thv1mdlLCEGo2fkEegyMIR7UV4Zs/s1600/sillysammie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKF0CUPn2t4SrTnXjQO8U56Y6TCNQ5vEAlYsPqX2fGaJh0s4G4CXJVrqbh1aNnukjHCCbkMvy7CPutoxMA3JO9k3LxGzeplRPekvkl1XfcFW7dE1_Thv1mdlLCEGo2fkEegyMIR7UV4Zs/s320/sillysammie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Crazy, funny, silly, magical Sammie. <br />
<br />
Here’s the thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We find ourselves on this special needs journey without warning and we feel lost, at
least in the beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we trust the
experts because, well, we know or feel that we know nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need them to guide us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We expect the PTs and OTs and STs to tell us what we need to do. </span>But somewhere along the way, we learn that WE
are the experts in our kid, and that no amount of expertise or training can
replace what (at least for us) we’ve found Sammie really needs. . . an
environment of community, empathy, and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
We've spent entire DAYS in her IEP meetings,
spelling out objective goals and listening to all the things our girl struggles
with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we accomplished more in that
hour and a half sitting on the circle time carpet in the floor of that
classroom with Sammie’s three new teachers, just talking about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who she is</i>, not what she can or can’t
do, and what our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hopes and dreams</i> for
her are, not our objective goals (like accurately drawing a circle in 4/5
attempts . . . . seriously).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We walked away knowing this was going to be a great year. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
I don’t know what next year will bring, but I know that I
am so, so excited about this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
far, she is thriving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had warned our
nanny that she might be ridiculously quiet at first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wasn’t with Sammie at school last year,
so mostly just knows the chatterbox from at home (Hannah started with us in June).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted her to be prepared to really need to
draw Sammie out to participate. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
And then, they came home after Day 1 and Hannah’s first
words to me were, “that was amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
honestly exceeded any expectations I could have had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">for the entire year</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Sam loves it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loves
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s thriving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She belongs in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">exactly </i>this type of setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some snippets from her days (Hannah is writing notes to me every day so
I know things they do, and she’s having Sammie help her by telling her the
things about her day she wants me to know!):<o:p></o:p></div>
[<em>I cannot tell you
how many tears of joy I’ve shed reading these notes each night.</em>]<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
On the first day, they went around for each child to say
her/his name and favorite food [mind you last year, Sammie did not ever speak
ONCE in the group, other than “yes/no” answers].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did our girl do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, <strong><em>“I'm Sammie B.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like hamburger happy meals!”</em></strong> [Bless her
soul!]<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That same day, she wheeled
herself up to the sink and washed her hands all by herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked the other kids what was on their
lunch boxes, and showed off her new princess one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She worked on spelling her name and did really
well!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgmKgPiVqyJO9OaRN-qIbXD5I3QsmP5-zemd9C5Rfz6QNYzaYIZ-Wuokubozk7qG5EjwOiSecOc0baZzynL5u2EEjNUlNjUinZcbh4eJ93cFqBx5IDIlgshHc9RQiaQXhyphenhyphenxmp5srtycA0/s1600/1st+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgmKgPiVqyJO9OaRN-qIbXD5I3QsmP5-zemd9C5Rfz6QNYzaYIZ-Wuokubozk7qG5EjwOiSecOc0baZzynL5u2EEjNUlNjUinZcbh4eJ93cFqBx5IDIlgshHc9RQiaQXhyphenhyphenxmp5srtycA0/s320/1st+day.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snazzy First Day of School Outfit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYaYkFlgrOkZTPe4u37A4u4VKeV0VTMylKgyd0-L_aLYvd4V5sS_BGybo1aiAHGRTUiCTFu2_6TqvuGv133sOd4bSSLKCMgzuS3vCurBSZ10qVgc6joNbeW7FuGlL8H5SOH5RWmVgRWBQ/s1600/1st+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<em>[And after hearing this account
from Hannah, I sent B an update and said, “how are we going to afford private
school forever?!!!” I'd literally sat home watching the clock all morning, waiting for them to get home; silently panicking some more (again thinking "there's no therapies! no therapists! what have we done?!") But Hannah came home, shared those stories, and again, my panic -- gone.]<o:p></o:p></em></div>
That night, in the bath tub, Sammie said to B, “do you want
to hear all about my new school?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(of
course he said yes).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then she said (without taking a breath),
“I washed my hands!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went outside for
snack! I played with letters!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dressed
up as a princess!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most she’s ever
said about a school day, ever. B asked her about the other kids, and she said, "they are really really really nice. And fun!"<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Hannah is finding that she’s standing back and observing
much more than she thought she would because Sam is really doing so well with
the other kids and her teachers. She’s raising her hand and sharing and
answering questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>(my heart!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my heart!)</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
She’s carrying on conversations with her teachers, she’s
asking friends to play with her (my favorite note from Hannah:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She wheeled herself right up to a group of
girls and said, “Do you want to play princesses with me?” (they said yes!)
then she said, “Good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can we all be friends?”) <em>(my
heart!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my heart!).</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and one of the little girls also had a pretend “princess
ball” one day.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
She’s mostly wheeling herself around the classroom in
her chair but also scooting a lot when they do floor play (her teachers are amazed
by her speed and increased confidence when allowed to scoot).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of her teachers told her she’d scoot
around with her, and did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Hannah texted me a picture in the middle of their day of Sammie and her teacher, scooting on the floor, together. </span>Other kids are
choosing to scoot when they play with Sammie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em>(My heart! My heart!)</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little
boy planted a big kiss on her!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(he asked
first, and she said “yes!” and pointed to her cheek!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Thursday was Pirate Day at school (National Pirate Day
actually) and on Wednesday, she told me, “Tomorrow is Pirate Day, I should dress
like a pirate.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so . . . . you now
where this mom headed . . . to the costume store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her wish is my command. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19Go2fIrNA2df5h27RWy1aVQtBqHM600QXZcBdsBWv7adSCi6NYfDaqd0x0WcsCyer31jEhz1i7z3JLWIr3OX5LkBdPVOHqsOuXK7oc7OnBpbU1_jwHmvBeqqSYCLWwo7CRsHyxgklJIQ/s1600/pirate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19Go2fIrNA2df5h27RWy1aVQtBqHM600QXZcBdsBWv7adSCi6NYfDaqd0x0WcsCyer31jEhz1i7z3JLWIr3OX5LkBdPVOHqsOuXK7oc7OnBpbU1_jwHmvBeqqSYCLWwo7CRsHyxgklJIQ/s320/pirate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Sammie B taking participation to a whole new level. (She told me, "my friends will laugh when they see me and say 'oh look!'") She’s officially talked and shared more in two weeks at
her new school than in the two years at the old school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her love for learning has taken off (again). </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
See, back before Mia was born, I used to work with Sammie
a lot on letters and numbers. She loved it and would sit and “work/learn” with
me for big chunks of time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last
year though, she’d seemed to lose interest. I blamed myself for not doing as
much one on one with her, and beat myself up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s back.
Frankly, I think the “letter of the week” approach at her old school (which I
now know research doesn’t really back up) and the very static curriculum bored her, and that instead, the way
that the new school is teaching things more through play and experience and
in context . . . has renewed her interest in it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m loving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we pulled up to the costume store, for
instance, we had this conversation:</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Sammie:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is the
name of this store?</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Party City. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Sammie:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell me the
name one more time, mama.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Party City.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Sammie:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What letter
does it start with?</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Me: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A “P”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Sammie:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we get
out of the car, can you show me the sign and the “P?” </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<em>(My heart!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
heart!)</em></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
While I know hindsight is 20/20 and there’s no sense in
playing the Monday morning quarterback game, there’s part of me that wishes we’d done this sooner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That we’d realized that having “experts”
isn’t all its cracked up to be (particularly when you live in massive school
district where your child is just one of hundreds, if not thousands with an
IEP, and the experts are, um, in many instances, sub-par) . . . but I’m not going there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I’m just going to soak
in the joy over the reports I’m getting from Hannah and the joy I see in my
girl everytime we talk about school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The joy in her eyes, her smile, her voice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<em>(My heart! My heart!)</em></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Our girl is thriving. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
Thriving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p>Here's to this new year. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<o:p>(And to a little girl that turns five tomorrow . . . . something MY heart isn't quite ready for.)</o:p><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p>[After typing this out, hitting post, re-reading it (twice) and thinking about it a lot, I feel the need to say . . . I don't mean to be <em>so hard</em> on Sammie's teacher last year. It just wasn't a good fit. It wasn't. The curriculum was static, the class chaotic, and, legally, what the district offered, was not a fair and appropriate education for Sammie in the least restrictive environment. It just wasn't. Sammie wasn't thriving, Sammie wasn't fully accessing the curriculum, and the teacher didn't seem to have the ability to make that happen. We didn't even fully understand it. We didn't even fully understand what was missing until now, when we can see what <em>could be</em>. The difference. It hurts me that we have to be such trailblazers along this path, but I'm astounded that educators (even those in special education) seem so perplexed by a child like Sammie. <strong><em>Why are we blazing trails?</em></strong> The teacher may not deserve all my harshness, but to be sure, the district does. What they offered was inadequate. And the IEP team, that pretended to be so very vested in my daughter, changed their tunes so very, very quickly when we didn't agree with their recommendation. It wasn't a team decision. It was crap. We got a bunch of company (district) lines [like (after acknowledging that Sammie seemed to shut down when the bigger behavior problems from other kids were occurring, "but don't you think <em>any preschool class</em> would be chaotic? Don't you think she'd be overwhelmed in <em>any class</em>?" (imagine that in the most condescending, "you're just a mom, we're the experts!" voice you can imagine], and although they'd acknowledged their feelings about how the "oh hell no" class wasn't appropriate for Sammie verbally in the IEP, the second we indicated we were <em>not going to sign that IEP</em>, everyone acted like a bunch of assholes and wouldn't "own" any of their comments during what we thought was a "team" meeting. A crappy, disappointing, and upsetting situation. One that left a horrible taste in my mouth as Sammie wrapped up the rest of that school year (May and June) in that classroom. In any event, the proof is in the pudding. She's thriving.]</o:p></div>
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-84945189721655601432013-09-23T03:38:00.001-07:002013-09-23T03:40:07.397-07:00Four Years of First Days!Two weeks ago, Sammie B started a new school (more on that to follow! It's going amazingly well!)<br />
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I love looking back at the "first day" pictures from past years. Our girl just keeps getting more and more amazing every single day. Each year brings more magic, and I know this year is going to bring more than I can possibly imagine. <br />
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I <em><strong>cannot wait to tell you how amazing these two weeks have been</strong>.</em> And it's only been two weeks!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJzAe6wHXWOt4BIBSCqI8Oir2Uqus6M7w-hshheM4PYbEr_ob2vTbhuhWzVtpqQ3FBotzyy7goeWxJS2-HvGl33gi_v4qQrGXv6xqW270EUevF9nmUu_VKxMr24IxOM6As-0YW92Q7HUK/s1600/Year+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJzAe6wHXWOt4BIBSCqI8Oir2Uqus6M7w-hshheM4PYbEr_ob2vTbhuhWzVtpqQ3FBotzyy7goeWxJS2-HvGl33gi_v4qQrGXv6xqW270EUevF9nmUu_VKxMr24IxOM6As-0YW92Q7HUK/s320/Year+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 2010 - Sam's first day of her Early Intervention Center-Based program at UCLA (oh how we miss that place!); she'd just turned 2 </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMrEVLor3BWUh9LRfUXvH_2iqkMeu06hRqWFccdBJOFSTX2GimJtn1-LzE7TZGKUdEv4uZS4HNNmxKXffccJ6SHM_kKFRppwW7-ZkqWYapXoGSo8Xq6mNh9-1bV7U44d_GsHRMcREffEY_/s1600/Year+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMrEVLor3BWUh9LRfUXvH_2iqkMeu06hRqWFccdBJOFSTX2GimJtn1-LzE7TZGKUdEv4uZS4HNNmxKXffccJ6SHM_kKFRppwW7-ZkqWYapXoGSo8Xq6mNh9-1bV7U44d_GsHRMcREffEY_/s320/Year+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">October 2011 - Sam's first day of preschool - She'd just turned three (and little did we know when I took this picture that just hours later, I'd be in labor with Mia!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1soE1xboS9A92WZlmRg7DKDe9BmZ2an-Yi-yFkPFW3ueUG2HJ9Lh5ZezQot9EJZSH5HAhYjK1VZruMiCV70pY1SPHqSY16-BhSeyixbDKrLyKgf37sZM3FQ2lKfDOA8xlp7E9ArIqPosu/s1600/Year+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1soE1xboS9A92WZlmRg7DKDe9BmZ2an-Yi-yFkPFW3ueUG2HJ9Lh5ZezQot9EJZSH5HAhYjK1VZruMiCV70pY1SPHqSY16-BhSeyixbDKrLyKgf37sZM3FQ2lKfDOA8xlp7E9ArIqPosu/s320/Year+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 2012 - Sam's second year of preschool - Not quite four. And the biggest smile yet! (She was mostly excited about her snazzy new dress -- this is EXACTLY around the time that Sammie started having some real opinions on fashion!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLGL3b1xVJzg6-Xirryf8jwwZdO_Kpq43K9-G6k7g7VRHLUbVAYbi7uZeqdypOmWwR4utYFoGO0D_BxLE1ZeSXBNHpBLgPVYYML2CKTsRifXBrTcg4zYHRZ1WT-LeFaTdTFqXwwWWO5vDz/s1600/Year+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLGL3b1xVJzg6-Xirryf8jwwZdO_Kpq43K9-G6k7g7VRHLUbVAYbi7uZeqdypOmWwR4utYFoGO0D_BxLE1ZeSXBNHpBLgPVYYML2CKTsRifXBrTcg4zYHRZ1WT-LeFaTdTFqXwwWWO5vDz/s320/Year+4.JPG" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">September 9, 2013 - Sam's first day at her brand new school, in a pre-k class for 4 and 5 year olds. So very proud of her new princess lunch box from Gigi. </td></tr>
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Not to be left out, little sister Mia was excited to see Sammie off on her first day (and also wanted to wear something special!). <br />
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That evening, we celebrated just as we have every year (and just as my mom did for me each first day of school for my academic career) -- with a small present and a mini-party (cupcakes this year!). <br />
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It is a tradition that I LOVE and one that I am so thankful that my mom did for me. <br />
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Here's to an amazing new year for my big girl. <br />
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I can't wait to watch your year unfold, Sammie B. <br />
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<br />Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-84953090306616322152013-09-08T22:46:00.001-07:002013-09-08T22:53:05.135-07:00New Wheels New WorldTwo weeks ago, Sammie B got new wheels. We proudly took those wheels out for a family walk that night, and I posted this picture on Facebook, with the comments below (yep, if you are Facebook friends with me, much of this is old news to you . . . but not all of it!).<br />
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<i>Sammie's New Wheels. Some thoughts worth
sharing . . . </i></div>
<i><br />Everything about this picture makes my heart smile.
Everything. Certainly, if you'd told me four years ago that today I'd accept
delivery of my girl's first wheelchair, I might hav<span class="text_exposed_show">e wound up in a
heap of tears on the floor. But here's the thing . . . while Sammie has done
amazing in her gait trainer/walker and is still making strides toward
independent walking, those things aren't practical for long distances for her
right now (imagine being four years old and trying to maneuver Disneyland in a
walker), and we've pushed and pulled her in strollers and wagons and on
tricycles for nearly five years. She's dependent on us for her mobility. Those
options, while fine sometimes, are no longer age-appropriate. Her peers see a
stroller, and they think "baby" or "toddler," and she is neither of those
things. <br /><br />The first time we put her in a manual chair, she was a natural.
Moving the wheels like she'd been doing it her whole life. See, I thought the
first time I saw her in a wheelchair, I'd cry. And I did. But they were tears of
joy and I truly felt like my heart was going to burst with pride. I know B felt the same. The lump in his throat was obvious. <br /><br />This chair (and the
power one to come in a few months provided the insurance company doesn't make us
jump through endless hoops) has so much to offer our girl. An age-appropriate
means of mobility. Independence. Amazing. <br /><br />I look at her, and I see an
amazing little girl sitting taller and prouder than I've ever seen before. My girl. One of the most magical little beings that ever
lived. <br /><br />But I also can't help but look and worry that the rest of the
world will look and see a chair first, little girl second, and that hurts my
heart. Before I posted these pictures, I also wondered if people (our friends
and family included) would see the chair and wonder if this meant we were giving
up on other forms of mobility, like independent walking. It does not. <br /><br />It
does mean, though, that we accept our girl (what's not to love and accept?! have
you met her?!) exactly as she is -- right now -- and we want her to have every
single tool she needs to navigate her world in as age-appropriate and
independent way as possible. <br /><br />So look at this picture. Smile. Marvel at
how cute my family is. And promise me that you'll look in a way that you see my
family first, the chair second. <br /><br />I hope that little by little, we (along
with our girl and all our amazing little friends on wheels) will change
perceptions. <br /><br />For Sammie B is one amazing little girl. The chair is but a
part of her. Maybe a "forever" part. Maybe not. This is her story, and we are
just lucky to be part of it. And, I know, with all that I am, that her form of
mobility in this life will not determine the richness of it. <br /><br />Cheer on,
Team Sammie B. Cheer on! </span></i><br />
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<i>* * * </i></div>
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As we walked around the block that night, Sammie yelling "where are the neighbors? I wanted to show everyone my new wheelchair?!" and B and I just bursting with pride, I thought back to a day nearly 5 years ago. Sammie B was just 20 days old, and freshly home from the NICU. We'd packed up the stroller and headed out for our first walk around the neighborhood (for bagels and coffee) as a family of three. As we pushed her, B and I laughed at how proud we were. B said each time we passed someone, he wanted to say, "hey, look at us! we have a new baby! I'm a dad!!" There was an undeniable bounce in our steps. We were beaming. We fought over who would push the stroller (ultimately, I got to push to the bagel place, he pushed home). We have both remembered that first walk fondly and laughed about it when we've seen other new parents doing a similar "pride walk" with their fresh little babies. We were so, so proud. </div>
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And here's the thing . . . this first walk with Sammie and her <i>new wheels</i>? It felt the same. My girl was sitting tall and proud, and B and I were thrilled for her and with her. There was an undeniable bounce in both of our steps, and we were beaming. And once again, we both wanted to push our girl, and took turns. Even Mia took a turn at pushing. </div>
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We are just as proud of our Sammie B today as we ever were. She's amazing. </div>
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***</div>
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For those following along on Facebook, you also know that the chair as delivered had some problems and we had to send it back. Fortunately, they were (we *think*) resolved easily, and we have the chair back and are just waiting on one new part to come in. I was devastated when we had to send it back. So angry and sad. I felt like we'd given our girl this amazing gift of mobility and then taken it away. I stayed up that night and researched and researched trying to figure out what was going on with the frame and what needed to be done. I wrote a scathing email to the sales rep who ordered the wrong parts and allowed the chair to be delivered when it was so clearly not put together correctly, and begged him to just <i>fix it now</i>. And alas, we got it back, adjusted, and working, within a week . . . . </div>
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After picking it up, Sammie and I had some time to kill before another appointment and happened to drive by a Kohls. I asked her if she wanted to go in and buy school clothes, and she was game. And guess what? My girl was a maniac in there. I was both exasperated with her and elated. See, Sammie's never been able to run away from me in a store . . . and here she was, wheeling away, and me chasing. Wheeling over to stacks of shirts and saying, "I want this one. It is purple, my favorite color! Do they have my size? Look for a 5!" She picked out a ton of clothes, moved freely in the store, and had me giggling the entire time. We walked past the men's department where the suits were and she yelled, "They sell prince suits! We should get a new one for Dada!" As I was paying, she wheeled away and I looked over and she was opening a chocolate bar and said, "Mama! Look what I found!" (Later that night when B asked her if she'd had fun shopping, she said, "I was out of my mind in there!" Indeed she was.) </div>
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That shopping trip will easily go down in my favorite memories of all time. </div>
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The first time I chased my Sammie B through a store. </div>
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The first time I said to her, "NO! Sam, put that back and stop wondering off!"</div>
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The first outfit she picked out all on her own, when given free reign of the store. </div>
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Girl has style.<br />
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The next day, Sammie's nanny took her (in her new outfit, of course) to the Science Center. During the day, she sent me a video of Sammie maneuvering herself up to the exhibits to look. All by herself. And I sat in my office and watched that video over and over and cried some of the happiest tears of my life. I called my friend into my office to watch the video with me again. I said, "do you know how big this is to me?" And she said, "I do. Right now, I see a little girl whose body is finally being as independent as her mind and spirit have always been." <br />
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And with that, I cried some more. </div>
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* * * </div>
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These new wheels are a beautiful thing. More beautiful than I ever, ever could have imagined. </div>
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So here I am, sitting in my living room, with the cutest, tiniest purple wheelchair parked next to me. It has pink and purple princess crowns on the backrest, and it is so, so cute. So now, looking at my girl's first wheelchair, while she sleeps soundly in another room, all I can think of is how very, very proud I am to be her mama, and how very, very much promise and possibility comes with this little chair. And how very, very Sammie B it all is. </div>
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So very Sammie B. </div>
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Full of style and possibility. </div>
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Cheer on Team Sammie B, Cheer On!!!</div>
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And tomorrow, I send this big girl off to a brand new school, with her brand new wheels. Be still my heart. </div>
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-3944958163656059882013-08-31T00:28:00.000-07:002013-08-31T08:30:36.915-07:00Them - Right Now<div>
It is amazing what good sleep can do for a girl (me). Mia seems to have gotten over the hump of bad sleep, and thus, we are all sleeping better. After an amazing work win at the beginning of the month, I enjoyed a couple of weeks of being mostly at home, and it was awesome. I cannot tell you how many times this month (or how many times a day) I look at one of my girls and think, "I want to memorize every single thing about her. About us. About this. About our right now." I do. I want to drink them up and memorize everything about them, just as they are right now. So perfectly right now. </div>
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S<span style="color: #500050;">ammie is still (as she has been for over a year now) obsessed with princesses. Every single day, at some point, she requests to dress like a princess. And we let her. Any time she earns a reward for something, and gets to pick, she generally requests a new princess dress. She wears one every day, and most days, there are costume changes. She is in costume about 80% of the time. And I absolutely love that about her. At therapy, at home, out shopping, sleeping, it doesn't matter. The girl likes to be in costume. I've written before about how Sammie B is shy, and how we often feel like lack of confidence holds her back, . . . but we notice when she's in costume, she's bolder, louder, more confident. I adore her imagination. I adore that even though 70% of the time she insists on a princess or fairy costume, she also loves the doctor, vet, police officer, and chef costumes we've bought, and once dressed up, immediately goes into role (as a doctor, "What seems to be the problem?" she asks. Oh Sammie!). When we went to Disneyland, she asked to take her entire trunk full of princess dress-up clothes because she knew the princesses there would like to see them. We let her take two and she had a tough time choosing (ultimately, Minnie and Cinderella). </span></div>
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<span style="color: #500050;">When not wearing a costume, she wants to be wearing a dress. Every day. And, she wants Mia wearing a dress. And me. And if I pick out shorts for Sammie but a dress for Mia? Or shorts for her and a dress for me? Much disappointment ("But I really, really want to wear a dress too!") I've gotten good at finding leggings and shorts to go under dresses so that we can still go to PT in attire she approves of and feels good in. She's my girl, there's no question. Mia is not yet into playing dress up, and Sammie so, so wants her to be. She was so disappointed when Mia refused to wear her Minnie dress to Disneyland. When we buy new princess dresses, she always picks one for Mia but we can rarely get Mia to wear one, so Sammie usually ends up with both of the new dresses (and as I type this, I'm thinking . . . hmmmmmmm . . . . well executed, Sammie B!). </span></div>
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Sammie is also <i>obsessed</i> with happy meals. "Plain hamburger, <i>nothing on it, nothing in it!</i>" She answers "hamburger happy meal" <i>absolutely any time </i>we ask her what she wants for a meal, and I'm ashamed to say, we probably give in far more than we should. But whatever. We've amassed an insane amount of the smurfs they are giving out with happy meals in the last month, and Sam loves them (she also loved the movie). She sleeps with about 12 of them every night, and as she's falling asleep, she makes them talk to each other. (Prior to the smurf collection, she made her two Doras and Diego talk, and every night before bed, she said, "I'm going to make "Dora, Dora and Diego talk!") B and I often sit with the monitor, listening at night, and just laugh and laugh. The other night, this is what we heard the smurfs say:</div>
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I have a great idea!!</div>
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What's your idea?!</div>
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Maybe tomorrow we can all go on a picnic!</div>
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Yes, that would be very, very fun!</div>
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And maybe we could swim in a river!</div>
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That is a very fun idea!</div>
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I want to go on a boat ride. </div>
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Maybe we can find a boat. That is a very, very fun idea!</div>
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The thing is, during the day, Sammie will NOT make the smurfs or any of her other characters talk to each other in front of us -- other than maybe saying hi, but she demands that we make the characters talk (all day). At night though, in the dark of her room, she makes them talk and talk and talk, and we fall in love with her over and over and over again listening to the conversations and her ideas. </div>
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We've gotten to spend several full days together this month, just me and Sammie. We've mostly been running from appointment to appointment, but I've been amazed by how grown up she suddenly is. She tells me she "really, really" wants things and how she's going to do something "forever and ever and ever" and she makes "promises" and the other day even used the word "otherwise" correctly. She asked me for permission to do something one afternoon and I said no, and then she waited and asked B later when I wasn't around and he said yes, and she immediately said, "yay! dada said 'yes' and I cannot wait to tell mama!" When she's happy, the joy spreads throughout her entire body. She radiates with a joyful glee that I cannot get enough of. As our conversations become more and more grown up, I am so keenly aware that time is passing too quickly, and those are the moments I really, really wish I could just bottle it all up. Memorize every detail. </div>
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<b><i>I am completely and totally in awe of Sammie B. Everything about her. I was born to be her mother. </i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So very, very Sammie. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radiating Joy. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her happiest of places. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fearless Sammie B after just (literally) marching across this river/falls with her daddy's help. Sometimes, it takes two. Screaming with joy and glee all the way across. </td></tr>
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And then there's my littlest girl. I <a href="http://mysammieb.blogspot.com/2012/11/youre-one-and-then-some.html" target="_blank">wrote</a> to Mia after her first birthday describing how Mia just did everything big, and she still is. Doing life in big, big Mia way. She's got big personality, gives big loves, throws big fits. She has blessed us and challenged us in so many new and funny ways. She loves Dora and Strawberry Shortcake ("Berry cake!") and her big sister. She repeats after Sammie all the time, and when Sammie wakes up in the morning after Mia or after nap, Mia greets her with such enthusiasm it is as if they've been apart for weeks ("Nammie! Nammie!" Nammie! Mantha! Nammie B!" all while running to her sister to hug her. Truly, the best). She's the most independent little thing I've ever seen and loses her cool if we dare do something for her that she'd wanted to do for herself. Getting her into the car seat each morning is always a challenge ("my do it! my do it!") and I try, try, try to be patient while waiting for her to buckle herself in her car seat. Because if I don't let her . . . well then there's a big Mia fit to contend with. And if I do let her buckle herself, she does (eventually) and then her proud smile and "I do it!" most definitely make it worth the wait. </div>
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With all her independence, she has this delightfully timid side too. The second we go some place new or a new person approaches her, she slows down, reaches for mine or B's hand, and proceeds with caution. I love that about her. Love it. I also love that she's started <i>calling B by his first name</i>, and the look of defeat on his face when she does so is equally endearing. <br />
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Mia's love for our dog ("Dude") knows no bounds. If he's in the room, she wants to be with him, even though he'd prefer that not to be the case. We are trying so hard to help her understand that Dude doesn't want to be touched <i>all the time</i>, and it breaks her heart when he doesn't want her love. When he "warns" her (as we say) with a little grumpy growl, she starts patting him and saying "it's okay Dude buddy, it's okay." She wants him to follow her everywhere, and is always saying "Come on, buddy!" When she has something she's proud of, she always shows each one of us, including Dude. ("Look, Mama, it's a ____. Look, Dada (or B-------), it's a ____! Look Nammie, it's a ____! Look, Dude, it's a _____.") Poor Dude has been a fabulous sport, even though he's getting older and would rather be left alone most of the time (though he gets paid for his patience in dropped food and little faces to lick). </div>
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In an absolutely classic Mia story, last week, we were outside on the patio eating dinner, with the back door open. Mia walked into the house, and I followed. But just as I was about to walk in, she turned around, slammed the door, and locked it. And then, did this:</div>
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I looked at B and said, "she just locked the door." Somehow, I stayed calm, while B tried to talk her into unlocking the door (she tried, but said, "it's stuck!" (it was not)). Fortunately, she stayed in the den where we could see her, and she stayed calm (she started getting out toys and sat down and played). I called a locksmith while B went to work trying to get in a window . . . locksmith was only 15 minutes away so we weren't too freaked out, then B managed to get in a window so the entire crisis lasted under 20 minutes . . . and provided us with a funny story we'll remember forever. The entire time, Sammie was laughing and asking "whose going to get us in the house?!" When I told the story a few days later, Sammie chimed in "you were freaking out!" . . . and to add insult to injury, Mia pooped in her pants while we were outside, so when we came in, we also had to change her. Good story. </div>
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Mia is an amazing little sister to Sammie, an amazing little girl to have as our littlest. She has charisma and charm and so much more. She too is growing up way too fast and even though it just keeps getting more and more fun, I wish I could stop time just for a little while and memorize every detail of her <i>right now</i>. Everything about her. </div>
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<b><i>I am completely and totally in awe of my Mia. Everything about her. I was born to be her mother. </i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmV100xIHzllmXk5iHWgwrNQjSHJGdVsn7okc1Bqj7WFoN7XvOeHYKKgxAB8NWQ0Qct97Sr4NjwlHPOIeVCieNakqX4w0LsrdjrD3CJ0Eue-7O-emQju_Mm99dE7X-SDAz4FET4MkW_Ly/s1600/photo+(27).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmV100xIHzllmXk5iHWgwrNQjSHJGdVsn7okc1Bqj7WFoN7XvOeHYKKgxAB8NWQ0Qct97Sr4NjwlHPOIeVCieNakqX4w0LsrdjrD3CJ0Eue-7O-emQju_Mm99dE7X-SDAz4FET4MkW_Ly/s320/photo+(27).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Possibly the cover of her first album? Funny hair day at day care; she was not thrilled with her pink hair nor amused by me with the camera. This is Mia doing "irritated" in her big, big Mia way. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJiaK_QtScogyB-tbsZsNb3d9uO1WXGmJTdKxEw9dAAKDtu892sThZ7PjaYPNzgPcdTl4rG-ke-33zbkdITR7escnzl0Xf11Y3JxjXItLVdMTBByoY1cQqjAupJ3CrU7gaclXAq2TRkAB/s1600/photo+(28).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJiaK_QtScogyB-tbsZsNb3d9uO1WXGmJTdKxEw9dAAKDtu892sThZ7PjaYPNzgPcdTl4rG-ke-33zbkdITR7escnzl0Xf11Y3JxjXItLVdMTBByoY1cQqjAupJ3CrU7gaclXAq2TRkAB/s320/photo+(28).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is at my dear friend Melissa's birthday party. Mia doing party girl in her big, big Mia way. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little timid at the beach. The closest we could get her to go to the water was about 15 feet away . . . </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYjGMJSmjJpoGWnGI1xddEpAJh7eZBP6irPV7rlXlYL2Yy9hzCJSicWkJS4ZMY760qDJRGESFBqbhmDDvAyeqO9wVj9zkNYrDuF2tWJyqyntb_k3gScr_i6b4GHNGrlm7M2yw177H2hec/s1600/photo+(34).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYjGMJSmjJpoGWnGI1xddEpAJh7eZBP6irPV7rlXlYL2Yy9hzCJSicWkJS4ZMY760qDJRGESFBqbhmDDvAyeqO9wVj9zkNYrDuF2tWJyqyntb_k3gScr_i6b4GHNGrlm7M2yw177H2hec/s320/photo+(34).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mia's famous messy tresses. We do brush her hair. Almost every day. </td></tr>
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We aren't great about taking videos. We take tons of pictures, but rarely print them. I have loads of pictures on my phone, on the computer and even more etched in my mind. I want to memorize them. Fifty years from now, I want to be able to recall their voices, their giggles, their mannerisms. Just as they are right now.<br />
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<b><i>I am in awe of them. I was born to be their mother. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Q1NBndTrsI4kQj85l1h5MvT7LYAwPoEI49UiqbEY3BTOrRcKsG9WKNGctq35yPfi6g4dVdxggyHmCIKKPMOYI2ydrnfWWs-FVQT7JawCy2DczCro6yJF7EmjGF-TrEOZlaAUSx0kukWv/s1600/photo+(29).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Q1NBndTrsI4kQj85l1h5MvT7LYAwPoEI49UiqbEY3BTOrRcKsG9WKNGctq35yPfi6g4dVdxggyHmCIKKPMOYI2ydrnfWWs-FVQT7JawCy2DczCro6yJF7EmjGF-TrEOZlaAUSx0kukWv/s320/photo+(29).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammie B-approved outfits for all of us!</td></tr>
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Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-10177886450464657962013-08-14T22:54:00.000-07:002013-08-14T22:54:39.404-07:00Our NightsJust as work finally eased up and I was looking <i>so, so</i> forward to catching up on sleep, sleep "issues" fell upon us. I don't know what's going on, really, but Mia is having a hard time going to sleep at night and is waking up at least once a night <i>screaming</i> and the only thing that soothes her is laying with me or B. <i> </i>We've been playing a lot of musical beds around here. <div>
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This is all complicated by the fact that when we moved into our new house, we decided to let the girls share a room (at Sammie B's request). All was sweet and cute with the shared pink & purple room (also Sammie's request) for months . . . . we would listen over the monitor to Sammie tell her sister what to do at bed time with such authority ("Do NOT stand up in your bed. Lay down. Right now! Right Now Mia!") and we'd giggle . . . but then sleep issues. Suddenly, the shared room seemed like not such a perfect idea. </div>
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There were a couple of nights where Mia was screaming until 10 pm and then screaming again at 4 am and Sammie would yell "NO crying Mia, NO CRYING!" with such tired desperation (I felt her pain!) that I felt terrible for her. I talked to Sammie about showing compassion and not getting so mad because something was bothering Mia, and the next time Mia woke screaming, I laid in bed and listened over the monitor as Sammie whispered to her sister, "it's okay, Mia. I'm right here. It's okay." Often, one of us would go in and get Mia, and the other one of us would lay with Sam in her bed. But then . . . Sammie B was waking up in the mornings with dark circles under her eyes. Because of all the wake ups, she wasn't getting enough sleep, and she often has therapies in the mornings. So, for now, we have a certain almost-five-year-old sleeping in <i>our bed</i>, which allows her to get the zzzzzs she needs, and allows me to go to Mia during the night when she gets up without Sammie waking (or B, seems like everyone is winning here except mama!). </div>
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On top of these sleep issues, I'm finding myself falling into a tailspin of anxiety lately . . . . for many reasons, some little, some not so little. Thinking about this coming school year, hoping we've made the best decision for Sammie's school (disappointed neither of the charter schools happened for us), anxious about some new "experts" we hope to add to Team Sammie B this year to help us figure out how to best set her up for success in school (more on all of this to come), anxiety about whether I'm giving each girl enough <i>of me</i>, always wishing there was more of me, more patience, more time, more everything. Feeling like life is whizzing by at warp speed, and that there's all these things we should be doing now (or yesterday or last month) (like potty training). I just wish that life would slow down. I wish I could catch my breath. I wish there were less things to feel like we "should" be doing that we just aren't getting to, or that we aren't getting to give "enough" to. </div>
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In the midst of all this craziness, the sleep issues, the anxiety -- there are actually moments when both of the girls are sleeping, moments I peek in at them and watch them breathe . . . and suddenly all feels right with my world. As if time <i>is</i> standing still, and the world (and my heart) is overcome with nothing but calm and peace. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgjy0qj4A8XmFRBbEJgeAKqIDPC6dV_DgL9JjcH-5ZhSDzndJM22MAUdTSBlJ5QwGS9gY0VblTMViQQNKjPqxPDGB8JclnteyvHuMPD3AaEAdfAivCl7ZjjitLAO6CQjN5hWGLWwfLq0z/s1600/sleeping+girls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgjy0qj4A8XmFRBbEJgeAKqIDPC6dV_DgL9JjcH-5ZhSDzndJM22MAUdTSBlJ5QwGS9gY0VblTMViQQNKjPqxPDGB8JclnteyvHuMPD3AaEAdfAivCl7ZjjitLAO6CQjN5hWGLWwfLq0z/s320/sleeping+girls.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oh these two. They own my heart in a way I never knew possible. They are my heart. </div>
Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-89650860025779800392013-08-11T21:47:00.001-07:002013-08-11T21:47:27.028-07:00The Most Magical Place . . . <div style="text-align: left;">
Work has been . . . intense this summer, to say the least. I've worked (much, much) more than part-time, but I've now finally got a reprieve. Finally, finally. Time to breathe, blog, and just be . . . </div>
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Remember how I promised Sammie B we'd take her to Disneyland after her intensive therapy? Well, we did. And, I booked the trip sometime after being stuck in a conference room for 20 hours straight working on a motion. What better time to book a trip than when you are working on zero sleep, missing your family like crazy, and <i>dreaming</i> of a little mini-vacay? I knew I had to have <i>something</i> big to look forward to, and I knew my girl deserved a big weekend after her three weeks of intensive therapy. So, I booked a weekend I might not have otherwise booked, and we went big. It was so, so worth it. We stayed in one of the Disney resort hotels, we did the two-day two park hopper passes, and we had an absolute blast. It was so, so nice to sneak back to the hotel each afternoon for a family nap, to wake up and say "Who wants to go back to Disney?" and have two little girls squealing "Me me me!" It was so.much.fun. </div>
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It was a full weekend of celebrating and family and it was everything, everything we all needed. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpm42KIPuLmanhK961Ne9xPXRvZ1JQB8HxKBQNa6eC1aaoMpqhytKnZVZdsDrv1DIgVeTKoZiCdb-RcczS8yjW71vkd3LACxP47qr6DzvX7BBqIu35VAUJa_7Y9iOsPmVx4s4-3qOVRcx/s1600/IMG_3213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpm42KIPuLmanhK961Ne9xPXRvZ1JQB8HxKBQNa6eC1aaoMpqhytKnZVZdsDrv1DIgVeTKoZiCdb-RcczS8yjW71vkd3LACxP47qr6DzvX7BBqIu35VAUJa_7Y9iOsPmVx4s4-3qOVRcx/s320/IMG_3213.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At California Adventure</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzNPBifC_4rD7KjY-XDl1hf0fR07bfLEADUy1cHbxzUMwCftbibZ_Il5MLpa5yaKsOV6cNTq_2Tu8esqtMn1fLGlTn532t_r2So8H5Pc5PjAWd_MFs7SPaFnhZvm6nBG8S5V3zTba-iP-/s1600/IMG_3214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzNPBifC_4rD7KjY-XDl1hf0fR07bfLEADUy1cHbxzUMwCftbibZ_Il5MLpa5yaKsOV6cNTq_2Tu8esqtMn1fLGlTn532t_r2So8H5Pc5PjAWd_MFs7SPaFnhZvm6nBG8S5V3zTba-iP-/s320/IMG_3214.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting Merida -- one of my favorite parts of this trip is that while Sammie B has long been character and princess-obsessed, this time, Mia was really into it -- both LOVED seeing the princesses, Minnie, Mickey, and all the characters. (Sammie was so disappointed that Mia refused to wear her Minnie costume). </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUewQZeuKAnWZe9cmiubvsbZnkoa6sdl13R9gEeFuRYdJsxdBDgsFrEzCSRryTuV3ouiWg7p1EJIYctsmSxcSfJ3FlFNthccdNHeUZ5sn9TBV-7c5sh7k3t_QSb3xaplEAS8Q-vi1shOY_/s1600/IMG_3215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUewQZeuKAnWZe9cmiubvsbZnkoa6sdl13R9gEeFuRYdJsxdBDgsFrEzCSRryTuV3ouiWg7p1EJIYctsmSxcSfJ3FlFNthccdNHeUZ5sn9TBV-7c5sh7k3t_QSb3xaplEAS8Q-vi1shOY_/s320/IMG_3215.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel pool/splash pad</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbM9umerfEW_MimY6D7Ar1kRRXyAbp4BiK0lLc7O9Q3s4ssynkSlhx-2JzoRO8tU5OvzuVlvmpkEKzI5oegz1u7inEkfgnCaaMMQ00VtXOKuaMp7qOBpin-DvcyeAAL2QmfwlCwSuLFyp/s1600/IMG_3217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbM9umerfEW_MimY6D7Ar1kRRXyAbp4BiK0lLc7O9Q3s4ssynkSlhx-2JzoRO8tU5OvzuVlvmpkEKzI5oegz1u7inEkfgnCaaMMQ00VtXOKuaMp7qOBpin-DvcyeAAL2QmfwlCwSuLFyp/s320/IMG_3217.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water show at California Adventure while we waited for lunch with the princesses</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdYbea0FMWySP7X17crYOK6HnQTkKqbmP_I37R-jlnhhRk99frBEWJFUQS9GKINDJyZRYDKS3zpZyE00LMrnUk9R9ob5EHRxw7D06et_QIic6xMdCsk6v8cGrsssqdawlGby_958KSrdn/s1600/IMG_3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdYbea0FMWySP7X17crYOK6HnQTkKqbmP_I37R-jlnhhRk99frBEWJFUQS9GKINDJyZRYDKS3zpZyE00LMrnUk9R9ob5EHRxw7D06et_QIic6xMdCsk6v8cGrsssqdawlGby_958KSrdn/s320/IMG_3218.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Disney - Classic Mia face</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6jrIhcKztlt0chsTuKFX4_uBmZ77XLP-saXDJcPaGkgc5FHkAqsnRzO6Wan7Z3mJYrnVA7HUUnLj7riA-mJMKWfzVEy4MMJEjnlCqmm6irrlzH9lt7eyG6NAAucZOZRVCr_HUXjmo3mnX/s1600/IMG_3219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6jrIhcKztlt0chsTuKFX4_uBmZ77XLP-saXDJcPaGkgc5FHkAqsnRzO6Wan7Z3mJYrnVA7HUUnLj7riA-mJMKWfzVEy4MMJEjnlCqmm6irrlzH9lt7eyG6NAAucZOZRVCr_HUXjmo3mnX/s320/IMG_3219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the 40 inches and up rides :o) she was too short for this one in December. They also rode the really fast Cars ride and Sam loved it. After they got off, B said, "that was so fast! It was like a roller coaster, and Sammie said, "no, it was just a ride." </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCS1BlEbqdMnXRdFJGueu_iv-xi5jAVaCskFfDZfkgUUVC7SAR-smzxspJQNSba-7S92sqU-Z-VUdmQv-vWf713JQ8qYVLBBon7XUVLJy5k4IfzJZOkeax5i3j38NNTWqDHNNOZRdtwMK/s1600/IMG_3220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCS1BlEbqdMnXRdFJGueu_iv-xi5jAVaCskFfDZfkgUUVC7SAR-smzxspJQNSba-7S92sqU-Z-VUdmQv-vWf713JQ8qYVLBBon7XUVLJy5k4IfzJZOkeax5i3j38NNTWqDHNNOZRdtwMK/s320/IMG_3220.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She didn't pick the ride, and didn't want to ride it (Mia picked) so we told her you don't have to look then, so she didn't. (Except check out that peep hole!). </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnesNq4kKLLQm9jZaHNsJEv3g3imSr0Xe7hKDK06DoJ_gBcKoz8BMSjQ09ejmOUakqHUHDpRfVrQMSISXaNkqJwKYY-T57iAOlMuh3vxA7BFtJvWEaO-pbQ12sREfhVW-d71aTHzzxymbW/s1600/IMG_3221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnesNq4kKLLQm9jZaHNsJEv3g3imSr0Xe7hKDK06DoJ_gBcKoz8BMSjQ09ejmOUakqHUHDpRfVrQMSISXaNkqJwKYY-T57iAOlMuh3vxA7BFtJvWEaO-pbQ12sREfhVW-d71aTHzzxymbW/s320/IMG_3221.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carousel </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXodUjefaavPmox5gR0eXgAAUpJsPPFpiZYNRS6r-nTS8WuelpcMROxP6WgPJkivFc_hUoOylqsWK88j-anEDveL88_gl_GWxAq6Y-wRq4hCmWEHmoJ1AbliTwdp5AR0lqCmJnlHVmuSvZ/s1600/IMG_3237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXodUjefaavPmox5gR0eXgAAUpJsPPFpiZYNRS6r-nTS8WuelpcMROxP6WgPJkivFc_hUoOylqsWK88j-anEDveL88_gl_GWxAq6Y-wRq4hCmWEHmoJ1AbliTwdp5AR0lqCmJnlHVmuSvZ/s320/IMG_3237.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mesmerized during the parade</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_ybUVNespkYxlMNs4FAdx4iTg0mOriFlAF093lvacXaCwIodTL1wDyMSUoGfrsbtjDQOc6YwcPjz68HP3eJLi-7nw_858dcanLi_EeM7ZXXE0h0rjjSly5eQdAdlVC7oBY6TnVOLgOXB/s1600/IMG_3252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_ybUVNespkYxlMNs4FAdx4iTg0mOriFlAF093lvacXaCwIodTL1wDyMSUoGfrsbtjDQOc6YwcPjz68HP3eJLi-7nw_858dcanLi_EeM7ZXXE0h0rjjSly5eQdAdlVC7oBY6TnVOLgOXB/s320/IMG_3252.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best part about mini-vacations? Snuggling with my girls till 10 am! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGO2SRXkTkFl07gdZCI2QU1IDNuPPf7FZsViYofq9x9gWPXPEmS_fPmvZRNU4Louv-ZgV4Am22YDxX0GSRaYy_V4N0H1MwPQSWzzq7karaglK7E6k1v_juVgv4y1EbTSGDXrbbpSQKHBLS/s1600/IMG_6272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGO2SRXkTkFl07gdZCI2QU1IDNuPPf7FZsViYofq9x9gWPXPEmS_fPmvZRNU4Louv-ZgV4Am22YDxX0GSRaYy_V4N0H1MwPQSWzzq7karaglK7E6k1v_juVgv4y1EbTSGDXrbbpSQKHBLS/s320/IMG_6272.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much fun!</td></tr>
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There's no one on earth I'd rather spend a weekend with than these three . . . . no one. Just tonight, after B spent the day out with Sammie B (a date to see a princess puppet show) and I spent the day with just Mia (something we are still trying to do nearly every weekend, giving each girl one-on-one time with one of us; Mia and I went to the park and out to lunch), I told B, "I love my one-on-one time with each of them, but there's something about the four of us coming back together at the end of the day that just feels perfect." And it did. As I scrambled in the kitchen to throw dinner together (with Mia whining at my legs saying "hold you hold you hold you") and B out at the grill on the patio, with Sammie B scootching around, collecting rocks (her favorite thing these days), everything felt so blissfully chaotic and wonderful. I love a weekend. Love it. Especially the non-office kind. </div>
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And of all the weekends this summer, our Disney weekend was definitely my favorite. We didn't get to take a "real" vacation away this summer, but have had a few little weekend trips (and a time still for maybe one more before Sammie B starts back to school on September 9!). </div>
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Time seems to be moving at warp speed, and I want to soak in these amazing family moments. If there was a way to memorize every second of these days, every moment with my two littles, I would. They are both magical. </div>
Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6163766535638871272.post-91522707153977345292013-07-15T23:30:00.000-07:002013-07-15T23:30:01.746-07:00Will they Know?Lately, I fall asleep worrying and wake up worrying. I don't know why I do this, or why it comes in such waves -- it is just part of who I am, I guess. I worry about how much I've been working; I worry about whether my girls know that when I'm not physically with them, my heart aches TO be with them. That during the day, even when I'm at my desk downtown, I'm still "mama" even when I'm also wearing my lawyer hat. In between work assignments and calls, I'm scheduling appointments, fighting for services, figuring out how we'll make certain things they need happen, texting our nanny to check in, worrying whether Sammie B is enjoying PT and cooperating or not enjoying and not cooperating (on a day where its the latter, my heart sinks as I once again wish my girl didn't have to work so stinking hard, and I want more than anything to bolt from my desk and go home and hold her) and missing them both like crazy. I worry that I'm always just the day care drop-off person, the legs Mia clings to on her clingy mornings, while B gets to do pick up and be the arms she runs to at the end of her day. I worry that in the evenings, when I'm playing <i>and</i> have to stop to answer a call or respond quickly to email messages from work that they will think I'm not fully "present" with them, and I so, so want them to know they are my number one. My absolute number one. I want them to know that even though my lawyer hat often bleeds into my mama time, being mama is always the hat that matters most. I worry that they'll someday resent that I wasn't the one coming home every day at a normal time, fun and ready to play. I'm glad that B is in a position to do that. I'm glad that we have him. But at the same time, I worry they won't know that they were my number one. I worry they won't understand that a big (HUGE) part of why I do the job I do, is because it allows me (us) to provide things for them we might not otherwise be able to do. I wonder if someday they'll understand this, and I hope they feel more proud of me than resentful. As worry (these and others, new and old) threaten to rob me of my joy and my "presence," I'm struggling to enjoy the minute simple moments (a phrase I'm stealing from my friend <a href="http://www.capturingmotherhood.com/" target="_blank">H</a>), like these: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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May THESE moments define us. In THIS moment, my heart felt absolutely full and perfect. May I learn to keep the worry from robbing me of the joys of the moments like these. If I could live in THIS moment, 24 hours a day, I think I would. Because moments like THIS one are the ones where everything else -- all the worry -- just melt away and my life feels like complete perfection. </div>
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In my extended family, we've had a tragedy in the last few days that has made me really look at the roles everyone plays/has played . . . and here's the thing . . . whenever I think of my own mother, I think of love. Pure, undying, unconditional, intense love. She has, for 36 years, loved her children with the most unending, unconditional, intense and pure love. Loved us so hard it hurt her sometimes, I know that. And even though I might be able to pick some some imperfections in my mom, when I describe her to others, I always say she's the most loving, nurturing, take-care-of-everyone-else-on the planet, genuine person on earth. And I want, more than anything, to model that same love for my girls. I want them to grow up and know that their mama loved them to the ends of the earth and back. Crazy, unending, unconditional, pure, and intense love. The kind of love that takes my breath away. The kind my mama taught me. That's what I want them to know. That even on my worst days, they still take my breath away. </div>
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These two little ladies are my heart. I love them with every fiber of my being, every inch of my soul. </div>
Momttorneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09783917281663075229noreply@blogger.com1