A Moment w/ A Momma to A Learning Disabled Child

Most who know me, know about my son Gabriel.

After his first grade year in school, he was assessed as being dyslexic. While it was a welcome discovery, to learn that we had a name to hang on the problems we'd been having with his educational development we had no idea what we were in for. Every new concept, every new subject meant frusterations, confusion, tears (his and ours).

I've been contemplating homeschooling and decided to utilize this summer as a sort of testing ground of MY abilities. At the end of the school year, I'd asked the teacher for any disguarded 5'th grade textbooks (thinking a year ahead) hoping to see how far I'd get with Gabriel.

In my concious mind I kept very realistic expectations, knowing that any attempt at bringing forth new concepts would be met with frusteration. To my surprise, today we focused on United States capitols and abbreviations; after an hours worth of dilligent work....he'd nearly mastered the first 10 states. While cooking dinner, I thought to *test* what he'd learned -- to my shock he'd answered each question nearly correct! By this time, Ralph had arrived home and decided to play in our "game". He too was shocked at Gabriel's relaxed manner & retrival of information.

If we thought we were shocked when he successfully named the first ten states, capitols and abbreviations ..... we both nearly fell over when he asked Ralph directly to work with him on math after supper! As I sit here right now, he is still sitting at the table .... alone. Working on multiplication and division, fractions and decimals, contentedly, happily.

My eyes are filling with tears as I even think about this, because I cannot recount the hair pulling moments we've had over the last year with math facts. Could it be the summertime atomosphere? The bare feet and swimming trunks?

I'm nearly certain this is a sign for me to pursue homeschooling. I've wondered for so long if it would be the right choice for Gabriel and I feel so strongly that it is.

BBC -- To Buy or Not to Buy

I am actually doing "ok" with the cloth diapering.

The extra wash doesn't seem that daunting. What seems bothersome is the actual time it takes to change a diaper.

I mean seriously I am a modern mother; I want things done like, yesterday.

Now I am curious -- since I have managed for two weeks now with the old fashioned Gerber flatfold diapers with pins and vinyl pants....should I invest in a more fancy set of diapers?

I see this as a potentially damaging habit to get into. Sort of like my penchant for buying nice suits and heels when I was working. There were suits for kicking ass, there were suits for meetings to be had, there were suits for first client meetings, there were suits for seminars.

Will I be buying diapers for every occasion? First steps diapers. First birthday diapers. Playdate diapers. Nap diapers.

Oh dear.

Should I Be Enjoying This?

I'm starting to grow into my new role.

I'm planning activities for summer vacation.

I'm budgeting for road trips.

I'm making to-do lists.

I drive my son to school in my sweats everyday, and I know the theme songs to my daughter's favorite morning cartoons by heart.

I snack on goldfish and apple juice.

I may or may not join a stroller gang. (for all intensive purposes I don't actually believe there is a physical group named "The Stroller Gang", of course if I was in charge there would be one. I simply meant stroller gang as in a group of ladies who push their tots around in strollers together at the same time to the same places)

I'm volunteering at the annual school fundraiser and am irritated with the lack of parent participation.

Who have I become?

BBC - A Rose By Any Other Name

I have logged in several hours of research on the topic of cloth diapering, and no where in my internet travels was the actual topic of poop mentioned.

I simply assumed the old saying "a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet" (or in this case "bad") would apply.

I can safely say I was wrong.

Not only does the smell seem somehow magnified from a cloth diaper, but the actual cleanup. Oh...dear.

Baby Butt Chronicles

I will be attempting (with some trepidation) to enter the wide, wonderous world of Cloth Diapering.

I will log in my adventures under the above listed monicker..."Baby Butt Chronicles".

In the End, We Are ALL Just "Moms"

While waiting through the school drop off zone line this morning (which is another blog entirely -- WHY is it SUCH a difficult concept for some people to grasp?) I happened to glance in my rear view mirror and notice a familiar face.

I'll call her "Stephanie". We went to the same high school. She was a cheerleader, and we had drama together. "Stephanie" wasn't what I would call one of my best friends, but she was definately a person I had a hard time liking.

She was in drama to get her arts credits for graduation, I was in it because it was an art I believed in.

She was born with a woman's figure, and I waited until my senior year to develop boobs.

She could walk into a room and conversate with any person, while I kept to myself and my friends.

She was a cheerleader, while I was anti-anythingtodo with pep and spirit.

She read Cosmo magazine, I read Salinger.

She spent her weekends at keg parties, I hung out at comedy improv clubs and alternative music shows.

Studying her face in my rear view mirror, my view expanded to her car, it was a mini-van. Certainly not the vehicle choice of the uuber cool girl she used to be. I could see colored school papers littering her dash, and a little girl with a backpack sitting in the front seat talking non-stop while "Stephanie" gazed out the driver's side window eyes glazing over.

Every so often she was pulled from her reverie with her daughter tugging at her sleeve, and she'd nod her head in agreement or utter a few words. I imagined she was thinking about how many loads of laundry she needed to do, reminding herself to get cat food and call the plumber.

In this moment I am reminded that who we were in high school is not the people we have become today. In high school I was bold, I was wild...I carried a empty box of chinese take-out as a purse and wore Barbie heads strung in a necklace. Now, I cannot recall the last time I wore earrings, and I carry a diaper bag instead of a purse. (even when I am not with my children...how sad is that?)

Once we become mothers, I guess the trappings of our youth are forgotten and we are all the same.

Ma'am ????

I decided to throw caution to the wind, and embrace a new experience this weekend and did my grocery shopping at a store I've never shopped at. The fact that this seemed exciting to me should speak volumes about my personal life!

As I comparisoned shopped my way through this varietal pantheon of delictable treats I realized I needed to use the "little mommies room". At first opportunity, I spied a young man wearing a name badge that said: Brad and asked where I might find the restroom. Brad straightened himself up, cleared his throat and replied: "follow this row down to aisle 4 and make a left, it's against the wall."

I thanked him and he said, "you're welcome.....ma'am."

Ma'am? When did I become a "ma'am"? My mother is a ma'am, but I didn't think I was one. When did this happen? Was it last year when I turned thirty one? Or was it maybe when I stopped baring my midriff? This isn't the sort of thing that happens steadily over time or is it? Does that sort of thing just creep up on you?

This rates along with other life milestones that suck the breath right out of you. For example, stopping at the corner gas station to pick up a six pack of beer and the attendant doesn't bother to ask for your i.d. Or enduring additional pre-natal testing due to advanced maternal age. Buying age fighting cosmetics seem to have about the same impact for me as being called ma'am by a pimply faced boy.

I had somewhat recovered from the shock by the end of my shopping trip. I decided if it was to be so, that I join the distinguished group of ladies known by strangers as "ma'am", then I would do so with my head held high.

I did however hurry out of the store once I'd paid for my groceries in case "Brad" wanted to help walk me across the street, I'm not ready to join that club yet!