planning with a pencil and a little Buffett

What's the saying about having children and best laid plans?  I'm sure it says something about increasing your plan diversions for every child you have. Or maybe it says having a special needs child guarantees altering your plans.


There WAS a period in my life where events and activities were written in pen. Now, it's straight pencil.


Take today for example. Plans were changed early and lunch arrived quietly. The quiet turned into screams of pain as Nick stumbled and fell into Michael's sea chest. You know how a single moment precipitates from the perfect ingredients - the right angle, the needed forward motion, the exact sharp corner, the child with cerebral palsy? Well, it was mixed at the necessary temperature with a little creative dress-up (which probably hindered his ability to walk) and a long, hard-to-pass-by-without-looking mirror. 


The result? A speedy visit to the pediatrician for stitches. After we changed him into real clothes.... 


I heard the scream, knew there would be blood involved. Nick has this discrete "I see red" pitch to his scream. I hastened my sandwich-making skill for the other kids and grabbed the phone. Yes, the pediatrician is on my "favorites" contact list. We're practically BFF's with the amount of calls I make for emergencies, well checks, general questions, referrals and med refills. 


We learned many years ago one of the important aspects to surviving life with a medically challenged kid - have a great support team of professionals. When we found the home we're in, a selling point was the close proximity to the pediatrician who does casting and stitching in-house. We knew it would be vital.


Nick's medical team knows him well. Fortunately, not so much for mishaps and accidents, but more for maintenance. I don't have to list out the lengthy history, explain anything (like his extreme low weight, why he's not responding to the questions, etc). I would even say he's a well-liked little patient there.


The decision was made to stitch his forehead gash closed and we all crossed our fingers he wouldn't require sedation. He didn't. The 5 of us that held him down and did the lidocaine injections just have a little less hearing...


I used a time tested music therapy strategy and broke out the big guns - Jimmy Buffett. Nick immediately calmed. No way he was going to let his screams drown out his Buffett. When Margaritaville came on, he sang the chorus:

Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame

It was hard NOT to laugh. Poor guy. He sang his way through a few more songs before he was allowed to be free and we were back home in less than an hour.

I'm curious to see what tomorrow brings.

struggles with unattended children

The sign in the fast food play place reads: Children must be with an adult in the playland at all times. If children are left unattended the police will be called.

But what happens if the children weren't left in the playland unattended? What if they arrived unattended?

Matt and Jess were with me yesterday while we waited for Nick, who was enduring his weekly 3 hours of private PT, OT and speech. As I was waiting to order my coffee, three young girls, maybe 9 to 11 years of age, came in from a side entrance. Immediately I could tell they were street-smart, aware of their surroundings and they had obviously just woken up.

One had no shoes. Their clothes were dirty and either too small or too large. Hair was knotty, unbrushed probably for days. I smiled. They accepted my smile, but the response was split-second, cautious and only courteous.

I noticed they paid for their order with a gift card, not a credit card or cash. The middle child, who had gorgeous blue eyes, was in charge. She knew how much money was left on the card and informed the other two what they would be eating. I also noticed they were savvy enough to ask for plastic cups for water to avoid paying for a drink.

After they ate their breakfast, they played a game of hide-and-go-seek in the playland. I gave a few laughs and attention, but not overtly. I wanted to ask, "Where is your parent? Your guardian? Your babysitter?" But I knew the answer.

Jess came over to get her drink and we shared a giggle at Matt's antics from high above us in a bubble. The middle child stared at Jess, shook her head and then sneered. It was very clear to her I wasn't Jessi's biological mother and I wonder if she was jealous. Maybe she didn't care for Jessi's dress. I'm not sure.

When Matt approached their group, they didn't give a second glance at his CI's as so often happens when we're in public. Whatever. In their world some random kid with things attached to his head doesn't register. I imagine that's because their eyes have seen much. Much more horrible and devastating than my eyes.

They began to quarrel with one another. The middle child dominated with the "I'm not playing your game anymore" strategy of forever not being "it". She needed to win at something and was clearly proficient in rewriting the rules, especially the rules of her life. To hear their jabs at one another was painful.

If it had been my children, I would have offered pen and paper and suggested the game rules be written down to avoid arguments. Sadly, I couldn't muster the courage to share this idea with the girls. It was as if they were wild, mysterious creatures I didn't want to spook. Can you see it though? A stranger offering a "Better Homes and Gardens" approach to their predicament? "Really, lady?"

I did offer my observations on how comedic and crafty I thought the youngest was in tagging her sister (or friend, not sure). A slight smile, quickly replaced with a stoic expression, was my reward. I say MY reward because THEY weren't looking for one. They were just trying to be children.

With all of the media coverage of she-who-will-not-be-named, I've seen many in our society become outraged with what I perceive as energy lacking in real purpose or endurance. So, I challenged myself with my own reaction to make a difference in the world. As I pondered how to complete such a challenge in these girls' lives, I realized my own children in front of me. My children, adopted from foster care, who could have been these 3 girls with no adult supervision, no shoes.

Instead, they are happy, carefree children who think their world has been turned upside down when I turn off the TV or make them leave the YMCA before the hour is up. Their early lives were filled with trauma and abuse and the need for strong survival skills. Thankfully, they have no memory of those years.

As I struggle with how I can help these unattended children in a fast food playland, I realize it's time to leave. Calling Matt over and asking him to put his shoes on spins my struggling wheel to a different wedge. It's no longer pointing to "help strange children, " but has stopped on "help your own children."

As we exit the building, the girls are filling their pockets and hands with creamers.

What would you do if unattended children arrived in your life?