SpecialMoms Parenting Magazine: Article about Smith-Magenis Syndrome

Happy to announce that I was given the opportunity to write an article about Smith-Magenis syndrome in the fourth issue of the SpecialMoms Parenting magazine.

This new and upcoming magazine was created by a mom whose son was born with Down's syndrome and it's "designed to celebrate the contributions of women, mom entrepreneurs who a making an impact in the special needs community."

It's FREE, but you have to sign up here to have it emailed to you:  http://www.specialmomsmagazine.com/welcome

Lots of great information for Special Needs Parents just in time for the upcoming Holidays....and did I mention that there is an article about Smith-Magenis syndrome?

World Smith-Magenis Syndrome Awareness Day

Today is the day we celebrate individuals born with Smith-Magenis Syndrome (SMS) and their incredible families.

These families make a coordinated effort to spread SMS awareness in their own corner of the world.

I am pleased to announce that my blog is featured on an international special needs support group, Firefly.  This group has started a site, called Firefly Garden, where families can meet in a virtual garden and ask questions, share knowledge of useful products or start campaigns to make social changes.

It is free to join, visit      http://community.fireflyfriends.com  for details.

It's so hard to get SMS awareness out there!  We are very rare (one in 15,000 births according to the PRISMS website) so I am thankful that Firefly Garden is highlighting kids like Garrett today.

So you click here:  http://community.fireflyfriends.com/blog/article/november-17-2014-world-smith-magenis-syndrome-day  

and say"Thank You" to Firefly Garden.  

SAY THANK YOU!  

I said SAY THANK YOU!!!!!

(that's SMS talk for "Please visit the site today". )

The Parrot: A Lesson in Speech Therapy

Today it’s hard to believe, but there was a time I was afraid that Garrett would never talk.  I discussed my worries with my friend Robyn.  Her son was born seven years before Garrett and was diagnosed with SMS when he was thirteen years old.

“Have you ever seen those talking parrot toys?” she asked me.

“Yeah!  It scares the bejesus out of me every time I walk through Cracker Barrel.” 

Not only did the thing flap its wings and turn its head, but it repeated whatever sound was made within 50 yards of its electronic bird ear.  Scary stuff!

“Years ago, my son got one for Christmas and it really motivated him to talk.  He got such a kick out of hearing that parrot repeat him.”

Although Garrett was almost six years old at the time, I wasn’t sure I was pining that badly for him to talk.  I could only imagine how scary a parrot was in the middle of the night; especially when my husband was away on Army vacations.    I almost called the cops on a talking Scooby once until I realized a burglar would not be calling out, “Scrappy?  Is that yoooou?”.  

I didn't have long to contemplate this dilemma because Robyn returned to my house with a package for Garrett.  And there was a talking parrot inside.

“Well, what do you think Garrett?”  Robyn asked.

“What do you think Garrett?  What do you think Garrett?” the toy repeated.

Garrett was mesmerized by the wings flapping and he tried to catch them.

“No, look here,” Robyn showed him the front of the bird.

“No look here.  No look here.”  The parrot wasn’t that scary when you were expecting it to talk.

“Hello Garrett McGrevy!”  Robyn talked directly into the bird’s chest.  I would never look at a pop up turkey timer the same again. 

“Hello Garrett McGrevy.  Hello Garrett McGrevy.”  Garrett giggled and tried to grab the wings again.

“You talk, Garrett and Mr. Parrot will repeat you.”  Robyn handed Garrett the bird.

“Parrot will repeat you.  Parrot will repeat you.”

Garrett held it directly in front of him, just like Robyn.  There was no doubt in my mind that Garrett was capable of making the sounds.  He had short words mastered, but he was not stringing phrases together except in sign language. 

He leaned down and pulled the toy close to his mouth.  I held my breath while my mind raced.  What would be his first words?

“You look too young to be my mother” would be a really good one.  Maybe he had some insight to share, like “It’s totally Dad’s fault you backed into his pickup truck.”  Or even a grudge he wanted to get off his chest: “I know what happened to my talking Scooby!”

Garrett took a deep breath.   I leaned in towards him.

“Squawk! Squawk!” he shouted.

“Squawk.  Squawk.  Squawk. Squawk.”  

The wings flapped, the bird head moved left and right, and Garrett laughed hysterically.

It was the only word he would EVER say to that parrot.  

How I Got My Son with SMS Off of the School Bus, Part II

Transitions are difficult for my son, Garrett, who was born with Smith-Magenis Syndrome.  I found a solution for getting on the school bus by luck (see this blog post here), but getting him home again has not been so easy (see Part I here).

The box with a prize worked very well for a couple of school years.  But when it started to go bad, Garrett’s behavior went downhill quickly.  It got to the point where he would just refuse to cross the road.  I would have to half drag, half carry him.   The bigger he grew, the less control I had of him. It wasn’t just embarrassing.  I was afraid that he was going to get hit by car. 

When things escalate to that level, it is best to completely change the routine.  Fortunately for me, we live across the street from our local high school.  And luckily, Garrett’s bus driver was sympathetic as was her supervisor.   So she started to turn around at the high school and pull in front of driveway. 

I still had to man-handle Garrett into the house, but I was able to threaten him whisper sweet, loving words of encouragement without the threat of getting run over. Once we got over the threshold, he turned the SMS off.  I just need to get him IN THE DOOR!

In those days, Garrett was still receiving physical and occupational therapy at Children’s Hospital.  At the end of these appointments, he was allowed to pick a sticker from a basket.  It was a huge motivator for him and I decided to try it with the bus transition.

We started with just a sheet of cheap stickers, like these that come free in the mail.

And hallelujah, it worked!

Jenny, the bus driver, started buying the stickers.   The fancy Hallmark store, holiday theme kind.  And Disney.  And Curious George.  And probably whatever else Garrett told her he “needed.”  

He was really excited for those!  Jenny would hand him a sticker, or sometimes he would want it on his shirt, and he would run up to our house to show me.  I didn’t even have to meet him on the bus steps.  He started “saving” them on his bed, dresser, closet wall and bedroom door.   

These Disney Easter ones are still stuck on the door 

almost six years later because 

stickers on beds, dressers and doors last forever. 

I would say this SMS Trick was good for about a year, maybe two. 

Then Garrett started having a problem deciding on which sticker:

                 “I want the Dora kite.  No.  The Map.  No.  Boots!  Give me Boots!”  OR

                                                     

                            “I want that one.  Two.  Can I have two?  Three.  I need three!!”  

It was time to mix it up again.  I went and bought envelopes and boring stickers.   I cut the stickers apart and put one sticker in each envelope.  When Garrett got off the bus, Heather or Mandy  (the new bus driver and aide) would give him an envelope that he had to open inside the house.   He could not wait to get in the house and open it.

And, like Jenny, they had to go get fancy –smancy stickers. 

Then Mandy started addressing the envelopes with Garrett’s name…eventually adding artwork…

soon to be on the front AND back.  

                                                                                                                                                                       

(Seriously, where do the transportation angels come from?!  I have visions of 30 year old Garrett hanging out in the bus garage soaking up undivided attention from the entire staff.)

The stickers were wonderful.  

Until they were not.  

Which leads us to “Getting off the Bus, Part III”, coming soon.  

The Grocery Store Trip: AKA The Mommy Meltdown

One of the first things my husband and I learned at the PRISMS International Conference was that our son needs consistent and continuous help with his behaviors.  Modeling and positive re-enforcement on our part goes a LONG way in avoiding the prolonged SMS meltdowns.  In the words of Mary Beall, our SMS kids need to “borrow our calm.”  It’s true.  It works, almost every time.  Some days I am very good at faking how calm I am; and other days, I’m not even close….

Going grocery shopping trip with my son who was born with SMS quickly becomes an episode of “Garrett’s Favorite Things.”  The only thing missing from these excursions was Oprah’s confetti falling from the ceiling while he snatched up a balloon, a Lunchable and anything from the chocolate food group. 

Garrett, his younger brother and I walked through the stoned arch doorway of our local supermarket.  We strolled past the patio furniture, photo department and the florist, covering the distance of a football field before reaching actual food. 

“Balloon!” Garrett cranked his head back towards the florist.  “I need a balloon!  It’s my favorite.”

I calmly placed both of his hands on the cart. 

“Here, Garrett.   I need you to drive.”

I pushed him down the aisles, grabbing food with the hope of moving faster than he could see. 

Four loaves of bread.   A box of Cherrios.  A box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. 

I turned my back for one second.

Frosted Flakes. Lucky Charms.  Ceral and more ceral.   

 

 “MOM!”  my son tapped my back and pointed to the produce section.  Garrett had found the bananas and was very close to consuming one.

“Garrett!”  I ran off towards him with his brother on my heels.  “You forgot the cart!”  I yelled back over my shoulder.

I grabbed the banana out of Garrett’s hand.

“Banana!” he cried.  “I need a banana!  It’s my favorite.”  I tossed the banana in the cart.

“You can have a banana when we get home.”  I threw two big bunches of bananas in the cart and four loaves of bread cushioned their fall. I pulled his brother off of the cart and placed both of Garrett’s hands back on the handle; calmly.

“Here Garrett.  I need you to drive.”

We turned the corner and I started to round up my necessities:  a bag of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee beans, coffee filters and powdered creamer.   I spotted the Kureg K-cups and tried to remember if my coffee Merry-go-Round at home still contained Green Mountain’s blueberry coffee.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed my youngest child standing, spread eagle, with his arms up in the air.   He was too short to block the top of the cardboard display; the first shelf of what I could only assume was at least fifty Pillow Pets.

I hugged Garrett’s head into my shoulder (totally different from a “head lock”) and steered the cart towards the meat department.   

Chicken or Pot Roast?   I wondered what my husband would want for-----

“Lunchable!  I want a Lunchable!  It’s my favorite!”   I looked over and Garrett was holding a Pizza Lunchable in one hand and a Ham and Cheese Cracker Lunchable in the other. 

“You can have one, Garrett.”   I told my younger son to pick out one, too.    “Garrett, the crackers are crunchy.  You like the pizza one----“

“Oh!  I want THIS one! It’s my favorite!”  Garrett held up the Cadillac of Lunchables….a turkey sub sandwich with the tiniest water bottle ever created.  

“Garrett, that one costs too much money.  Get the pizza one.”

“I WANT THIS ONE!  I WANT THIS ONE!”  At least four heads turned our way.   

“Fine.  Put it in the cart!”  I said, mostly calm. 

I placed Garrett’s hands back on the cart—again!   I grabbed the front of the basket, helping him continue in a forward motion.  We had to get some milk and then we could leave.  I opened the dairy case and picked up two gallons of milk.  White milk.

“Oh!  I want chocolate milk.  It’s my favorite.”  Garrett reached for a pint sized Nestlé Quick milk bottle.  It was only dollar, totally worth the price of peace.   But somewhere between the Lunchables and the milk, I had lost my calm. 

“No!”  I said firmly.   “You are NOT getting ANY chocolate milk.”  

“Waaaah-Waaaaah!” : The SMS Wail.  It’s loud.  And it’s a show stopper.  

Everyone we passed turned and stared.   I didn’t care.  This was war and I was going to win.  He was NOT going to get chocolate milk.

We finally reached the checkout lane, the one closest to the floral department.   Garrett was quiet, but only long enough to catch his breath.

“I want a balloon!  It’s my favorite!  Balloon!”  We had an unobstructed view to the balloon display, but I was in too deep.

“You are NOT getting a balloon!  And you are NOT getting chocolate milk!”  I was proud of myself and my---

WAMP!  He took his fist and slammed it down on the conveyor belt.  The cereal boxes jumped and fell over.  I held his hands down on the cart handle and tried to keep his body from knocking the candy shelves over.  It suddenly occurred to me that I could not physically get him out the door should his “Jello Legs” make an appearance.

 

I asked my younger son to get in front of the cart and unload it.  I missed the scene, but he told me that all the managers came out of the upstairs offices to look down at our lane.  I have no doubt that this will be first on his list of reasons why I never see my grandchildren. 

Somehow our bags were packed, the bill was paid and we made it out of the store.   If I was being honest, I knew that this whole event would not solve anything.   Garrett will always ask for everything he wants; saying “yes” or “no” will not prevent that behavior.  He doesn't ask because we give in too much.  He asks because he’s impulsive.  The trick is to prepare for shopping ahead of time: make a list, go over the rules…blah, blah, blah…sometimes I just want to go to the store and pick up something for supper. Everyone does it!   It’s exhausting that every little event has to be planned out. 

We were outside and I was ready for my own meltdown.  I searched through the cart and found Garrett’s overpriced Lunchable.  I held it up over my head like that Monkey-Priest in  The Lion King. 

“Is that how we act in the store, Garrett?”  He gasped and held his hand over his mouth.

“I asked you a question!  Is that how we act?”  He shook his head no. 

“No Lunchable for you!”  Like a Soup Nazi, I threw the box in the trashcan.   My younger son was appalled, another bad deed on his list.  

“You can have my Lunchable, Garrett,” he said and then they both were crying.  I loaded up the van and let them sit inside, behind the tinted windows.  Maybe there was someone left in our town who had not witnessed our shopping trip. 

Just as I closed the back gate, I heard Garrett’s name.  I looked up and saw the lady from the floral department running across the parking.  And she was carrying a red balloon.

 “Garrett!  Wait!”  

She was a stranger to me, but she knew my son.  She met me at the driver’s side door.

“Whew!  I thought I missed you.  I heard Garrett crying and I thought a balloon would make him feel better.” 

Garrett was flailing about in the front seat.

“Oh, hi Baby!”  She waved back at Garrett.

I opened Garrett’s door.  He was nothing but tears and snot.  She leaned in to hand him the ribbon and he ratted me out.  “My Mommy threw away my Lunchable!”

She looked back at me and I readied myself for her judgment. She whispered to me out of the side of her mouth, “I don’t know what he said.”

I looked her dead in the eye.  “He said thank you for the balloon.” 

I slammed the door shut.

“Aw, you’re welcome Baby.”  She waved goodbye to Garrett.

I sat down in the driver’s seat and glanced in the rear-view mirror, but my son would not make eye contact with me.  I looked over at Garrett.  His brother’s Lunchable was opened and sitting on his lap; most of the cheese already eaten.   He held a balloon in one hand and an opened bottle of Nestlé’s chocolate milk in the other.   I had not even noticed the traitor putting the chocolate milk into the cart.  This was the brother who complains that Garrett is not disciplined enough but will jump to his defense the moment he is punished. The boy I was secretly proud of, even if he was giving me the silent treatment. 

I put my foot down in a battle not worth fighting, lost my calm and embarrassed myself; yet Garrett still managed to get everything he wanted.  Somehow, I did not feel like the winner. And maybe that’s because there is no “win” in a difficult syndrome like Smith-Magenis syndrome.  There is only “start again.”  

Usually it’s Garrett that needs a do over.  I always give it to him; sometimes grudgingly. 

And occasionally, it’s me that’s needs another day to try to get it right.   I never have to worry about forgiveness.  Garrett gives me that restart without any bitterness or resentment.  

That is the one SMS trait I wish was contagious.  

How I Got My Son with SMS on the School Bus

Ask any parent of a child with Smith-Magenis syndrome and they will say that transitions are difficult, like getting a rich man into heaven difficult.  There is something about going from the front door to the school bus, school bus into the classroom and school bus back home again that sets my son, Garrett, on edge. 

As Garrett has grown older, he can articulate his fears more clearly than those early days of grade school.  “Who is going to be there?  How long will I be there?  Will there be birthday cake?”  I think the questions are deeper than they appear.

Who is going to be there:  What if my favorite bus driver in the whole wide world is absent today?  Who will take her place?  Will they talk to me?   Is someone I don’t know going to get on the bus?  What if my favorite bus aide in the whole wide world talks to this new kid instead of me? 

How long will I be there:  Are we going a different way today? Is the radio going to be on? Can I still sit in the front seat, like I have every-single-day since the beginning of time?

Will there be birthday cake:  Is something fun going to happen today?  Is something fun not going to happen today?

My highest anxiety comes from starting a new job.  In some ways, Garrett starts a new job every day.   But if he has role to play, a job to do, then his anxiety lessens. 

I stumbled across the “getting on the bus job” by accident.  And unlike “getting off the bus job”, it has lasted all the way through grade school, middle school and we are still using it in high school. 

One day Garrett was watching Caillou, or as my husband calls it, “Crybaby Caillou.”  There is nothing worse than using the television as a babysitter for your kid and discovering the TV character is a whiner.   In this particular episode, Caillou had the waterworks under control and was going to the city with his grandmother.  When Caillou reached the top of the city bus steps, the bus driver looked at him and said, “Ticket, please.”  Garrett clapped his hands, jumped up and down, and was very excited.   

Call it dumb luck, but my husband and I had just recently held a fundraiser for PRISMS (Parents and Researchers Interested inSmith-Magenis Syndrome) and I had purchased a roll of raffle tickets.   I called Garrett’s school bus driver (every bus driver has always given me their home phone number) and told her my plan.  We decided to let Garrett walk to the bus alone because he seemed to have difficulty telling me goodbye.  Honestly, he did not like me talking to his bus driver, but I prefer the other reason.

The next morning, I waited at the front door and gave Garrett a raffle ticket.  Since Garrett watches every episode of Caillou at least a hundred times, he knew exactly what to do.  He had no difficulty leaving me at the front door.  If anything, the biggest issue was him running too fast down the driveway.

Ten years later, Garrett still gives the bus driver a ticket.  It is the only SMS Trick that has lasted that long. In fact, the “How I Got My Son with SMS Off the School Bus” will be divided into three episodes.  Stay tuned.

 

Do you have difficulties getting your child on the school bus?  Share your tricks in the comment section.   

SMileS: First Day of Summer Vacation

SMileS Friday: SMS photos or videos that make us smile

First Day of Summer Vacation

Yesterday, all three of my boys were home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon...and officially on the start of summer break.

Approximately three hours later, this is what I found in the upstairs hallway:

"What happened?" I asked, softly and without added swear words.

"I need to wash my hands."  I heard a response behind me.

I turned around to find this sight:

"Why, yes," I replied, softly and without added swear words. "It does appear that you need to wash your hands, Mr. McAwesome."

There are 82 days until August 22nd, 2012.

Would you like  to guess what day that is?

SMileS: An Update on "Going Bananas"

Remember the banana story from last year?

I was so proud to have found a hiding spot for Garrett's fix.

If you missed it, click here for the story.

Today, I have an update on that post:

He found the bananas.

SMileS: Getting Beyond the IQ number

Mental Retardation

That phrase was spelled out on my son's Smith-Magenis Syndrome diagnosis.  At the time, he was 18 months old and that term was very difficult for Charlie and me.

Fast forward two years and Garrett was building a complex system of towers.  A pile of toys, step stools, blankets and pieces of furniture greeted me around every corner.  We hid anything deemed "off limits."  Not your typical chocolate chip cookies kind of hiding.  We hid scotch tape, flour, band-aids and diaper cream.  We even hid bananas which continues to be an ongoing problem. (see here for the Banana story)

One morning, I put some clothes away.  When I returned downstairs, I found the baby gate knocked over and my empty clothes baskets stacked in the kitchen.  It did not take me long to connect the dots.

I walked into the living room and found Garrett standing in a pile of sandwich bags.  He must have heard me (because I was yelling) and he quickly ditched the evidence.

"Framing baby brother"
will never be on the IQ test.




But I can see the genius.








Almost a decade later, this scene makes me laugh.  The baby was still cruising and had yet to take those first steps.  I am certain he was not building towers and knocking over gates.  But, Garrett's decision was so "typical" of a brother.  And the nudge I needed to let words and phrases loosen their hold on me.


I would like to make "SMileS" our friday episodes here at "taleS froM the trencheS."  Do you have a picture or video of your child with special needs that makes you smile? Could you share the story behind it?


Send your photos and a short description (200-300 words) to my e-mail account tmcgrevy@yahoo.com.  If you have a link to video website, we can do that too! 


Can't wait to hear your stories!!

Marriage Issues for Special Needs Parents

It was the same fight that my husband and I have had a million times.

It was not about money. We never fight about money.  Charlie and I like money and we wish we had more.  He does not have expensive "man hobbies" and I am not "high maintenance", as one can clearly see from that blurry mugshot in the right hand column.

For us, the most stressful part of our marriage is parenting a special needs child. Thankfully, we are in agreement on the basic concept:

    Pick your battles-

Let the little things go and focus on the big issues

    Divide and Conquer-

Make sure both partners get a break

    Carry on-

Allow the typical siblings a chance be a part of their own activities and interests 


So, since we truly agree on The War Plan, you would think that the battlefield would reflect that.

Wrong!

This is what a fight looks like in our marriage that is managing 

Smith-Magenis Syndrome.   

          (And I use that word "managing" loosely.)

Setting:  Inside a somewhat new mini-van.  It has handle-bar scars down each side and an invisible spot on the left panel ( Go here for that story).  There is always a faint odor of spoiled milk.

Cast: Charlie, me and our three sons.

It's a beautiful day and we are cruising down the road. 

Suddenly, without warning, Charlie turns on the radio. 

Garrett has a meltdown.

Me:  What are you doing?

I look at him as if he had lost his mind.  I reach down and turn off the radio.

Charlie:  I can't listen to the radio in my own van?

Me:  No.

Even though the radio is off, Garrett continues to cry from the third row.  Our two sons in the middle row have their headphones on and their eyes glued to hand-held video games.

Charlie:  My mistake.  I thought I was the one making the payments.

The temperature climbed at least ten degrees, so I reached over and hit the button on my window.

Garrett:  No!  NO!  Too windy!  TOO WINDY!!

Charlie has the nerve to look at me as if I just lost my mind.

Charlie: What are you doing?

He uses the driver's control button to move my window back up.   My repeated thumps on the passenger button cannot over-ride the driver's lock.

I make a mental note to research this annoying feature before our next auto purchase.

Charlie:  Why don't you just turn on the air conditioner?

Me:  Why don't I just sit here and roast?

I cross my arms and turn towards the window...the auto equivalent of storming out of a room.

We do not look at Garrett. We do not speak to Garrett.  Instead, we turn on each other like sworn enemies.

Garrett increases the volume of his cries. Mario and Luigi continue their go-kart race; oblivious to the war raging on around them.

Charlie starts to hum the theme to the old television show, "Good Times."  A joke he believes is still funny after eleven years.

I turn towards him and start to hum "War is Hell on the Homefront, too."

Charlie shakes his head and shrugs his shoulder.  Clearly, T.G. Sheppard humor is lost on a man that was raised in New England.

Finally, Garrett finds a Jack-in-the-box.

The sound of "Pop Goes the Weasel" fills the van.

Garrett starts to sing.

Garrett:  Round and Round.  Monkey, monkey, weasel.  POP!!!!

The only song that gets the Garrett Seal of Approval.

Charlie turns on the AC and reaches for my hand. We both claim that we were not really that mad.  And we wonder if we give Garrett too much "control" in the car.  Maybe we should "lay down the law?"  But how can Garrett gain control of himself in such a small confinement?

More SMS questions we don't have answers to, but we promise not turn on each other during the next go-round.

We even say it with a straight face.

The Scary Easter Bunny: Taking a Child with Special Needs to the Mall

There was a time when I was very concerned about what Garrett "should be doing".   Those were the days when my mantra  was "SMS was not going to define us."  I don't even know what that meant.   But saying it made me feel like I has some sort of control.

One of the things every toddler "should be doing" was going to visit the Easter Bunny.

                                                                                                                                                                       
Garrett saw the bunny on his first Easter.

                                 

                                                          And his second Easter.

So cute!  (Which is why Charlie and I were foolish enough to have another son four months after this photo.)

Then came Easter of 2002.  

Garrett was in full blown SMS Toddlerhood. But, it was okay because "SMS was not going to define us."  He was almost three and every three year old boy should go see the Easter Bunny.

Even if said toddler could not wait in long lines.  Or wait at all.  For anything.  Ever!

We had to get our picture taken with the Easter Bunny.  Had to.  And the only place we could see that bunny was at the mall.  So, we waited until Charlie's day off and planned our Man-to-Man Defense.  Two adults, one baby and one Garrett.  What could go wrong?

We got in line with our double seat stroller.  The baby was in the back, reclined and quietly drinking his bottle.  Garrett was in the front seat.  He reached out and hit the kid in front of him.  We backed up and Charlie stood between Garrett and the rest of the world.  Garrett cried out and tried to break loose of the seat belt.

Charlie pointed to the bunny.  "Look who it is Garrett!  Do you want to see the Easter Bunny?"  Garrett slapped his head.  We took that as a "yes."

"Look at the tree Garrett!  Did you ever see a tree in the mall?"  He squirmed.  He cried.  He slapped his head.  He bit his hand.  And we stayed in line.  "Look at the bunny's helpers.  Look at the flowers.  Look at the camera.  Do you want to get your picture taken, Garrett?"

Time stands still when you are in a long line with a three year old boy who was born with Smith-Magenis Syndrome.

Finally, it was our turn.  We unfastened Garrett's belt and lifted him out of the front seat.  His face was beet red and covered in some sort of tears-snot mixture.  Garrett took off running. Charlie chased him down.

I sat the baby on the bunny's lap and Charlie put Garrett on the other leg.

"Smile!" he told Garrett.

The bunny's helper snapped the picture.

"Great job!" she said and leaned down to hand Garrett a plastic bunny finger puppet.  I could not get there fast enough to block his arm.

Please, God, don't let him slap her.

Garrett took the toy and flung it towards Macy's.  The helper's mouth dropped open.

"Uh-oh!  You dropped your toy!"  I said and grabbed both his arms, pinned them to his side and marched him out of the Bunny's Hippity-Happy Tree House.

We got in a second line to wait for that  picture.

"Get on the Easter Bunny's lap and tell him what a good girl you've been!"  I turned around and saw a little girl in a size 4T wedding dress.  Apparently, her entire extended family had come to witness the Bunny visit.

"This picture is blurry."  The bunny helper showed me our photo.  Guess who was moving?

"It's fine."  I just wanted to go home.  No mother "should be doing" the bunny picture twice in one day.

"No, no.  We'll do it again.  You can hold him, Mom."

She made the bride get off of the bunny's lap.  Grandma made a comment about "some children learning to wait their turn."  I moved so that there was no coverage between her and Garrett's right arm.  Our baby went back on the lap, but this time I held Garrett and we sat in the chair next to the rabbit.

Garrett was handed two more plastic bunny puppets.  I grabbed them both and hid them in my fist.  Another picture and we were finally done.

The Baby looked thrilled.

                                                                   

                   Garrett was still red and flushed.  

But the most disturbing thing to me was the big guy himself.

The Easter Bunny.

Why was he smiling?  Didn't he know he was in a mask?  And why does this disturb me more than anything Garrett did that day?

This was our last Easter picture.  Ever.  

Our third son never saw the Easter Bunny.  Because I no longer care what little boys "should be doing."  This picture scared the holy jelly beans right out of me!

Perpetual Parenting: Raising a child with Special Needs

Coming to terms with the diagnosis:

In the early days following our son’s diagnosis of  Smith-Magenis Syndrome (SMS) my husband, Charlie, found an internet support group on Yahoo.  He begin e-mailing other parents who also had children born with SMS.  

Within the first couple of days, a father of a teenager informed us that our pain would reappear every time our son missed a milestone; like driving a car or getting married. He ended this motivational speech with the comment that we should "prepare ourselves for a life of perpetual sorrow.”

Perpetual Sorrow!   Who would say that??

We stared at the computer screen.

“Bummer,” Charlie whispered. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Perpetual sorrow sounds like one of those shrines you see on the evening news with cars lined around the block,” he said.

I had visions of ketchup tears streaming from our wedding portrait.

“I don’t think that we want to live in perpetual sorrow,” he said. 

I nodded in agreement.  That wedding picture was the last time my hair and makeup were done, on the same day.

“Then we won’t,” Charlie declared and he turned the computer off.

It was a long time before we reached out to SMS families again.  

Moving on

Almost eleven years have passed since the diagnosis and two more boys were born.  I think it is safe to say we do not live a “life of perpetual sorrow.”  And that engaging personality? It’s true.  Garrett keeps us laughing despite his challenges.    

Although “perpetual sorrow” is amusing to us now, this certainly is not the life Charlie and I had planned. 

We already know we will be caring for our son beyond his childhood and into our retirement years. However, we prefer to call our unique situation “perpetual parenthood.” 

No, not the kind of everlasting offspring that lies on our couch and plays video games all day.  It’s the kind of parenting that requires constant supervision and involves some worrisome health issues. 

And perpetual parenthood will include Sunday dinners at the kitchen table.  My son will always be excited to see me walk through the front door.  And on every errand, he will manage to con Dad for a chocolate shake at McDonald’s drive thru.  We will have lifetime visits from Santa and party hats at every birthday.

What can be sorrowful about that?

Do you remember your first contact with another parent?  Was it a positive one?

The Biology Lesson

“Did you know that the platypus is the only mammal that lays eggs?” my eight year old son, Patrick asked me. Sometimes I fear I may have given birth to the next Clifford C. Claven.

“What’s a mammal?” Brennan asked. At six years old, Brennan still believed I knew all the answers.

“A mammal is an animal that feeds its baby milk,” I replied.

“Like a cow,” Patrick added.

“Not just cows,” I was happy to have one up on Patrick. “So do cats and dogs and horses and pigs-“

“Cats! Cats have milk?” It was obvious Patrick did not believe me.

“Yes.” I reminded him of the litter of kittens we saw taking their lunch break.

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick nodded.

“Yuck!” Brennan held up his hand. “I do not want to drink cat-milk!”

Patrick laughed and shook his head, “Don’t worry Brennan. Humans drink
cow-milk.”

“No, human babies do not drink cow’s milk,” I was thrilled to be shooting Clifford down twice in one afternoon. “Babies drink from their mom just like the kittens.”

“What?” Patrick was dumbfounded. “No way.”

“How?” asked Brennan.

I was like a deer in headlights. I should have noticed where this line of questioning was headed. The victory of being the smart one was suddenly bitter. I couldn’t say the words. And of course, visual aides were out of the question.

“You know,” I looked at them with raised eyebrows.

“No, seriously. I don’t,” Patrick looked so innocent.

How could those boys not notice my cousin and her baby at the last family get-together? I’m sure the breastfeeding did not escape my husband’s attention.

I pointed my finger in front of me and decided to go with the visual aides after all. Patrick’s eyes bugged out of their sockets.

“No!” he cried.

Brennan covered his mouth with his hands and ran into the bathroom.

“Did I…” Patrick could not finish the rest of sentence.

“No, you took formula from a bottle,” I answered.

“What about me?” Brennan peeked around the corner.

“You all were feed from a bottle.” I could feel the sense of relief in the room. “Well, except for Garrett.”

There was a gasp. Brennan turned white.

“Is that why Garrett has SMS?” Patrick whispered.

“No, that is not why Garrett has SMS.” I tried not to laugh. For a brief second, I thought about discussing Garrett’s problems of latching on and how I thought something was wrong with me. I decided it would be more enjoyable if I saved that conversation for their teenage years.

Feeding problems are common with Smith-Magenis infants. But, we did not know Garrett had SMS until he was eighteen months old. By that time, I had lived many more serious concerns than my inability to breastfeed: Why is he not sitting up? Why is he not crawling? Why is he not walking? Why is he not sleeping? It was so “helpful” when our first pediatrician’s answer to every missed milestone was “you are holding him too much.”

“Garrett has SMS because that is how God made him,” I replied.

It is my canned response to that question. But there are moments when that does not satisfy my question of: “Why him? Why us?” But, I had dishes to wash and laundry to fold, so we all went about the rest of the day.

At bedtime, I caught Brennan crying in his bed.

“What is it now?” I asked. Brennan likes to pull out all the drama to delay the inevitable.

“It’s Garrett,” he wailed.

“Did he break one of your toys?” I asked.

We put locks on Patrick’s and Brennan’s door. They do have a right to have their things NOT destroyed…but, if they forget to put the lock on and Garrett “plays” in their room…who is to blame? It’s just one of the many steps in The SMS Dance that seems to constantly trip me and Charlie.

“No.” Brennan continued to cry. “I just can’t believe,” he paused and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe,” he sobbed some more.

Finally, he collected himself.

“I can’t believe my brother is a mammal!”

Happy Birthday Dr. King

I was attempting to clean the kitchen table before supper.

More like moving The Pile to the counter in order to make a hole for the plates, but I call it “cleaning.” My first grader, Brennan, decided to help by unloading his backpack from the school day. He pulled out a paper birthday cake and laid it on the spot I had cleared. “Happy Birthday Dr. King!” it read.

“Who’s Dr. King?” I asked him.

“Well, he’s a guy that said people could ride on a bus,” Brennan replied.

I was pleased with that answer. Brennan tends to miss the morals of a story and focus on the horrific details.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, “you know what else?”

“What?” I was excited to see him excited.

“He got shot!” And there it was.

“Yeah, I know. That’s very sad,” I answered.

“Do you know what happened to the bad guy?” Brennan asked. “He went to jail. Where’s jail? What do the bad guys eat in jail? Where do they sleep? I wonder-“

“What else did Dr. King do, Brennan?” I asked.

“Do you want me to read the book?” The birthday cake had a book stapled to the bottom of it.

“Sure.” I said and sat down at the kitchen table. It is amazing how far his reading skills have come since the beginning of the school year.

“Dr. King was a preacher at a church,” Brennan began.

“BIRTHDAY CAKE!” It was as if Garrett dropped from the ceiling.

He snatched the paper from Brennan’s hands and began to sing. “Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to Garrett, happy birthday to-“

“Garrett!” Brennan cried, “It’s not your birthday. “

Brennan grabbed for the paper. Garrett turned away and held the cake up higher than Brennan’s reach.

“Birthday cake! Yummy, yum. I’m going to eat,” Garrett sang as he made an exaggerated display of bringing the cake to his mouth.

“It’s mine!” Brennan hit Garrett in the back. Garrett swung his leg around in a counter attack and kicked Brennan. I stepped between them and grabbed Garrett’s wrist.

“This is Brennan’s homework,” I said to Garrett and took the paper back.

“NOOOOO!” Garrett screamed. He crossed his arms and stomped his right foot. “Humph,” he snorted for added effect.

And then Garrett turned and stomped off towards the stairs. No doubt in a search for another item of Brennan’s that he would wave above his head and begin Round 2.

Brennan turned to the second page. It was a picture of two hands shaking with a dove flying above them.

“He believed that all people should live in peace,” Brennan read.