Health knowledge made personal
Join this community!
› Share page:
Search posts:

My girls. And my boy.

Posted Mar 09 2010 9:29pm
My girl.


A little over a week ago, I sat in an operating room holding my youngest daughter as she was sedated for surgery. Her tonsils and adenoids had to come out. No matter how many times I've witnessed my children be put under anesthesia ... it never gets easier.

Surgery was a success.

Nika was a champ.

The crazy kid bounced back faster than a cheetah can cross a field. She and I spent the night in the hospital with the world's most dreaded roommate. For her first post-op meal, she had macaroni and cheese, peas, applesauce, ice cream and a popsicle. Perhaps I am forgetting something. I think I will enter her in a hot dog eating contest, because there is no way she wouldn't win.

Nika + food = bliss.


My other girl.


My super sassy, adorably scrumptious, full of attitude oldest daughter.

This chick is giving me a run for my money. She thinks she rules the roost and the hammer is about to come down. Problem is ... she is so damn cute that I can't help but just kiss her when she looks at me out of the corner of her eye and raises her finger as if to tell me, "No!"

I love her sass and I can't imagine where she gets her attitude. She'll go far in life ... I just know it.

After about five months of school, I finally was able to speak to Payton's speech therapist today ... I'm talking her school speech therapist. I have never heard from this woman and was beginning to get rather irritated.

Our conversation was interesting, to say the least. She acknowledged that she had received the information concerning Payton's apraxia diagnosis. Yet she didn't really seem to care to address it.

So I did.

In the interim, she told me that she will no longer see Payton ... that, due to budget cuts ... her assistant will see her and all the other kids that get one-on-one. She -- the speech therapist -- will only be working with the kids who can handle group therapy.

Does that seem backwards to anyone but me?

So then I asked the magic question, "Are there any speech therapists that are PROMPT trained?" 

She chuckled and said, "Yes. Me. And I have been using PROMPT on Payton."

Interesting. To say the least. 

So let me get this straight. Said child has an apraxia diagnosis and has been receiving speech therapy by a PROMPT trained therapist -- which we want and need -- and said speech therapist is going to pass her off to her assistant, so she can see higher functioning kids who can deal with group therapy. 

Did I get that right? Because it sure as heck does not make sense to me.

And I told her that. I'm pretty sure she completely understood what I was saying and if she didn't, I would really question her as a therapist. After I made it clear that I would fight to have her kept as Payton's therapist, she told me she would talk to her supervisor and see what could be done in a situation like this.

The thing that makes me so angry ... is that had I not brought it up, they would have just swept it all under the rug.

So I wait. She has until Friday to call me and if not, "Hello, Mrs. Supervisor? I have a problem that I need addressed."


My boy.


My baby boy ... who isn't so much a baby anymore. 

Little dude is six and in kindergarten, but he is the size of an eight year old kid in second grade. He has struggled with his reading, letter sounds and sight words, but he is getting better as we drill them into his little head as the days go by.

He is so obviously my kid. I'm told he is a math whiz ... that's me. I took college algebra for fun ... for easy credit. My husband ... not so much.

Yep, that's right ... my kid. Oh, and the tall genes ... those are mine too. Sorry babe. 

I have quickly come to realize just how grown up my boy is getting. He is currently in that awkward phase of life without any front teeth. How long does it take for those things to grow in, anyway?

The past few weeks, Mason and I have had daily battles over Super Mario Brothers on the Wii. We seriously bicker the whole time ... loving bicker, of course.

You made me die! You took my mushroom! Get out of your bubble! Etc etc etc.

But I love it. He loves it.

And these are the times that we'll remember forever.
Post a comment
Write a comment: