What sound?

This week Bean had her check-in with her neurologist. These appointments with specialists always go one of two ways. The specialist either tells you how horrible your child is doing or they completely don't see the behavior you want them to. It is like taking your car into the shop because it is making that sound, and it won't make it for the mechanic.

Bean has been on several different ADHD medications. Some things, like her sleep habits and attention span, have improved (and by improved, I don't mean perfect) with this newest medication. However, the hyperactivity is still there. A lot. Yet it never fails that as soon as the doctor walks in the door, Bean turns into calm, angel child.

Hoarding Bean

I watch Hoarders partially out of fascination and partially with trepidation. I am slightly scared Bean is going to grow up to become a hoarder. My reasoning is simple.

A. She has the messiest room ever.

B. She develops an emotional attachment to inanimate objects. Objects like paper scraps and trash.

Mom. Mom. Mommommommommom.

I am pretty sure my kids live to torment me. Their weapon of choice? The word, "Mom."

Burrito Jalapeno.

Summer is approaching. We've been thinking about another vacation. Last year's trip went pretty smoothly. Except when Bean almost got me thrown in Mexican jail.

Roughly Translated: Hello. Did you just kick that statue made entirely of indestructible stone? You must come with us until we ascertain the monetary value of the damage.

Translated: This is the only Spanish I know. While usually a very useful sentence at a Mexican resort, I am not sure it is getting across my exact sentiment at this moment. What I mean to convey to you is, please do not lock us in jail. Also, we are sorry she kicked your gigantic rock.

Translated: We will let you go. But we are watching that one.

Flashback Friday: She is deaf.

I knew what the results of the ABR would be before the test began. The preliminary tests all showed the same thing. Monkey was not responding to any sound at any decibel level. Still, despite the previous tests, an ABR was necessary to definitively prove that Monkey had hearing loss.

For the test, Monkey was sedated and hooked up to leads.

When the test concluded, the leads were disconnected. Monkey and I sat together in the darkened, quiet room waiting, while Monkey slept on still groggy from from the sedation.

After what felt like hours, but was in reality only moments, the Audiologist returned with the results.

The Audiologist nodded, solemnly confirming that Monkey could, in fact, not hear anything at all.

So, So Big.

Children speak the truth. Even when the truth is not all that nice to hear. As parents, we try to instill the knowledge of appropriateness. Knowledge such as, it is inappropriate to loudly point out how "fat and unhealthy" someone is with them sitting one table over at the restaurant you frequent. After the "fat and unhealthy" incident, I thought we had adequately covered when to shut up in public.

I thought wrong.

Billy the Pinecone.

The Stupid Student.

Monkey has had cochlear implants for four years now. She speaks well. She hears very well. But sometimes, word discrimination can be an issue. Some words sound like other words. And sometimes that leads to big problems.

This is Monkey and Bean.

Hi. Welcome. Glad you came. Hope you brought coffee. We like coffee. We need coffee. Our kids never seem to sleep at the same time.


Moving on.


Let's start with the basics. We are The Mom and The Dad. We have two kids.

Bean.

And Monkey.

Both of our kids have disabilities, disorders, things, quirks, whatever-you-would-like-call-its of varying degrees. It makes our lives a bit hectic. To say the least. Years ago, when Monkey was first diagnosed, I, The Mom, turned to caringbridge. Later, I found blogging. Here was this instant community. This bond. These people. I was in love. I have made friends through blogging. I have celebrated as children across the country reached milestones. I have cheered parents on as they tried out new strategies. I have received parenting advice through blogging. I have learned to troubleshoot a cochlear implant through blogging. Any bit of information I needed was right there.


But the one thing I noticed? Nobody, nobody, talked about the other stuff. Their failures. The times they tried everything, and their SID kid still ended up knocking over an entire rack of nail polish at CVS. Or the times when they called every single member of the implant team they could reach, ranting and raving like a lunatic about the craptastic equipment their child received, only to be informed by their oldest child that their mother-in-law accidentally got the cochlear implants wet. Nope. Nobody mentions these moments. We all just disappear for awhile, reemerging later with some vagueness such as,

"Timmy has had a rough few days. Pardon my absence."

Their loyal readers, their friends, are quick to jump in with condolences, advice, and whisperings of their own rough days. But nobody is quite willing to say,

"I just couldn't quite get it right."

Or even worse.

"Today was a big, fat FAIL."

Why? Because we are scared of being judged? Because we are scared of people judging our children? Because we are scared if we say one negative thing about our children, people will assume we don't love them fiercely enough?

Well, we love our kids. Our kids do a lot of really cool things. They have overcome obstacles that I never imagined they would. On top of that, they are smart. And funny. And pretty. And I am not just saying that because I am The Mom. It's true. These kids of mine? They rock.

But some days we struggle. Some days are messy. Some days we are overwhelmed. Some days is it is just plain hard to figure out the best way to raise these two kids. We do the best we can. We laugh at the rest.


This blog? This is the rest. These are our failures. Our moments. Our life.

This is Monkey and Bean.