He's Always Been A Super Hero. Now He's Got New Powers. #SNRyan

Getting used to life with the FM system around here.

It's crazy. Crazy good.

But strange.

For the past almost nine years, I've been in a constant state of hyper awareness of every little sound around me, and around Owen.

Because his hearing aids amplify EVERYTHING; cars driving by, a fan in the window, the dog barking, Bea's Leapster, the radio in the kitchen, more than one voice speaking.  Any noise in Owen's proximity interferes with his access to spoken language.

When the FM is on, the wearer's voice cuts through all that noise and sends their  words right into his head.

I'm in the process of retraining myself.  I no longer assume that he's missing what I'm saying. My routine of finding him, getting his attention, reminding him to look at my face, speaking and signing as simply as I can to get my point across, and then verifying that he's understood is less necessary.

I'm in the kitchen and he is upstairs in his room.  Supper is ready.

"Owen? Wash your hands and come down for supper ok?"  In a normal speaking voice.

"I hear you!!!  I'm coming!!!"

Holy. Shit.

We're at the craft store.  He's looking at coloring books. Bea and I are a few aisles away.  It's time to leave.

"Owen?  Pick a book.  It's time to go."  As if he were standing right next to me.

"I hear you!  Ok Mom!!"

Seriously.

So. Fucking. Cool.

He's got superhuman hearing.

And he's super happy about it.

But he's still a Deaf kid at heart.  Because when he's done.  He's done.

"Mom?  Time to turn off FM.  I'm all done hearing today."

I fucking LOVE that he chooses to turn off.  To go quiet.

And a little jealous.

How cool would that be?  To turn down the volume on the world?

Would be fucking awesome.

Life can be too damn loud. It makes me cranky.

This morning;  TV on, Owen playing his DS, I'm attempting a conversation with Al, and Bea's little voice never stops.  Do five year olds ever stop talking?  For a second?  No they don't.

Ryan knows.  And he bought me a present.

Good luck getting anything accomplished today ladies, what with thoughts of Ryan practicing tactile sign on you.

*swoon*

*thud*

Check out Sunday and the gang and see what else Ryan is up to.

With Better Use Of My Oral Skills #SNRyan

Even with his hearing aids, Owen misses most conversations that occur around him.

For example:

Chatting at the dinner table?  He tunes out until he picks up an interesting snippet and then demands to be filled in on what he'd missed.  Which I then give to him in a mish mash of words and sign in fucked up semi ASL syntax.

Talk in the car?  We're not allowed to speak in the car, 'cause he can't hear us. We all just put up with the music played LOUDLY enough for him to hear it.  Thank goodness he has good taste.  His current favorite is Adele.

Sitting around the living room?  The TV is LOUD, and he's struggling to listen while reading the captions.  If anyone dares speak, he tells them to stop.  Or if he is curious, will turn the TV off and wait to be caught up on what he missed.

It can be exhausting keeping him in the loop.

And also?  His English SUCKS.

Without the luxury of listening in on everyday conversations around him, he's not learned enough English. He speaks in a funky English/ASL hodgepodge which his speech therapist brought to me as a serious concern.

What could possibly give him more access to spoken language?

A personal FM system.

To the tune of thousands of dollars.  Which I don't have.

So I started making calls to get help paying for it.

And before I was forced to use my other mad oral skills, the unthinkable happened; A mysterious benefactor offered to purchase the system.

Owen's hearing aid provider was shocked and elated for us.  And a little freaked out as Owen is a special case for her.  She doesn't treat children. Only old people. She took Owen on as a favor to his audiologist.

She took her time learning about different systems.  Attended a hearing aid convention and met with Phonak.

And yesterday we got it.

Apologies for lack of video evidence, but the look on Owen's face when Dr. Julie put on the transmitter, left the room and spoke to Owen?

He turned bright red and his face split into a painfully huge smile.

Continued goofy grinning as we drove home listening to his girl sing to him like he'd never heard before.

This morning he asked Bea to wear it.  We figured out how to attach it to the iPod, and his DS, and the TV.

He asked if the dog could wear it.

Talking to Bea in the kitchen this morning, Owen came running in from the playroom asking when we were going to the playground.  'Cause he'd heard us.

So from now on, I'm going to look like this:

Sexy eh?

Well Ryan thinks it is:

Joining Sunday and the gang once again!!!  Go see what else our boyfriend is up to.

Doing it Wrong.

*******

"I have to love you, but I don't have to like you."

This pointing out of a biological imperative is as tender an expression of love as some mothers can manage*

I don't know what I'd expected of  love for my children.

I know I didn't feel it right away with Owen.  That shit was too scary.  I didn't venture into love with him for weeks.  I wasn't about to allow myself to love him until I knew he was going to stay.

Bea was easier.  Not immediate. But easier. She'd never threatened to leave me.

I've always told them.  Every day. Several times. Dozens even. Fine. All the time.  Ad nauseum even;

"I knoowwwww Moooooooom. You loooooooove me."  You can just hear the eye roll can't you?

And with Owen?  The words are enhanced with an 'I love you' hand.

We still battle 'I love you' hands at bedtime, smacking them against each other, tickling each other with them, and both emerging from the skirmish a winner.

Remember the first time your child told you?  And what your heart looked like?  Doing a jaunty two step around the kitchen?

Yeah. That shit kicks ass.

Owen was maybe four years old when he told me for the first time.  Not 'I love you'.

He'd grabbed me for a random hug and a grope - a boob man that Owen - and said the most remarkable thing;

"I like Mommy."

He likes me!  He really likes me!

And Bea has always said it, following older brother's example.

I hear it so often. As much as the other.

"I like you."

Even though I'm not always nice. Not always patient. Not always tolerant.

Even though they aren't always nice, or patient, or tolerant.

I like them too.  And I tell them.

"I like you."

All the damn time.

Some mothers may think this is sage advice to give to a daughter;

If your children don't hate you. Then you didn't do it right."

Well mothers, to that I say;

Here's to doing it wrong.





*Please. If this elicits a pity response in a reader, let it be directed more at the mother unable to declare the love, than the child who on some level, knew it anyway.

Nope. Not Sorry.

A month or so ago, I'd brought the kids to an indoor pool.  I was waiting outside the stalls in the changing room as the kids got dressed when a girl, 12 years old or so, walked up to me and grabbed my hand.

A nanosecond was all it took to see the specialness of this girl.

She held my hand in one of hers and waved in my face with the other.  And smiled.

I signed/said 'Hello'. Guessing that she wasn't verbal and thinking my non verbal communication skills couldn't hurt.

She held on and smiled.

I complimented her on her pretty flowered bathing suit.

She pumped my hand a few times and continued her smiling.

Her mother appeared after 30 seconds of this.  I signed/said to the girl that it was nice to meet her.  She smiled back.

Her mother hung her head;

"I'm sorry."

"Oh god no. Have fun swimming!"

I really wanted to chase after the woman. And hug her.  And beg her to never apologize again for her sweet girl who just wanted to smile and say hi.

This past Spring break, I thought about this woman a few times. 

Because I'm not sorry.

Hey Mommies and Kids sitting behind us at the kiddie concert at the Library;

Yes, I was aware that the front row is usually reserved for the smallest children.  But Owen can't hear very well.  So being in the front, where he can see the musicians is where he had the best chance of enjoying the show.

I'm not sorry if we were distracting.

When the drums and guitar started up, Owen's face lit up.  He does love music.  But when the fedora wearing sideburned cutie started singing, Owen's face fell, and my eyes filled up.

The acoustics in the place were shit.  The lyrics lost to Owen.

So instead of letting him give up, I offered to interpret for him.  He shook his head no. So I started to interpret anyway.  And he let me.  And watched intently as I struggled to hear the words and put them on my hands.

Right in the front of the room.

I'm not sorry if we obstructed your view of the band.

I'm not sorry at all if you had to answer a squillion questions from your kids.

Not sorry even a little bit.

Hey people sitting behind us at the movie on Sunday;

Owen doesn't get to see his school friends outside of school very often.  So we were all thrilled when his friend Jay joined us to see 'Chimpanzee' on Sunday.

I didn't know it was Jay's first time in a movie theater.  Even I was surprised when the movie started up and Jay yelled and covered his ears.

I can't imagine what that loudness sounded  like through his cochlear implants.

I'm not sorry that Jay spoke loudly and signed largely through the entire movie.

He couldn't hear the narrator well enough to follow the story, so relied on me to fill him in.

I'm not sorry if you missed some of the action because our arms and hands were all over the place.

I'm not a wee bit sorry if we had a negative impact on your movie experience.

Jay is going to join us for the highly anticipated 'Avengers' movie in May.

I'm already brushing up on my Superhero signs.

And I'm already not sorry for being in your fucking way.

Gay Best Friend Special Needs Ryan

This morning, Owen and I are headed into Children's hospital for a Cardiology check up.  His medical history demands a periodical EKG and Echo cardiogram. 

So.  Off we go.

We love going there.  For me, it is going back to our first home as a family.  We'll visit the ICU in hopes some of the nurses who cared for him are still there. We'll check in with the floor where he spent his last six weeks.

I'll buy him a treat in the gift shop. We'll have lunch in the cafeteria.

I'll think back to the 101 days we spent there after he was born.

Al had gone to work after two weeks, needing to feel useful in a helpless situation.

So, aside from the odd visitor, I sat all day every day; alone.

Crossword puzzle books piled up around me.  Skanky magazines too.  I chatted with the nurses.  And other parents sometimes. 

I looked forward to meal times.  And pumping breast milk.  Anything to fill the hours.

You know what I really wanted during those long lonely days? What I pined away for?

Yup.

A gay best friend.

Somebody to jab with my elbow as a hot young surgeon walked by.

Somebody to snicker with about the trailor trash parents.

Somebody with whom to snark about the bitchy receptionist.

Somebody to make fun of me while I attached my pathetic boobies to the ridiculous industrial strength pumping contraption.

Thank goodness Ryan is free tomorrow.  And is such a fine actor.

He's agreed to play the role of Gay Statler to my Waldorf.

We're going to have so much fun.

I cheated this week and didn't use Sunday's Ryan photo.  When I saw this one it just screamed gay Ryan.

Go see what the rest of the gang is doing with Ryan.

D-Bag Rag.

Within any group of people, I always assume that I'm the biggest jerk.

So it surprised me a couple years ago, when Owen's friends' Mommies said they were skipping classmate Jay's birthday party because his mother is so hard to take.

She really is. 

But it isn't Jay's fault. So for the past two years, Owen has been the ONLY kid at Jay's party.  The only one.

This past weekend was Jay's party. 

And I managed to not tell Jay's mother off.

I told his grandmother off instead. 

About so many things.  Like their school using 'Too much sign language'.  Seriously. She's angry about this. I did ask her if she was aware of the educational model which the school follows.  She was not.

Also making her angry is Jay's speech. Which I think is fantastic for a kid who was denied any form of communication until he was THREE years old. 

There was more. A lot more. I sort of lost it on her.

But. In my defense, I'm fairly certain she is too stupid to realize she was being told off.

Because after I finished with her?

She had me interpret for Jay.


*******

So. I refer to Owen as Deaf Kid all the time.  And his friends are the 'Pack of Deaf kids'.

'Cause that's what they are.

And people think I'm a jerk;

"Awwwww, come on. That's not nice."

Which just cracks me up.

A couple weeks ago, Owen was home sick.  I emailed his Deaf teacher.  She emailed back;

"There are eight Deaf kids out with the same thing!"

I love jerks.

*******

Friend Sally gave Bea a bag of shoes that her daughter Mya had outgrown.

Bea's favorite pair are sweet strappy pink sandals which she was wearing the other day when Sally picked her up for a play date.

Mya threw a little fit about the sandals, whining and crying about wanting them back and it's no fair and so on...

Sally; "Mya, please stop.  They don't fit you any more. And you don't want to make Bea feel bad do you?"

Bea;  "I don't feel bad."

Ha.

*******

I finally caved.

After two months of watching Al fondle his own nightly, I caved.

And got myself an iPhone. Of course I fucking love the thing.

Though I do miss those cute little Blackberry buttons.

One teensy complaint; I wasn't allowed to simply grab a song from my iTunes and make it my ring tone.

And I'm quite attached to my ring tone.

So my first order of business was finding an app that would give me back my ring tone.

'Cause it's the best ring tone ever:






Right?

Right.

Deaf Kid Party Re-cap and Special Needs Ryan

So. I was in for quite the surprise last week when I met with the Deaf kid mommies.

I was not prepared for a group of snarky, foul mouthed bitches, who cannot imagine depriving their Deaf kids ASL, and who LOVE Owen's school.

Seriously.  Was so much fucking fun. 

They needed very little guidance from me.  They knew what their kids need and how to get it.  They all expressed feeling very lucky that this school exists and that their kids get to attend.

I was able to tell them one thing they didn't know;  that the kids all go to weekly (and more often if needed) counseling with a Deaf mentor whose purpose is to teach the kids how to be Deaf in a Hearing world.

I showed them this that Owen had brought home;

Which they loved.  As do I.

*******

Owen's birthday party was Saturday.

It was madness, but pizza making, pinata bashing, cake eating, general merry making, all went off without a hitch.

 Pinata being smashed with Thor's Hammer.  Of course.

Friend Katie signed 'Happy Birthday' song per my request.  She's awesome.

He's like the least expressive kid ever right?

*******

Deaf kids talking/signing around table while eating.


Deaf kid Billy says/signs to Deaf kid Ricky;

"What she say?"

Deaf kid Ricky looks pissed, signs/says/snaps back;

"I don't know! I'm Deaf!"

Billy's mom and I thought this was hysterical.

*******

Apparently Bea felt out of place amongst all of Owen's Deaf friends.

So, she grabbed a pair of Owen's old ear molds and popped them in her ears.

And showed off her hearing aids to all the kids.

And the next day, she wouldn't leave the house without her hearing aids.

So damn cute.

*******

Owen went through a phase of wanting pink and purple ear molds.  With sparkles.  I may have allowed it if Al hadn't threatened divorce.

I know Ryan would still be fuckhawt, even if he were to sport some sparkly ear molds.

 I didn't manage to get this up yesterday.  Go see what Sunday and the gang did with Ryan.