I was watching The Today Show this morning because it was far too early for actual quality programming. There was a segment called "Let's Talk Motherhood" (because remember, on The Today Show, we all live in Fred Flintstone's America, where dads are too busy hunting mastadons to worry about parenting), and one poor put-upon mom was bemoaning her momly life.
Laundry? Cooking? Pushing a wheelchair or trying to keep her aspirating, disabled child from choking to death when she eats? No, this mom's burden is a child who apparently talks too much.
"Last night my daughter was reading something, and she just kept going on, and on, and on, and I went 'Ugh!' And she said, 'What's the matter? Are you tired of my reading?' And I'm like, 'No', but it's just like 'Whew!'"
Whew, indeed. If you'd really like to gain my sympathies, by all means, tell me how your kid never stops talking. No, please.
As I've mentioned before, I belong to a polymicrogyria (PMG) discussion group. I almost never post, however, mostly out of a weird sense of guilt. I have yet to read a post by another parent with a child who is better off than Schuyler, whose PMG mostly affects her speech so far. I read stories by parents whose kids are in wheelchairs or who require a feeding tube just to stay alive. Almost all of them have kids who suffer seizures. Every so often, but not as rarely as it should be, one will post that they lost their child, to a massive seizure or a choking incident or simply a quiet death in the night.
The thing about these posts, however, is that they are almost never complaining. If they're talking about seizures, it's to compare medications and treatment strategies with other parents, or simply to calm another parent going through some new manifestation of their child's monster. I posted there the first time Schuyler choked, and I'm sure that I'll be back when her first seizure hits. But for now, I mostly just read, silently thankful for Schuyler's good luck, within her bad luck.
The parents who have the most cause to complain also have the most reason to understand how much worse it could be. I've had people ask that fun hypothetical question, "If you could take away Schuyler's monster, would you?" It's not entirely hypothetical; I spend every day trying to do just that. If I can't take it away, I'll settle for cutting it down to size, muzzling its snout and blunting its claws.
But if I could go back in time and chose whether or not to have her, knowing ahead of time the world we'd be entering? That's easy. The first thirty-two years of my life were rehearsal. I started living for real when Schuyler was born. The angst I feel when I put her on the bus in the morning or the pain of watching her struggle to communicate with another kid who then makes fun of her when she runs off to play, that's the pain of living and the price I pay in order to have the privilege of walking through the world with her. She's the best person I know, hands down.
When I see a mother complaining on national television because her kid talks too much, fucking READS too much, I realize how insignificant that price is. I don't think you have to have a broken child in order to appreciate how fragile and amazing life can be. I just think you have to be paying attention.
If you read the things I write about life with Schuyler and you feel pity for us, then I'm just a shitty writer. If you read me and find yourself, against all logic and convention, feeling a little bit jealous, then I've gotten it right.
56 comments:
I have been reading for a couple months now, having found your link on a friend's blog.
I'm often in awe of the relationship you share with your daughter. Sometimes it is as evident between the lines as it is within them. If only more parents and children could be so lucky.
I'm eagerly awaiting the book.
I'm definitely a little jealous. She's obviously bright and entertaining!
But if I could go back in time and chose whether or not to have her, knowing ahead of time the world we'd be entering? That's easy.
I understand what you're saying here, that she's amazing and you wouldn't give her up for anything. However, you and Julie have chosen not to have another child, given the risks. Isn't that the same question? In that light, the answer seems anything but easy.
Of course, you and Julie have to take Schuyler into consideration too, so that does make the question more difficult.
I have grand plans to, someday, write you an individual email attempting to express the the effect your writing about your life with Schuyler has had on me. I still don't know how to phrase it, so this is going to be inadequate, but since you asked: Your writing has made me desire more than ever to become a parent. I suppose you nailed it, I'm jealous. And inspired. Not because I think you're perfect, but because you give that little girl so much love, you fight with everything you have. And that is the sort of love I aspire to -- not simply clinging and wailing, but wading in with fists up, taking on the world and clearing a path for your child to thrive.
If I pitied you, I don't think I would have contributed to the BBoW or the trip to Chicago etc. Heck, I doubt I would have kept reading you. There is so much sorrow in the world, and I do what I can in the way of volunteering and contributing money.
Plus, Schuyler is an amazing little girl, and I glory in her triumphs, and in the fact that she has a father who can see them, and share them with the world for her.
Meh, that still didn't capture it. I feel like reading you will have made me a better parent.
I don't envy your life, but I do envy your writing and I enjoy your love of your life. Because you do find joy in your family and in music and writing and people and photography. You know how to count your blessings. I don't really envy you because I find my life quite pleasant and I appreciate mine, too. But your writing does show how you love your life and your family.
Did you ever see a movie "My Life as a Dog?" The central character is a small boy with a few problems (his father abandoned them and his mother is dying and he shakes when he tries to hold a glass and barks like a dog to deflect his fear and embarrassment at his life). When his mother becomes despearately ill he is sent to live with an uncle in a village full of certifiable crazies. He fits right in. But, long story long, he constantly says "You have to have things to compare to." He reads about a dog abandoned in space or a trolley car accident and measures up his troubled life and decides he's doing pretty well.
The woman complaining about motherhood just doesn't get it. My guess is that some nanny read the kid the same book ten dozen times and watched the same movie with her a hundred times or she would have figured out a bit more about being a mother before her kid was reading out loud incessantly. Most adults are, at that moment, relieved not to be doing the reading!
You've definitely gotten it right. I feel a little bit priveledged to know Schuyler, even in that not-really-knowing Internet Village sort of way.
I'd not thought about it until I read this post, and I've been reading for years. Not once have I pitied you, or Julie, or Schuyler. There have been times my heart has ached for you all, but it's never come from a place of pity.
I think sometimes that I would love to meet you all, and know Schuyler, because I would love to witness her punk-ass ways. :) I never think that it would be some dark sob story of a meeting.
You've written well, Rob.
I understand what you're saying here, that she's amazing and you wouldn't give her up for anything. However, you and Julie have chosen not to have another child, given the risks. Isn't that the same question? In that light, the answer seems anything but easy.
I suppose you're right. I hadn't thought of it like that.
I guess the difference is the unknown factor. Having another child doesn't just mean possibly having another child with Schuyler's level of disability. If we had another kid with PMG, the chances are that it would be much worse. Given that we'd be splitting resources between two kids, the decision about a second child is a lot different from just one.
Man oh man, I can feel your fizzing indignation... and fizzing is a euphemism for something stronger.
When we had the all-too-likely fear that Tom might not learn to speak following his deafness I would sing him to sleep in the hope that he drew comfort from watching my lips move. We would look at books together and describe what we saw with flapping hands.
Complaining because your child reads too much??? Aaaagh.
Moreena at the wait and the wonder said something interesting about fear - http://thewaitandwonder.clubmom.com/thewaitandwonder/2007/03/its_just_the_mo.html - its when you've been on the wrong end of long odds that it really bites.
Great writing as always Rob
You and Schuyler have an awesome father-daughter relationship. I'm fortunate in that I too have an awesome relationship with my father, but I still love reading the tales of your adventures.
I'm glad I've gotten the chance to meet you both through your writings, so really, thank you for sharing.
If you read the things I write about life with Schuyler and you feel pity for us, then I'm just a shitty writer. If you read me and find yourself, against all logic and convention, feeling a little bit jealous, then I've gotten it right.
Spot on! This is usually my exact response. You've gotten it right.
Thank you for this beautiful post that brought tears to my eyes and that made me appreciate, just a little bit extra, my own beautiful and lucky children.
I AM jealous, Rob, like you wouldn't believe. You and Schuyler have the kind of relationship I wish I'd had the fortitude to develop with my own daughter. Half the time the tears you provoke with your writing are for just that very reason. If I could choose to have been a whole parent with a congenitally broken child instead of a broken parent turning a relatively "normal" child into a broken one with my upgefuckedheit, well. 'Nuff said.
You're a better father than I could ever hope to be.
Er, wait...
I read your blog to get my weekly cry.
Kidding (mostly). I have hurt for Schuyler and for you and Julie. I've cheered for Schuyler and for you and Julie. I haven't pitied any of you though. Schuyler has grabbed this monster by the balls (for lack of a prettier metaphor) and she's dragging it along--SHE is dictating the direction of her life, not that damned monster. And you and Julie have given her that gift.
You're doing your job, Rob. I can't wait for the book.
When I see a mother complaining on national television because her kid talks too much, fucking READS too much, I realize how insignificant that price is.
When I saw the movie Old Boy, instead of my usual long-winded, pompous review, I posted on line to my blog:
That's pretty fucked up right there.
It's such a multipurpose review.
(Uh, obviously, it's the TS mom I'm reviewing there.)
Rob, you've definitely got this parenting (and writing) thing down. I've always been jealous of both!
I've read all your entries dating back to when Schuyler was a grub, and this past week I found out that my husband and I are expecting a grub of our own.
I hope I can be half the parent you are, and if I'm lucky enough to have a healthy, neurotypical child, I hope I never take that for granted for a second.
I started living for real when Schuyler was born. Amen, Rob. Amen.
*raises hand for second, slightly jealous option*
you make me really, REALLY want to have kids, right this second! if only the universe could somehow guarantee the kid would dig me as much as schuyler digs you - and also promise that she'd be as sassy and amazing as schuyler is - i'd sign up for parenthood in an instant. maybe you can send a schuylerclone to nothern california.
Rob —
As for me, I come here for a multitude of reasons: I love the way you write; I love the relationship you have with your amazing daughter; and I love the reality check you give me every single time I read one of your posts.
I am constantly reminding myself that I have a LOT to be thankful for. And I'm completely serious when I say that in those moments when I start to feel frustrated that my son just won't stop talking/yelling/singing/whatever, I think of you and Schuyler and give myself a quick attitude adjustment. We can all find things in our lives that seem monumentally important or frustrating or whatever, but with the right light shed upon it, suddenly what's REALLY important comes to the forefront.
So thank YOU, for constantly reminding me to be a better parent.
"If you read the things I write about life with Schuyler and you feel pity for us, then I'm just a shitty writer. If you read me and find yourself, against all logic and convention, feeling a little bit jealous, then I've gotten it right."
You are right. I came across this blog by chance last fall, and I've enjoyed it tremendously. You inspire me. It's been an amazing journey, and it's quite clear to me the beauty that is between you and your family.
You inspire me, not only me, but others too. I can't WAIT for the book. It will be wonderful.
Keep writing, because we all come to read it to know more, to be inspired, and to recognize the capacity of the human heart!
Blessings,
Emily
There's no pity here. Your daughter would NEVER allow it.
There is, however, great awe, respect and adoration for your spunky child.
My daughter is a few months younger than yours. It is incredible to see, despite the differences, how much alike they are.
(Main difference? Nooze's dad would NEVER allow her to color her hair!)
I've been a lurker on your blog much like you are with your listserv, but this post is so right on that I had to say something.
I am a parent of a disabled child as well, and I completely identify with so much of what you've written here, I would make too long of a comment were I to list them. But yes, life before The Kid was rehearsal, and yes, life with him is so tremendously worth it.
Thanks for your lovely post.
Well, I once had a conversation over the phone with a good friend. She was going on and on about how traumatic it was that her two year old had to get a routine blood draw and urine test at the pediatrician's office. This was a mere two weeks after my six-month old had open-heart surgery! Needless to say, that was the end to our relationship. I just felt that she didn't get my life.
I think in writing about our kids with special needs, there is a fine line between communicating the hope and optimism we feel and sometimes communicating how bad things can suck. I think you walk a great balance.
Great post. I needed it tonight. There is this insane posting going on about how horrible it is to be raising a child with special needs. I just don't feel that way at all. I feel about Ellie like you do about the beautiful Schuyler. I am getting told by these other folks that I am in denial because of it. Which of course is BS.
Reading your post tonight was very validating and good to know I am not alone in this regard. I totally get what you mean about how all of life before was a rehearsal and that your daughter is the best person you know. I feel that about my daughter and am grateful to get to know her.
Great post.
Kathryn
It is funn that a parent is complaining about a child that talks too much. Here I sit thinking that I would burst into tears of joy if I heard my daughter say Fuck. You are so right about parents not complaining when they know it can be worse. My daughter has Rett Syndrome, and is on the pretty high function end. If I catch myself feeling sorry, I remember that our friends little girl with the same condition is in a wheel chair and is tube fed, and her seizures are a lot worse than ours...I would love for my daughter to "talk too much!!!!"
I certainly don't pity you guys, but I have to say that you've given me a completely new perspective that I really appreciate. I have a 2 1/2 year old and nearly 4 year old and the other night, they were raising holy hell at the dinner table, screaming their heads off. It was the good kind of screaming, but still, I was starting to lose it a little bit and then I thought of Schuyler. I don't want that to sound bad-- but I thought of how strange it would be if they were not able to scream at the dinner table. I realize from having read your blog for a while now that Schuyler manages to raise hell in her own way. :)
You are really an awesome dad and Schuyler is an absolutely amazing little girl-- you've taught so many people so much. Thank you.
I am glad I stopped watching that show. I have had the same experience with the heart defect support groups that I have joined online. The other parents are just so happy and grateful that their child is alive. we are happy to hear of all the progress that each kid makes and cry when one passes on.
I really think that you meet your goal of making others envious, she is such a beautiful girl that so obviously enjoys life to the fullest that you can't help but be jealous.
When I was little, my parents had to put me on reading restriction at night or I would read every book I had on hand rather than sleep... they quickly learned not to gripe about this to their friends.
If I had a crystal ball, though, and learned that my possible future child was anything like Schuyler--I'd be stocking up on toys already, and I'm not done with college! (Or civil union'd, but never mind that part...)
You sure do keep getting it right Rob. I love reading about your life and I can't wait to own the book.
Yes, I am jealous. For a number of years I fought tooth and nail against the idea of having children. Reading about you, Julie and Schuyler has changed my mind, simply because of the way you are with each other, and the way you love her and fight for her but don't mollycoddle her. If I could be a parent like you, I would feel I'd done it right.
Rob, I can't praise your writing any better than anyone else here, but here's a little something from my perspective. I can't have children. No one can figure out why. I'm not in a position to try fertility treatments or adopt.
I would give, like, a kidney, or an arm, or something for an amazing kid like Schuyler.
Certainly, there are times when I read about something she has gone through, and I think, "man, humanity really sucks." But for the most part, there is a little piece of my heart that has joy that she is out there and you share her with us.
I don't feel pity when I read this blog; I like the way you see your daughter.
I am not a parent, but I think I see where that mother is coming from.
No disrespect intended, but you've only got one kid, and she has two parents, and you have time.
If you are the kind of person who can't think while others talk, and somebody won't stop talking, it can be a major drain. And if you have lots of kids, and lots of responsibilities, it can be a problem. Doesn't mean that you don't realize that there could be problems if the kid didn't talk at all.
Point the first: I don't feel pity reading here; I feel awe, but not that sappy "oh look at how you're all overcoming things" kind of awe either. It's awe because y'all kick righteous ass nine ways to Sunday. (A kid who likes to dye her hair purple and jokes about how mushrooms taste like butt? My kind of kid.)
Point the second: I don't have kids of my own, but I was a slightly weird kid myself, so -- complaining because your kid reads too much or talks too much? Let me at them. I also arguably "read too much" or "talked too much," and if my parents had complained about that, it would have crushed me. I'm a brainiac who likes to talk about what I've read and I've always been; I got enough crap for that in school that if my parents gave me crap for it at home it would have killed me.
THAT'S the kid I feel pity for, actually, come to think of it -- the kid whose mommy complained about her on the TODAY show, the kid who found out her mommy doesn't like it when she does something she likes to do.
Thank you for saying this, and saying it so eloquently. I'm new to your blog, and this is the first post I have read. My son Jake is 6.5 and has both autism and cystic fibrosis. I feel exactly the same way when I hear parents complaining about healthy, normal children being healthy, normal children. Having Jake has forced my eyes wide open for sure.
I'm not jealous, but only because my own life feels magical and amazing because of my own kids. But I think you hit on one of the reasons I read your stuff... like you, I was transformed by parenthood. Everything I did before them was petty and lame. It's very hip to only focus on what a drag it is to have kids, like they are a constant interruption to something more important or interesting. I love that you don't do that.
Which is not to say that I haven't ever been frazzled or exhausted by my kids. Even by (oh no) their talking. But if it's exhausting, it's only because I seriously listen to every word. I really do answer every question. It makes me crazy to see parents pretend to listen or wave their kids questions away -- dude! Look what you're missing! Their telling you what's in their weird little heads.
If you spent every day running around Disneyland taking pictures and riding all the rides and wooooo! - you would occasionally feel overwhelmed or exhausted because of it. But then you'd pull it together and shut the hell up because HEY. It's motherfucking DISNEYLAND.
So that's my life. I've been running around the magical kingdom for four years now. I'm so tired I can barely see, but whatever. I'll sleep when they're older.
you got it right. FWIW.
You've gotten it very right!
I understand what you are saying BUT everyone has their different 'things' I know that to you, there can be no 'too much talking' My 5 year old is autistic, he will stand and say MUM MUM MUM MUM!!! Are we going are we going are we going? I don't want to go..over and over and over until my ears bleed. Last night he brought his book to me and yes, my heart sank a bit because sometimes, I REALLY don't want to read or listen to 'Don't wake baby' a gazzillion times. He didn't say a word until he was 4, nothing but 'du buh' over and over again, feeling overwhelmed on days when he says the same thing over and over, doesn't mean that I wish he had never learned to talk. The mother you wrote about doesn't wish her child never spoke,or read, it's just sometimes...silence might be golden for some people. Blogs are for people to say how they feel, if we all wrote trying to keep everyone else in mind, in case we offended or hurt someone's feelings, well, what's the point in writing?
I have never felt pity for you or your beautiful girl...in fact I am in awe at the bond you have.
I find this entry a bit rich (as in, it made me chuckle ). Sure, the mom on the Today Show came off like a git. But everyone has their thing, and being a parent of any child is hard work. And sometimes kids yammer on and on and on - and then on some more - and yes, it CAN be annoying. And if you were my parents, you worried about me reading too much because I was lost in books, high in intellectual skills but perhaps lacking in the social area.
I know your old blog has been removed, but I seem to recall a post about driving to a bridge in CT, and thinking about jumping. My sense was that this wasn't the only time you'd considered this. I wonder how many people could have written a response to that post very similar to the one you've written here.
No, sadly, most people don't know how lucky they are. It sounded like you didn't. It sure sounds like the mom on the Today Show doesn't (but, I bet if called on it she would feel sheepish and acknowledge just how fortunate she is). But it's nice to see that people can't just say "gosh, I AM lucky, and, moreover, I'm lucky to REALIZE that" without getting holier-than-thou and dumping on a poor mom who probably feels a little foolish for her comments.
(Jodi, while I'm not even going to pretend to compare that a blood draw compares to your child's surgery, same thing: it CAN be traumatic. How nice it would have been if you had pointed out the carelessness of the comment to your friend instead of closing off the friendship.)
Play with others with compassion, or go ahead: play the pain olympics.
"....high in intellectual skills but perhaps lacking in the social area...."
Obviously we can vouch for half of that statement, anyway.
Amy -
Thanks for the insightful response to my comment. (Yes, it is half right: I am smart, and actually developed social skills and a lovely life.)
I am genuinely curious what you found objectionable to what I said. Encouraging others to be compassionate, and remember that not everyone can see fortune in their lives?
I don't have a blogger sign-in, but didn't mean to be anon,
Jessy (unkepmtkitsch - at - yahoo - dot - com)
I definitely envy you. For one, Schuyler's a great kid - funny, full of personality, strong, beautiful. Your writing doesn't dwell on the hard parts, particularly...it's about the way through the hard parts. I often think of your post about Schuyler howling at the mean kid. It wasn't about the mean-kid problem; it was about Schuyler's solution to the mean-kid problem.
So many lives are full of tragedies of one kind or another, and I think the key to happiness is finding a way around or through them. You're clearly focused on that, and so is your daughter. It's a great way to live.
Hm, perhaps I should clarify my use of the (loaded) word "tragedy." If something truly precious is taken from a person, that, to me, is tragic. But those who struggle with tragedy aren't figures of pity...they're heroes.
My older sister is disabled, and her attitude toward her disablity--and anyone who doubts her as she struggles with it--is a big, hearty F-you. I see the same attitude in Schuyler, and in you, on her behalf. It's served my sister very well in her life and I think it'll do the same for Schuyler.
I have been reading since right after Schuyler was born and I can say as I am expecting my first child, you most DEFINATELY got it right.
It's rare that I don't think you hit the nail on the head, Rob, but this time I think you missed it. Harshing on a parent who is expressing her very real frustrations with her healthy kid seems like kind of a cheap shot. Jessy/Anon was quite right in pointing out that parenting IS hard, even when kids are neurotypical, and one shouldn't have to feel self-conscious for saying so, even if it is on the Today show.
If Schuyler were in sitting the backseat of your car and kick, kick, kicking the back of your seat as you drove, you'd find it annoying. Maybe you'd stop to think to yourself, "I'm so blessed that her legs work," which would be great, but if you didn't, no one should make you feel like a schmuck for it.
Well, clearly I completely disagree, but I'm glad you shared your opinion.
I think it's important to note that there's a difference between bitching to your friends about your kid's annoying habit, and going on national television to do the same.
It's also worth noting that TV show editors pick and choose tiny pieces of what a person says to broadcast. Did she spend the rest of the interview bitching about what a terrible burden her life as a mother is? Or did she spend most of it sounding happy and grateful, until the producer said "come on, hasn't there EVER been a time when your kids annoyed you?"
I didn't see the interview (ha, we don't have a tv because parents who let their kids watch tv aren't spending that time fully appreciating every precious moment of their childhoods etc) but based on one 10-second clip, some of the comments here are pretty over the top judgmental. She probably never shuts up and her husband is a miserable bastard? Goodness.
First, I just wanted to say a big thanks to all the posters who've pretty much said all the things I've wanted to say to Rob over time. (Schuyler kicks ass; you make me want to be a parent; pity has never entered my mind, but envy has; etc.) I knew I wouldn't have to do the hard work if I waited.
Second, regarding the complaining mom: If Rob had picked up that line from someone's blog, I'd think maybe he was going a bit far -- parents have a right to be frustrated with the child they've got, whatever their limitations are or aren't. But the fact that she's presenting these complaints on national TV, and the fact that they reflect such a sense of entitlement...meh, I think Rob has every right to share his own reaction to what she's just shared with the nation.
Rob, more than anything, I feel deeply blessed to have been "introduced" to Schuyler. While I miss your old journal (I really do like your political commentary, etc.), I admit that your daughter (and your relationship with her, and Julie's with both of you) are what keep me hitting that refresh button several times a day.
Can't wait for the book...
p.s. For anybody who doesn't have a Google/Blogger account, you can choose the "Other" bubble, and it will allow you to enter your name, even though the field seems grayed out...
I agree. That woman needs a healthy dose of real problems. Turn off early morning TV!
"If you read the things I write about life with Schuyler and you feel pity for us, then I'm just a shitty writer. If you read me and find yourself, against all logic and convention, feeling a little bit jealous, then I've gotten it right."
You've gotten it right.
Ooooh I think there are always two sides.
Neither extreme is fun or easy. Lots of different situations present challenges. Just because I can call my child neurotypical doesn't mean I never feel frustration, aggravation or fatigue. Or that when I do it's invalid. Or that when I do it indicates I don't have appreciation.
But you're right. Sometimes it's too easy to get caught in senseless bemoaning and lose sight of what's really important, and value the good, appreciate what we do have.
Over the decade (?) that I've read the many incarnations of your writing, as your life has changed, I've never felt pity. You've never asked for it, is probably why.
I think with each stage of your life, with each thing that comes good and bad, the way you strive to make it a time of grace is worthy of admiration.
Whatever happens to us, in our life, feels huge to us because it is happening to us. It might be big or small from another POV, sure. And that's the value in hearing about others' experiences.
It's key to keep perspective.
Thanks for always having an eloquent shared journal that does that.
P.S. Boycott The Today Show. That Meredith Viera. UGH
Why buy the cow when you get the milk for free...who says that anymore besides her?
Oh after everything Melissa et al said about their experience as moms on the Today Show?
I will back up one of the anonymous commenters and say that they DEFINITELY do cut and paste the segment together to create a certain angle and talking point, that probaly didn't even really reflect what the person meant.
Then, I'd say you've gotten it right!
- Angel
A good friend of mine reccomended your blog for me to read a few months back. Ever since, I've been hooked. Your blogs are always so meaningful, and I have been brought to both tears and laughter by them. This isn't just a comment about this one specific entry; this is just a general "bravo" to you and your love for your daughter. Nothing but well wishes from me to you and yours. And keep blogging!
Jealous isn't the only thing I feel, but yes, you've hit that ball out of the park, Rob.
In fact, feel free to ignore if you don't participate in this kind of thing, but I've just given you a Thinking Blogger Award.
You said it just right. And you got it just right, too.
Thanks for the post, I couldn't agree more.
One day at the park, right after my son was first diagnosed and we knew he may never speak..
This woman was complaining over and over about how her daughter wouldn't quit calling her a bitch.
I wished my son could say bitch.
That was a pretty low day.
But I know what you mean, the ordinary complaints of other parents seem so .. silly and enraging at times. It can be hard to relate to "normal" people.
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