The Week in Car Conversations

Car Conversations are the best. These both occurred between our house and the daycare where the girls attend (all of a couple miles):

Monday, July 13
Me: [something about how tall the corn is]
M: [asked something about agriculture]
Me: Well, we could ask Uncle Jack about it next time we see him.
M: Or Cousin Timmy.
Me: Yes, we could ask him too.
M: Does Timmy wear a farmer's hat?
Me: What do you mean a farmer's hat?
M: You know, a straw hat.
Me: I don't think so, I think he just wears baseball caps.

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Friday, July 17
[backing out of the house, turning off the NPR newscast before I have to explain various issues in the world]
M: What is that?
Me: It's the news, honey.
M: What is it saying?
Me: Just the bad stuff that people do sometimes. I don't want to listen to it this morning.
M: Did they hurt the President?
Me: No, he's fine. It's other stuff in the world.
M: [long pause] Before going to sleep, I say the Pledge of Allegiance.
Me: Excellent. What else do you think about before going to sleep?
M: I think about God.
Me: What do you think about God?
M: I think he's one of the best people to take care of us.
Me: Okay.
[conversation continued on why people believe in different God, why people hurt or are mean to people who don't believe in the same God, what girl gods were called, etc. You know, things one can totally address in the 5 minute commute with a six year old]
Finally...
Me: Well, honey, things about God are kind of complex.
M: What's complex?

Mysterious

7/8/09

M: Mom, come here. There's something mysterious in my window.

Me: Hmm, mysterious in your window? Let's see!

Enters M's room and hears the music that's coming from neighbors who live behind through M's open window. I told her that the neighbors were playing music and that we could hear it, kind of like when Big Daddy plays music when he's cleaning the garage. Her tone, though, throughout was of awe that there's was fun music outside.

Recently

While eating breakfast (7/2/09):

M: Mom, who killed God?

Me: [??? scrambling widely to figure out where this is coming from*] What do you mean?

M: Who killed God? Why did he die?

Me: You mean Jesus?

M: Yes

Me: Long, explanation about God, Jesus His Son, Ancient Times, Concepts of Ancient Justice Systems... And when Jesus lived, they didn't have jails so they punished people other ways.

M: Like what?

Me: Well, they tied them up to a tree like they did Jesus [shows small representation with pencils and pens.] You know what else they did?

M: What?

Me: Well, if you stole something, they'd cut your hand off.

M: Why?

Me: Because if you don't have a hand then how would you take care of yourself? You would have to have someone take care of you, and who would want to take care of a thief?

M: Other theives.

Me: [internally - crap, foiled again] Of course.


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A short time later that same morning (have I ever mentioned M's curiosity?)

M: What happens to the water soldiers when blah, blah?

Me: You mean the Coast Guard guys?

M: Yes.

*Note that I did actually try to explain to a six-year old the complexities of Creation, God, Jesus, the killing of Jesus, and Ancient History. The more I tried to explain it to someone with a black and white view of the world (nuance and subtlety still lacking, although she's pretty good at sarcasm, go figure :-) ) and it seems totally insane.

Making the Connection

Yesterday, I was doing some work at the computer, Little Peeps was napping, Big Daddy was out in the garage cleaning out the attic and Big Peeps was playing in the front yard.

Big Daddy brought down the retired Barbie golf set that hadn't been received as enthusiastically as imagined. Because we don't have a ton of garage space, it was stored away. It's reappearance yesterday prompted some interest which was relayed to me when Big Daddy came in laughing and said:

"So I was telling M the names of the clubs and she pointed to the wedge and I said it was a wedge, the same for the putter, but then she told me she knew what the big one was called. When I asked her, she said it was the Beatermeyer."

This cracked us both up. Now, M does have a talent for labeling things (globe=world ball), but neither of us could figure out where Beatermeyer came from. Regardless, we thought it was a great name and Big Daddy has rechristened his retro driver to the Beatermeyer.

Today, M and I were at the table and she was looking at Ottoline and the Yellow Cat. We were chatting about Ottoline and her friend, Mr. Monroe, and various story elements when she said something about the furniture in the book. Now, this book is really, really clever. I can't imagine the time the author and illustrator, Chris Riddell, has put into this book. Part of the book, though, involves the furniture in the apartment where Ottoline lives. Furniture such as a Biedermeier chair, ottoman, rocker, etc. Riddell's drawings of each piece are stylized, simplistic, oversized images that dwarf Ottoline and Mr. Monroe.

So, while the driver isn't really a golf club of prodigious power; I do have a six year old who is correctly able to associate and label her equipment in proper stylistic periods.

Hoping for Vegetarian Robbers

or at least non-Cannibal ones.

Scene: Me, working to upload kids music for M to take on trip; Big Daddy, in kitchen (next room) getting dinner ready; M wandering between.

M (to Big Daddy): Did you know there are other states where there are robbers who kill people?

BD: Yes, there are.

A few minutes later, to me:

M: Mom, did you know there are robbers who sometimes kill people?

Me: Yes, honey, unfortunately that's true.

M: Why?

Me: I don't know.

M: I think robbers want to kill us for our meat.

Me: Okay.

M (returning to kitchen): Dad, do we have meat?

BD: What do you mean?

M: Like animals, do we have meat?

BD: Yes

M: Oh. I think robbers want to kill us for our meat.

BD: No, robbers usually want things, not meat.

M: No, they want our meat.

One of the Best Things I've Read

Once again from The QC Report:

But if you’re not careful to carve out time there’s never a point where you look at all the things you know and see and have experienced and actually crop the image. There's no room to think this is important and this makes me who I am and this makes me happy in a way I can’t exactly explain.

If you have a few moments, check out the entire entry.

Branches

Me: So we're going to the Sylvania Branch for COSI on Wheels.

M: Where's the trunk?

Me: Trunk? What trunk?

M: You know, the trunk? Where is it?

Me: [thinking, thinking, thinking] Oh! The Main Library downtown is the trunk.

Saying It Better

I love blogs. The list on the sidebar doesn't even touch the bookmarked sites that I have. The ones on the sidebar, though, are ones I read on a regular basis. I tend to be drawn to blogs of knitters, other moms, really good writers, and (just getting into) those who are writing about raising children with special needs, especially Down Syndrome.

Many times, these other bloggers have a way of expressing thoughts, feelings, or experiences in a way that perfectly encapsulates my own. There are two that have resonated with me recently:

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The QC Report
Every time we let our children walk away from us, we’re practicing for the time they do it for keeps. And every time we let them go out into the world, even for a short time, some part of our brain thinks “No! Not yet! There’s no way she knows enough. I know for certain I haven’t taught him enough. Did I teach her the eyeball-gouging trick if someone tries to kidnap her? Did I get him to tolerate citrus fruit enough so he won’t die of scurvy? Did I impress upon them how unspeakably fragile I feel when I think about them doing something self-destructive? Does she know how I have never loved anyone on earth the way that I love her? Come back. Come back." (4/10/08 entry)

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Down Blogger
I am a member of more than a few Down syndrome specific sites. I routinely attend the yearly DS Conferences. I know a fair bit about statistics, different kinds of DS, health issues specific to "our kids", etc. In fact, it is rare a day goes by that I don't find myself speaking or typing the words "down syndrome". And yet, DS is such a minor part of who my daughter is in my thinking. I rarely look at her and think "oh, that is because of DS". I don't equate her successes and failures with the number of chromosomes she packs. Even so, I am aware of her genetic makeup deep in my bones, it is there even when it is not in the forefront of my thoughts.

Somehow, I have been able to raise her to be a young lady who happens to be really cute, funny, charming, a bit moody, a third grader, a great reader, a pretty good baseball player, an aspiring artist...who happens to have a little something extra in her genes. In a weird way, DS is everything, and DS is nothing. It colors most of my thinking about her and her future, and still manages to be at the end of a long line of things I think about when I think about her.

It is almost as though the DS is the last hurdle we jump in all cases of trying to give her the life of a normal little girl. Usually, it is along the lines of "How can we make a world that has her pegged as 'that Down syndrome kid' see who she really is. (03/01/08 entry)

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The R Word

[Note: this post contains profanity. If you're not comfortable with that, please return another day for a non-blue post. JMO]

I’ve been struggling for the last couple weeks with an incident that happened when I commented in a blog. The author (BA=blog author) was giving a commenter a really lovely, scathing set-down. And I was digging it, until the BA called the commenter a fucktard. Now, I’m all about using the f-word and didn’t object to the profanity. I did however, comment that fucktard was offensive because of it’s obvious association with the word retard.

What followed was an exchange between the BA and an other commenter (OBC) which basically said I was over-reacting, it was okay because they would call someone who was mentally handicapped a retard to their face if they were being an asshole, that their kids sometimes acted retarded, and that they’ve already had this conversation with others who’ve objected to the use of fucktard or edutard.

I’m astonished.

Since the exchange, I’ve tried to craft various responses from a lengthy, pedantic treatise on the words and how they can be linked to retard, explanations about intellectually capacity vs. mental developmental delays, to an open letter to the BA and OBC responding point by point using much sarcasm. I’ve considered not engaging these people, because clearly, they don’t get it. And, of course, I’ll never read their blog again.

But, I think, this is what I want to say about it:

I believe that using retard is offensive. Using its derivatives (fucktard, edutard, etc.), even more so. If elements of communication are tone and context, there are no circumstances in which the use of the ‘tard derivatives are anything but a substitute for the pejorative use of retard.

I don’t think using retard (and let’s just assume I’m also saying ‘and the ‘tard derivatives’ from now on) is clever, or makes your argument against ignorance, or is anything but one of the most heinous hate words. Think about it, if you substituted a racial epitaph, ethnic slur, or derogative comment about sexual orientation, people would think you were the worst kind of bigot. Use retard and everyone accepts it as okay. It’s not.

Retarded should be accurately used to describe the mental and/or physical developmental delays that some children and adults face, either from genetic or medical conditions, or from accidents. Correctly used, it only means that these things are slowed; not necessarily lesser or diminished. It certainly doesn’t mean ignorant or stupid.

Unfortunately, retarded is now equated with the undesirable characteristics of stupidity and ignorance. It is used to demean those who are “normally” developing at the on-going expense of those who are not. Like all hate words, it is used to perpetuate wildly inaccurate stereotypes of a group of people who, even more than any other group, are already marginalized through fear and ignorance. And if you don’t think people fear mental handicaps, then explain why the abortion rate for the prenatal diagnosis of Down syndrome is over 90%.

Also unfortunate is that parents, caregivers, professionals, etc. of those with mental and physical delays are unable to use the word correctly without fear of the negative connotation touching their loved one. It denies basic human dignity to a group of people and insults their parents, families, caregivers, professionals who have invested their love, energy, and time to reach their potential, whatever it may be.

Amazingly, those of us given the gift of disability would not change it. The condition (in our case Down syndrome) is the least interesting thing about E. Unfortunately, it will be the most important for many and they will make so many incorrect assumptions about her based on the condition alone. And then many will then use these assumptions as the foundation by which they demean someone else. It’s wrong. It’s unacceptable, and I will continue to speak out against it.

In direct response to the BA and the OBC - Ree (from Confessions of a Pioneer Woman) accurately uses the word retarded. Her brother has some developmental delays due to a genetic condition. This, however, doesn’t give you license to use retard in a derogative way. I’ve never read Ree use retarded to imply that Mike is stupid or ignorant, or to demean him. Instead, she shows him for all his humanity - that he’s exasperating, loveable, flawed – as a sibling would, and usually at her own expense. And she writes about her other siblings and shows how they harass each other. It seems that in their family, harassment is just one (of what I would guess as many) expression of love. I’d also speculate that, given Ree and her siblings’ ages, she’s had to put up with a lot of ignorance and insult (intended or otherwise), which is why her use of retarded is not offensive to me.

Your post a couple weeks later about the Religion of Ethical Reciprocity post, your one commandment is to:

Treat others as you wish to be treated. Be unconditional in both love and forgiveness. Practice grace and kindness.

No one wishes to be treated to a label that denigrates a class of people and denies them basic human dignity. Everyone deserves a chance to unconditionally loved, even the mentally handicapped; and when we fail them by using inappropriate language, hopefully someone will come along to help us. Practicing grace and kindness might mean, in this instance, that when more than one person speaks up against the use of a word, that you take a moment to consider what they’re saying instead of going into a defensive mode. Try talking to your early intervention programs (all states have them) or finding out about the Special Olympics in your state. Read or watch the “Retard Speech” by 17 year old Soeren Palumbo, or visit his facebook page – Campaign to Ban "R" Word.

I haven’t decided whether to continue visiting the BA’s page or not. On the one hand, I’m making her response personal when in truth I don’t know her. Part of my astonishment was that given her topic (homeschooling) and some of her personal history, she should be one who intuitively understands this. However, it only shows that we all have, including myself, a ways to go at any given time.

Some Recent Conversations

[not exactly verbatim, but very close]
M: You know those guys who catch horses?
Me: You mean cowboys?
M: No the horseriders with the ropes to catch horses
Me: Yes
M: They have a long rope with a circle at the end
Me: [thinking to myself You mean a lasso?] Do you know what that's called?
M: A horse catcher
Me: It sure is.

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M: You know when we toot from our butts [pass gas] it's not like when you toot on a whistle.
Me: Nope it's not.

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Giving oral gas drops to E one night via dropper:

M: How do you get them in her butt?

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Clearly We Need to Work on Vocabulary

Me: How was school today?

M: Good.

Me: What did you do?

M: I weaked myself out.

Me: You weaked yourself out? How did you do that.

M: By playing. R & J had to help me walk to lunch.

Me: Wasn't that nice of them to help you.

Clearly A Miscommunication

Getting ready to leave for Monkey Jump, in front of a mirror:

M: Lipstick makes you generous

Me: [scrambling madly to think how this could be] Generous?

M: Yes. It makes you generous.

Me: [finally cluing in] You mean glamorous?

M: No. Generous.

Me: -

M: What does generous mean?

Me: It means very nice and giving. Glamorous means very pretty in a sparkly kind of way.

M: Oh. I mean glamorous.