Please, want to!

We were driving through Olds the other day and Anna suddenly said "McDonald's. Chicken. Please, want to." While I am slightly embarrassed that my two year old is so familar with McDonald's my heart is rejoicing at hearing her put so many words together with such clear intentions.

When Anna was a year old I took her for her annual check up at the doctors. These visits always start with some measuring of weight, height and head circumference. Then the doctor comes in and listens to her heart and lungs. She looks in her ears and mouth; checks her hips and organs. Finally, the doctor asks a series of developmental questions. It was on this first year visit that the alarms started.

"Does she respond to her name? Does she come when you call her from another room? Can she follow a simple direction?" No, No and NO! No Anna didn't do any of these things. She didn't cry at sudden loud noises. She never responded to her name and especially didn't come when you called her from a different room. Once in a while she would dance to loud music but really. Sleeping through loud noises? This is the first time that concern was raised about one of our girls. We left with a referral to have her hearing tested.

As I drove home I start picturing my sweet little girl with outragously big hearing aids. I could see her in school trying to follow along. The teacher has a headset and microphone attached that feed directly into her hearing aids. The really large ones that the kids make fun of. And in my mind my sweet little girls is sad and lonely and confused about being different. And my heart is breaking just thinking about it; wanting to protect her. At the same time I am rallying the troops in my head to be as supportive as we can.

The waiting is super hard. Poor Anna. We called her name and called her name and called her name... trying to get her to respond. I searched the internet looking for reasons kids don't respond to their name. The internet can be so bad at times... Autism. Autism. I thought I was going to be sick. And there were check lists for that to. Which I went through and got mixed messages. I watched videos of autistic kids at 1 years old and listened to the commentary about what to look for. And finally we got the appointment.

She passed with flying colours! She could hear! They were sure. Absolutely sure. But...

She didn't respond to her name for the audiologist, who got a little bit pale after the third attempt. Then said "Well, if she doesn't start responding to her name by 18 months you should get her checked for cognitive delays." Which means autism.

So a year later when Anna says "please want to" (even for McDonalds) or tells us knock knock jokes (that truly aren't funny) or draws happy faces (that are sideways) and pulls off her diapers (when they are full), I am mostly just pleased that she is getting all of this and getting it so well.

Happy Mother's Day Mom

My Mom wrote this a long time ago and it's been sitting in my in box ever since. I thought it was neat so I'm sharing it with you.

My full name is Donelda Louise ... (nee Midgett) at this time, as I am married to ............
I have always like my name!
As far as I know I am not named after any relatives or friends.
I understand Donelda is of Scottish descent. That makes sense as my mom Effie Lavina Midgett (nee ...) has Scottish ancestors.
I am glad my parents spelled Donelda with an "e" in the middle. I've always felt relieved: it wasn't Donald (like the boys name) with an "a" added on. Don "e" lda sounds softer and more feminine in my mind.
I have known acquaintances and had friends with the first name Louise. I've like all of them so it just makes my middle name more favorable. I feel Donelda Louise runs together smoothly too and that pleases me.
My maiden name Midgett sometimes caused a few laughs and a bit of teasing. Men and women in my immediate family are large boned-- as termed by other people. My grandmother, Midgett, was six feet or taller. All the men are also six feet tall or more. Most of the men have large tummies too.
My mother though barely made five feet so marrying Clyde Midgett made her height a tad comical.
I guess another reason I so like my name is it is unusual. I was the only Donelda (spelled anyway) in the whole of the Yukon Territory, Canada as I grew up. I have never had anyone criticize it.
Only twice in my life have I got angry with someone about their mistreatment of it (Donelda).
A) a family friend thought he should shorten it to Don. I replied that's like a guy --- No Way. Well, then make it Dawn like the morning he said. I said No Way -- that's totally changing it. He then in his sense of being funny said Make it Donkey. I was instantly mad and said That's what you are and walked away. He apologized profusely and tried everything to make up for his terrible mistake (for days he almost begged). Our friendship was never as close after that. He remained a family friend for years.
B) Another male family friend entered our home and called me Donel -- ie one day. I told him he knew my name and should use it properly. The next time he called me Donel--ie I got mad and said I won't respond to you unless you call me properly. He couldn't believe I would be so stubborn. If I remember right I won that battle quickly; he didn't like not being acknowledged. I have fond memories of other experiences our families shared together and he was always there -- still respected.
Once during my teen years I dated a fellow that shortened my name to Del. It think that lasted three days. I couldn't figure out where he got Del from. I don't remember any negative reaction to him using it but have a sense I was glad he went back to Donelda.
I love how my Aunt Mary says my name, Donelda. I don't know if its the placed emphasis on the syllables, the softness of her voice (which is very similar to my Grandma--her mom) or her Texas drawl. I wish we didn't live so far apart or phoned more often. If we did I'd hear her say it to my delight.
I was twenty four years old, married with children here in .....before I ever heard my name,........ called out for someone else. I was just entering a drug-store with one or two of my children. Someone inside yelled Don a lda --get out of There...in fear. I knew they didn't know me and I knew I wasn't in danger. I asked the cashier for an explanation. Don a lda was an employee bent down on one side of the shelving unit. Another employee on the other side of the shelving unit was up on a step stool stocking the top shelf. Something she did caused stuff to fall off and probably land on Don a lda. The yelling was to warn her not me. I knew this Don a lda as an employee of the store for years.
I have never know any other Don a lda's but have been told of a few.
I know of no one else who spells it with and e. Donelda
I have always liked my full name! Donelda Louise ... (nee Midgett).

Movin' to the country gonna eat a lot of peaches...

Well we made the big move and we have been here about a month and a half. The activity of moving has died down. The snow is melting, all the important things have been put away. Many of our nearest and dearest friends have come out for a visit and now we are settling into our new normal.

We have seen wildlife. Last night we had three dear eating grass in our front yard. They were there for a least an hour. There is a moose in the area. We've seen him a couple times.

Our girls have discovered the rocks. Every day they go outside and fill their pails up with rocks. They move them around, dig them, water them, dump them and then start all over again. The need for mud pants is very apparent.

When have started making lists. When we go to Calgary we have a list of about 10 people we want to see and about 20 things we need to get. We are lucky if we see any of our friends and get about 10 of the things we are looking for. At the end of the day 3 tired girls head home and Mom's head is filled with the things we didn't get, wondering where she will get them and an hour to stew about it plus feeling guilty that she snuck into town and didn't see any of her friends. It takes the whole day and often feels like we have accomplished nothing.

My very tired husband went to bed at 9 pm last night. I was amazed he lasted that long. He is on generators this week which means he starts work at 530 am. With the hours drive in he was out of bed at 4 am. He is already getting pretty frustrated about not getting to do the things he wants to around the farm. By the end of the work week he is left with about a day and a half to fix the generator, build a deck, put this tools away and fix the road. When the snow is melted we are putting the garden in and there is always fencing. I'm truthfully not sure how long this will last. Ironically I am here all week and have the time to do these things but I don't know how or even want to fix a genrator. Plus he told me last week "You're really bad with a tape measure."

I got invited to a girls night out. It got cancelled at the last minute so I didn't get to go. It felt like starting high school all over again. What if they don't like me? Will I never have friends again? I was kind of relieved to have another week to mentally prepare. It's different then starting a new job. Even if your collegues don't like you they won't stop inviting you to work. My kids will go to school with these women's children for the next 13 years. I can't screw this up.

It struck me this morning that it would be very easy for a person to get depressed when they move. I'm not depressed but I can understand how it could happen. You don't have any good friends in the new community. No one to call up at the last minute to say you want to drop by or meet somewhere. In our case, our old friends are just a short hour drive away. But somehow that short hour drive away is a very long hour. It really takes the whole day to go to Calgary. When you move to a new community there are a lot of new people to meet but no close friends. It could get pretty lonely. Lucky for us we have family across the road, a phone and the internet.

Odds and Ends

There is one clear thing I can remember about my Grandma; she loved rubber bands. There was always a stack of stuff on the kitchen table and if you sat and surveyed what was there you would see at least 3 rubber bands. Everything that could be wrapped in a rubber band was. There was a band around her wallet, a stack of paper, containers etc. I really didn't think much of it until the day my Mom commented on it. "Rubber bands are gross. They dry up and they smell and when they get old they break..." Another time I heard her and her brother talking about them. After hearing them talk, I would bet that my Mom and all her siblings avoid the use of rubber bands. OVERUSE comes to mind.

A few years ago my Mom started using tape. A lot of tape. She would tape notes to everything; the computer screen, kitchen counter, van consol. My sibblings and I were relentless in our commentary on the taped notes. Some of us were worse then others but they will remain nameless.

It wasn't until my husband started making comments on paper clips that I started to see a pattern. I can not stay away from paper clips. If I see one on the table or counter I will pick it up and play with it. When I was teaching I always had at least one in my pocket. I don't recall ever buying a package of them however I do possess a large number of them. Multiple sizes. Multiple containers full of them. When I was teaching I would use them to hold class sets of assignments together. (Teaching is more about paper than you can ever imagine.) It's all very innocent but to hear my husband talk about it and you wouldn't think so. I've stopped commenting on the tape.

My Grandma had rubber bands, my Mom has tape and I have paper clips. A proud family quirk. And then it happened. My husband has joined the ranks. He has a thing for ice cream pails. When we were cleaning the garage and house I started finding his stash. One under the bed, 2 under the work bench, 7 more floating around the garage, 3 in the storage room. And I quote "You never know when or where you might need a pail." Really!?!

So I must correct myself.... My Grandma has rubber bands, my Mom has tape, I have paper clips and Karl has ice cream pails.

How old is too old?

The other day I watched my husband take tylenol that was passed it's expiry date. When I asked him about it he just shrugged it off. I told someone else about this they said they ignore the expiry dates on Tylenol as well. Apparently there is more than one person out there who doesn't care about expiry dates. This leads me to the question, how old is too old? Would you take tylenol that was a month old? 6 months old? a year? 10 years? If you aren't following the expiry day then where do you draw the line? And does this disregard of the expiry dates apply to all products? There are expiry dates on dairy, cereals, breads, meats, juice, medication, contact solutions, contacts, car seats, poison, and condoms. So I must ask again, how old is too old and do expiry dates apply to any of these products?