Amy felt nostalgic last Sunday when she helped with a gymnastics event at Gymkhana, where she used to take classes when she was much younger and shorter. One of the people who welcomes students at the entrance desk recognized Amy despite her growing by so many inches and years, so when I went to get Amy at the end, Amy told me to come inside. As soon as the desk person and I saw each other we lit up with huge smiles and ran to meet each other with big hugs.
To continue her daily outfits referencing Monster High characters, Amy was her usual creative self. My favorite, although I loved them all, was Elissa-Bat. Amy’s creativity was also at work as she struggled to get her sculptures of mushrooms to cooperate. Let all of you potential sculptors take note that clay does not adhere well to cardboard, even though it might seem like they get along when they first meet. Despite her struggles with clay cracking and falling off, her array of mushrooms is coming along. At the end she will have 15 different mushrooms, each one modeled after and painted like a real mushroom.
Sarah’s week went along smoothly except for one afternoon when she was in tears as she walked out to meet me and needed to cry for several minutes as we waited for the bus. It is always hard to get a straight-forward explanation that I trust fully, but what she said was that she had wanted to sit in the library corner of her classroom but was told not to. But the biggest thing she led with was that she was missing Granddad and Pop-Pop. I’m not sure if she wanted to be in the corner and not participate in class because of missing them or if being told not to sit in the corner kicked up the feelings of missing her loved ones. I’m glad she could tell me as much as she did, and I can relate to being upset about something seemingly unrelated to grief that then morphs into grief.
One morning I checked the forecast, as I always do, and I swear that there was only a tiny chance of rain for a short period of time. As Sarah and I left the house, there was nary a drop, although Sarah kept talking about a storm coming. She always has an emergency umbrella and rain poncho. I do not. We were not wearing rain boots. Once we boarded the bus, it became dark and stormy and the rain was coming down steadily. Luckily it wasn’t an absolute downpour, but we were still unprepared in terms of footwear, and I didn’t want a repeat of the day earlier in the year when we forded miniature streams and Carl had to bring a pair of fresh shoes for Sarah. When we got off the bus, Sarah put up her umbrella, and I started leading the way to her school. It was a more convoluted path than usual due to construction making the shortest route impossible. We hopped over puddles and took large steps over small streams. A stranger driving past offered me a spare umbrella that he had, but I declined. I questioned my sanity, but in short order was glad to have my arms unencumbered. At our final intersection, there was no avoiding a giant puddle. Sarah hopped onto a raised manhole cover (are these now called person-hole covers?) but then could not possible jump the remaining distance to the higher drier sidewalk. I gave up any attempt to preserve my own shoes and stepped fully into the puddle. I reached under Sarah’s armpits and lifted her over the puddle, pivoting to place her on the sidewalk. She gratefully said, “Thank you mom! Thank you for helping me! We make a good team!” We walked up the final hill and she went to school, her clothes and shoes in passable condition for getting through the day.
I still struggle with being fresh and comfortable in my responses to Sarah’s repetitions, and then I judge myself for my struggles. This is nothing new from what I wrote last week, but just mentioning it so you know I haven’t figured out the answer to life, the universe, and everything. It’s funny how often I seem to be disappointed in myself for being human.
Miraculously, Carl and I survived working through the Medicaid renewal form on Sarah’s behalf. It is the most frustrating experience that we wish we didn’t have to do at all. We do it because we have been strongly advised to do so by Sarah’s supports coordinator for her future years. There are many services that a person with a disability can’t get if they don’t have medicaid. The frustrating part of the form is how it seems to receive no tech support year to year. Somehow it switched the information from previous submissions and decided that Carl and I did each other’s jobs for 250 hours per week each! The form asks if anyone in the family has a representative designated with power of attorney. I checked yes. Then, as with last year, it says, “which members of the family have a representative? check all that apply.” The only option provided is Carl. This is crazy making!! It doesn’t let me say that Amy is a student and doesn’t remember she exists from year to year, despite them wanting to know about any and all family members. Anyway, I did survive and my hair is still attached to my head, but I reached out to my representative to ask that someone lean on someone to get the forms improved and updated. I’ve never reached out so specifically to my representative before, but this seems like a problem that would impact lots of people.
This weekend we are having a wonderful time hanging out with my stepmom, brother, and uncle at our mountain house. The air is crisp, the fall colors beautiful, the food delicious, and the company excellent. My stepmom, known as Grammy, has a reputation for making board games or card games fun and hilarious because of overtly attempting to cheat. She stayed true to form yesterday as we played Aggravation and shared many laughs. Carl and my uncle and I went for a short hike yesterday, and Sarah eagerly came too. I marveled at the change from her younger self who used to resist hikes for all she was worth. I’m not sure exactly how or why that shifted, but I’m grateful. Of course, Granddad’s picture came too.
Wishing you laughter, cooperative clay, and strong muscles when you need them.
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