Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Merry Christmas
Maura got a puppy but its not a real puppy. Its a cute little thing he came with a bed, a brush and his chest moves up and down like he is breathing. He is a golden retreiver puppy and Max is his name.She also got a watch and a basketball.
Eoghan got some games for his x-box and gift cards to get more. He wanted West Side Story DVD couldn't find it anywhere so I got it on itunes for him but having issues getting it to go on to a disk for him to play it in the DVD player so I guess he will just have to watch it on the computer until I get it sorted out.
Finnian got an Uggly doll, a sock monkey, a puppy blanket and a razzberry teether. He really likes his sock monkey. They also got clothes.
Dinner was over at Mam's and there were more prezzies to open. Deirdre got me oven mits well on Thanksgiving she was taking something out of the oven with mine and I forgot to tell her about the hole and she got a blister so she said she would get me ones for Christmas and she did. Maurs got a nice jacket and boots from Nanny and the boy got some clothes. We still have to do some shopping for them.
We had great plans for last Friday but we had issues with our van and were out of commission. So I dropped the van off at the garage to get fixed its supposed to be ready later today. We just have to get a hose replaced as we are leaking coolant. We were lucky as we could have really messed up the van good job I noticed that the temp was higher than what it normally is and I added coolant. Can't wait to get the van back in running order as we had planned on going to the beach to the basketball courts and the park over there. We are also going to go to the gardens as the Holiday Train show is on. We haven't been there much this past year we had so much going on with Finnian and his surgries and the change in his seizures we were sticking close to home with him.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Christmas Pictures
Eoghan decorating the tree
Putting the decorations on the tree
Happy boy Finny
At least they are all looking in the same direction
Finny is hiding in his santy hat
Eoghan and Maurs
Eoghan and Finny
Maurs and Finny
Let me think about that
Fake smile
Strike a pose
Smilie boy
See I am looking at you and smiling
Playing shy
Cheeky Finny
Hang on getting comfy
Relaxing with my leg up
Update finally
Eoghan and Maurs got their progress reports and both are doing very good.
Took pictures of the kids in front of our Christmas tree for the Christmas cards what a laugh. Finnian the pup wouldn't look towards me at all. So I uploaded the pics and ordered the cards. So me and little man were hanging out and he was in fine form so I started taking pics of him at 1:30am in front of the tree and you know I got some great shots of him. Yes he is a bit of a night owl but its our time together.
This past weekend he was having some issues with low heart rates the weekend before he had a high HR and a high temperature. Now for the past few nights his O2 keeps dropping but only when he is asleep.
He did great with his PT today and was even moving his leg to take steps. This is a huge development for him.
On another note I have been diagnosed with the same digestive disorder that Eoghan has. Had the food allergy tests done and I have allergies to soy, nuts, peas and buckwheat. Some others were itchy but didn't swell like the other 4. I am a genetic carrier for cealic disorder so have been advised to go gluten free. Have you ever read the labels on the packaged foods? Soy is like nearly in everything. Had some regular pasta the other night and its so not worth it. Will have to start buying gluten free products
Friday, December 2, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Halloween pictures of the kids and Joe
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A New Blogging Mom
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Notes From a Dragon Mom
Emily Rapp is the author of “Poster Child: A Memoir,” and a professor of creative writing at the Santa Fe University of Art and Design.
Santa Fe, N.M.
MY son, Ronan, looks at me and raises one eyebrow. His eyes are bright and focused. Ronan means “little seal” in Irish and it suits him.
I want to stop here, before the dreadful hitch: my son is 18 months old and will likely die before his third birthday. Ronan was born with Tay-Sachs, a rare genetic disorder. He is slowly regressing into a vegetative state. He’ll become paralyzed, experience seizures, lose all of his senses before he dies. There is no treatment and no cure.
How do you parent without a net, without a future, knowing that you will lose your child, bit by torturous bit?
Depressing? Sure. But not without wisdom, not without a profound understanding of the human experience or without hard-won lessons, forged through grief and helplessness and deeply committed love about how to be not just a mother or a father but how to be human.
Parenting advice is, by its nature, future-directed. I know. I read all the parenting magazines. During my pregnancy, I devoured every parenting guide I could find. My husband and I thought about a lot of questions they raised: will breast-feeding enhance his brain function? Will music class improve his cognitive skills? Will the right preschool help him get into the right college? I made lists. I planned and plotted and hoped. Future, future, future.
We never thought about how we might parent a child for whom there is no future. The prenatal test I took for Tay-Sachs was negative; our genetic counselor didn’t think I needed the test, since I’m not Jewish and Tay-Sachs is thought to be a greater risk among Ashkenazi Jews. Being somewhat obsessive about such matters, I had it done anyway, twice. Both times the results were negative.
Our parenting plans, our lists, the advice I read before Ronan’s birth make little sense now. No matter what we do for Ronan — choose organic or non-organic food; cloth diapers or disposable; attachment parenting or sleep training — he will die. All the decisions that once mattered so much, don’t.
All parents want their children to prosper, to matter. We enroll our children in music class or take them to Mommy and Me swim class because we hope they will manifest some fabulous talent that will set them — and therefore us, the proud parents — apart. Traditional parenting naturally presumes a future where the child outlives the parent and ideally becomes successful, perhaps even achieves something spectacular. Amy Chua’s “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” is only the latest handbook for parents hoping to guide their children along this path. It’s animated by the idea that good, careful investments in your children will pay off in the form of happy endings, rich futures.
But I have abandoned the future, and with it any visions of Ronan’s scoring a perfect SAT or sprinting across a stage with a Harvard diploma in his hand. We’re not waiting for Ronan to make us proud. We don’t expect future returns on our investment. We’ve chucked the graphs of developmental milestones and we avoid parenting magazines at the pediatrician’s office. Ronan has given us a terrible freedom from expectations, a magical world where there are no goals, no prizes to win, no outcomes to monitor, discuss, compare.
But the day-to-day is often peaceful, even blissful. This was my day with my son: cuddling, feedings, naps. He can watch television if he wants to; he can have pudding and cheesecake for every meal. We are a very permissive household. We do our best for our kid, feed him fresh food, brush his teeth, make sure he’s clean and warm and well rested and ... healthy? Well, no. The only task here is to love, and we tell him we love him, not caring that he doesn’t understand the words. We encourage him to do what he can, though unlike us he is without ego or ambition.
Ronan won’t prosper or succeed in the way we have come to understand this term in our culture; he will never walk or say “Mama,” and I will never be a tiger mom. The mothers and fathers of terminally ill children are something else entirely. Our goals are simple and terrible: to help our children live with minimal discomfort and maximum dignity. We will not launch our children into a bright and promising future, but see them into early graves. We will prepare to lose them and then, impossibly, to live on after that gutting loss. This requires a new ferocity, a new way of thinking, a new animal. We are dragon parents: fierce and loyal and loving as hell. Our experiences have taught us how to parent for the here and now, for the sake of parenting, for the humanity implicit in the act itself, though this runs counter to traditional wisdom and advice.
NOBODY asks dragon parents for advice; we’re too scary. Our grief is primal and unwieldy and embarrassing. The certainties that most parents face are irrelevant to us, and frankly, kind of silly. Our narratives are grisly, the stakes impossibly high. Conversations about which seizure medication is most effective or how to feed children who have trouble swallowing are tantamount to breathing fire at a dinner party or on the playground. Like Dr. Spock suddenly possessed by Al Gore, we offer inconvenient truths and foretell disaster.
And there’s this: parents who, particularly in this country, are expected to be superhuman, to raise children who outpace all their peers, don’t want to see what we see. The long truth about their children, about themselves: that none of it is forever.
Ronan is fading, but our day-to-day experience with him is often peaceful, even blissful: cuddling, feedings, books, walks, naps. We brush his teeth to keep them from rotting even though he will never use them to chew solid food. It doesn’t always feel like enough. I would walk through a tunnel of fire if it would save my son. I would take my chances on a stripped battlefield with a sling and a rock à la David and Goliath if it would make a difference. But it won’t. I can roar all I want about the unfairness of this ridiculous disease, but the facts remain. What I can do is protect my son from as much pain as possible, and then finally do the hardest thing of all, a thing most parents will thankfully never have to do: I will love him to the end of his life, and then I will let him go.
But today Ronan is alive and his breath smells like sweet rice. I can see my reflection in his greenish-gold eyes. I am a reflection of him and not the other way around, and this is, I believe, as it should be. This is a love story, and like all great love stories, it is a story of loss. Parenting, I’ve come to understand, is about loving my child today. Now. In fact, for any parent, anywhere, that’s all there is.
Ronan and his Dragon Mom
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Up early on a Saturday morning
Saturday, September 10, 2011
September
Saturday, August 20, 2011
A new post finally
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sad Day
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Word of wisdom
Monday, August 1, 2011
Eoghan's trip so far
Always the *****
Friday, July 29, 2011
Alarms beeping.........
Can I get it undone?????????
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Packing
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday update
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Hopefully the last Doctors appointment for a while
Monday, July 18, 2011
Finally an update
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Happy 4th of July
Monday, July 4, 2011
The latest gossip from us
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
First anniversary in Heaven Dad
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Last few days
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Appointments, appointments, appointments
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Hospital stay
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
The latest gossip
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Its been awhile
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The Blue Rose
I scurried around the store, gathered up my goodies and headed for the checkout counter, only to be blocked in the narrow aisle by a young man who appeared to be about sixteen-years-old. I wasn't in a hurry, so I patiently waited for the boy to realize that I was there. This was when he waved his hands excitedly in the air and declared in a loud voice, "Mommy, I'm over here."
It was obvious now, he was mentally challenged and also startled as he turned and saw me standing so close to him, waiting to squeeze by. His eyes widened and surprise exploded on his face as I said, "Hey Buddy, what's your name?"
"My name is Denny and I'm shopping with my mother," he responded proudly.
"Wow," I said, "that's a cool name; I wish my name was Denny, but my name is Steve."
"Steve, like Stevarino?" he asked. "Yes," I answered. "How old are you Denny?"
"How old am I now, Mommy?" he asked his mother as she slowly came over from the next aisle.
"You're fifteen-years-old Denny; now be a good boy and let the man pass by."
I acknowledged her and continued to talk to Denny for several more minutes about summer, bicycles and school. I watched his brown eyes dance with excitement, because he was the center of someone's attention. He then abruptly turned and headed toward the toy section.
Denny's mom had a puzzled look on her face and thanked me for taking the time to talk with her son. She told me that most people wouldn't even look at him, much less talk to him.
I told her that it was my pleasure and then I said something I have no idea where it came from, other than by the prompting of the Holy Spirit. I told her that there are plenty of red, yellow, and pink roses in God's Garden; however, "Blue Roses" are very rare and should be appreciated for their beauty and distinctiveness. You see, Denny is a Blue Rose and if someone doesn't stop and smell that rose with their heart and touch that rose with their kindness, then they've missed a blessing from God.
She was silent for a second, then with a tear in her eye she asked, "Who are you?"
Without thinking I said, "Oh, I'm probably just a dandelion, but I sure love living in God's garden."
She reached out, squeezed my hand and said, "God bless you!" and then I had tears in my eyes.
May I suggest, the next time you see a BLUE ROSE, don't turn your head and walk off. Take the time to smile and say Hello. Why? Because, by the grace of GOD, this mother or father could be you. This could be your child, grandchild, niece or nephew. What a difference a moment can mean to that person or their family.
From an old dandelion! Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.
"People will forget what you said, People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel!" ANON.
If this story blesses you today Please consider sharing it with others.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The throwing up continues
Friday, May 6, 2011
Finally an update
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Oh have I been slacking
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Took the Visitors to NYC
Across the street from Saint Patrick's Cathedral
And again
Saint Patrick's Cathedral
Times Square 42nd St
Times Square
Look even Farmville has a poster on 42nd St.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The latest ...........
Congrats James and Marie
Congrats James and Marie