The Couples Tool Kit
Working together as a team of three — by Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W., Specialist in Couples TherapyArchive for Developmental Disorders
An Off Day: 11-09-11
A Full Moon? Was it the full moon last night? Sure looked and felt that way to me. While on route to my oil change our daughter text me “I’m having an off day.” When I called she greeted me sobbing hysterically. I could barely make out what she was saying but recognized enough words to determine that an incident occurred with a DSO group leader. Since she was in transit, and her residential staff driving, we postponed our conversation until we all had reached our destination, which for me was the bleak waiting room of the Toyota service department. Fitting.
An Asteroid, An iPhone Or A Hangover: There was nothing new here. Not really. Her group went bowling but our gal was otherwise engaged with her new phone rather than “the task at hand,” busily texting and presumably ignoring repeated warnings to desist and focus on the game. Words ensued, and when the residential staff arrived, the disconcerted, as in “pissed” I assume, group leader talked “behind my back” describing our daughter as rude and fresh. Oh boy. “Mom, can I see you.” Frankly I have never heard her so enraged or outraged in all our years of “moments” such as these. Could it be the full moon, or the asteroid hurling toward our planet that evening, too much birthday hangover or embarrassment and shame. “I couldn’t stop Mom, and she called it a toy. It is not a toy. It’s a phone.”
The Question? Three hours later, during which time I made a couple of calls, and listened to our daughter vent while driving her to Goodwill, at her request, (her coping resource has always been shopping,) to donate her old winter coat and some PJ’s, waited while she poked through stuff, choosing three items, spotting with her keen eye a slightly worn Vera Bradley purse which she paid for with birthday funds, she agreed to handle this dispute like a grown up. The question I asked myself, moments after I agreed to come by, was what should my role be here? Do I end up gratifying a “naughty girl?” Do I exacerbate the hysteria by my presence. Do I undermined staff? I discussed this with the residential head in one of the phone calls while sitting in the Toyota waiting room, with the coffee canisters and creamers on a table close by tempting me to drown my frustrations in bad caffeine. She had no answers either just “Well, you’re the parent so whatever you think is best.” Huh?
Answer Anyone? I still don’t have the answer even as I write this at 5 a.m. this morning, up since 3:30 doing downward dog stretches on the yoga mat while the real item sleeps soundly close by on her leopard spotted bed. No answer, just another day. Another asteroid.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
Oil Change: 11-08-11
Coming Attractions: Today I am off to get an oil change, 20,000 miles plus on my new Toyota Venza, purchased a year ago on our daughter’s 21 birthday, November 4, and it seems appropriate to my state of mind. I am a bit burned out by birthday celebrations, storms and sickness and look forward to a clean up. The week’s weather bodes well for the likelihood of our daughter commencing with the long-awaited volunteer jobs at Ridgefield Crossings Thursday and ROAR Friday.
Quilt Completed? Once those job settings are in place, a weekly rhythm of two days DSO (Day Service Options) on Monday and Tuesday, two vocational days with three volunteer jobs on Thursday and Friday (ROAR, Ridgefield Crossings and The Complete Cat Clinic), Wednesday’s residential catch up composed of an in-house team meeting, behaviorist included, laundry, errands and bank fulfill the requirements of a five-day structured program. SPHERE Thursday evenings, Ridgefield Park and Recreation work out at the fitness center or pool in the afternoons, perhaps Yoga and/or Angelfish Therapeutic Aquatics as evening programming, Saturday morning Pegasus, and weekends replete in family events, friends, movies, museums, fairs, town activities and holy tamole, our daughter’s adult independent living quilt is complete. Whew!
We even purchased the needed new cell phone and winter coat yesterday, both long overdue. Ready to roll?
Fingers Crossed!
And On That Note: Happy Birthday To Blogger Guy’s Amazing Bride, the woman who stands by the man who stands by the blogging me.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
Humor, The Antidote: 11-07-11
The Two O’clock Hour: Our daughter went to sleep at two in the morning after Friday night’s birthday. Though evening staff has a role to ensure that the girls shut off cell phones and laptops by 10 P.M. to enable them to wind down for a decent night’s sleep, somehow our daughter managed to keep connections alive well into the wee hours of the morning as evidenced by her brother receiving her texts well past midnight. Where was staff?
Variables: Sure, there were variables, birthday excitement, 9 P.M. ice cream, and anticipation of the next day’s continuing celebration. But there are always variables and transition from wakefulness to sleep, and sleep to wakefulness has plagued life with our daughter since toddlerhood.
The Hated Vicious Cycle: Naturally, though much of the Saturday celebration was successful, parts of it were blighted by our daughter’s hyper fatigue (not an oxymoron: exhausted and endless complaining has an energy that doesn’t stop, like our house alarm battery that kept beeping even as it was dying, all night long during the latest storm.) She had to rise early to attend Pegasus riding class and by the time she joined us for the second half of her birthday festivities, she had that grumpy, frankly annoying thing going on that has spoiled many an outing, many an hour of family life, her life, and her performance for two decades. I found myself, after the first hour or so of hearing about how the staff made her get up that morning and blah, blah, blah, ready to fold up the mother tent and hide in a cave.
Issues Don’t Change: Yes, the ABD (Ability Beyond Disability) staff has been informed and chats will take place between daughter and staff (they have a residential meeting once a week with the staff behaviorist), cells and laptops will be taken away at night if necessary to avoid another recurrence. The residential director is trained to do this without casting a punitive spin. Better she than me. For me, boy does it bite. When you try to connect the dots, make her responsible for her time, and yet be empathic with how awful it is to be awakened “early” and exhausted, she says “It isn’t my fault.” and though you struggle to explain that this isn’t blame, just an attempt to show her how to do it differently next time and check her clock (“I forget to look.”) or realize staff needed to rouse her in time for horse back riding, all aggravates her further. Yet, if you provide no feedback, hoping that the issue will dissolve on its own, like a bad smell, she engages again and again, unable to shake off her discomforting feeling that somehow she is to “blame.” Try distinguishing blame from owning, victim from being a player in her own destiny, try it. I have for twenty years and it isn’t easy. Best left to others I suppose.
The Antidote Is Humor: Last evening I told my husband that I was and am amazed that I didn’t develop a serious cancer or an auto immune disease over the many years of struggles such as these, when hours of paralysis and/or chaos descended upon our family, each day, with me typically alone at the helm, trying to preserve one precious child while the other, equally precious though not necessarily in that moment, unraveled before our eyes, taking down hours of happiness, peace or just mediocrity and replacing them with a sense of failure, incompetence and guilt. There is no answer to why I was lucky except perhaps the gift of humor, always my savior, always my life force, why I chose the husband I did, and why at the end of the day, with my body literally vibrating from tension, he would spin a phrase so apt and so funny that whatever the actual chemical antidote to disease, this for me certainly must be it.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
The Delights of Difference: 11-06-11
Pride To The Sky: Yesterday our son and his boyfriend joined day two of our daughter’s birthday celebration. The young men took the train from the city and we all drove to the Palace Theater in Waterbury, Connecticut to see In The Heights and catch up with their high school buddy who is in the orchestra playing bass in the Broadway show’s national tour. Prior to departing, a neighborhood acquaintance and electrician by trade stopped in to give us an estimate on work which included ordering and installing a generator to reduce the havoc of Mother Nature’s next visitation upon our home. This gentleman’s grown children went to school with our children years ago. I introduced him to our son and “his boyfriend.” I saw his eyes move between the handsome young men, taking in the meaning and adjusting his expectations. I felt proud. This is our son and his boyfriend, two of the finest young lads one can meet. This is our daughter, known to his wife who had subbed as her aide on occasion at the elementary school. These are our children and their friend and my pride in all of them reaches to the sky. Why?
Artful Hearts: I guess you had to be there. But I’ll do my best. Our son and his boyfriend visit our daughter’s apartment, love to hang out on the red couch, and in general exchange hilarious banter on a range of subjects. They are a big part of her life. Our daughter’s recent favorite topic is the love she witnesses between these two men. After the show we all went to dinner at one of those Asian fusion restaurants where sushi and sesame chicken happily coexist. While her father and I looked on, the three weaved together a tapestry of fondness that could hang on any museum wall. Our daughter, having purchased a drawing pad and some markers at a quick stop at the local Walgreens, began to draw a picture at the table. The finished work was of the two fellas’ heads, rather outsized to their small bodies, teeny hands and feet, wearing tee shirts each with the inscription “I love…” with the name of the other finishing the sentence. Our son’s boyfriend, an adept artist, responded with a drawing of our daughter next to her pooch Waggy with her froth of black waves surrounding a face punctuated by the requisite dangling pink tongue. The love was as thick as the peanut sauce smeared on the dumplings but with no artificial anything. Pure and plentiful.
Delightful Difference: We are a family of “difference.” These days I say to folks that my husband and I mixed quite a cocktail, one that made us join “clubs” in which we never thought to have a membership, walk through doorways and hallways that open only to the chosen few. But ultimately what a delight. The readjustments to the cards dealt have borne unexpected fruit. That of authenticity. Everyone is what he/she is. And each is accepted, celebrated and embraced with their intrinsic beauty, artful hearts, and unbridled empathy for others that “difference” often produces.
Growing Up Jewish: Growing up in the fifties and early sixties, raised on the tragedies of the Holocaust, imbued with the slogan “never again”, I figured that was the “difference” that marked my life. I never envisioned more down the pike. I’ve always liked being Jewish and now I can say that about my motherhood of difference. I like that too. Thanks, kids.
P.S. Please take a look at this link of an important article in today’s New York Times on state care. Check out the quote at the bottom of page 5.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
We Are So “P” of You: 11-5-11
A Run Down On The Cats: During our ride back from the birthday dinner/shopping celebration last evening, our daughter described her work at The Complete Cat Clinic earlier that day. She spoke of Elwin Nelson, Mocha and Coco. Elwin Nelson is white with brown patches, a male and “adorable.” Coco is a cat whom our daughter helped to socialize and was boarding at the clinic. Staff informed our daughter that her work with Coco had made all the difference in the cat’s ability to become an acceptable member of the family household. Mocha, on the other hand, is a resident kitty with mood swings. “I stay away from her.” Smart Gal.
Animal Space: During the conversation, I mentioned to her apartment-mate, who is a fellow animal lover, and seated next to her in the car, that over the years our daughter had many pets: rats, guinea pigs, a hamster, a mouse and of course the requisite variety of fish: fighting, gold and angel. Even turtles, one of whom was named in honor of a very special friend, the other christened “Speedy” and you can guess why. I recall that one was purchased in Chinatown, and both were red sliders. They lived in our frog pond for a substantial period of time until either The Great Blue Heron or the neighborhood raccoon swooped in and flushed them out for an afternoon’s or late evening’s snack. The mention of turtles triggered an unfortunate memory for her mate, an episode with her brother, who was trying to redirect a snapping turtle back to the pond, getting his finger bitten and bloodied. “And I had to clean it.” “Well,” our daughter intoned, “You have to remember to give animals their space.” Who is this girl?
The P Word: For possibly as much as a decade or so, our daughter has begged us to eschew using the “P” word, as in “proud.” ”I am so proud of you” was anathema to her which left us scrambling for an acceptable synonym but alas never found. Instead, “I am so P of you.” was a clumsy second best, uttered with sincerity and an unavoidable dash of humor. Perhaps the “P” word for her signaled “pressure” rather than pleasure. But last night’s young lady, now twenty-two and nobody’s little girl, made me so “P” of her. And more importantly she is so “P” of herself. She is impacting the life of kitties, making them and their owners happier and becoming expert now on felines as well as canines, movie stars and WWII.
Taboo No More: And something else has changed. Lately when I allow myself to ignore the taboo, after all, she is a grown woman, and say “I am so proud of you.” she glows. And often her response is: “I am proud of myself too.”
Proud To Be Me: An accomplished young woman doesn’t have to be afraid of the “P” word. Proud is no longer taboo. I think it is the experience of knowing “I can do it” accrued over many years, with hard work, tremendous support from skilled educators, and many challenges overcome, that make P not a pressure but a pleasure. “Proud to be me.” Yippee!
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
Two Lady Grumps With A Lot To Share: 11-3-11
Senior Residence: Surprise, Surprise, Ridgefield Crossings start date has been delayed another week due to power outage. Still waiting to hear from Roar, postponed last week due to Ringworm. These vocational settings have been fraught with problems, though the trustworthy Complete Cat Clinic has remained steadfast and true so far.
Medicaid Update: Looks like the bureaucratic glitch was just as anticipated: “It (the waiver application upon which the Medicaid approval is dependent) is in Hartford in the waiver unit’s possession. They hope to process by Friday…” so says the regional director. Makes sense, it is after all, her birthday on Friday. Fingers crossed they won’t mess around with the promised “entitlement” gift of the aged out independent young adult gal.
School Was Easier: The years our daughter spent at Riverview were far less taxing from a parental perspective. She was surrounded by staff, four hours away, and we didn’t have to fight for anything beyond some occasional social facilitation when “drama in the dorm” reared her ugly head, or heightening awareness of academic oversights, and touching base with health care regarding sinus medications and other minor health related activities. Her new life has kept me busy almost daily since June, setting up and now follow through, even though she is with an excellent agency. Is it me? Or is it that Phase 1 of independent adult living takes a village and a half to get it launched. That plus two power outages since she moved in, and all kinds of vocational placement problems, have kept things lively. Too lively. And of course, this latest “entitlement” conundrum.
Who Knows? Will Medicaid be fixed by Friday? Will Roar reopen Friday, freed from the taint of Ringworm, to allow our daughter to attend her first actual volunteer day? Will Ridgefield Crossings open its doors next Thursday when our daughter is rescheduled to meet the senior female resident with cat to embark on her new career as “companion?” Who knows? Not I.
Just As An Aside: For those readers who do not reside along the east coast between Maryland and Maine, most of normal life has been cancelled or postponed in these here parts. For our daughter, her Sphere rehearsal, scheduled as usual for Thursday evening, will not be happening as a tree apparently has fallen into the room at the church where the group meets. Pegasus Therapeutic Riding program sent out a warning that they may have to cancel all classes this week due to lack of power. And most Halloween events, except for the small party at our daughter’s Ability Beyond Disability DSO on Monday, have been postponed until next week. Can you actually postpone Halloween? At least candy, as a rule, doesn’t spoil, though the food in our daughter’s CRS apartment fridge and freezer that I observed being hauled out in white garbage bags to the bin, sure did. Still can’t get a fresh piece of meat at the local supermarkets…and I am lusting for a chicken thigh.
Follow-Up On The Grumps: Our daughter called last evening to fill me in on a hysterical episode of “The Big Bang Theory” in reruns, where Sheldon has long dark hair and polishes Penny’s nails. She followed with a short synopsis of a Seinfeld that I couldn’t identify from her description and ended by apologizing for her grumpy mood on Monday. She ascribed her’s to her sinus infection and fatigue. I too apologized for my grumpy mood, tying mine to my tummy virus and frustration with the Medicaid debacle. Two lady grumps with a lot to share, mutual forgiveness, and much fun ahead.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
Coming Up On 22: 11-2-11
Birthday Girl: Two days from today our daughter celebrates her twenty-second birthday, which will be marked by a variety of events including attending theater in Waterbury, Connecticut to see “In The Heights” and a trip to the Vera Bradley store at the Westfarms Mall.
Bass Player Pal: Her brother and his boyfriend are coming up from the city to attend the play whose special importance arises from the presence of our daughter’s dear, loyal and fiercely funny “typical” friend who is a bass player in the show’s national tour and this happens to be the weekend the play comes closest to our area. That plus taking her apartment-mate out for a special dinner and a jumble of gift items ranging from her first iPhone, which she is technologically equipped to use, to a DVD of “Tea With Mussolini” should cover all her Bday needs. Family and friends mark her birthday with calls, cards and gifts. Something about that girl coupled with her “special needs” draws out the good, generous spirit in so many.
The Presence of Goodness In Unlikely Places: As a mother of a child with special needs, I have been privileged to witness extensive goodness in unlikely places. Hardened souls, men and women a like, soften in the presence of a child or adult whose capacities are compromised. Perhaps the childlike quality of so many special needs adults, which is most apparent in their speech, often the first clue, or their gait, or their gaze, knocks down walls of indifference and judgement leading to empathy and compassion. And delight too. Special needs children and adults can be more entertaining than we normals. Why, because much of what you see is honest, uncensored, pulsing with vitality and truth.
Her Birth Gift To Us: As one of our daughter’s cousins-in-law observed, “She cuts right to the truth.” Special needs adults have a unique appeal. They are adults but they retain the enthusiasm and honesty of our former selves, before we became “normal”, repressed, censored and civilized. That’s why our daughter draws in the troops. She touches the child within us, draws them out, and then we can all play together. In the best of times with our daughter, I, who rarely feel anything but young in its best and worst connotations, feel ever so much younger, ever so much lighter, ever so goofy and ever so romantic. Her birth gift to me. And many others, her father, her brother, his friends, our extended families, teachers and bus drivers. They kvell with delight in the contagion of her enjoyment of so much that, when seen through her eyes, becomes hilarious, intriguing or endearing.
Through Her Eyes: To see the world through our daughter’s eyes is never to be bored, embarrassed or cynical. Happy Birthday Special Lady from Yo Momma.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
Medicaid Mix-Up But Power! 11-01-11
Waiver Whatever: I took our daughter to her doctor and ran into a bunch of bureaucratic glitches that broke my spirit for the moment. Unfortunately my condition was frightfully contagious and my poor daughter caught it.
Bored Yet? Not to belabor the boring, of which I am often guilty, the Doc’s prescription for an antibiotic for her sinus infection was not covered. The pharmacist informed us that her Medicaid coverage expired August 31. After much back and forth with various folk, poor cell access, and our daughter, already feeling “dizzy”, pacing through the aisles in her sorceress costume, we left, medicine in hand, out-of-pocket seventy bucks and a lot of worry about what has gone wrong here with this giant bureaucracy upon which she is dependent. Of course this means coverage for the doctor’s visit is snafued as well.
Contagious Complaining: Many subsequent calls mentioned the waiver, which is related to the federal government promising the state reimbursement for part of her Medicaid payments and the likelihood that something simple like a delayed rubber stamping process, is the culprit. But Mom was sick, cold and unshowered and my complaints were contagious.
Adios La Quinta: The good news came in during our encampment at CVS. Power went on at the girls apartment so no need to hang out at La Quinta Suites, with the night staff, poor soul, seated in an arm-chair by the window. Nope, the young ladies could resume normal life at their beloved CRS. And though my daughter referred to this day as “One of the worst days of my life” thanks to her burned out momma, she was pretty comfy by the time I left her apartment, though I remained unshowered (tried to shower there but the water was still chilled), sick and worried about this Medicaid snafu.
Fingers Crossed: I am so old and “wise” that I grasp that living is composed of a continuous sequence of emerging obstacles, overcoming obstacles, rejoicing in that achievement until the next obstacle rises up, each day, every day. Most of these obstacles are little, like power outages, and bureaucratic glitches. Unless those glitches become insurmountable obstacles to our daughter’s comfort and safety. Fingers crossed, a glitch is just a glitch.
Jill Edelman, M.S.W.,L.C.S.W. 2011
Pulling Back? 10-27-11
I Wonder: Is the new season of Special Needs Adult Living upon us? Is it time for me to pull back a bit? I would like to think so. The vigilance of the last almost three months since the ladies moved into their apartment (August 1) is time-consuming and my extensive email correspondence with the ABD team is possibly irritating to them, though no one has expressed annoyance at werewolf momma. In truth, it has been the last two years of “non-stop efforting” without pause that makes for the wishful thinking that pull back is possible.
Is It A Question Of Standards? I need to ask myself this question: Is the issue one of standards, what I think our daughter’s life should look like? Or the acceptance of any mother whose child has moved into adulthood and is not mimicking everything “mom.” Does her hairbrush have to look like my hairbrush? (Though with super short white hair, I barely brush.) Can the staff replace me in most ways? Absolutely. They are consoling, caring and vigilant. Can only I tell if her cold has become a sinus infection by staring into her eyes? Is it that hard to notice dark rings? Can we just “date”, mom and daughter? I am really not sure.
Fingers Crossed, we can. I would enjoy letting my guard down and easing into something called the “empty nest.” HA!
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
Spirals Of Anxiety: 10-21-11
Halloween’s Haunt: Every year as the leaves drop and front lawns are bedecked with spider webs, dangling sheeted ghostly figures, and wondrous ghastly creatures, our daughter gets sick. By Halloween night or a few days later on her birthday, she is either on Zithromax (yes we have tried the naturopathic route) or at least Mucinex (and this state of quasi-illness can go on for months). And sure enough when I rang her up this a.m. she reported the stuffy nose, scratchy throat, beginning cough condition that raises the hairs on the back of my neck and sinks that pit of fear deep into my tummy. Oh no. Just when she is about to do her training at ROAR, scheduled for this Sunday morning. I am haunted by years of aborted missions due to our daughter’s physical stamina weakening all aspects of her tolerance level and sure enough, this was already happening. The new vocational life skills staff person and she had one of those moments where our daughter felt bossed due to a misunderstanding, time constraints, a cold and perhaps poor preparation.
Spirals of Anxiety: So familiar. I feel spirals, spirals of anxiety, the domino effect that mothers know so well…starting with the birth of our first child. If they don’t nap, if they don’t burp, if they don’t suckle well…then this, then that. Spirals so well known and visualized for many years, that my overreactions, though exhausting, are also worthy of mockery, teasing and general merrymaking, at least by friends and relatives. Jeez Jill, relax.
Nip It In The Bud: I have already sent out probably three verbose emails since 9 a.m. and that’s while working two hours where I am fortunately unable to communicate with souls outside of the couple sitting on my couch. By 9:30 I had spoken to the ABD nurse and two staff about how to intercept and ward of the deadly “sinus” infection with Mucinex-D and lots of rest, encouraged them to make sure a bedroom window is open a tad at night to allow in some moisture to offset the dryness of the heating system and counseled everyone to work hard to keep this cold just a cold, nip it in the bud, or else. I will also be heading over to the apartment later to check her out myself, eying her eyes for signs of those deep blackish rings that are the hallmark of her sinus infection (though mom has those rings daily, mine are chronic/genetic, hers just infection).
What’s Your Worry Lady? Well, let’s see. This time my focus is the ROAR training, the animal shelter we have been waiting on since early summer. Scheduled for Sunday, if she is too pooped, she won’t go. (And I don’t know when they reschedule.) Oh no. Is that her problem or yours? Hard to say. I hate to see her disappointed, but sometimes she isn’t and I am. Worth mentioning here is that I always locate something on which to focus my anxiety: a dance, a family party, a Broadway show, a neuropsychological testing session, (she had serious Lyme disease when interviewed at Riverview, her boarding school, but still got in) an opportunity that will be marred by a sick girl who is too tired to attend or attends and then melts down during the proceedings. This is not a young lady who pushes through her distress to accomplish some preset goal. Two decades of this yet nothing horrific has really occurred. ROAR will reschedule and life will go on.
A Visual Schedule: Is anything new under the sun? Not the basics. This week Ability Beyond Disability had their “Disability Mentoring Week”, a program (and a permission slip I signed a month and a half ago and had no memory of) where clients are taken to various work settings to view employees on the job. In our daughter’s case, she went to the Post Office, a vet’s office and today was suppose to visit Olive Garden’s kitchen. However, no one really spelled out to her what the theme was, the purpose of these visits, and in general why they were keeping her from the Park and Recreation center treadmill and pushing her to go to the DSO (Day Services Option) on a day she normally doesn’t go. I didn’t know any of this until my conversation with our daughter this morning when she vented her anger at the new staff, whom she referred to as Ms. Bossy, who wouldn’t let her work-out: “You always say how important that is Mom.” and “I miss Laura,” the lady who dared to leave after winning the girls’ hearts. After speaking with the residential coordinator, I made sense out of some of this disconnect. Our daughter had no idea what the goals were, why her schedule was changed and had, with a new staff person stressing under her own pressures, oops, a bad moment and, in the hustle to leave, a forgotten lunch bag. Back to the drawing board. After emails and phone calls, the team will now put in place a visual weekly schedule (I guess no one read the recommendations from her school as to the necessity of this piece), collaborating with our daughter to make one on her computer, with weekly copies coming to me so I can make sense out of what our daughter is saying. (Imagine my confusion when she said she went on a tour of the Post Office.) She vents to mom and I need a script to follow along.
Good News: But much is good. She loved the Hoops event last evening and apparently was involved in a ceremony welcoming the new Commissioner of The Connecticut Department of Developmental Services when he came to Ability Beyond Disability, having been chosen to hand him flowers and apparently saying some words about how happy she is in their new model program, the CRS. How did I learn of this little bit of sweet information? By accident. I don’t mind not knowing all the good stuff (and I also don’t know if that was fun for our daughter, I will ask her) but I need to know enough stuff because my daughter brings stuff to me. And it all takes time. If they inform me of the “stuff” then I can spend less time running people down to fill me in. Time is money for me. But time is what our daughter will always need…it still takes lots of time to be a mother, no matter the needs or ages of one’s child. Right? Yep, I can hear y’all. Yes indeed. So don’t sign on to the job unless you have a lifetime of time for your offspring. Oops, times up. Back to work.
©Jill Edelman, M.S.W., L.C.S.W. 2011
