Just Cate

After being brought to my knees with illness for the second time in as many weeks, I found myself in the perfect weakened state to finish a book that I started more than a month ago.

Just Cate, a dual memoir by lifelong friends Noelle Alix and Angela Martin, chronicles the life of Catherine 'Cate' Alix, the second born daughter of Noelle and Tim Alix, from Manhattan, to New Jersey, and ultimately Simsbury Connecticut. The book follows Cate's life up until the age of 12.  More than the life of Cate, the book follows Noelle and Angela on a faith journey and a return to their childhood friendship.

"One's life can change in an instant."

When I first picked up this book to start reading I was really excited for an uplifting read.  What I got out of the first 5 chapters was more of the same, what I call "my life is over I just had a child with Ds".  Even as I read that last sentence I realize how horribly crass and insensitive that statement is.  But the fact of the matter is I did not fall into the category of "why me?" when my daughter was born with Ds, I fell more into the category of "why not me?".  I am definitely sensitive to the plight of "why me?" and have been in that camp before on my way to rock bottom and I can definitely sympathize with those who find a diagnosis of Ds as their rock bottom.  With that said, I was definitely looking for more from this book.  Secretly, hoping to find some one in the camp of "why not me?"

Quickly into Chapter 5 I began to see rays of sunshine, well my version of sunshine, truth.  "Although the advice to enroll Cate in early intervention was well intentioned, it created a false sense of urgency within me."   Yes, the tremendously all important push for early intervention.  Does it truly matter if it starts at 6 days, 6 weeks, or 6 months?  Meanwhile, Angela is trying to figure out how and when to contact Noelle, thinking that maybe Noelle needs time to adjust.  Meanwhile, Noelle is navigating and searching for where to begin.  It is Angela who ultimately sells me on this book.

  Upon discovering her dearest, childhood friend has had a child with Ds she is stricken with saddness, fear, and guilt.  Guilt that she recently had a typical child while her friend did not.  Almost asking "why not me?".  Angela grapples with her own grief and fears of how this will impact

Noelle's life and ultimately their friendship.  While Angela, hems and haws about how and when to contact Noelle, Noelle begins finding her way as a mother to two daughters and a "part time lawyer".

Angela chooses to send a handwritten card to Noelle and Tim, in which she proposes that Cate was born "to give love, receive love, and teach us all how precious life is".  This statement becomes a life line of sorts for Noelle and she keeps it in her bedside table for years.

For the first year to 18months of Cate's life, Noelle drives up to 2 hours each way on the NJ turnpike twice a week in order for Cate to receive ECI services.  Noelles' life is busy. Two kids two and under and a part time, really full time job as a lawyer trying to work from home. She manages but often times not very well, choosing to put her own well being on the back burner in lieu of slowing down.  Angela becomes her anchor when she fly's from each end of the balance like a pendulum.

Both Noelle and Angela begin to reexamine their childhood faith as they share their almost parallel lives of raising similar aged children.  Around the time Noelle becomes pregnant with her third daughter, Claire, fate begins to weave her web into Noelle and Tim's life.  It is here that I begin to become a Noelle fan.  She does not mention being worried about having another child with Ds.  Of course she is more worried about the possible harm from a recent radiation exposure.  But there is not the worry that you see in her upon Cate's diagnosis.  Ultimately, Noelle and Tim uproot and head for the suburbs of Connecticut 10 minutes away from Angela. Fate or something Divine?  They begin to believe the latter.

Noelle and Angela learn many faith lessons as they navigate life as working and stay at home moms, with some hilarious adventures, scary medical issues, death, and rebirth mixed in.  Together they try to figure out what Ds means to each other, what it means for Cate, and how to best approach trying situations.

There is quite a bit of comedy that comes from Noelle's father who proves to be quite a character a trait that no doubt was passed on to Cate.  During Cate's years receiving ECI at Stepping Stones, Mr. Clifford accompanies Cate on more than one occasion. After one such trip, he arrives to tell Noelle "it's a load of bullshit, Noelle" (the therapies).  He recounts how he tries to tell Cate "come on kid, just do what they want, and then they'll leave ya the hell alone", further commenting about one particular therapist "you know the one with the accent, the beautiful face, and the really big can?"  "What if when she's bending over ya, she let one rip?  You'd be knocked right out of that room."  Noelle laughs at first because this is her dad and just how he is but quickly she realizes she has to face these same people again in a few days.

Threading through the lives of Noelle and Angela is the life of Cate.  A stubborn, comical, endearing little girl.  Cate has many 'jobs' in her early life that are hilarious at times but also baffle, suffocate, and threaten to undo Noelle. Noelle and Angela discuss medical, educational, social, and spiritual aspects of Cate's life. Noelle overthinks decisions regarding Cate, stresses about suffocating Cate and giving her too much freedom.

In the end, Noelle and Angela come to realize that they key to their lives was already present from the foundation of their early faith education.  Noelle and Angela learn to accept what they can and can't control in life and to live like Cate.

Just Cate.

This is truly a memoir, a story actually, of the simultaneous journey of Noelle and Angela.  There is information about Down syndrome in this book but it is truly in regards to Cate.  There is no advice but rather an honest Mom's journey of indecisiveness and trying to do the best for all three of her daughters.  I found this to be a nice read, a hopeful read, one that I would definitely pass on to a new mom.  Perhaps not in the first 6 months if she were very emotional but definitely with in the first year.

Walking away from the book for a few days, I can honestly say that Noelle and Angela were meant for Cate and Cate was meant for them.  Noelle with a little bit of the 'why me?' reaction and Angela with a little bit of the 'why not me?' reaction.  Finally, it is time, familiarity, faith, friendship, and fun that heals both of their hearts.

Grateful

 

 

Pretty much anyone can understand why I would choose to support Best Buddies and perhaps why I would want to do so.

 

It's probably not so clear why the other five ladies on the Bridgies Brigade team might choose to support Best Buddies.

 

 

Take for example my beautiful neighbor, Sue Franklin.

 

 

Many in the community know Sue for her upbeat, optimistic, caring, and gentle spirit.

 

Sue is also good for an afternoon laugh at the bus stop on most days.

 

Sue is a social worker for Catholic Charities and lives with her husband Jeff and son Will down the hill from us.

 

The three make a great team of Halloween Costume makers and love all things Halloween.

 

Sue has gone out on a limb to share a piece of her heart and some of her past to explain why getting involved with Best Buddies was so important to her.

 

My words cannot express my gratitude to her and her family.

 

Here is her story:

 

 

When I first signed on to join Bridgie’s Brigade in the Best Buddies Challenge it was for a mostly selfish reason – I needed to get physically active again.  Even my embedded laziness couldn’t resist such a great cause.

Then as I began my time back on my bike my mind visualized two familiar faces to keep me pedaling.  My enchanting neighbor, Bridgie, and my wonderful cousin, Katie.  Bridgie and Katie are both spunky, redheaded, Irish gals with quick smiles and laughs.  They also both happen to have Down syndrome.  What better way to celebrate Katie’s 30^th birthday and Bridgie’s upcoming start of pre-school?!

But as I rode in silence -and sometimes pain, I knew the fear, sadness, and regret that really fueled my desire to support Best Buddies.  In 1985, as a high school junior I began the most important volunteer work of my life.  I volunteered several hours each week for about 6 years at Forest Haven in Laurel.  I have read that Forest Haven, which began as Children’s Center for individuals with intellectual disabilities, was once a thriving, family-oriented place with excellent care.  The Forest Haven I came to know, however, had been condemned several years earlier.  The residents remained because the DC Government was having trouble finding any community-based programs for the residents, who had spent their whole lives in Forest Haven and were now in their 40’s or older.  Because it had been condemned, the buildings were falling down, there was moss and ivy growing up the interior walls of some of the buildings, the remaining staff were disheartened and checked-out.  Some staff were far worse than that – they were dangerous predators.  Even my youthful, rose-colored glasses were challenged by what I saw and heard. 

I volunteered with two amazing, heroic gentlemen who walked the thin line of advocacy and maintaining relationships with the staff so that we would be allowed back each week.  By this time we were some of the only outsiders still coming onto the campus.  I now understand the quiet, urgent, desperate attempts that these mentors of mine made on behalf of the residents.  In the summer of 1991, residents began to disappear.  We were told they had gone to area group homes but there was no way to verify this information and I had long since stopped trusting the management.  These residents who had lived together their whole lives were haphazardly split up – often with only hours notice before their departure.  My despair was only relieved by the thought that they may have gotten out of Forest Haven alive.

So, I will continue to ride for Best Buddies.  Not just because they were there to support my cousin through high school.  But because I’ve seen what can exist – can be justified – in the absence of appropriate community-based services.  Non-profit organizations are having a hard time in these economic times.  But we can never go back to times without these programs.  Find a non-profit you love and support it today.  I will do that in honor of Bridgie and Katie.  I will do that in memory of my Forest Haven Friends, Jerry, Bruce, Maddy, Bobby, Johnsie, Juanita, and all of the residents.  They deserved better.

 

Thank you so much Sue for sharing your amazing story and for finding the drive to do the right thing so many years later.

So if or when you wonder if you should get involved in organizations like Best Buddies or if you think your money is not going to make a difference, think about the alternative.

Think about the lives of Sue's Forest Haven Friends and what might have been for them.

Maybe Best Buddies is not the answer for everyone but think about the alternative. 

A world without Best Buddies.

Please leave Sue some comment love.  While not an active Blogger, I think she may have a calling.



SIMP

 

Squirrels in My Pants

SIMP

 

 

 

 

Jerry, uh I mean the kids really like a show on the Disney Channel called Phineas and Ferb.  I am usually doing things like dishes or laundry and only pick up on some of the things they find so humorous.  However, there is one episode that I happened to see in it's entirety.

Squirrels in my Pants, probably not the episode name but definitely the main purpose of the episode.  Candice, the older sister of Phineas and Ferb, finds herself in the park while trying to wrangle the little sister of her hearts desire, Jeremy.

Somehow she winds up with an acorn in her pants and so begins the hilarious dance moves of Candice.

To me the video, alone, is not as funny as the kids watching the video, dancing, and laughing their pants off because of it.

So, yesterday I had to change my plans and get Eoin to the Doctor because of  Coins in his Cast.

Yup, CIHC

Coins in his Cast

At around 8 pm the night before I was laying with Eoin getting him ready for bed when I heard a strange squeaking sound and alot of rustling.

"Eoin, what are you doing?"
"Mommy, I have coins in my cast?"

I did not have to ask any further questions, I knew.

Erin and Jerry had been counting coins as part of her homework and then Erin and Eoin had created a game with the coins and tossing those coins.

At some point it seemed like a good idea, to Eoin, to put two coins in his cast.

Back in the bedroom, I could not contain myself, as visions of Eoin James (and coins) danced in my head.

I came out to find Jerry and we just cracked up at the latest of the EJ Escapades.

I sent Jerry in with a back scratcher to try to remedy the situation, but he realized instantly that it was too big and not a very good idea.

Jerry got Eoin to sleep and I posted Eoin's marvelous scheme on Facebook.

Thank God for Sharese White, the good doctor, for urging me to take him to the Doctor the next morning.

Honestly, I would have waited until next Wednesday, our regularly scheduled appointment, to deal with it.

Meaning I did not realize it was something to 'deal with'.

I am so thankful to Sharese and for facebook because when the cast was removed, less than 15 hours later, one of the quarters had left a crater, with black edges, and blisters forming by his wrist.  It was so tightly wedged in there.

The second quarter was up by the top of the cast near his tricep, which was much looser, and did not leave a mark.

Little did I know that if I had left them unattended for the week I had planned the skin would have started to grow around the coin.

Yikes,  thankful once again.

CIMC

Coins in my Cast

As we waited for the tech to cut off the cast, Eoin was wiggling on the table and shaking his cast seeing if he could hear them clank.  He was then shaking his mullet and his hair was flying all around his face and he was giggling so hard.

I started singing:

Coins in my cast, coins in my cast.
Only Eoin Jamesy would put coins in his cast.
C to the I to the M to the C

We both started laughing and singing and I realized what an amazing little man I have in my life.

All of the, female, staff love Eoin. The secretaries came in to see him and the techs he has seen in previous visits, and the doctor who normally does not crack a smile, gave Eoin a little smirk.

And I gave him the 2 quarters as a tip.

We lucked out, Eoin got cleaned up, and walked out with a new green short cast and the ability to bend his elbow again.

And we sang C to the I to the M to the C all the way to the car.

On the way home, I replayed the events of the day he broke his wrist in my head.

I marveled at the calmness of the kids in the van as I tried to figure out what to do and where to go.

How I knew instantly that it was bad by the lack of whining and the jungle scream that Eoin usually emits when he kinda hurts himself or just wants attention.

The whining jungle screaming replaced by a quiet whimper with a whisper of Mommy attached to the end.

How brave he was to sit with one of the teachers at Rolly Pollies, even though he had never met her, while I ran around getting two other kids out the door and into the van.

How when I came back in to get him he started to cry harder and gave me a faint smile and I told him to not move his hand and to take deep breaths.

How his cold, nervous, sweat lay on my own cheek and hands after I strapped him in his seat.

How Erin actually listened when I calmly stated "Eoin is really hurt so I need you to be quiet, not to cry, and not ask any questions right now".

How Bridgie needed no attention and miraculously made not a single peep over the next 30 minutes.

How Right Time could see us Right Now.

How Uncle Tim could come to the rescue of the two girls.

How Aunt Tara rushed home from her errands to take in the girls.

After all of these events lined up perfectly, there was an instant

Calming of my insides.

As I could finally scoop Eoin up into my arms and focus solely on him.

He was so amazingly sweaty as I stroked his hair and held him close.

Realizing, sadly, how long it had been since I held him like this.

I warned the nurse that he would not want the pain meds and to protect herself from the second coming...
Of medicine that is.

Amazingly, he calmly ingested all that was offered.

I told the nurse, we probably don't need an x-ray, it's broken.

But the where needed to be determined.

You may find this next statement ridiculous but consider the source.

I am thankful for Eoin's broken wrist.

I am thankful for the one on one time it has afforded the two of us.

Thankful for the realization of the beautiful boy I have in my daily midst that I take for granted.

This thankfulness and these realizations have led to some sweet times together.

Just me and him.

Moonwalks in the dark.

Seeing his shyness as I tell people what happened.

His gentle way of teaching my how to play angry birds as we wait to see doctors.

"No, mommy, not like that you silly".

Thankful for friends and family for coming to the rescue, time and again.

Thankful for Bridgie's patience at the plethora of doctor visits.

Thankful to be the whispered 'Mommy'.

Just Thankful for the

CIMC

Coins in my cast, coins in my cast,
Only Eoin Jamesie would put coins in his cast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Magic

 

 

In the Gospel of Luke yesterday, John the Baptist cried out

 "Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.  Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low.  The winding roads shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God".

 

I was struck by the opening command.

 

"Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths".

 

Am I preparing the way of the Lord in my home and with my family?

 

Am I providing a straight path for the Lord?

 

Am I spending as much time talking about the magic of the Christ child as I am about Santa?

 

The Magic of Christmas.

 

What does it mean to you?

 

Is it solely about the magic of Santa, the magic of the elf on the shelf?

 

Is it about presents?

 

Can we even see His presence in our lives during this overstimulating time of the year?

 

Do you look?

 

 

 

Do my children know about the Holy Family? The magic of His Birth?

 

 

 

One way to paint the picture is to sing this simple hymn with the kids:

 

 

The magic is in the music, the magic is in the questions of a seven year old girl and the wonder of an almost 5 year old boy.

 

The laughter of a little Bridgie giggling as we practice being cattle lowing.

 

Dear God, I do not have all the answers and I am certainly not doing it 'right'. I am trying to live in Your presence and to teach my children to look for You.  Guide me in preparing the way for You and pushing aside that which clutters Your path.

Amen.

 

 

 

 



Rude?

 

I did something yesterday that is sort of unlike me.

 

During the Cantata rehearsal a young family came in to the church, their young daughter dressed to the nines and rather adorable.  Maybe two.

 

They explored the center aisle with screeches and giggles.

 

They explored the Narthex with more screeches and giggles.

 

Then they were joined by a friend and her child and headed up to the loft of the church.

 

Cute screeches and giggles turned into chase and stomping and peek-a-boo and fits of screaming giggles.

 

 

Next, there was the sound of rapid fire photography from above to the sound of screaming giggles and stomping.

 

 

Perhaps this family had come to church to take their family photo in front of the beautiful tree only to realize their were around 50 musicians and singers blocking the way.

 

50 musicians, who were having their final rehearsal before their big show. 

 

The Christmas Cantata.

 

50 musicians running their musical marathon if you will.

 

 

Weeks and weeks of practice and anticipation culminating later that evening.

 

50 musicians that I have come to adore and respect in the mere hour I had been blessed to be in their presence.

 

The lifelong musical training of these folks evident in their music speak which baffled me, a non-musician.

 

50 musicians trying to focus and flinching at the sounds of two screeching children.

 

 

Finally, I, the non-musician, mother only to one of the children singing, had enough.

 

I walked up to the loft and said

 

"Hi, do you think we could keep it quieter up here?  The screeching is really distracting downstairs"

 

"Oh, yeah, sure"

 

Here's the part that bothers me the most.

 

I don't think I said 'thanks'.

 

My heart was pounding out of my chest as it is on a lesser level as I type this.

 

I think it took a full 5 minutes for me to quiet my breathing back in my pew.

 

You see, I have a problem with what I did because I know what it feels like to get glares, and stern looks from people in a church because of my unruly children.

 

I believe children belong in church and we have had a hard time finding our way as a family in church.

 

It is hard to say the last time all five of us attended together regularly.

 

Well, not hard to say, it does not happen.

 

We go in shifts, take turns attending mass or services.

 

When we do attend together, the majority of the time is spent keeping the children quiet with stickers or coloring or most likely out in the narthex or in the cry room with one or more unruly children.

 

You see, to me, it is about respect.

 

Respect for the pastor, the priest, the rest of the congregation, and most certainly the musicians.

 

Respect for their efforts and dedication.

 

Children do belong in church.

 

However, children must be trained how to behave in such a setting.

 

How your family gets there is not my business and I most certainly don't have the answer.

 

I am surprised by my actions yesterday and feel like a traitor to all moms who just want a place to take their children where they feel welcome.

 

 

I admit that I felt angry at the disrespect shown towards the Cantata members.

 

Screeching children at a choir rehearsal would be equivalent to someone smoking on the roadside of an Ironman event. 

 

Thoughtless.

 

 

I don't condemn the family for their actions and am not 100% convinced I did the right thing.

 

They could rightly be calling me rude.