I've got a monster of a post that I've been adding and adding and adding to since last week, and I'm not sure whether I'm just going to break it up into a bunch of smaller posts or heave it all out there into the blogosphere in one, gigantic post at some point.
In the meantime, I have some news to report. Went to my new eye doctor (side note: I've been going to the eye doctor for over thirty years now ((side side note: dang, but that makes me sound ooooold)) and this is the first time in my life that I've ever had a female eye doctor. Isn't that odd?) this morning for a check-up. Longer-time readers of my blog might recall I've had some eye-related issues in the past, that led me back to becoming a primarily-eyeglasses-wearing kind of chick after twenty solid years of being a primarily-contact-lens-wearing chick. It's been over a year and a half now since I reverted back to Heather Four Eyes, and I've mostly gotten used to it. A minor inconvenience, really, that is a pain mostly when having to do that Mr. Rogers-esque switch from regular specs to sunglasses (prescription, thick as heck, and *enormous* in my case - very Hollywood Celebutante-ish, oooh la la. Um, except for the "thick as heck" bit) whenever I'm going in or out of doors, and, of course, when I'm trying to perform various depilatory acts while showering.
Well.
My new, fantabulous Eye Doctor Chick not only confirmed that while yes, my ocular allergies have returned, no, I do not in fact have any recurrence of last year's Major Eye Ick, but she also had a new, better prescription to replace the "eh, I guess it works better than plain old Visine, I guess" eye drops I've used in the past (and gave me a sample bottle to get me started, too), but best of all she told me about a brand-spankin'-new type of contact lens that *might* just be my ticket back to Four Eyed Freedom! This lens is made of silicone instead of whatever kind of plastic or Saran wrap or whatever it was my lenses have always been made of up until this point, and that means that they are much more conducive to eyeballs with my kind of ridiculous protein output. (Yes, my eyes have a veritable superpower when it comes to protein production. Woo.) Even better, these fancy-pants silicone lenses are way the HECK cheaper than the daily disposable ones I'd been told were the only ones I could possibly ever wear last year by my old eye doctor. Like, a quarter of the price cheaper. She promptly produced a sample pair that I'm going to wear for the next two weeks (well, once my pupils return to normal from their Heather Looks Ever-So-Slightly More Insane Than Usual, Totally Black from Massive Pupil Dilation state) and if all goes well, I'm in business. Wooooooo-hooooooooooo!
I must pause here for a quick Happy Dance, done to Jamie Foxx's ubiquitous tune Blame It, which has been stuck in my head for the past 24 hours thanks to my five-minute-long flipping sessions through the music channels on TV each morning (part of my vain and desperate attempt to stay "current" but I always wind up watching the comfortable, familiar videos I recall from my youth on VH1 Classic and hoping that they'll play a little Duran Duran before Hubby is done in the bathroom and I must get up and on with my day...) coupled with the fact that I fully blame my night of horrid gastrointestinal distress plus feverishly bizarre dreams last night on a bad glass of OJ I chugged as I made dinner last night............
Okay, I really, really, REALLY need to get some curtains or shades for this office. Stat. And if someone could please explain to me the point of that video, besides Jamie showing off his cool, famous friends (Ron Howard? Really? Richie Freaking Cunningham? Does he have street cred now? I always thought Fonzie
was the cool one.......) that would be great. I mean, I *get* which are the cool guys in the Duran Duran videos. (Hello, John Taylor...) I just don't get today's videos and music. Is T-Pain in every video right now? Is there a rule that you can't just do a song - it has to "feature" someone who may or may not actually have more of a part in the song than the "main" artist? And what the freak is up with Lady Gaga? She scares me. Yeesh.
Annnnnyhow, the news that I might be returned to my previous state of contact lens bliss isn't even the best news to come out of my visit to the eye doctor today. You see, we were chatting during my exam (I know: Me? Chatting? No way!) and somehow got around to the topic of kids (again, I know: Me? Talk about kids? No way!) and the fact that Kiddo has intermittent exotropia came up. I honestly don't remember exactly how that came up, really - I remember we were talking about going to Disney World (her family's going for the first time later this summer) and next thing I know, it had worked its way into the conversation. I do remember mentioning how much I'm worried about and dreading the very real possibility that Kiddo might be needing eye surgery later this summer, as I don't think the current regime of patching is doing diddly or squat.
It was at this point that she filled me in on some new information (well, new to me, anyhow) both about the surgery typically done for Kiddo's eye condition and about vision therapy.
Oooh, did you hear that? The chorus of angels that sang out when I typed the words "vision therapy" just then?
See, there they go again!
Yes, my friends, it turns out that there is a course of vision therapy that, according to Fantabulous Eye Doctor Chick, can cure Kiddo's eye condition without any surgery. And she's not just a doctor, but the wife of someone who had the exact surgery Kiddo would be facing when he was a young child. (Surgery, I might add, that left him with zero depth perception. Which is a typical result of the surgery. Yikes.) Anyhow, she knows of another doctor who does such vision therapy, and while I was out in the optician's area waiting for my pupils to explode and trying on eleventy squillion frames and cracking the optician up with my commentary (sample hilarious joke: "Yes, but do these frames make me look 50 pounds thinner?" Seriously, she was a way easy audience. There might've been a two drink minimum going on sometime earlier in her morning. I mean, it's always five o'clock somewhere, even when it's just 10am in my corner of the world...) the Super Awesome and Most Fantabulous Eye Doctor made a phone call to the Vision Therapy Doc and spoke to her about Kiddo, so that when I went owlishly blinking my way back into the exam room, she had all this info including contact info for the doctor nicely written down for me.
Seriously, I will try *anything* that doesn't involve cutting into my kid's eyeballs. Let me repeat that: Cutting. Into. My. Kid's. Eyeballs. Nope, doesn't get any better no matter how much I say, think or type it. So, I giddily left rambling voicemail messages on Hubby's Crackberry and office line (I know: Me? Rambling? NO WAY!) as I squinted my way home behind my Really, They Are Trendy Magoo Sunglasses and left a voicemail for the vision therapy eye doctor as soon as I got home. (Then Hubby called back, and despite being quick to inform me he had listened to BOTH of my messages in their entirety, I repeated the entire thing to him again, because I was just that excited and because I could only type him an email by closing my eyes and that was annoying as heck.)
So, tomorrow morning (assuming my pupils have returned to normal and I can look at the screen again without squinting) I have to call the insurance company to see what, if any, of this doctor's services might be covered. I know that although it would seem like a no-brainer to cover something other than surgery and hospitalization, when have insurance companies ever been accused of having a brain? So, I'll find out how impossible it will be to get coverage on that end of things and also call the vision therapy eye doctor's office back again ('cause, surprise surprise: I left a kind of rambly message on her voicemail, too, and I'm not sure but I may've been cut off before I actually left my name and number) and see what I can do about getting Kiddo evaluated there.
Since her vision issues play a role in some of her OT issues, I'm thinking I may be able to work that angle and possibly get the support of her most recent therapist if need be, too. I will gladly work any angle necessary to get Kiddo any treatment that (a) might work well and (b) doesn't involve scalpels and eyeballs.
So, there you have it. Good news for both of the brown eyed girls in the Smith fam. I shall now return to shaking my shuwumple in a happy dance and bid you all good night.
Blame it on the Minute Maid,
Blame it on the Tropicana,
Blame it on the Sunny-D,
Blame it on the organic, blame it on the generic...
Blame it on the O-O-O-O-O-O-OJ
Blame it on the O-O-O-O-O-O-OJ.........
I've been debating whether or not I should relate the following anecdote. I mean, I do have a reputation to uphold, that of a dainty, delicate, utterly ladylike and genteel chick, of course...
At first, I was going to keep this to myself. Then, my dear friend Givinya de Elba posted something on her blog which spurred me into replying, via comment, about what had transpired despite my decision to keep this one in the vault and uphold my rep and all.
Furthermore, I was not, not, not going to share this with Hubby. I was firm on that one. I mean, it is true that over the past 16 and a half years we've been together, the bloom has somewhat come off the rose. The air of mystery surrounding All Things Feminine has long since whooshed out the window opened in the House Where Chicks Outnumber Dude. But, despite my resolve to not tell him, of course I did. Last night. Well, mostly - I was having a hard time getting to the crux of the matter given that I was giggling like a fool with tears streaming down my face. But he got the gist of my tale and then provided me with the perfect ending line, so now I am feeling compelled to blog it after all.
Here goes.... and if, by some slim chance, you're still subscribing to my Cheerful Delusion that I am a Dainty-n-Delicate Gal, you might want to stop reading now and go about your business.
So, I'm nearsighted. Really, really, reaaaaaally nearsighted. This is an accurate representation of Heather Without Her Corrective Lenses:
Seriously, I'm Squinty McWhatisthat without my specs. As one who has required glasses for more than one score and ten years (NB to Creative Junkie - I double checked and a score is twenty years. Apparently the brain cells aren't all pudding!) I have grown used to having to guesstimate what it is in front of my face at certain crucial times over the course of my day. The clock with extra-large, illuminated numbers that is over on Hubby's side of the bed (as he is the one who requires Control of the Alarm)? Perfectly used to squinting as hard as I can to determine if the number before the colon is one or two digits, and completely comfortable with the fact that unless it is 11:11, I'm not going to be able to tell what any of the numbers are beyond a glowing, green fuzz.
The tasks associated with showering are another set of things with which I am generally comfortable doing without being able to see them. (Goodness knows, the amorphous, jiggly, white mass that exists below my eyeballs is better left viewed in Extremely Soft Focus, anyhow.) Scrubbing, rinsing and that trickiest of all shower-related jobs: shaving, all are second nature to Magoo Me. Now, in order to shave my lower legs (and my big toes, if I am telling the complete truth, but what woman is going to admit to shaving her big toes? Let's just say it was a horrible mistake I first made back in my foolhardy teenage years that now requires regular maintenance, lest Sasquatch think I've robbed him of some digits in a weird, inter-species transplant situation) I have long since perfected a maneuver in which I prop my leg up against the side of the shower wall, kind of like this:
only slightly less dressed and graceful and also always solo. Oh, and I don't shave my armpits and legs simultaneously, so without the arm extension, too. Yes, for a big girl, I'm surprisingly flexible, and am able to effect the above position for better squinting proximity to shave.
Now, I must digress for a moment. It's actually relevant to the story, as you will see. I love prunes. Oh, I'm sorry, "dried plums" - thanks, Marketing Gurus! I love dried plums. Every once in a while, I'll be overcome while grocery shopping and buy a container of dried plums. (It does sound classier, I'll grant you that.) A few weeks ago, I was overcome in such a manner and thus, a large container of dried plums has recently been residing in our fridge. Dried plums that no one else in my family ever, ever eats, besides me. We've been frantically trying to eat down all the contents of our pantry, fridge, freezer and chest freezer with some decent amount of success, but it's taken effort. (We're down to about 1/3 of a case of frozen pizza dough balls, a Sam's Club sized box of Italian ices, and several bags of frozen veggies. Oh, and a large container of old-fashioned oatmeal. And Cheez-its, for Kiddo's lunches.) As I said, no one else in my family eats prunes dried plums, so it's been me giving a dedicated yet solo effort to finish off the container before Thursday, when we move. As I *big, red, puffy heart* them, this hasn't been a hardship. (And I should further note for the record that while I adore Jamie Lee Curtis - A Fish Called Wanda and True Lies were both performances of comedic perfection - I do not have a need for her in her new guise as the Activia Lady. Regularity has never been an issue for me, is what I'm saying.) I've been popping them down by the handful (as in four or five at a time) a few times a day, like when I'm making Kiddo's lunch for school or emptying the dishwasher or cooking dinner or walking by the fridge. They're so, so delicious. Mmmmm, prunetastic.
So, back to my original story. The other morning, I was in the shower and up to the deforestation portion of events. I was taking care of business in my usual Big Girl Ballet pose, and when I was through, I turned around to put the razor back up on the top shelf of the shower caddy that dangles from the showerhead. It was at this point that I noticed something on the floor of the tub.
That something, to be specific, was two somethings. Two small, dark brown, blobular somethings there behind me on the tub floor. Now, I suppose I must confess that while regularity isn't a problem for me in any event, my present Extra-Prunetastic diet has led to the occasional gaseous emission. And, while I was Leg Up on the Wall and shaving, I had a few such emissions. Whatever, I was home alone (well, besides the cat and frankly there is nothing I could bodily emit that could touch her post-bologna-consumption farts.) (NB to Crazy Sister - I amend my comment on your post earlier today. My cat's post-bologna-consumption gas might be the Worst Smell, Ever.) So, I froze at the sight of these two, small, dark brown, blobular somethings fuzzily peering up at me through the steam and myopia.
I will confess that I pondered for a moment or two if any of my recent gaseous emissions might've been a bit more... strenuous than I'd thought at the time. I mean, I was distracted by my Shaving By Braille method and the whole Trying Not to Slice My Legs or Feet Open business. But could I have been that distracted? Paraphrasing what Givinya said in her related blog post, getting up close and personal to such a potential biohazard in order to see it clearly is not something one wants to do. I bent over and squinted for all I was worth, but didn't dare actually get down onto the floor of the tub and poke my nose into it to see for sure. I hopped out of the shower and grabbed for my glasses and then turned back around to face the music.
This is what I found:
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*
That's Don Diego and Brownie, aka two of Kiddo's Teeny Tiny Guys, Dog Pack Division. (She has a multitude of TTGs, from dogs and cats to farm and zoo animals to two Teeny Tiny T. Rexes. Hubby and I have stepped on every single one of them over the years, too.) She's taken to bringing the TTG Dog Pack into the tub with her, as the dinosaurs in there were apparently getting dull. (They are getting rather icky from dwelling permanently on the ledge of the tub and may stay behind when we move...) I guess I didn't hear the clatter of Don Diego and Brownie as they slipped from their ledgeside perch to the floor of the tub, singing heartily as I was as per usual while going about my Showery Business.
Whew.
So, in conclusion, I told Hubby about this last night. He rolled his eyes at me, rolled over and began drifting off to sleep (a sleep that was full of dreams of loading U-Hauls and hoping that everything would fit, apparently). A few moments later, he rolled back over towards me, opened one eye and said "You know, the moral of that story is that you should never, ever eat anything without your glasses on."
He's probably right, too.
* Don Diego and Brownie's actual size is less than one inch, each. They come from that vending machine in the row of nasty gumballs and You're Never Going to Be Allowed to Get That candy in the front of the supermarket. So, they are in fact quite small.
Well, we're two thirds of the way through a three day weekend, and I have lots of odds and ends rattling about in my brain, none of which in and of themselves feel worthy of an entire post. I shall, therefore, collect them all here in what is guaranteed to be a long-n-rambly entry. Without further ado, let the rambling commence!
***
First things first: want some fun-n-exciting bling for your blog? Check out the brand spankin' new button I made over there in my sidebar on the left! You can copy the code to your own blog and be the first on your block to have my spiffy button!
***
Kiddo fell the other morning, on our way to the bus stop. She was, as per usual, ignoring my repeated suggestions that she walk, not run, down the sidewalk and BAM, down she went, tearing a hole in her pants and skinning knees and palms. She was more upset by missing the bus and having to have Mommy drive her to school than she was upset about her injuries. (I was more upset about the ruining of an almost-new pair of khakis, myself.) To cheer her up, I told her the following story, something I'd forgotten about for years but that popped into my mind as I was comforting her and getting her cleaned up:
When I was in kindergarten through second grade, I walked to school along with a group of other children in the neighborhood. One day in mid-October when I was in first grade, my grandmother (who was staying with us as my parents were unavoidably out of town) decided she would drive us instead of having us walk. It was cold and rainy and we had school pictures, so we were all dressed up and looking spiffy. This was a treat regardless of the situation, so the six or seven of us kids gleefully crowded into her old, boat-like sedan. (I'm not sure what the car was - I'd have to ask my dad or my uncle. I just recall it was dark green, large, four door and had those fins on the tail lights that have always struck me as really cool. Remember, this was the mid-70s.) Two girls sat up front, leaving the other four or five of us plus my younger sister to jam into the back seat. This being back in the era before seat belt laws were mandatory and also due to the large number of grade schoolers wedged into the back, none of us were secured by any means other than by being squished in place by our companions. I was on the far right, up against the door. Nana pulled out of our driveway and headed through town to school. As she steered around curves or turned corners, the row of us in the back would sway against each other, and we exaggerated the amount of "tipping" as kids are wont to do in such cases. Well, a little more than halfway to school, we turned and everyone shoved over into me, and the next thing I knew, the door I was pressed up against opened up and I went tumbling out of the car! I landed face down in a drainage ditch full of sodden, muddy leaves at the side of the road. I scrambled up in time to see the door swing shut as Nana completed the turn and then kept on driving. Convinced that she would stop at any second and back up to retrieve me, I stayed put. I was unhurt, but my dress and tights were filthy and I was covered in bits of leaves from my hair on down to my shoes. I was amazed when Nana didn't stop or turn around to come back for me and instead drove on out of sight. I later learned that even though all the girls were screaming for Nana to stop, that I'd fallen out of the car, when she glanced in the rearview mirror, all she saw was that the door was closed and that there were a bunch of heads in her view. She was convinced that we were playing a trick on her and that I was just hiding. It wasn't until she pulled up at the school, several blocks later, that she realized I was not, in fact, still in the car. She dropped off the rest of the girls and circled back to find me, pissed off and shocked beyond tears to have been deserted as I was, standing on the side of the road. She collected me and brought me home to change, and then proceeded to add insult to injury by making me wear an outfit that was not the one my mother had carefully selected before her trip for class picture day, and one that I didn't even much like. Inexorable as my grandmother was, she didn't even have the good grace to either apologize or allow herself to be guilted into a trip to the 5 & 10 for consolation candy, either.
Kiddo was shocked by this story, mostly by the fact that none of us had seatbelts or were in booster seats like the first graders she knows use today. It was one of the first times that she ever truly seemed to get the concept of "back in the day" - to her the seventies are the equivalent of Little House on the Prairie to me, I guess!
***
We've been enjoying some serious Indian summer weather this weekend, so how did Kiddo and I take advantage of it today? By going to the movies, of course! (In my defense, we were outside for a good portion of the day yesterday and plan to be outside all day tomorrow as well, and she played in the back yard for a decent amount of time today too.) Hubby had some work to do (being in the financial services industry, needless to say, there is never an end to the work in these ridiculous and scary economic times), so I took Kiddo over to the local IMAX theater where the movie Dolphins and Whales 3D: Tribes of the Ocean is playing to give him some peace and quiet in which to concentrate on his work. I'd seen an ad for it in the paper earlier in the week, and Kiddo is all into 3D movies after our trip to Disney World, where we saw "the Donald Duck movie" and the Muppets 3D movie more than once, so I thought this would be a cool, albeit expensive, thing to check out. Turns out it was indeed cool - at times it seemed like the gigantic whales were coming right at us and we really got the feeling of being underwater with the various animals - and educational as well. The fact that stuck with Kiddo the most? Manatees, due to their diet consisting mainly of vegetation, are very flatulent creatures. Yes, we were treated to the sight of manatees farting (oh sorry, "tooting" in Kiddo parlance) underwater, in glorious, 3D technicolor. The gas bubbles - they're coming right at us! (And yes, Kiddo tried to pop the bubbles, as she also reached out to pet various dolphins and whales and she even squeaked back in "dolphin talk" to the pods on the screen a few times.)
***
Kiddo broke her glasses on Friday. I'm not sure when the actual breaking occurred, but while she was washing up before dinner, she looked down at her hands and - clink! - a lens popped out. The frame itself was broken, right at the temple, which is a first. I chose these specific frames for their super-bendy properties, and as we've been in to the optician's office about once a week since August when she got her glasses for adjustments, I think it was a good investment since this was the first actual break. Luckily for us, the frames are under warranty so replacing them will only cost us $5, and even luckier, the optician put Kiddo's lenses into one of the "demo" frames so she has glasses to wear in the interim. The loaner pair were the runner-up choice when Kiddo was picking out her frames; they're the same frames except in purple (hers are pink) and seeing them on her as we have since yesterday morning, I'm very happy we did choose the pink, as the purple are much more "HELLO! WE'RE HERE! ON KIDDO'S FACE! YOO-HOO!" than her regular frames. Once we find out if she will need glasses for the long term (we go back to the eye doc next month), I think I'll get a spare pair for a back-up just in case they can't do a loaner pair the next time her frames break. I remember all too well from my own childhood how often glasses break, so I'm sure there will be a next time!
***
I'm presently in reality TV heaven, with my three favorite reality shows all on right now. I am addicted to The Amazing Race (and seriously, are these teams the stupidest contestants ever on the current race? The mistakes they make, it's like they've never seen the show before - read the flippin' clues, folks, yeesh!), Project Runway (I'm totally rooting for Leanne and absolutely cannot stand Kenley) and America's Next Top Model (McKey is my favorite, though Marjorie and Elina are both possible contenders). I'd love to do The Amazing Race, but never, ever could. Number one, I'm not in nearly good enough shape; number two, I have that whole issue with heights which always is at least one of the Detours or Road Blocks; and number three - the big one - I couldn't bear to be away from Kiddo for a whole month (I don't think they allow families to join teams down in Sequesterville, so even if we were the first team eliminated, I still wouldn't see her for way too long). Maybe if they do another Family Edition someday, the three of us could compete together...
***
Just so you don't think my brain is entirely rotted by reality TV viewing, I've been reading, too - grown-up books, not just my beloved Entertainment Weekly and Ramona the Pest (Kiddo's developed a penchant for "chapter" books thanks to her kindergarten teacher reading them Junie B. Jones books at school). The book I'm reading right now is quite interesting - My Lobotomy: A Memoir. (The link takes you to an NPR story about the author.) As the title says, the book is the memoir of a man who had a lobotomy as a child, and as an adult, gained access to his medical records while on a quest to learn why he was lobotomized (there was no valid reason, his stepmother who hated him was the driving force behind the whole idea!) and how his father could have let it happen. It is hard to read in some places, but from the preface, I know there will be a good outcome at the end - as good an outcome as there can be for someone who had to endure such a horrible miscarriage of medicine and justice, so I'm going to finish it.
***
Last week, Kiddo went on her first kindergarten field trip, and I was one of the moms who chaperoned. (The other two chaperones are the class moms, and boy, was I bummed to learn that I'd missed out on the opportunity to be the class mom myself! I totally wanted to be the classroom parent - actually, I'd always dreamed that I would be the classroom parent when my children were in school, the way my mom was for me and for my sisters when we were little.) Anyhow, we were standing in the classroom while the kids were sitting at their tables before the field trip, and one of the other moms asked me which kid was mine. I pointed Kiddo out to her and she looked from Kiddo to me, then said "Oh yes, you two look like each other, I should've been able to figure it out." I responded "Well, it's actually purely coincidental that we resemble each other at all, because Kiddo was adopted." I didn't say this with any snark or tone, mind you, I said it easily with a smile on my face, but sure enough, the other mom looked quite discomfited by hearing this and began to stumble over herself in an attempt to correct what she perceived to be her faux pas. As I sincerely took no offense and didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable, I went on to say that I too was adopted, and growing up, I didn't in fact resemble my family - they're all tall, light haired, light eyed WASPy looking people, and I'm not particularly tall, and am dark haired and dark eyed. I also told her that Kiddo's birthmother and I have some resemblance to each other, and that even though Hubby and I were completely prepared for our child to not resemble either of us at all, by pure chance, we do "blend" as a family. I mean, no one has ever questioned whether she is our child or commented on Kiddo not looking like she "matches" us, anyhow... So, I tried to put her at ease, but I guess the larger world is still unused to the world of adoption and views it therefore as some Big Deal, so as soon as she could, she excused herself and went to the other side of the room, and then didn't really speak to me directly again the rest of the day.
Here's the thing: it isn't a Big Deal. I grew up with this, the "sticky issue" of genes and resemblance, and I know it can make people uncomfortable to discuss. But, what is the alternative? Should I just have nodded and changed the subject? Ignored the comment altogether? Lied? I don't think so. Throughout my life as an adoptee, I never avoided the subject when it came up, and I refuse to treat it like the elephant in the room it can otherwise become. So, since Kiddo was born, I've chosen to always take the honest route, even if it is the less comfortable route, and give credit where credit is due. (Kiddo certainly does NOT get her artistic abilities from me, for example, but from her birthfather, who is quite talented artistically. Likewise, her gorgeous brown eyes, while they may look similar to my own, come from her birthmother, who looked like a cross between Catherine Zeta-Jones and Valerie Bertinelli back when Kiddo was born.) I don't want Kiddo growing up thinking that there's anything wrong with her genes, wrong with her heritage. I guess I haven't figured out the proper amount of finesse yet, but I will continue to be open about giving credit where credit is due when it comes to Kiddo's biological family - they are the ones who created her as she is, after all.
***
Finally, thanks to everyone for your comments of support and encouragement with the ongoing struggle to ensure Kiddo's needs are being met per her IEP at school. The latest is that I've been assured that there will be a temporary sub who will be trained by Kiddo's occupational therapist in the classroom for the coming week to do her sensory diet, and then the permanent person is supposed to start next week. I've been asked to come to school next Monday morning to meet with the OT and the new aide to make sure everyone's on the same page about what needs to be done for her sensory diet. I didn't think it was so vague or unclear, what with it being spelled out step by step and having a checklist and all, but apparently the lack of compliance with the IEP is being chalked up to a "miscommunication issue" between me, the annoying parent, and the school/school district. I'm a little annoyed (as befits my title, right?) about the buck-passing and refusal to accept responsibility that is going on at their end. I'm frustrated because they really seem more concerned about not getting in trouble or taking the blame for the noncompliance, rather than being concerned about failing the children for whom they are responsible, which should be the priority, you know... it really isn't a miscommunication at all, but whatever - so long as Kiddo's needs are being met, that's all that matters. Right?
Okay, that's enough for now. I guess this was enough for a couple separate posts - hope your eyes aren't crossing with fatigue! I'll end by saying keep an eye out for my blog on Tuesday when I'll be taking part in something exciting that is happening over at the fantabulous SITS - it's going to be wild and even includes chance to win an autographed picture of George Clooney, be still, my beating heart!
First, the good news: the kiddo totally cowboyed up and didn't fuss one bit for any part of the exam, including the dreaded eye drops (two in each eye, no less). This eye doc did an extremely thorough exam (it lasted almost 90 minutes!) and the kiddo enjoyed the parts where she got to wear 3-D glasses and look at different pages to see what "jumped out" at her and where she got to look in the various machines, too. Plus, they had Lion King playing there, which the kiddo knows by heart and was thrilled to get to watch - we don't allow TV during the day so that was an extra treat!Now, the frustrating news: This eye doctor immediately detected an issue with Kiddo's eyes. The same issue that we've thought we've noticed (in our admittedly inexpert opinions) since she was an infant. The same issue we've taken her repeatedly to the other eye doctor for checking for the past five years. ARGH. We had no reason to not believe what the other eye doctor was telling us, but now I wish we'd trusted his opinion less and had sought a second opinion sooner. Thank goodness the kiddo's OT suggested we get her checked out by someone else, or we still would be blindly traipsing along (pun intended) with her having vision issues.So, the verdict is that the kiddo has exotropia in both eyes, more so the right than the left. It is intermittent, which is good, and not in both eyes simultaneously either, which is also good. Treatment options to start with were either patching or glasses. We opted for glasses, and have now ordered the kiddo her first pair. (They're PINK! With SPARKLES!) They were crazy expensive - more expensive than my own Mega-Magoo specs - but they're warrantied and the special, super-flexible and bendy kind that hopefully will withstand the kiddo's SPD sensory-seeking and klutzy behaviors. The glasses will be in next week, so she'll have time to get used to them before school starts.The bad news to the verdict is that glasses and patching each only work 50% of the time. The eye doctor (the new one - we're NOT going back to the other one now!) will re-examine the kiddo in 3 months and will determine at that point if we need to just keep going with the glasses or if we need to look at surgery. Boy, I hope the glasses do the trick.We're really selling the whole excitement factor on the glasses to the kiddo. So far, she is viewing it as a treat to be able to wear glasses (that are PINK! With SPARKLES!) just like Mommy and Daddy (and Grandma and Grandpa in NJ, Gramma in FL, Grandma G and Grandpa A, several of her aunts and uncles.....) and was upset that she couldn't wear the sample pair home today. We're gonna keep focusing on how cool and exciting it is, and hopefully when she gets the actual prescription lenses, she will be good about wearing them and this won't turn into a battle of wills. (Especially for the amount that these PINK! With SPARKLES! glasses are costing us............)So please keep your fingers crossed that these glasses do the trick and no surgery will be required down the road! (Um, and that the kiddo wears the glasses without a struggle, too!)
