Me – a quick write

Recently my seniors were tasked with writing about who and what influenced them to be who they are today. To model this 10 minute quick write, I also wrote and then shared out my draft. It is not perfect and is still a work in progress, but that’s me and why I’m sharing my draft. My hope is that I can show students that the writing process is as much about the words as it is about the interactions and conversations that come from opening our words to others.

I’m from blue collar parents who worked for every dime and saved each nickle.
I’m from a large family of older brothers who were my protectors and not much of friends,
until now.
I’m from a small town, my roots go deep and my branches wide.
I’m from an illness that nearly took me, but instead gave me a gift.
I’m from a life lived in a hearing world where I was often left behind.
I’m from experiences; of hope, love, and learning.
I’m from a place where I get to share and develop young minds, molding the next generation.

I’m from a loving relationship that inspired me to find one of my own.
I’m in a caring marriage of laughter and support.
I’m from years of infertility that grew the desire for parenthood and a family of my own.
I’m from a home of pitter pattering feet, silly sons, and a caring daughter.
I’m from love.

Where I’ll go is unknown.  Where I’ve been is everything, it is me.

Peace.

I found Peace tonight. It was there all along. I just needed to venture out to find it.

In sub zero temps as I took the pup out for duty #8 of the evening, Peace met me.

After a long day back, moderating a dismal attended twitter chat, abandoning my aids in an effort to comfort the Tinnitus, and putting aside parental responsibilities, Peace met me.

I entered the glittery, shivering yard and there it was. Calm. No sounds to disrupt the message. Not a distant siren, roaring engine, not even a loan woof in the night air. Ignoring the icy breeze, I gazed out, my eyes lingering on all surrounding me. Our path, built on love. And there was Peace.

I met Peace tonight and my heart is calm. Come back tomorrow.

Perhaps I should explore more often, leaving my hearing aids aside.

40 in 40

40 words for forty years.

Birth illness hearing loss

growing changing learning beginnings

college hope education career

love art friendships puppies

infertility hurt excitement birth

motherhood son premature tiny

faith courage patience surprise

rest daughter small strength

shock pregnancy precious family

travel laughs fun now.

My life.

Knock, knock…no answer

This morning, while my husband took the kiddos swimming, I decided to pack up at the hotel and take a long lingering shower. While toweling off, I heard a little scratching noise. Still in just my towel, I looked around to find the source of the sound. Again, this little scratching noise. Upon going to the door to peer out, thinking the kids were returning, the maid was coming in. Luckily I put my foot against the already cracked door. We still had 4 hours until check out! How uncomfortable if I was still showering and unable to brace the door in time!

How could this happen? Hearing. Without my aids, the sound of the bathroom fan, and let’s not forget the tinnitus, I am deaf. So knock away maid, I could not hear you. Maybe hotel rooms should install flashing lights. Or maybe I should check in as “disabled”. Tough times.

Trust Your Power

Derrick Coleman of the Seattle Seahawks has a new fan. This Duracell ad rendered me speechless and eager to share. I recently had a hearing aid rep say, in response to setting up my new aids, “you are a teacher…with that loss (looking at my audiogram)…amazing”. The thing is, I never knew any different. Growing up I had a classmate with a severe hearing loss, she struggled through every aspect of life. Early on I knew that I wanted a “normal” life. Friends, an education, an engaging life, and most importantly a family. This path was and is not easy. In fact as I age and my kids grow older, it gets more difficult. Harder to hear, more frustrations (them and mine), and tiring. Trying to hear and listen wears me out. But I know this is who I am and my path, though rocky at times, is what I am meant to do. I am a mom, a wife, friend, and teacher. My hearing impairment is a part of me, but not all of me. Derrick Coleman. Inspirational. “Trust your power”

Water, my cyptonite

While at Latvian Center Garezers this week, the little ones and I spent a boat load of time at the beach. Floating, swimming, and sand castle building to beat the heat. New friends were made sharing in the coolness and relief, all while soaking.
Here’s the thing, I cannot hear diddly swat when in and around water. Why? Because like oil and water, my hearing aids are not water friendly. Within 5 feet of H2O, my aids are tucked in a waterproof bag. That would be an expensive no-no. But…there I was a vacation single parent in a English-come-lightly world. Do I sink or swim? Sink my but on shore to watch the kids? Or remove the aids, struggle to hear these new voices, dialects, and be confused? Perhaps another option, wade and float around, secretly hoping for no splashers, and connect? Yep, I wore my aids while in water. Stressing about it each day probably caused a minor anxiety attack, but I had to do it.
My husband would say to advocate for myself and that is a lovely option in most environments, aka when I have my aids in. However, no aids + water lapping and splashing + new voices + bright sun shining on new faces (difficult to lip read) = exhaustion.
What’s a girl to do? Someday when I win the lottery, that I don’t play, I’ll get a pair of waterproof aids for just this reason.

Epic Failure, part 2

Remember back when I had a hearing test a few months ago? I failed it. Well not really, but having progressive hearing loss feels that way. Yesterday I had a check up. Turns out, I’m a maintaining failure. Yes! Never been so excited to say that. So is that like a F+?

It’s Called Compassion: Special Needs Acceptance

Recently a Facebook firestorm occurred about a mother and her 2 1/2 year old Autistic son’s haircut.  I am not here to debate what occurred, but do want to weigh in on how many treat special needs children and adults.  As a special education teacher for 17 years and a hearing impaired adult, enough already.  Parents, raise your children to embrace and be kind to others, but mostly accept that looking/sounding/walking/moving (get the idea?) differently is a part of all of us.

A few years ago our young family was at a restaurant, ironically in the same town as the above mentioned spa, when a special needs adult had a tantrum.  Our table was nearest to the gentleman as he had difficulty communicating with his mother and thus threw his salad.  The salad landed on my young son and I.  While  initially frightened for the mother’s safety and ours, I relaxed as I watched mom and the manager  calm the man down.  This is how society needs to act.  The manager did not kick the man out or yell at the mother, instead he asked mom how he could help.  Turns out the special needs man was upset that his pizza was taking longer than expected.  The manager took a similar pizza off the buffet line, boxed it, and handed it to the gentleman.  With a big smile, he managed a thank you and left a happy customer.  I imagine mom left knowing that she can venture out to eat at that restaurant again.

On the drive home that night, we talked with M, then 4, about how each of us is different.  Glasses, hearing aids, languages, mobility, speech, etc.; we are all human and deserve to be treated as such.  Where would I be if 37 years ago people shunned me for my hearing impairment?

Support differences, embrace change, and lend a hand when you see someone struggle.  It’s called compassion.

“The one thing I noticed after moving here was how everyone seemed to just accept Maura for who she was.  As the movers hauled boxes in, Maura danced around excitedly, ran up to one, babbled something incoherent and then took off again.  I said “Yeah, she has special needs…”

He just shrugged and said “Eh, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It was different.  When I said the same thing in the states, that she had special needs, most of the time I’d get “oh, I’m sorry.”  Here – “nothing wrong with that.”  I mentioned this once while out with some women, and one explained how it’s probably because in Ireland, most people have a family member with special needs.  They don’t just see a weird child – they see their cousin, niece, brother or godchild.  There is an acceptance towards these children like nothing else I’ve experienced.  I hope to spread that experience.  We need more of that.  “    Rearranging Life: Herding Cats by Pheobe Holmes

Related articles

• Parenting special needs children doesn’t have to be isolating (apluseducationalsolutions.wordpress.com)
• What’s Wrong With This Picture? My autistic son doesn’t need to be fixed. | Babble (babble.com)
• Let’s talk about autism in public spaces (cnn.com)
• 8 ways to include kids with special needs in sports and other activities (lovethatmax.com)
• Rearranging life (phoebeholmes.com)

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Wicked (musical) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Why, yes, yes I did!

On a recent sunny Saturday,  I joined a few friends for a Wicked production.  The three of us suffer from various degrees of Tinnitus. Occasionally we share our ringing or noise stories.  Finally, I can share my bothersome experiences.

As the performance started, one thing became clear, crystal clear in fact.  Amazingly I heard every note, breathe, sigh.  Even thinking about it now, tears fill my eyes and heart.  For years, I have attended our local high school performances or community productions.  As entertaining, captivating as they are, my experience is often lack luster.  Walking away I am left curious and disappointed.  Our local Performing Arts Center is a new beautiful facility, yet acoustically I hear less than half of each production.  I laugh, because those around me do.  Tears only come as I glance around at others glistening eyes.  Missed it, my heart cries.

Wicked opened my ears and warmed my heart.  Finally.  I am not ashamed to admit it, I joyfully cried driving home.  If only every theatrical experience could be that rewarding.

Hand talker

I have never fancied myself a hand talker. Last weekend, while dining with friends, a waitress approached me wondering if I was attempting to flag her down via sign language. Nope, just animated me. However it caused me to think. I am hearing impaired yet can only fumble my ABC’s. Here was another young, much younger than I, lady with a hearing impairment, without hearing aids, teaching herself lipreading and taking sign language courses. Hmmm. Recently my hearing was reevaluated. Epic failure. Since my Latvian is elementary at best, perhaps my phalanges are better communicators. I do need to take a few graduate classes…and I am losing my hearing…

M trying his hand at the alphabet.