I had just finished changing Mack’s diaper and I was nursing him.

Micah and Moxie had been watching a show on Netflix. There was a…stillness in the air. Since I am deaf, it’s the stillness that I rely on with Moxie – not the sounds per se. It’s the vibration in the air, and trust me, with Moxie, there is a lot of vibration in the air!

So, I was sitting on the ground, holding Mack and felt that stillness. I asked Micah to go and check and see where she was. He got up, walked around the apartment, couldn’t see her, came back, eager to resume his show, “no Moxie”.

Huh?

The air was really still. So I stopped nursing Mack and got up, walked around, couldn’t see her. I wasn’t terribly alarmed. The back door was closed, after all. To be on the safe side, I still went outside to the yard, walked all over, calling and checking. My biggest concern was that she had fallen asleep somewhere (she hadn’t had a nap and I knew she was exhausted).

No Moxie.

I went back upstairs, did another sweep. I was really nervous now.

Where had she gone? WHERE?

I went back to the room and was looking under the loft bed (was she asleep down there?), my palms were sweating by then, I couldn’t see her and I had no idea – none – where she might be – it was like she disappeared in thin air.

Micah came to me, ‘Mommy, someone is knocking at the door.”

Oh my God.

I went to the door. At the base of the stairs were two women that seemed familiar. I think I’ve seen them walking around our block. One of them was holding Moxie. I rushed down.

One of the ladies said that they saw Moxie TRYING TO CROSS THE STREET. 

THE BIG STREET.

She said she had collected her at the curb corner and they had been trying to find who she belonged to, where she lived, when our neighbour’s “friend” saw her and told her where we lived.

SHE WAS TRYING TO CROSS THE BIG STREET.

I thought I was going to fall over right then and the hysterics were bubbling up.

And HOW, I wondered, HOW DID SHE GET OUT???

This was a mystery until long after I had shut the door after thanking the kind women. Long after I had collapsed on the floor in big huge ugly crying. Long after my shaking had somewhat subsided.

Because Moxie tried to make a break for it again – and I saw how she did it. She took Micah’s step stool that he uses on his chair like a booster seat. She took it and placed it at the back door and slid the lock open and opened the door handle.

Frankly, I don’t give a shit how great her fine motor skills are or how clever this child is. Because when I think of any or all of this, I start shaking  and the tears flood my eyes and I think my heart has stopped again.

This is the thing: I had just read my friend’s blog post on her son doing something very similar! It wasn’t that I didn’t think it could happen to us – I knew it could – it’s that I didn’t think Moxie would figure out how to get out if the door was locked.

So far, this is hands-down the scariest thing I have ever experienced that seems to relate directly to Down syndrome. This bolting, fearlessness thing. For those of you that are not familiar with this, it seems like a lot of kids with that extra chromosome have a lack of fear as well as a propensity to just…go. Bolt. Lead with their desire first .

Moxie definitely has this and I spent the rest of last night thinking through what we could do about it, in light of my deafness, in light of the Pan Am, in light of the fact that we still live on the second floor and will for a few more months.

I bought over $100 worth of baby gates. They are going to effectively seal off one room, the room in which she will need to play in when I am nursing/feeding Mack. We can bring them with us, along with the longer retractable yard gates. She will wear squeeky shoes AT ALL TIMES (- I can hear the squeek). I think a high pitched bell attached to her by way of a bracelet might also be good.

All windows will have stops (I bought those too); we are looking for a retractable tension-type of window guard. Know of any? Something we can put up to make windows safer (I realize now that she can pull that stool up to any window and climb out – and fall down).

Please. If you know of anything, any way to help us through this bolting, running thing, please tell me.

I can’t have that happen again.

The post …and then my heart stopped. When Your Child with Down syndrome Bolts appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

I know Carrie through our mutual friend, Corbett O”Toole. The details of the introduction are hazy…I know it was on that universal connector, facebook. It was probably something to do with Carrie’s adopting her daughter (that is a beautiful story – you can read it on her blog, Adopting Delilah). But however it was, I know that I’m delighted to know her and excited for you to meet her as well.

*****************

Getting to Know You

Your name:  Carrie Griffin Basas
What’s your connection with disability?

I’m recruiting!  Well, seriously, I have Larsen’s Syndrome, a rare congenital joint disorder, and I have been described by loving genetics counselors as a “random genetic mutation.”  I recently adopted a little girl from an orphanage in Ukraine who has a similar disability.  We’re building the disability family locally and globally.
Star Trek or Star Wars?

Neither.  Star Search.
If you could live in any other country for 2 years, where would you go?

Thailand for the food.

What dish would your bring to our community picnic potluck?

Paletas.

Now That We’ve Been Introduced…

What do you do:
This question is tougher than it should be.  I’ve spent the past six years in law teaching, where I have focused on disability rights law, workers’ rights, criminal law, and social justice.  Becoming a parent took me out of the country for two months in late 2012 and has been consuming, so I’ve found out the limitations of being a law professor as a disabled parent with a disabled kid.  I took off this year from teaching (unpaid—yippee!) when there was no great parental leave policy in place and am searching for what comes next.

How did you come to doing what you do? How has your career trajectory flowed?

I went to law school relatively pissed off about the position of people with disabilities in society.  Shocker:  I saw few people like me there, at least on the disability issue—and even fewer in my eventual path to being a law professor.  I thought being a lawyer would be an effective tool for change, but the Law itself, as a profession, is hard on people with disabilities—just as it on anyone who is “different.”

After graduating and having a miserable clerkship experience, I got a Hearne Award from AAPD and decided to use it to start a disability nonprofit focused on the employment of emerging professionals.  Eventually, I realized that I stunk at fundraising, and turned that idea into consulting work.  At some point, a friend sent me a job posting for teaching online in an MBA program.  I picked up a corporate social responsibility course (which, ironically, I am back to teaching again now that I’ve been away from law teaching).

Teaching was fun, but adjunct online work pays nothing.  I eventually came to the idea of trying law teaching because it would pay me to write about things that I cared about and interact with interesting students.  My law teaching career took me from State College to Tulsa, Chapel Hill to Cleveland, until I eventually decided that at the age of 35, I could  decide where I wanted to live rather than having a random law school decide for me. I moved to Seattle last summer.  A few months later, my husband Fred and I were in Ukraine meeting our daughter.

I don’t miss the dysfunction of the law school environment, but I miss certain colleagues and students—and the opportunity to recruit people to my radical crip beliefs.  Hee hee.

I currently teach online for an MBA program in Maine, but that’s just a temporary distraction from the glue, cutting, theraputty, and sandboxes that come with a 4-year-old.

Where would you like to see yourself in 5 years?

Rested.  Paid.  With time for footnote-free writing and creative outlets.  Connected with work that makes me happy and supports my beliefs and the needs of my family.  I’ve given up on fighting to make my profession a better place.  It’s sad, but true—and probably the best for me personally.
Not to be morbid, but what do you want people to remember about you when you’ve gone?

That I wasn’t afraid to be myself and thought the process of getting there was worth the hiccups.

Who or what inspires you?

I’m inspired by people who are creative and passionate but often under-supported.  Artists.  Disability advocates.  Community organizers.  A sunny day in Seattle is fairly inspiring, too.

About Disability

If you could say something to yourself in the past – that is, the you that was really struggling with something related to disability – what would you say?

I didn’t even know about disability identity and community until college.  I wish that I would have found it earlier rather than hearing so many overcoming/inspiration messages from the outside world.

What do you like about your particular disability?

The parking, baby.  Just ask my friends.

Any one thing that you wish people would *get* about disability?

I don’t want to be celebrated because of my disability.  A charitable approach to disability upsets me greatly and no one likes me cranky.

What single piece of technology makes your life easier?

The Internet.  Hey, it’s where I found my husband, dogs, and kid!

*************************************

Where else can we find you online?
Fairly outdated, but subject to revival:

cripprof.tumblr.com

adoptingdelilah.tumblr.com

************************

Other Cool Cat Profiles:

Joshua Miele

Pauline Victoria 

Susan Henderson

Neil Jacobson

Rich Donovan

Joy Elan

Alice Wong

The post Profile of a Cool Cat: Carrie Griffin Basas appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

The New York Post ran a story yesterday on some wealthy folk from Manhattan that jump lines at places like Disney World by hiring someone with a disability to cut the line for them.

The story is here.

I’ve got to admit, I was not outraged when I read it. Like, at all.

Should I be? Hmm. I don’t know.

My knee jerk reaction was just that it’s all simply about economics, supply and demand. The rich people don’t want to wait in line and they see a good deal, one that costs a lot less than Disney’s deal. The person with a disability (PWD) wants to make some money and is using something they have.

Is it wrong to cut in line by pretending you are all together when you are really strangers?

Sure.

Is it wrong for people with disabilities to be actively faced with stupendous discrimination in trying to find and keep a job?

And is it wrong for people with disabilities to have to choose between health benefits and a life of borderline poverty or the insecurity of a job and possible death if they leave it? (see Why I Burned My Book for more on this).

Yes, and yes.

Those being “yes” answers, a system is in place right now whereby PWD are not going to win, any which way you slice the cake.

I’m not bothered by a PWD being hired to pretend they are a family member. In fact, I’m glad someone got a job using something they have. I’m glad they get to make $1,000 a day, most likely in cash, and have some money to move beyond the poverty line (if they are on SSI). And if they aren’t, I’m still glad they are making some money! Moreover, I’m glad they get to ride fun rides all day, if they like that kind of thing!

This would be a different story though if it were someone impersonating a person with a disability, or if we had system that didn’t actually penalize a person with a disability for working, or an employment setting that didn’t make it almost impossible for some people to get a job in the first place.

Those are my thoughts. What are yours?

The post Thoughts on Those Rich Manhattan Mommies & Disability Line Jumping appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

I’m sure you all remember that magical moment in which Target hired a boy with Down syndrome as a model, then Rick Smith (aka “Noah’s Dad”) wrote a post that went viral about how Target was so great, they were doing the right thing and not even making a  big deal about it.

Yeah? Do you remember that?

This is the thing: Target got sued by the National Federation of the Blind over web access for the blind.

(read about it here)

Within the disability/employment community, Target does not go all-out in trying to specifically recruit people with disabilities (like say, the National Security Administration, Microsoft, HP or IBM do), and they also do not have an in-store disability presence like say, Safeway or Starbucks do. Target is simply really good at covering its butt, great at dotting the ‘i”s, crossing the ‘t”‘s. Great at hiring a cute person or two with a visible disability for an ad campaign.

As an employment specialist and career counselor,  I’ve kept my watchdog eye on Target for about a decade now -  so it’s funny to me to see these new parents of a kid with Down syndrome (or another disability). They go absolutely ape over Target, thinking that Target is really *all that* because of the models that the Target PR team hires. Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad they hired models with Down syndrome. Glad the PR team is finally peeping beyond their red dot-box over there in middle America. Glad Target took their chastisement from the NFB seriously enough to make some changes.

But they have still got a long, long way to go before they are any kind of “cutting edge.” They have light years to travel before they honestly knock my socks off like some other companies out there that do not wait to get sued before they realize the value of disability as a component of diversity.

The post Get Your Ass Sued Like Target, Then Be a Hero! appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

People talk about San Francisco all the time. They left their heart there, they sit by the dock there. San Francisco is a great little city; I get it. But personally, my heart really belongs to Oakland.

I love Oakland.

I love it’s lack of pretense. I love it’s rough edges. I love the strong characters as defined by the neighborhoods within Oakland. China Town, Fruitvale (- which is Mexican), Jingletown, Temescal, the Hills (- rich, residential), Rockridge (- white, yuplandish), East Oakland (- the ‘hood), Lake Merritt, Jack London Square, Downtown and West Oakland. And that’s just off the top of my head. Oakland has it all.

Being in nap hell as we are, what with Micah mostly out of it altogether now, Mack at a regular twice a day and Moxie all over the map, I sometimes like to just put Moxie and Mack in the van while Micah’s at preschool and drive them to sleep.

It totally works.

They conk out in about half a minute, sleep soundly for an hour or two and when they wake up, we might run an errand – or not. It’s all good.

While they sleep, I like to drive around West Oakland, around the Port.

****

West Oakland – and the Port – are like candy for the imagination. It’s so easy for me to be in Stephen King’s Gunslinger/Dark Tower series there.

Places are empty in an echoing, the world-has-moved-on kind of way. Abandoned train stations. Rattlesnake grass leaning against walls of vibrant graffiti.

Long tongues of highway leaping down and spitting cars out on side roads.

If we were going to stay in the US, I’d probably want to try and move us to an old warehouse in West Oakland, start an urban farm like cool cat Novella did (if you are interested in that sort of thing,read her great book, Farm City, then check this site out: Institute for Urban Homesteading  and definitely buy this bible: Urban Homesteading: Heirloom Skills for Sustainable Living).

***

The Matrix  has roots in West Oakland – the car driving scenes were filmed off of 880. Some of those side freeways are HUGE: super wide and usually empty.

That’s how I got most of these shots, by the way – it’s so easy to pull over here and take photos. There is just noone around. And speaking of shots, I took these using Hipstamatic, on  my iPhone. The Tinto 1884 lens and with the C-Type Plate Film (though there were a couple of shots that I took using the Salvador lens and again, the C-Type Plate Film).

Port of Oakland. I used to love to come here when pre-baby (and pre-Mikey) to try and get on some of those old “ghost ships” that are docked around, like so much a tangible memory. I always chickened out last minute though, scared that I’d slip and fall through some rotting boat boards, my hearing aids would fall out of my ears (yes, many of my fears involve losing my hearing aids! ) and I’d lie there, cold and dying. Or in pain. Whatever, it was all bad and dark and I’m scared of the dark too, so there you go. I always chickened out.

Local myth has it that the container cranes at the Port inspired the Star Wars Walkers. When you are there, looking at them – and George Lucas lives across the Bay – it’s easy to see how that started. He swears up and down that it was NOT SO; the Walkers came from something else entirely but you know what, George? I ain’t buying it.

Anyway.

West Oakland isn’t where the tourists are. Even though San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf is literally 15 minutes away from it, it’s a world apart. West Oakland is big urban soil that seeks to be sowed with seeds from your imagination.It’s an urban intergalactic fantasy land.

It’s ripe fodder for dreaming in.

So I suppose that’s why the kids nap so well there.

The post West Oakland: An Urban Intergalactic Fantasy Homestead Land (or a Good Place for Kids to Nap) appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

Alice was introduced to me by our mutual friend, Sarah Tom. At least I’m pretty sure that’s how it happened. 

Alice dips her fingers in a lot of interesting pots online – she’s here, there, everywhere and it’s always intriguing. She’s one of those people that has a great sense of what is trending or important – her twitter handle is at the end of this interview and I really encourage you to follow her.

I’m really glad I’m able to introduce her here and you can get to know her, too!

*******************

Getting to Know You

1. Your name: Alice Wong

2. What’s your connection with disability?

I was born with spinal muscular atrophy, a neuromuscular disease that results in muscles weakening over time—each person’s progression is different.

3. Star Trek or Star Wars?

While I have a strong affinity for Yoda and Boba Fett, I will say Star Trek.

4. If you could live in any other country for 2 years, where would you go?

I’ve been fascinated by Scandinavian countries ever since watching tv dramas such as ‘Forbrydelsen’ (The Killing), Borgen (The Castle) or Wallander so I would have to say Denmark or Sweden.  Not only are these countries socially progressive, I love the design aesthetic.

5. What dish would your bring to our community picnic potluck?

I make a decent sour cream coffee cake and frittata. I’ll bring both!

Now That We’ve Been Introduced…

1. What do you do:

I have two part-time jobs: Staff Research Associate at the UCSF Center for Personal Assistance Services and I serve as a Council member of the National Council on Disability. The Center for PAS is focuses on research in personal assistance programs such as Medicaid HCBS waivers and other personal care programs.  NCD is an independent federal agency charged with advising the President, Congress, and other federal agencies regarding policies, programs, practices, and procedures that affect people with disabilities.

2. How did you come to doing what you do? How has your career trajectory flowed?

As a kid, I loved writing and reading. I attended a small liberal arts college (EarlhamCollege) for as a first-year student and loved it. Unfortunately, I became ill and had to take a leave of absence. By the time I was ready to return next year, Medicaid cut my hours of home health care (in Indiana) that didn’t make it feasible for me to go to a private school (parents paying for tuition) and pay for my own personal care.

I decided to be pragmatic and went to a commuter school and lived at home while plotting my next big move.  I double majored in English and sociology and really learned a lot.  English was a means to improve my writing skills and a wonderful excuse to buy lots of novels.  Sociology appealed to me because as a young disabled person I had a lot of rage and frustration at the discrimination I experienced.

I learned about the sociology of disability and the social model of disability—sociology really opened my understanding of my everyday experiences by placing it within a larger social context.  Long story short, I went to UCSF for grad school because of their program in medical sociology and fell into research which I love. I’ve been really lucky to work at UCSF as a grad student and continue as a staff member after school.

3. Where would you like to see yourself in 5 years?

I want to see myself still relatively healthy with enough energy to do all the things I want to do!  I felt a real shift in my energy five years ago that caused me to slow down and make some tough choices.  I say no to a lot of things and that’s cool with me now. I’m also more cautious but I think that’s just me being smart with what I’ve got.

4. Not to be morbid, but what do you want people to remember about you when you’ve gone?

Hmmm, I guess to remember that it’s cool to be picky and geeky about stuff.  My parents and sisters like to call me a picky cat which wear like a badge of honor.  To remember I was a good friend and enjoyed every moment of life.

5. Who or what inspires you?

In addition to family and friends, I’d say nature inspires me.

About Disability

1. If you could say something to yourself in the past – that is, the you that was really struggling with something related to disability – what would you say?

This is an excerpt from an essay I wrote in a special issue on disability in Amerasia Journal titled, “First-Person Political:  Musings from an Angry Asian American Disabled Girl”:

I know you’re tired and there are times when life sucks a lot.  You may not believe it, but when you grow up you’re going to have so much fun and do many exciting things.  The world is going to open up for you.

 

Laws like the Americans with Disabilities Act and programs such as Medicaid personal care services are going to help you live your life the way you want.  Most importantly, you will be in control and will have numerous choices.

 

You are going to live the greatest city in the world, San Francisco, and become a coffee fiend.  You are going to become a notorious night owl.  Just hang in there, keep reading and stay angry.

3. What do you like about your particular disability?

It sounds cheesy, but my disability gives me a great perspective on social behavior from a ‘outsider’ or marginalized position.  For example, being left out of activities at school, hearing stupid comments from adults, interacting with doctors at an early age, all of these experiences taught me a lot about how social meanings change from group to group and over time—that good and bad things can happen to anyone.

4. Any one thing that you wish people would *get* about disability?

Disability is just a natural part of human variation—people shouldn’t be afraid of it even though it might represent frailty or death to some.  Disability should be embraced as something that makes our society more diverse and rich.

5. What single piece of technology makes your life easier?

I live because of a Bi-Pap machine that helps me breathe. I live because of an electric wheelchair that gives me independence.  Other than those 2 devices, without a doubt my MacBook Pro and high-speed Internet make my life infinitely easier and better.

Alice Wong with Representative Tammy Duckworth, 2012.

You can follow Alice on twitter: @SFdirewolf

************************

Other Cool Cat Profiles:

Joshua Miele

Pauline Victoria 

Susan Henderson

Neil Jacobson

Rich Donovan

Joy Elan

The post Profile of a Cool Cat: Alice Wong appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

Today is my birthday and I am 40.

I’ve heard people say now that 40 is the new 30, but I think that’s kind of a crock o’ crap.

40 is not the new 30.

40 is 40.

40 feels old to me. It feels like it needs to wear responsible pants and sturdy, sensible shoes that are capable of lasting a long time. 40 feels like it needs to be moisturized to look good, needs to be loved to glow. 40 feels like bad (yet thrifty) haircuts are on the horizon, right along with weird skin tags. 40 feels like it needs to be supported.

40 feels like it can’t take as many chances as 30 did.

If ages were cars, 30 would be the mini cooper and 40 would be the honda civic.

****

Looking back, my actual birthday absolutely sucked when I turned 30. I mean, big-time. It ended up with me standing outside the club, crying. Feeling so lonely and wrung out and…just sad.

I was 30.

I was new in the Bay Area (despite being born here), I had recently broken up an engagement, I had gone from being a fancy corporate trainer in Tokyo to taking care of old people. I was struggling through job interviews because I couldn’t hear and I had no idea how to get a job in the US.

I’d apply for some job that required Japanese and (even though I could read a Japanese newspaper) I would tell them I could speak “a little” Japanese. Because everyone knows (in Japan, anyway) that people don’t want to hire a STAR; they want to hire the person that is modest – and you can always test someone’s skills to see what they know, right!

Right. Duh.

Turns out Americans DO want a star. They want the one that yells, “MEEEEEEEE! hire ME, cuz I’m HOT STUFF!”

****

I was  30.

The birthday was not what I would have wanted it to be, but the decade was. It was different than I planned, with the first part focused on my career and the second part focused on my family. It’s not what I thought it would be; it was more than I dreamed could be possible.

10 years ago, I was standing outside of a club in San Francisco, crying. I was alone and I was lonely. I had no idea how I was going to make what I wanted, happen. Being 30 was scary to me then because I felt I was dramatically failing in everything that society said a 30 year old could/should/would be/do/have.

And now I’m staring 40 straight in the eye.

***

40 is not the new 30.

40 is 40.

It’s nothing like 30.

I am getting the sense that it can be just as sweet as this cherry that Number One picked by hand and left on my table to enjoy as soon as I woke up this morning.

40 is a number I’ve never experienced. It’s a new marker, a new benchmark, springboard.

I imagine it’s going to be just as frustrating as learning to crawl can be.

My body is changing. I am feeling my mortality – which has never scared me but because my One True Darling is five whole years younger than me with his mother’s perfect (read: ageless, wrinkle-less) skin, I get nervous about him running off with Mila Kunis.

Not like I need to be, he says.

Okay, anyway. Where was I?

Right, 40.

40.

This brand new decade, full of promise. Promise of being able to still do cool stuff and having some thoughts worth thinking in my head. Issues resolved and I’ve located my baggage and unpacked a fair amount. 40, with the promise of big dreams that can be fleshed out. Promise of more juicy life, lying straight ahead, saying, “BITE me! I’m SAUCY! I’m FUN!”

40.

This new big adventure in which I have this partner that I love with all my heart, by my side

Complete with small offspring! Woo-hoo!

40.

I’m going where I haven’t gone before.

And I’m not going to lie: it’s scary.

(I wanted a bold, fearless kind of look here)

40.

It still feels like it calls for sensible shoes, thrifty and unattractive haircuts. Makeup that doesn’t sparkle much and “mature” moisturizer. But I look at myself and I really do look the same. Maybe more, on account of 3 babies and extra weight, maybe more, on account of becoming more comfortable in my own skin, with who I am as a person.

40 is already starting better than 30 did, thanks to the sweet “celebration cherry” left for me by my sweet son. And thanks to the delicious coffee brewed for me by my One True Darling Man, Mikey. The sounds of the kids playing – shreeking, maybe – as I type this post fills the air and their overall delight makes me smile.

The start of things that are scary always seems to hold the potential for something really amazing. 40 is new for me, it’s scary. And like this day starting off so much better than my 30th birthday, I believe that this decade will take us further than the decade of my 30′s took me.

Hopefully. God-willing. And with some effort.

Just like the effort, hope and will that my Mom employed to bring me here in the first place (and thank you, Mom, for that!)

So, 40 isn’t the new 30. It’s nothing like 30. It’s scarier, it’s bigger. It’s more challenging, it’s riper. It’s smarter, it walks with more assurance and speaks with more soul power. 40 is on the way to knowing itself and doing something about it.

40, you are going to be goooooood!

The post 40 Is the New 30 (and Other Lies) appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

You know, everyone except Mack had or will have a birthday in the first two weeks of May. In light of that, and of leaving soon for the Pan Am Overland, we thought we’d go all out and have a party. We just don’t do that sort of thing normally.

We are ridiculously introverted and private.

Funny, huh, considering that I write this blog and all! 

I think only a small handful of my closest friends have ever visited my home on any occasion. I just don’t usually invite people over and since Mikey doesn’t either, well, we are left with Micah who pretty much invites THE WHOLE WORLD in. Like, literally – he stands on the porch and calls out, “COME ON OVER AND PLAY!”

With our minds set on a PARTY, we invited a lot of people and I think 99.5% of those invited RSVP’d “coming”. I freaked out and spent about two days sweating through preparations. I really don’t know if it would have been any better if I put on parties more often? Like, I’d be more assured and know *exactly* what to get and so forth?

I have no idea. And I was trying to figure out how much of whatever we’d need, trying to collect it all with 3 kids around me: crying, fighting, playing, screaming, bucking, needing something from me every minute of the dang day.

So anyway, the day came and I had been up since dawn trying to clean and get ready and LO, it was 10 o’clock and people were showing up and we were NOT READY and I was trying not to panic or freak out even more than I was. My friends Katie and Katherine - BLESS THEM FOR ALL ETERNITY, PLEASE GOD – went right to work, taping up paper, setting up the food. My sainted mother was in line at Costco all morning, picking up the cake and pizza.

Somehow. It all came together.

I think it’s because we have really lovely friends – old friends and new friends. And all of them, delightful.

I think it’s because the sun was perfect, the air was full of the sounds of kid’s laughter.

It was because people were content to just paint and play and bang a cool pinata.

It’s because… well, maybe I don’t know why, but I’m really happy that our one and only BIG party was a lot of fun.

PS

A bunch of kids at the party got to the presents before a responsible adult who could record who-gave-what did. This means I have NO IDEA who gave us what (unless you gave it to me directly). ARGHHHH. Please, if you can, either let me know what you gave or accept our sincere and blanketed notes of appreciation? I am so sorry.

PS2

If you live in the Bay Area and we did not invite you, know that it was because this was totally kid-focused. Trust me: without a kid there, you would have been pretty miserable.

If you have kids and we didn’t invite you, it wasn’t intentional! I’m sorry! Forgive me! I’ll try and make it up to you! I swear!

The post We Had a Big, Huge, Glorious Party appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

This is what I posted on this day last year. I think it still applies.

She is one year older – three! – but it holds true.

Tomorrow will be a celebration post.

*******

Today she is two.

Moxie Eleanor Enfys Xuan Mai:

Moxie. “Shining Light”.

Moxie, “Rainbow”.

Moxie, “Plum Blossom”.

This time, two years ago, I was in labor and I had been in labor for 3 hours already.

This time, two years ago, I was alternating between rolling on the birthing ball, sitting in the warm pool and then…sleeping.

Stress-induced narcolepsy is an awfully useful “disability” to have while child birthing, it seems. I’m probably the only person in the world who had midwives shouting to STAY AWAKE just so we could get the baby out.

This time, two years ago, I was so scared still. I had no idea what my daughter would be like, would look like.

I prayed and hoped that I was wrong about all of my stereotypes regarding Down syndrome – that she wouldn’t be a dull child, sitting in a corner, incommunicable and with a rock-hard bowl cut that could never be altered. Tongue hanging out, not sparkly at all.

Thank God, I was. So very wrong.

This poem still applies, I would like to re-share it.

Our Fragile Emissary, by Nancy Tupper Ling

With modern screening and such

they wonder why

you’re here, on this earth

in our home

and in our arms,

after all, anyone

with any sense would have resolved

this problem of you

pre-birth, pre pain.

Blonde Beauty,

tiny as you are,

you catch their stares,

strangers’ second glances

into tender baby blues.

And your young

sweet ears hear whisperings

(“Down’s,” “defects”)

words dropped loosely

at extra-chromosomed girls.

 With such stinging receptions

how we long to shelter you,

surround you; keep your

gentle smiles to ourselves.

Instead, we hold you

up, for others to see;

let you, our fragile emissary

speak to an imperfect world.

************************************

Our blonde beauty is the light of our lives.

She is joy and fierce fire

Clever, quick, bright

There isn’t a dull bone in this child’s body: what was I thinking? What was anyone thinking in laying a stereotype like that on an entire tribe of people?

She is charm, grace and delight wrapped in a tiny bundle of a perfectly small form.

I can never be more grateful for somehow gathering the courage to have her - when I had the choice to not, when I was on the fence about whether we should.

Moxie Eleanor Enfys Xuan Mai:

Moxie. “Shining Light”.

Moxie, “Rainbow”.

Moxie, “Plum Blossom”.

A long name, unwieldy on her social security card, but a name that so suits her, this child of light and colour, of delicacy and pure beauty, laced with a steely verve and vigor, all her own.

I will never cease to thank the Universe for somehow giving me moxie – to have Moxie.

I love you, Moxie. Happy birthday, baby.

The post It is Moxie’s Birth Day appeared first on With a Little Moxie.

My One True Darling Man, Mikey and I are both third culture kids. I say that I am in my little bio on this homepage, and a bit in the “About Me” piece, but it’s worthwhile to kind of take a bite out of what that whole term, “Third Culture Kid” means – especially since Mikey and I are soon going to be raising second generation TCK’s and talking a lot about it on this blog.

So what is a Third Culture Kid?

Sociologist Ruth Hill Useem coined the term “Third Culture Kids”  to refer to children who accompany their parents into a different culture.  Useem used the term “Third Culture Kids” because TCKs integrate aspects of their birth culture (the first culture) and the new culture (the second culture), creating a unique “third culture”

Mikey and I are both from the San Francisco Bay Area.

While Mikey was raised in Bangladesh, the Phillipines, Ghana, New Zealand and France (with stints in the Bay Area), I was planted in the Pacific Basin: Fiji, Hawaii, Japan, Taiwan and Macau. I speak Japanese and some ASL and Mandarin Chinese (with smatterings of other languages that will be enough to get food but not much else); Mikey speaks French. Mikey picks up Spanish like a kid picks up candy from a busted pinata; I don’t. I’m not particularly linguistically inclined and I hate learning grammatical rules; Mikey loves that kind of thing. Oh, and I’m deaf! Mikey’s not.

Back to what a TCK is. Here are some “General Characteristics” , copy and pasted straight out of wikipedia:

General Characteristics

TCKs tend to have more in common with one another, regardless of nationality, than they do with non-TCKs from their passport country. TCKs are often multilingual and highly accepting of other cultures. Although moving between countries may become an easy thing for some TCKs, after a childhood spent in other cultures, adjusting to their passport country often takes years.

There are different types of TCK’s and Mikey and I again really typify it. There are military/army “brats”, non-military government kids, religious/missionary kids, business kids and “other” (read tckid.com - great descriptions on all). Mikey was a diplomatic kid (his step-dad was the French Consul); I was a religious/missionary kid (my parents were Baha’i Missionaries, called “Pioneers” in the Baha’i Faith). Mikey had a driver; we took the local bus. Mikey went to posh international schools; we didn’t. Mikey was being groomed to be a diplomat; we were being groomed to create a new world order.

So of course, Mikey rebelled by becoming a bicycle mechanic and I rebelled by doing a whole lot of stuff that I don’t want to write about here because my mother will be reading this post.

Anyway!

Where was I?

Right. Different kinds of TCK’s. Mikey and I were polar opposites on the TCK spectrum but that doesn’t matter a bit. We connect on every single fundamental way that two people can connect (and get your mind out of the gutter, I’m not talking about sex). (Although I want to make jokes about having three kids now. But I won’t. My mom is reading this post). Mikey and I thoroughly understand the hard parts of being a TCK. We are absolutely, without doubt, members of our own tribe.

It really is a unique culture.

We are in a good place with raising our kids to be second generation TCK’s. I am pretty sure we are going to make mistakes, but I do hope that our combined experience in navigating these new waters of trans/cross culture will make it easier for our little soon-to-be global nomads. We both know, after all, that moving in and out of cultures and a travel-heavy life sounds sexy but it can be brutal on kids.

In the meantime, here is a copy/pasted piece from TCKid.com that had me laughing out loud:

You Might be a TCK When:

• “Where are you from?” has more than one reasonable answer.
• You’ve said that you’re from foreign country X, and (if you live in America) your audience has asked you which US state X is in.
• You flew before you could walk.
• You speak two languages, but can’t spell in either.
• You feel odd being in the ethnic majority.
• You have three passports.
• You have a passport but no driver’s license.
• You go into culture shock upon returning to your “home” country.
• Your life story uses the phrase “Then we moved to…” three (or four, or five…) times.
• You wince when people mispronounce foreign words.
• You don’t know whether to write the date as day/month/year, month/day/year, or some variation thereof.
• The best word for something is the word you learned first, regardless of the language.
• You get confused because US money isn’t colour-coded.
• You think VISA is a document that’s stamped in your passport, not a plastic card you carry in your wallet.
• You own personal appliances with 3 types of plugs, know the difference between 110 and 220 volts, 50 and 60 cycle current, and realize that a trasnsformer isn’t always enough to make your appliances work.
• You fried a number of appliances during the learning process.
• You think the Pledge of Allegiance might possibly begin with “Four-score and seven years ago….”
• You believe vehemently that football is played with a round, spotted ball.
• You consider a city 500 miles away “very close.”
• You get homesick reading National Geographic.
• You cruise the Internet looking for fonts that can support foreign alphabets.
• You think in the metric system and Celsius.
• You may have learned to think in feet and miles as well, after a few years of living (and driving) in the US. (But not Fahrenheit. You will *never* learn to think in Fahrenheit).
• You haggle with the checkout clerk for a lower price.
• Your minor is a foreign language you already speak.- When asked a question in a certain language, you’ve absentmindedly respond in a different one.
• You miss the subtitles when you see the latest movie.
• You’ve gotten out of school because of monsoons, bomb threats, and/or popular demonstrations.
• You speak with authority on the subject of airline travel.
• You have frequent flyer accounts on multiple airlines.
• You constantly want to use said frequent flyer accounts to travel to new places.
• You know how to pack.
• You have the urge to move to a new country every couple of years.
• The thought of sending your (hypothetical) kids to public school scares you, while the thought of letting them fly alone doesn’t at all.
• You think that high school reunions are all but impossible.
• You have friends from 29 different countries.
• You sort your friends by continent.
• You have a time zone map next to your telephone.

You realize what a small world it is, after all.

 ****

There is a lot of really fabulous information out there about TCK’s and that information is absolutely vital to any of you who have either spent a lot of time being raised abroad or are raising your own kids abroad now.

Some good sites for more information:

Wikipedia

TCK World

TCKid

One last note:

For three days only, 5/7-5/9, Tea Collection is offering 20% off all boys and girls shorts with promo code HEATWAVE!

Use code HEATWAVE for 20% off all shorts at Tea Collection valid 5/7-5/9!

The post What is a “Third Culture Kid”? appeared first on With a Little Moxie.