Seven Quick Takes of Things that Annoy Me, but Also Why I'm Still Happy in Italics (Run-on Titles FTW!)

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"They are the sweetest people!"
This sentence has been like nails on a chalkboard to me lately, and honestly, given that it is said with generosity and appreciation for the value of people who have Down syndrome, I couldn't understand why. Then I read something where the author underlined that sometimes this can dismiss the humanity of a person with Down syndrome. "They" can be difficult, grouchy, uncooperative and down right nasty sometimes. Just like all of us. It's all those dimensions, the bad and the good, that make us fully human. Reducing a group of people to "sweetness" is stereotyping, and stereotyping discounts the wonderful intricate differences in the individual. But it's meant kindly, and I pray to God that I can accept those words graciously, even when Mariana is being a pill and a half.

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Mariana.
Yup, Princess is getting on my nerves this week. It's the teething, the uncooperative behavior, the fury at not getting a bottle any longer.  She's over me, you guys, and frankly, I'm over her. She also has been "picking" Scott over me when he gets home from work, which is not allowed. I get cranky, sweaty, ticked-off baby, and he gets cuddle-bug lover baby. But she can drink from that Cip-Kup and she is so very mobile and she's trying really hard to climb the steps. She's grown by leaps and bounds this week and I'm so happy to see this progress!

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Therapy evaluations.
If you have a prenatal diagnosis, or just had a baby with Down syndrome, get a drink. Let's talk. Evaluations are like that dream that you show up for your SAT naked. The therapist starts asking you questions and you are all, "No. Wait, she kind of does this, but it's not really that, um, I don't know!" Also they ask completely ridiculous things like, "Does she use a spoon and fork?"  and you, being a rational person who doesn't want to change your child's clothes and mop the floor every thirty seconds, panic and begin to believe your child's delays are because you are too selfish to spend your days cleaning up between meals. This week Mariana's speech therapist asked a bunch of questions that I answered, "No." and my husband answered, "Yes." I mean, it's like we don't live under the same roof or something. We both answered that she doesn't feed us or share food, or display any caring rituals on another person, but she began doing just that two days ago. Again, it's like winning the mega millions, without all the cash and long-lost relatives.

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The end of the school year. Okay, it doesn't help that Molly broke her arm, or that they do a "stepping up" ceremony for Kindergarten. This is a practice I abhor and object. These babies accomplished learning their letters and rudimentary math. They do not need to be celebrated while my four year old hangs upside down from the pew and my one year old chews on my hair and face. Also, are they drunk at school? A talent show the second-to-last day? That everyone makes regardless of talent? They should make the program say School "Talent" Show. And then put a footnote that "talent" can mean that this child's talent is that he/she has zero ability for self assessment. Except my kid. Her talent is overcoming a ridiculous amount of stage fright that her non-psychologist mother would deem a phobia. I couldn't be more proud of her for going up there if she could play Vivaldi's Four Seasons flawlessly. Instead she's playing a blues song on her guitar, which makes her the coolest child alive.

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Molly's broken arm. Oh, yes, she broke her arm playing in the courtyard after mass. For two years we've been warning our children about running around there. For two years we've told them they would fall and crack their head open. Molly, however, fell and broke her arm. She was supposed to get an OT evaluation this week as well. I mean, really. She's been in a remarkable good humor about it, even though she just learned to ride a two-wheeler and can't do that with a cast. Also, she writes decently with her left hand.

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Mosquitoes. Seriously, Florida wildlife is the worst. Oh sure, there are dolphins and great horned owls and bats that eat mosquitoes. The baby has had four bites on her face, Molly killed on in mass after it bit her several times, and my arms look as though I have chicken pox. I hate these blood suckers and do not know what they add to the environment other than being a food source for more important animals. I do not have anything nice to add at all. Stupid mosquitoes.

--- 7 ---

Movies. Ugh, most of them are terrible! (Note, I am not talking superhero or comic book movies, which are meant as mindless entertainment.)Why oh why is there such an influx of crap over decent art. Sorry friends, but Django Unchained was stupid, as was Cloud Atlas and Looper. And can we dispense with the zombie apocalypse stuff? My distaste for such things puts me squarely at odds with my peers, and I don't like it. Then again, Silver Linings Playbook.

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Catch Up

Here is a list of things that have been going on in no particular order:

Mae and I went to the Flying Pig Marathon festivities in my hometown of Cincinnati. I only ran 6.8 miles instead of the half for the very good reason of the fact I had to carry the baby and a very overstuffed diaper bag through the airport, sit on a flight with my legs all cramped up for a couple hours and then be happy to see my kids at school pick up. So, I only ran the first leg of the relay. The hills though, man. The hills.

I'd have run those hills.

All in all it was awesome and fun and wonderful and the rest of the month has been going on just the same. I returned home on a Monday afternoon. We had Charlotte's First Holy communion on Saturday morning, so the cleaning commenced. When it comes to sacraments I do try to be a good example and I found a parish with Reconciliation on Thursday night. It was an hour away, but I was glad I went, with Kate in tow, because the priest was amazing. First, he complimented me for bringing Kate. (I didn't tell him that I didn't bring the FIRST COMMUNICANT because I had made the mistake of assuming the Catholic school she attends would, you know, have the kids receive Reconciliation before they received the body, blood, soul and divinity of Our Lord, Jesus Christ. (Rant over.)) Anyway, this lovely priest asked me if I wanted any council regarding my confession, which I was all, "Uh, yeah? I think? Can I have a preview of what you might recommend, because I am a very busy woman and I can NOT add much more to my do-to list..." Just kidding. I just said yes and he just gave me some advice on how to look at certain situations, and then he handed me a booklet on different Divine Mercy prayers, which was just perfect and made me all mushy for the Holy Spirit.

My parents came, as did Scott's mom and his sister's family, including my gorgeous godson who is 11 months old and took his first steps at our house. He's the most gorgeous cherubic baby in the universe all thanks to his blond curls. Charlotte looked gorgeous, of course, in her dress and mantilla. She was so nervous, which was very sweet to know she took the whole thing so seriously.

Mother's Day was nice, though Scott's mom had to leave before I even got up. My mom and dad hung out until that Wednesday and even gave me Tuesday off, which, honestly was the best thing ever. I kept getting little twinges of guilt for leaving the house so unceremoniously, but then I realized I was the only person who cared, and I was 15 minutes from home, so get a grip.

Now Mariana has had some major things going on in her young life. For one, she's crawling, or moving on her hands, one knee and one foot. She stops and takes lots of breaks because what she does requires quite a bit of upper body strength, which isn't her greatest asset. She's weird, you guys. She can crawl when I am behind her and put something (usually a mirror because she's her own greatest motivation) in front of her and I just put my hands on her thighs to remind her not to swing that leg out. Crawling is easier, but whatever, she's a honey badger and honey badger don't care.

We had another PT evaluation and her gross motor skills have taken off in a month's time. The PT last month thought she would need an hour a week, but changed it to an hour every-other week and a half hour every other week. Now cutting down just one hour doesn't seem like much, but she really thinks Mariana has come a long way in just one month. Also she'll be getting speech therapy every-other week for a half hour. This will all be at the same place in the same time slot and all of the "bigs" can come with us. There will be bribery for good behavior and I'm not ashamed.

Miss will also be adding OT, but this lovely person will come to our house. PRAISE THE LORD! She will continue with Mrs. J twice a week. And I realize it seems like our whole summer is therapy-ridden, but y'all we live less than a mile from the pool and 25 minutes from the beach. Also, for Christmas, my sister Kate sent the kids one of those blow up water slides that people rent for parties. They'll be fine.

We are at the place where Mae's peers start pulling away from her on the milestone chart. For a few weeks I was having a hard time with it. I wasn't jealous or angry or grieving for something Mae is missing. I just felt a sense of sadness, and it took me a while to pinpoint what I was sad about. Simply put, I'm going to miss our 'normal' baby. In many ways she's just been a normal baby. Sure, we've been doing intervention since she was 8 months old, but really, our kids still don't even understand what Down syndrome means. We haven't spent any time with other kids like Mae because we've been so busy, and so Mae is Down syndrome to our kids. So far they just see a baby who likes to do things a little differently, but is pretty much like all babies in her cuddly, content way. I think the fact that she's been a baby for so much longer than most makes me feel nostalgic. She's not walking, but she's a toddler. She says "No-no", she's mobile, she's dangerous, she licks the dog-on purpose. The baby is going away.

Today she sat on my bathroom counter as I fixed her hair. She likes to talk to the baby in the mirror. Just like always, I picked her up and stood their and said, "Say, 'Bye-bye Baby.' This time she did. I turned out the light as I walked out to the refrain, "Bahbah! Bahbah bee!" Only one of us was happy about that.

Bye-bye, baby. I am now a dog.

An Open Letter to Michael Laws and all the Eugenicists for That Matter

In response to this opinion piece, I offer my own.

Dear Mr. Laws,

Good evening. I hope your week is going well. I have read a few things on you, so I hope you don't mind if I inquire about your daughter. I read she had battled cancer. I can't imagine. I hope your family has recovered and all are in good health.

I write to you, Mr. Laws, in response to that tidy little piece regarding needing breeding licenses and preventing parents from birthing children without the proper qualifications. Quite the rational piece, congrats on that. Of course I object to the piece, given that I am the last of eight children and my mother was told that I'd be "less than perfect" by the by-all-accounts, very bright doctors. Well, I was a practically perfect baby, if I say so myself. No sob story there, just one in a long line of people who defied the odds. Which brings us to my daughter.

Our fifth child, her name is Mariana, has Down syndrome. You read that right, fifth child. I know, we are rather greedy when it comes to love and children. I guess it's in my DNA. Anyway, back to Mariana. She is not in any way, shape or form, a sob story. She is a delight, and has been from day one. We now have kids from all over the talent spectrum. Mariana's special talent is getting all of us out from our navel gazing ways and experience real joy in simple things. Real joy.

I can practically hear you say, "Well, that's nice dear, what's your point?" Well, I suppose a Very Smart man like you doesn't believe in God, so I suppose you look at people in terms of utility. Well, did you know that happy people are more productive? It's true! If you doubt it I can show you four rather unwilling workers who have a whole new outlook on work since their baby sister came into the picture! The older girls see how much work it takes for Mae (we call her that sometimes) to learn a new skill, and their attitudes about their own responsibilities has a brand new tone. And then there is Molly, the World's Most Unmotivated Human. This is a child who did not walk until 15 months or talk until 17 months. Do you know what her first, and I do mean first, words were? "No mine!" spoken to the dog who dared to sniff her snack. Well sir, Molly has blossomed under Mae's influence. She loves to teach her baby sister new things, show off her reading skills to her and even help out in other ways around the house. This is a child who has learned that finding joy in what you can do is a gift.

And then there is Paul. Admittedly, I didn't know much about boys when I had him. Number four, or The Crown Prince, as I refer to him, had me scared. I will admit that I breathed a sigh of relief to find out Mariana was a girl. Paul is rough-and-tumble with the added bonus of highly intelligent. It's not as nice as it sounds. But oh! How Mae has brought out the softer side of this young bruiser. I can not tell you how civilized Paul has become just because, in that strange instinctive way, he can tell she needs extra care. It's no exaggeration that this boy came out rough-and-ready and Mae turned him into Mr. Protector in a snap. All those tough-boy skills go right into guarding and guiding this little one.

I don't mean to make our child sound like a mascot of any sort. She's a lovely person who exceeds expectation. However, what she does is in no way indicative of her value. Her value is in her being. It is in her very existence that six other human beings, resourceful and useful human beings as defined by utilitarian views, are even more so because of her. In fact, she forces us to look at our flaws and tackle them and wrestle them and strengthen them. This wouldn't have happened otherwise, of this I can be sure.

So that's our story, not a sad one in the least, I'd say. We have a nice home, our kids go to a private school, I'm able to stay home too. We are very good citizens. Well, except for that nasty fact that we won't ever, and I mean ever, sterilize our daughter.

Does that frighten you? Do you think the state should force it? By what you wrote, you do. By what you wrote, we are uncaring, irresponsible idiots. By what you wrote, we ourselves should be sterilized!

Mr. Laws, sterilizing people is no way to solve a problem. Oh, sure, it's much easier that way. Then you can pretend that teaching a person with intellectual disabilities responsibility isn't as important. Or how about those wretched brain damaged people who got married and had babies and had the nerve to want housing help? If only someone did an invasive procedure against their will and damaged there bodies for the sake of saving the tax payers some cash! Better yet, their parents, who did not have the wherewithal to sterilize their children, should have been sterilized!

Sorry Mr. Laws, it won't solve the problem. The problem, sir, is that the more sterile our charity gets, the less charitable it is. It might be nice and tidy to let the government handle all that nasty business of caring for the poor, but soon enough people will resent those the government supports and suggest treating humans like animals. Spay and neuter your pets...and welfare recipients!

Mr. Laws, I suggest it's time to learn from my children and get in there and start actually caring. Learn to love someone who is less fortunate than you, less intelligent, less capable. Learn how to take pride in your work and joy in sharing your talents with those who can benefit the most from those talents. You may worry less about who is allowed to have children and worry more how many babies you'll get to cherish.

Sincerely,
Barbara Fryman
Mom of 5...so far

On Divine Mercy

Well, I did something really dumb. It's called the Divine Mercy novena. It is based on a vision that St. Faustina had of Jesus where He implored her to spread the truth of His great mercy. This all sound really great when seeking mercy. Unfortunately, praying the words "Have mercy on us and the whole world." starts to take root in one's heart, and before you know it there is a confrontation between what you are praying for and the times in your life where you are not merciful.

It starts great. Images of Jesus' love and forgiveness pouring out upon you invade your imagination. You feel God's forgiveness, you embrace it, you are grateful and excited to share it with the world.

A few days in you see the Aurora theater murderer's face on TV and you immediately recognize that he was an infant once. God made him, loves him, and wants him back. Out of compassion for God you pray for him even though it makes your stomach turn. Later, you might read an argument about marriage on Facebook, and regardless of your views you acknowledge the ugliness and disgust on both sides is unacceptable, so you pray for healing. You feel so loving and merciful. You foolishly pray that God increase your ability to love mercifully.

Later in the novena the real tragedy occurs. That Person (we all have at least one) shows up. You get the fiftieth email "inviting" you to volunteer -with the implied "for once". He brags about his boat and berates you that you also need to get a boat. You run into her and are held hostage by the list of fabulous things at which her children are excelling. You are confronted by someone who wants to give you family planning advice because you mistakenly said that your husband wants to name a baby after the pope. (Nothing gets a girl to ovulate like the words, "Don't you dare let him get you pregnant!")*

You get the point. That Person is the reason Jesus had to say the words, "Love your neighbor." Anyone can love their enemy if they never have to see the person face-to-face. Anyone can theoretically love -and forgive- Pontious Pilate. But can you forgive your brother-in-law for his insistence on talking exclusively about his toe nail fungus? Can you refrain from gossiping about the PTA president and her stupid idea that everyone has 60 hrs a week to "donate" to the school? Can you be cheerful to the old neighbor who comes over when you are working in the yard, starts a conversation with "Hot/Cold/Rainy enough for ya?" and then gives you a list of the HOA rules your kids are breaking by using sidewalk chalk? Can you? Can I? Can anyone?

For me, and it seems a lot of parents of children with disabilities, That Person is usually someone well meaning, yet insensitive. Comment after comment is made about how "functional" Mae might be, while I try to keep from making a snarky comment that we'll manage to love her despite her dysfunction. Comment after comment is made on the hope that she'll be skinny or pretty or tall. Comment after comment is made on how heroic we are for loving her. All of it making me want to explode, because, dear God this is my baby! Nothing she does or doesn't do, is or isn't will change the fact that I love her. I love all of her. She matters! She'll always matter, as is the case with each of my children. So. Shut. UP!

But a small, forceful voice pulls me back from that. The knowledge that I want what I am not willing to give in those moments hits like a Mac Truck.

Oh.

How many people have had to forgive my insensitivity? How acquainted am I with the taste of my own foot? How can I ask for mercy when I just want to sooth my indignation with fiery words and nasty looks?

Yes, I started this chaplet seeking mercy and forgiveness and to be more fully in communion with Christ. He showed me that I have to be merciful to achieve that communion. God help me, I'm going to try. In the mean time, be merciful Oh Lord, I am a jerk.

* Ugh, yes, this did in fact happen. I just. can't. even. Truthfully, I blacked out and have no idea how I responded. This person is not even someone I know, she only knew I have 5 and Mariana has Down syndrome. The forgiveness angle on this one is killing me!

Nora

Please pray for Nora. This little girl has brought so many to Christ just by existing. She is a message of light in the darkness of this world that tells us that we are only valuable based on the material we contribute to the world.

I knew Nora had Trisomy 18 before I knew Mariana had Down syndrome. Nora's condition is probably the reason I received Mariana's diagnosis with such peace. Nora hadn't even taken a breath yet, but she had changed my heart and made Mariana's life more appreciated. Scott and I could only see Mae as a blessing after knowing what a blessing Nora was while still developing in her mother's womb.

God, Father of Mercy, grant the Yusko family peace. Grant Nora complete healing and a long and healthy life with her family. Servant of God, Jerome Lejeune, pray for Nora and her family and her care takers, that all that can be done in service to this little life be done, that each doctor see Nora as a messenger of hope and treat her with the dignity any child deserves and the respect that all life demands.

Heavy Quick Takes (or, Get a Grip Friday)

--- 1 ---

This past week, y'all. Whew! This has been a fruitful Lent. The weekend was really great with a fun birthday party at Charlotte's friend's house. The parents hung about chit-chatting while the girls got their nails and make up done. I brought Mae, who was automatically the Belle of the Ball. That night we had Grown Ups Game Night, which was funny and silly and whew, no stress, unless you count Scott's campaign for a baby so that we can name him/her Frances/is. (I know I'm blessed my husband wants so many children, but I don't think a new papal namesake should be part of the discussion.)

Sunday was fun with a trail run and CCD with the 7th graders, where I taught them P's PreK lenten song to the tune of Frere Jauqes:
"Prayer and fasting and almsgiving
We are meant, to repent
Forty days of sacrifice
Being extra super nice
This is Lent
This is Lent"

This was our effort to get the kids to recall the three lenten practices of prayer, fasting and alms-giving.  It's nice to know the tuition to Catholic education pays off and that my 3 year old knows what 7th graders struggle to learn.

--- 2 ---

Monday. Oh someone just let me forget that day, please! First of all, Scott took C to her pre-op because I had to get more bloodwork done. I've been a mess of mystery symptoms and had two blood draws scheduled to coincide with hormonal shifts. (Yay for doctors who don't start prescribing medicine before figuring out what it going on!)

Monday's draw was terrible. I felt "off" anyway, but just a tad. As I was waiting for my turn I watched as a phlebotomist  dug around for an elderly woman's vein. I'm not usually squeamish, and the elderly woman didn't seem too concerned about what was happening, but I began to get dizzy watching. When the other phlebotomist started my draw I got instantly woozy. She informed me I didn't look so well, and I informed her that, coincidentally, I did not feel very well. I began to hear a high-pitched squeal in my ears and see flashes of light. And then I heaved. So, that happened.

--- 3 ---

This Quick Take is dedicated to asking the question, who here gets frustrated at God?

In finding out that my thyroid is malfunctioning, I really didn't know what to do with that information. Quite frankly I  felt like God was being a jerk to me. I knew logically that this was stupid and the intensity of my overbooked life combined with my faith was no ward against further suffering, but I really felt entitled to a damn break.

This is the frustrating thing about being Catholic. The combined belief that God always has my interests at heart, and the pragmatic view that life is messy, throws me for a loop when I find I feel like God owes me a pass on tough situations. I didn't expect, and don't expect, God will protect me from drama, but I found myself making these arguments to Him in frustration. "Why can't you just give me a pass? Do you not realize that I am confined by hours in a day? What is your problem?"

Am I alone in my God rants?

--- 4 ---

So, having had a few days to examine my issues, I think I've concluded that the only path through this particular point in time is to grow in humility. Not that I'll be a passenger in my own life.What I mean by humility is submission that I may not have all the answers right away, but that I must be receptive to God's call even when I don't understand. I don't understand this health issue I'm facing and I hate it. I feel angry about the changes I am going to have to make to become healthy and I feel very angry about being dependent on medication. None of my feelings change reality, so I have to learn how to submit to God's will, which of course is to face reality and be brave...and grateful.

--- 5 ---

Was I scared the day of Mariana's surgery? Yes. The informed consent is scary enough, add the risks to a child with Down syndrome and the fear is exponential. Lately I'm afraid for Mariana because I keep learning disturbing health risks to children with Down syndrome. Again, I take this as a call to humility, and even more terrifying, trust. I know I'm a control freak, but this idea of trusting in having the strength and resources to forge ahead is not bringing out the best in me. My weak points are becoming more exposed with time. I can't help but wonder, is this a good "cleansing" thing, or am I going to buckle under all of this?

So far, I'm going with "a good thing". It's kind of how watching Pope Francis perform all those "normal" tasks and works of mercy is like holding a mirror up to my own pathetic attempt to call myself a Christian. All these trials we're facing just expose the places we need to fortify in ourselves. Trusting that God will protect us while we do the work is really scary, but what choice do we have? There is no good alternative.

--- 6 ---

This has been a very heavy Quick Takes, so let me lighten the load with the revelation that Mariana seems to be saying, "No-no" to us during meal times. Princess does not like to feed herself. She is a very "in the box" thinker, so a change in routine is next to heresy to this darling. When I try to guide her hand to hold a spoon or pick up some food, she flails and yells, "Nah-nah-nah-nah!" It's funny because it's not your kid doing it.

--- 7 ---

Ah, the last Quick Take, finally. I shall end with a few tid-bits:

I did not faint or heave during my blood draw on Thursday.

My kids get swim gear instead of candy from the Easter Bunny.

I accidentally ordered a swimsuit for C that is back ordered.

I hope Mariana looks exactly the same in heaven as she does on earth.

I am listening to one of my children throw a tantrum.

I'm actually okay with it.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Mariana's Surgery, as told by Mariana

True story, I had a gut wrenching post filled with emotions and rants at God, but then I couldn't find a way to end it, so suddenly it's today and Mae had her surgery. In a nutshell: My thyroid had too many responsibilities and couldn't handle the work of keeping me sane, regulating metabolism and helping me think. It resigned much of its duties and now I probably need Real Medicine(TM).

Mariana however had Real Medicine(TM) surgery today and would like to tell her harrowing tale with pictures!

"Hi. My Dada woke me up this morning and changed my diaper, but not my PJ's. PJ's Uncle John sent for Christmas addressed to MariJohnna. This is because he forgot that he had sons he could have named after himself. Mama took me downstairs, but no one gave me my bottle. Instead I took a car ride to a weird place with toys. And then they took me to the back.

Y'all don't even know.

At this point I was weighed, poked and squeezed like a common farm animal up for auction. People were all up in my face saying, "HI!" and then not even giving me the time to say "Hello." back to them. Instead they got busy asking mom personal questions about my medical history and my heart and suddenly it felt like this was some serious business.

I recommend the hospital gown.

After that I was asked to undress and put a robe on backwards. Just kidding! No one asks me to do anything, they just treat me like a dolly. Of course I had to sample my new duds, and they were really quite good.

Seriously the arm is fantastic on this robe. Very soothing on the gums.

All sorts of people came in to talk to my mom and opine about my good looks. If I were any less a person I would have a huge ego. But I have siblings and I know that I come from a long line of beautiful people. I'm just one of many.

While we are on the subject of pretty people, wanna hear a funny story?

All my sisters and my brother got in my parents' bed last night! Mom and Dad had to get up at 4:45, and then climb out of bed without waking all the sleeping masses, and then get dressed super quiet-like. I can only imagine the hilarity that ensued.

The hospital is cold, but it just revs my engine and I felt very confident that whatever was going to happen would be fun. "Stents" sounds like a cool trick and "Naso-lacrimal ducts" sound like we were going to feed the ducks. I'm in!

Whoa, what? Yeah, they started talking breathing tubes and going to sleep and needles, which, nope that's not really my thing. Imma just step out for the bathroom real quick, mkay?

Mmmm. Apple juicy.

Next thing I know I'm sippin on juice, laid back. No screaming like the kids in the other recovery rooms. They must have not had any juice, the poor dears.

After my first bottle of juice was gone, I had to drink another bottle. I didn't have to, like, you know, requirements or anything. I just cried and coughed and they brought me some. It's like magic, only more pathetic.

And then Dada and Mama brought me to a diner where I ate eggs and yelled at them for being too slow at feeding me. I was stahvin!

Fun fact: My eyes tear more than ever thanks to the stents, and so everyone feels pity at the site of my beautiful face as tears stream down my cheeks quietly.

 

The remainder of the day was spent asleep and then Mrs. J had the nerve to show up for therapy. Then there was eating and yelling at the people who do not feed me any longer because of reasons like, I can do it myself, and, I need to learn independence.  The only time I'm willing to feed myself is when a lollypop is clutched squarely in my fist, something that used to be considered therapy and now is considered taboo. I've about had it with people changing the rules up in this joint.

In conclusion: I had surgery. I woke up. I ate. I slept. I pretended to work out. I slept. I ate. I took a bath. Tomorrow I will pitch a gigantic fit when Mama puts food on my tray and walks away.