Rachel Coleman

I’m a California Girl and California Girls don’t go to Disneyland on weekends or holidays. We go to Disneyland on overcast, slight chance of rain days, in the middle of the week.

My family moved from Southern California when I was 11 years old. I am not sure that I ever really became a Utah Girl, but that’s not really the point. Once in Utah, I was struck by my peers’ conversations about Disneyland. “How many times have you been?” They were one-upping each other on the bus. “Four times” or “five times” produced dropped jaws. I kept quiet. I shook my head. Oh, those poor theme-parkless kids. They’d never believe me, even if I could add up all of those trips and produce a number for them.

Now, I have Utah Girls of my own. And I get it. Disneyland is no longer a mid-week, skip school, stay for fireworks and drive home exhausted kind of thing. It is an event. It is a… dare I say it? A long weekend kind of event, now that we live in Utah. My cute girls have no idea of the personal rules I break for them. Taking on Disneyland on a weekend? Sheesh!

Nevertheless, we do these things as parents… we do them for our children.

But… I still have an unfair advantage over the rest of you who are investing hundreds of dollars on a weekend, where your kids had better have fun, they’d better like it, and they’d better behave because it costs a small fortune just to walk through the metal detectors and finally cross the threshold to the Happiest Place on Earth.

Yes, it’s true. I have an unfair Disneyland advantage… I have a child in a wheelchair.

Now, if you can’t hack this conversation, click away. I’m just telling it like it is.

It used to be that a wheelchair, in Disneyland, was akin to a free ticket. Not “free” free, but pretty close to it. This fancy wheelchair used to allow us to walk right up the exits of rides, wait a car or two and then ride away in complete bliss. Especially blissful when you realize how many other folks were left juggling tired children, backpacks, strollers, and $6 sodas for hours on end, often for one short spin on Dumbo.

Well, things have changed a bit at Disneyland. Each time they update a ride, they also manage to bring it up to code. California Adventure, for example is so stinking accessible, we get to wait in their wheelchair-width mazes just like everyone else. Don’t waste your time trying to get an accessibility pass in California Adventure, go to Disneyland for it.

When Lucy and I went to Disneyland, we went with our friends Emily and Millie. You might recognize Millie as the little cherub on the cover of Baby Signing Time.

I was already in California. Emily, Millie and Lucy flew in together and met me there. Lucy and Millie held hands throughout the entire flight!

They arrived and we immediately went to the poolside restaurant.

Lucy ordered jumbo shrimp cocktail, her favorite.

I was performing the following day, so they came along to watch.

Emily spotted Scott Baio, she said that she had always wished he could baby sit her… (“Charles in Charge” reference folks) Lucy, in the background, was unimpressed.

The booth located right behind our Signing Time spot was a company called Cade Christian. Here’s the funny thing. Each year that I have presented at the Baby Celebration Los Angeles, I have drawn a good sized crowd of Signing Time Families. This crowd (Yeah, you guys) stays after and creates a substantial line for over an hour, waiting to take a photo, get an autograph and buy products. And each year some of the neighboring vendors have complained about the big, long line of parents and children standing beside their booths. (I’m not kidding.)

So, this year. I gave the Cade Christian folks a heads-up of what was to come and they said, “Oh we heard about that, so we requested to be right near your booth. They thanked me for bringing so many families to the event. And then they hooked the little girlies up with hats and sent one for Leah as well. Then Em and I bought some for ourselves.

Next stop, In-N-Out, on our way to Anaheim.

We arrived at Disneyland and checked in at City Hall to get our “perma-handi-fastpass” <---- not what it's really called, just what it does. Now, if you have just a regular kid in a wheelchair, maybe a broken bone or something, you don’t get much priority. If you have a child in a wheelchair who might have a difficult time waiting in long lines you get a little upgrade. They gave us the Super-Duper-Upgrade <---- not what it's called, just what it does- when they realized that Emily and I not only had Lucy and her wheels, but that little Millie is deaf.

And we were off! We let Lucy lead the way. It was one of the few times I felt uninvested. If she wanted to ride "Dumbo" 35 times in the next 48 hours, so be it. This was about her. And by the way I stopped counting after we rode "Dumbo" 8 times.

So, here are some things I didn’t know before this Disney trip.

“It’s A Small World” has been updated, and I don’t just mean the inside. The boats are all new and they have a special, wheelchair ready boat! Lucy was the queen of the world. I also stopped counting once we had ridden “Small World” 8 times.

If you have a child with special needs and you need a place to handle toileting, go to the First Aid Station (behind the hand-dipped corndog cart and past the Carnation Baby Care Center) They have cots, where you can lie your child down to change them in a private room with a sink and a toilet. They also have cold drinking water for free. They are cold water pushers. You almost can’t escape without cold water coming with you. This was Mecca! You have no idea how much time I spend scouting inconspicuous locations to do a quick-change for my 9 year old.

In the very accessible California Adventure, the newest ride “Toy Story Midway Mania” has wide lanes, so we got to wait with everyone else, BUT they have one car that will accommodate a wheelchair. We didn’t use it the first time, because they asked if we could transfer. I said, “Yes,” because we can transfer, but seriously that was the worst experience ever! The cars make hard lefts and hard rights with no warning. You are supposed to be shooting, but it doesn’t go so well when you are hanging on to your child who cannot sit independently. It was physically exhausting and our score was terrible! When we unloaded I let the guys running the thing know that “Can you transfer?” was not an adequate pre-requisite. I suggested they ask, “Can your child sit unassisted?” I am sure they were enthralled to hear my quick explanation of trunk control and head control and how Lucy may have just sustained whiplash and how I may have thrown out my back trying to keep her from getting her bell rung on the side of the car.

But… then they offered their fancy-schmancy-wheelchair ready car and that was a blast! Lucy sat in her wheelchair in the car and they strapped her wheels down. To make up for the first ride, they let us go two more times without waiting. But I think that was because it was easier to just let us keep riding than to maneuver that fancy-schmancy thing on and off the track. Lucy could shoot her own gun by bopping a button on top or yanking on a cord. I totally crushed her score though.

The parades were great. Lucy is not of fan of anything in costume, especially bigger than life costumes. She even hates Hopkins at our Signing Time shows… Hopkins!

And of course we got to relive memories of the infamous submarine experience in Mexico, but this time with the promise of Nemo below. And this time I wasn’t worried.

For those who cannot maneuver through the tight spiral staircase, there is another option. There’s a room that shows a movie of what you see under water. We tried both and we all agreed that being in the sub was much more fun.

Lucy really wanted to see Ariel, so we stopped by the restaurant Ariel’s Grotto on the first day. We asked about reservations for dinner the following day and were told by the hostess that reservations were not necessary. But, when we arrived for dinner the following day, all of the seatings were filled! Lucy was bummed. I explained what we were told the day before and today’s hostess said, “Reservations are not necessary, but they are recommended.” If your kiddo is an Ariel fan, don’t make this same mistake. Make a reservation.

The moral of the story is 1 in 1000 kids are born with spina bifida- if you are lucky enough to get one, then you are also lucky enough to park in the front row at Costco, even during the holidays. You also get to ride Dumbo and Small World countless times without waiting!

If ever you get stuck going to Disneyland on a busy holiday weekend, Lucy and I are available for rent.

Remember last summer, I was in Mexico having nightmares about a promise I had made to Lucy.
(If you missed that, read: Strong Enough To Be Your Mom – Part 1)

Anyway, last summer in Mexico I found an advertisement for a glass bottom boat. I thought it would be perfect for Lucy, because she is not a fan of putting her face under water. She has dysarthria<--- which came along as a sidekick to cerebral palsy<--- which came as a sidekick to spina bifida (Thank you very much).
Because of her dysarthria, snorkeling does not work for Lucy. It is tough for her to get her body to either breathe through her mouth or her nose.

I asked Lucy if she would like to see the fish, but do it in a boat and not even get wet! She loved the idea. I called the company to make the reservation. I asked them about wheelchair accessibility there was none. A bus would pick us up and take us to the main location. We would board a speedboat and it would drive us out to a small submarine. Then we would transfer onto the sub go down a tight spiral staircase to our seats below!

No wheelchair. Not for any of it. We would be gone for at least 6 hours.

Could I do it? Could I carry all 40+ pounds of her? Could I carry her as I exited a boat, out in the ocean, and hopped over to a sub?

Was I strong enough to bring her to new experiences? Or because of my lack of physical strength was she literally “bound” to her wheelchair? Was I strong enough to show her the world beyond sidewalks and ramps? The worlds of dirt and gravel and sand and water and beauty? What would she think of me if I failed her? Worse yet… what would I think of myself?

My nightmares the night before included being dropped off with her in the desert, with nowhere to rest, nothing but sand, sand dunes and smooth rocky hills. After hours in the hot sun, moving her from piggy-backing to a side carry, to baby-in-arms hold, I frantically looked for anyone who might have a stroller. Even in the deep sand a stroller would give me a little rest and we could still slowly move forward. I moved her to my back as we bouldered across mountains of rock.
When I woke up I was exhausted, soaked with sweat.

That was a year ago.

I was able to hold her as we stood in line, transferred to the boat, transferred to the sub and back to the boat. We had a great time together and I don’t think my daughter ever knew my fear… my fear that I would let her down. The fear that I might be just one more “No!” in a world full of people, who throughout her life, will simply look at her and tell her, “No.”

Something changed in me that day. I began working out harder at the gym, running faster and farther. I looked for better backpacks to carry her in.

With Lucy as our inspiration, Aaron and I signed up with a personal trainer and started training with him 4 days a week. I felt silly doing it, I didn’t want to tell anyone because it felt so “Hollywood!” (Um, YES! I TOTALLY have a personal TRAIN-ER!)
But I wasn’t going to be stopped by feeling silly or cliché. My reasons were bigger than that. When Jared, the owner of the gym, and Matt, our trainer, asked what our goals were, Aaron and I said, “We definitely need to be able to dead-lift 50 pounds, over and over and over again. Every single day.” I said, “I don’t care if I lose weight, but I need to get stronger. We have to increase our overall strength because we have an 8 year-old in a wheelchair and every day she is growing. We have to keep up with her!”

Jared Trevino, who owns our gym, Fit Forever, offered to come to the house and watch how we lift and transfer Lucy. He watched us load her in and out of her car seat. Then we loaded her wheelchair in and out of our car. Next we lifted her from her wheelchair and sat her on her bed, then moved her back to the wheelchair. Then we transferred her to her feeder chair at the dinner table.

I set her on her back, in the bottom of the tub. I stepped in, straddled her and lifted her out, stepping carefully over the edge, one foot at a time, like I do when she has a bath. (A maneuver that is much easier when she is fully clothed and dry.)

We put her in her small wheelchair and “bumped” her up and down the stairs. We put her in her stander and then pulled her out of it.

Jared then showed us how to do each of those things with correct form, giving us more strength, more control, protecting our lower backs and protecting Lucy. We had been doing it all wrong… but only for the last 9 years.

Our trainer, Matt Williams, says that very few of his clients train as intensely as Aaron and I train. I wonder if many of them have as much at stake as we do. We are Lucy’s legs. We are the wheelchair, when the wheelchair says “No.”

When we workout on our own, people literally stop and stare. They stop us to say that they are inspired by us and that they can see our determination. They assume we are in training for a physical, competitive event like a triathlon or marathon. When they ask what we are training for I say, “I’m training for my daughter, Lucy, who’s in a wheelchair. I’m training for our life.”

Lucy is my motivation. When I don’t want to run, I still run… and I run… because I can run. She may never run, not in her whole life, and I just won’t take my ability to do so for granted. I push myself physically so I can carry her. So I can run with her. I do it, so I can be a “Yes.”

A couple of months ago, Lucy asked, “Mom, can just you and me go to Disneyland sometime? Just you and me. Not Daddy, not Leah.” (In my mind I quietly, nervously, calculated the number of times I would need to lift her. Then I told myself to “STOP IT!” And I told my daughter, “Yes.”

“Mom, can I hike through Goblin Valley?”
“Yep.”

“Mom, can we hike all the way up to Delicate Arch?
“Absoultely!”

Let’s just say it… there’s quite a difference in my physical appearance from Signing Time Series 2 to Baby Signing Time 3 & 4. Actually, I have been all over the scale map from the first show to the most recent.

Honestly, I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life and finally, finally I’ve found something that motivates me. A reason to push myself. A reason to really ask, “Is that all you can do Rachel? Are you sure?”
One word- Lucy.

A few nights ago I carried Lucy down the hall to get her ready for bed. I placed her on her bed, so that she was sitting up and leaning against the wall. She smiled at me and said quietly, “Mom, I can tell you’re getting stronger.”

And that’s the best reward of all.

My flight landed in Oklahoma City’s Airport. I looked around to orient myself. “Where is the baggage claim? The Hertz rental desk?”
The line of “Arrivals” hurriedly passed the rows of waiting “Departures.”

My husband Aaron was scheduled to arrive two hours after me. With this in mind I glanced around the airport keeping an eye out for power outlets, near tables and chairs. My laptop battery was almost dead, since I had used the entire flight to barf out 5 chapters of what will eventually be my autobiography.

On the flight, the guy in the seat next to me had brought a big, hardcover business book to read. When I popped open my laptop and started “barfing” onto a blank word doc., which was accompanied by sniffles and even tears sometimes… I noticed he reclined his chair, put away his book, and tilted his head in an ever so “I am NOT reading your computer screen… but I AM” sort of way. This went on for the remainder of the flight.

I am going to take it as a compliment. Perhaps the back cover of my book will say, “In a word- Engrossing!”

or

“1 out of 1 seat neighbors prefer Rachel Coleman’s autobiography over the business book they intended to read.”

On my way down to get my bag and the large hard-side Samsonite that a bigger than life Hopkins resides in… I checked my twitter and read a message to me from @symbolman
“Rachel, dunno your news situation, if you’re on a plane, but Michael Jackson is dead.. RIP”

My first thought was, “Is he joking?” But, I have met @symbolman and his wife and their son… and I didn’t get the sense he would… my thought was interrupted by an airport announcement “Attention travelers. The King of Pop, Michael Jackson has died.”

Clearly, he was not joking. I wasn’t home. I wasn’t in front of a TV, and wouldn’t be for days.

Aaron’s flight was delayed 2 hours, which gave me 4 hours to keep on doing what I was doing, before he arrived, and we would begin our 90 mile drive to Sulphur, Oklahoma. What was I doing? Oh yeah, I was thinking back over my entire life… pondering… wondering. How was this little life of mine all going to work out?

Death is a funny thing. Not funny-funny… but you know. Most of us live like we are going to keep on living and we are so shocked when people die! Do we forget that death is the only thing any of us can really count on? When people die, we say it was “untimely” but… in reality, it was timely, since death happened.

Which reminds me of one of my favorite quotes by Byron Katie in her book “Loving What Is.”
“When I argue with reality, I lose – but only 100 percent of the time.”
(A great book to read, if you don’t happen to be sitting next to me on a plane while I am writing mine.)

You know, Aaron’s friend Jed died recently and it was terrible! It’s still pretty terrible. We opened our swimming pool a few weeks ago and I had to catch myself, stop myself from suggesting that Aaron call Jed for a BBQ. Yesterday, I was making breakfast and Aaron was standing at the kitchen sink, staring out the window. Quietly, he said, “I’d sure like to meet Jed for a cup of coffee today.”

It’s disrupting that Jed is gone. It is not what I expected and it has not been what I am used to or what I could count on. I thought I could count on our friend always being around.

A few weeks ago I was watching Rachael Ray interview Dr. G (medical examiner). Dr. G was talking about her patients, who, by the way are dead. Rachael Ray had asked if DR.G’s job was depressing. Dr. G said it is quite the opposite. She pointed out that her patients typically have no idea, the day before, that they are going to end up in a morgue. This perspective has caused her to really live and love every minute she’s got, because none of us know when our number is going to be up.

It was late at night and pitch dark as Aaron and I drove through Oklahoma. We found a radio station that was playing a Michael Jackson tribute. It was cool. What can you say? Jackson was an icon. We all grew up listening to his music. Mostly, I think it’s sad that he was so mocked and so strange in his last years. Let’s face it… it was weird! And sadder still that we celebrate lives in amazing ways, once those lives are over… when the people we celebrate are no longer alive and they aren’t standing there receiving that acknowledgment.

Isn’t that lame? Seriously? We should stop that! We should tell people when we think they are amazing. We should open our mouths and acknowledge the people we live with and work with and love. We should thank our parents, (Hey mom… dad if you are reading this, thanks for feeding me, educating me and helping me become a half-decent human being!)

We should squeeze our children.
We should apologize profusely.
Thank your neighbors.
Send flowers for no reason… whatever!

What are we waiting for? What are we afraid of? All we really have is right now.
Right Now is powerful.
Just imagine if we went about our lives, armed with Right Now and actually used it!

Sometimes You’ve Just Got To Retreat

There are only a few things I dread.
One of them is the phone tree.

You know… when something bad happens and you have to call everyone in your family, plus your friends and tell, then re-tell what happened. I hate that. Maybe it’s because there are nine kids in my family… maybe not. Maybe it is exhausting even if you are an only child.

When Lucy was diagnosed with cerebral palsy at nine months, I was done. Prior to that I had really tried to just put on a brave face and pull up my boots and manage whatever it was I was dealing with. People would offer to help as I juggled a deaf three year-old, and a 9 month-old baby who continually arched away from the person holding her, her head thrown back and hollering.
“No, thank you,” I said, time and time again “this is my life. I do this every day and I need to be able to do it with or without help.” (Though I rarely did it with help.) These words almost became my mantra… “Thank you, no. This is my life. I need to be able to do this with or without help.”

Then, one day… I crashed and burned.
It’s true.
I couldn’t be strong, not for another minute.
I was curled up, in the fetal position, on the floor of our apartment and I could not stop crying… no it was more like wailing… I couldn’t stop wailing. I called Aaron at work and told him, “You have to come home. I can NOT do this!”

I broke.

I snapped.

I couldn’t imagine one more day, let alone many more years, of being strong AND brave AND responsible AND managing it all. It was just too much.

But I learned something that day, yes, the day that I was completely leveled by the thought of cracking open a can of soup and making a grilled cheese sandwich for Leah, I learned that sometimes you don’t have to be brave or pull up your boots and tromp through the waist deep mud. I learned that sometimes you’ve got to retreat.

Go to a safe place.

Lick your wounds.

Gather your strength.

Not only is there nothing wrong with retreating… it is necessary at times.

I watch my friends, especially the ones who have kiddos with special needs. I can’t help but note when they refuse help and assistance. As I meet families who are struggling with unexpected circumstances I let them in on my secret- “It’s ok to retreat.”

Sometimes it is “RETREAT!!!!!” like you might imagine hearing called out on a battlefield, when things are not going as expected or planned.

The last few weeks have been tough. Aaron and I lost a very dear friend. I did end up in the fetal position, crying, more than once… my head pounding as day after day my brain cycled through accepting and completely rejecting the fact that our friend is really, really gone…and sure enough just last week I was once again confronted by opening a can of soup when I realized it was 3:00 p.m. on Saturday and I had not even fed my kids breakfast.

The day before the funeral, my sister found out that the baby she had been carrying, at 18 weeks, no longer had a heart beat. I could hardly cry. I had nothing left.

I’m not Wonder Woman or Supermom.

I am just me.

And I am sitting here pondering how sweet
sad
fragile
short
and exquisite life is.

Sometimes, I need to be reminded to take my own advice… and retreat.

~In loving memory of our friend Jed Arveseth

Aaron and I went to Aruba.

I know! Don’t hate me! I didn’t even want to tell you.

You know how I love a good deal? Well, I also hate losing money. We had some international airfare that was going to expire, since I cancelled a trip in order to stay home and shoot Baby Signing Time 3 & 4. The trick was, the airfare was going to expire February 8th and we had to use it to go somewhere international AND we couldn’t transfer it anyone else. See! My hands were totally tied.

Add to that, Aaron and I don’t usually take long trips. We take little bursts of trips. Like 2 nights in Boston or 2 nights in San Francisco, just long enough to remember that, yes, we still like each other, but also short enough that our family members don’t disown us when we leave them to care for our children. Oh, and also, not long enough for Lucy to get too sick. Lucy almost always gets sick when we leave… wouldn’t you? Think about it. If you completely relied on others for your daily survival and the two people you trusted the most left… wouldn’t your system get thrown off a bit? Mine would. Lucy’s does.

When Leah was 2, Aaron and I went to Hawaii for a week. Other than that, Aaron, Leah and I went to Africa last year for 11 days, Lucy was sick at home through most of it. Last November, Aaron and I went on a business retreat to Mexico for 6 nights and Lucy was sick for most of that as well.

So, how do you balance not losing money, getting a good deal and trying to enjoy yourself while you are pretty sure at least one of your children is suffering and causing all of those around her to suffer as well?

You don’t. It doesn’t always balance. You might as well go to Aruba!

As you may have read, I recently certified in SCUBA, and I live in Utah where it is pretty cold, so I figured we’d go somewhere warm and SCUBA-worthy. Somehow we settled on Aruba. Why not? (If you haven’t read my adventures in SCUBA, stop here and read this. Seriously, it applies to this post in an embarrassingly ironic way)

After nothing but beach the first day, we signed up to dive with Mermaid Divers for three consecutive days. Our dive master, Bero was from Croatia. It took full concentration to get all the details and instructions, with his strong accent and over the roar of the boat engine. We did two dives each day. Day one was great, (Antilla Wreck and Pedernales) but, didn’t seem to compare to our dives in Cozumel. Was it the dive or that I just couldn’t seem to relax? I was worried about forgetting something. It had been three months since our last dive. I was glad we would be diving again the next day, so I could chill out. It was good to dive again and the watermelon was great.

The following day there were only a few divers. We hit it off immediately with a guy named Kenan. Who we accidentally called “Kenneth” for 2 days. Oops! Kenan is from Istanbul, not Constantinople. (Ha ha! Now the song is going to be stuck in your head!) We found ourselves laughing about everything with Kenan. The dives were great! (J/C Wreck and Plonco) We saw a turtle, an octopus, and I even got stung by a jellyfish! How’s that for adventure?

We rented an underwater camera for our second and third dive days.

J/C Wreck

Plonco Reef

The third and final dive day, we were happy to find that Kenan was diving with us again. This time, I wasn’t worried at all. We were still laughing and having a great time. We started the day off with our deepest dive, (Mas Bango) dropping to 125 feet!

Again, the dive was beautiful! We didn’t spend the whole dive at 125 feet, the area sloped up, so after a while we were at 60 feet. The area continued to slope to safer depths… And then it happened…

No, there was not one stinking shark the whole time, so DON’T get excited. Which reminds me, Bero, the dive master had said that usually on this dive there is a shark that he can approach, roll over and “hypnotize” as it floats sleepily on it’s back. I was DYING to find that shark, because that photo-op… me holding the hypnotized shark, would be PRICELESS after my last SCUBA post. Priceless! But we never saw it

Like I said, then it happened…

Wait, before I tell you what happened, you need to know this: When you dive down 33 feet, that is called 1 atmosphere and if you had a cup full of air, the air would compress in one half. If you continued down another 33 feet, that is another atmosphere and the half-cup of air would compress in half again, which is only one fourth of the previous compression. This continues, compressing the current amount of air in half and so on. The OPPOSITE happens when you come UP from depth. The air expands at that same rate, this is why when you ascend you let out all of the air in your BCD (Buoyancy Control Device) and swim up to the surface, blowing air out of your lungs all the way. You get rid of the air in your BCD and lungs, so it doesn’t expand and rocket you up to the surface, damaging your lungs.

And so… at around 30 feet, Aaron and I were taking pictures. Then Kenan motioned that he would take a picture of me and Aaron together. So, we all got vertical. Meanwhile, vertical, whatever air was in our BCDs is now all together at the top section of our BCDs. Then I took a picture of Aaron and Kenan. We were busy taking pictures and we were paying little attention to our gauges. Then, Aaron takes the camera while Kenan and I pretend to make out. And all of a sudden we realize that we have all accidentally SURFACED!!!!

I cannot write what was going through my mind, but I am sure you can imagine, lots of “HOLY’s” “OH MY’s” and “WHAT THE’s.” Aaron turned and dove back down fast. He had been reading a book called “Shadow Divers” and was all too familiar with what can happen if you surface too quickly or do not do a safety stop before surfacing.

I was stunned, looking at the sun shining through the water. The surface was only a foot above my head, at the most and I was still moving toward it. My mind was racing. Are we going to get sick? Am I going to die? Is this it? This is how I go? I die pretending to kiss a Turk under water? How absurd! How deep were we? Is the dive over? Can I dive back down or will that make things worse? I reached up and released the air from my BCD and sank back down, to the bottom with a hundred questions in my mind. There was only one thing I was sure of… one angry Croatian was waiting for us at the bottom.

Bero isn’t fluent in sign language, but he didn’t need to be to get his point across. He jabbed his pointer finger at his palm to scream; “LOOK AT YOUR GAUGES!” and then he jabbed his finger at his temple, seeming to scream; “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” He repeated these signs, over and over and over. I lowered my head and nodded. I was suddenly 6 years old and was SO busted! (Deservedly so.)

Aaron, Kenan and I continued the dive somberly. We were not smiling. We were not laughing. No one was taking pictures. None of us dared to look at each other. Each of us stayed uncomfortably close to the dive master. I imagined they were berating themselves, like I was. “That was SO STUPID!” “That was TOO close!” “That was NOT cool!” I could still feel my terrified heart pounding. I reminded myself to calm down and breathe slowly through the remainder of the dive.

After our three minute safety stop at a depth of 15 feet, the entire group surfaced. I was already bracing for the verbal reprimand. It came. Again, I nodded and mumbled quietly. “I know. I am sorry. I understand that was dangerous. I know. No, I was not paying attention. I know. I know.”

I felt sick to my stomach about the dive. I thought about just skipping the final dive, waiting it out in the boat. Then an image popped up in my mind; I was 16 years old, and I had just been thrown off my horse. I stood up in the arena, dusted myself off and I NEVER, ever got back on my horse again.

I closed my eyes tightly. Then I opened them.

And then… I switched out my tank, checked my gear, suited up and I stepped off the back of the boat into the turquoise water.

My Life Is…

Almost three years ago I noticed something about my life. I noticed that when I looked at all I was dealing with in work, family, home, and with my kids… when I looked at it all or even a part of it, I found myself saying, “Wow, this is really hard!”

I started to note each time I called my life “hard,” and when I told someone that things were “hard,” and I even noted when I thought that word. Loading a wheelchair into the car was hard. Traveling was hard. Miscommunications with Leah were hard. Lifting Lucy was hard. Communicating with my husband Aaron was hard. Filming and writing music was hard. Meetings were hard. Getting home before the bus arrived was hard. I also noticed that each day I was hitting the snooze button on my alarm clock over and over in a futile attempt to postpone getting up and dealing with my “hard” life.

Wow, “hard” was a powerful word and it was running rampant in my thoughts. It was almost a default word, a word I felt stuck with. I decided to try a little experiment. It was simple really. I would give up using the word “hard” to describe everything and I would find a new word or phrase to replace it with.

Was my life hard? Is my life hard? There are plenty of people who tried to convince me that my life really was hard, because in their eyes they completely believed that what I had was much harder than what they had. I didn’t care. I just couldn’t stand living with that thought about my kids and my family any more. Is having Leah really hard? Is Lucy hard? I dropped the word “hard” out of my vocabulary.

Now, what could fill that space? What would best describe my life? And how exciting to stand in front of a blank sheet of paper titled “My Life Is…” and be able to choose the next word. It was a little daunting. What would I choose to call my life?

I didn’t take the task lightly. I looked from many angles. One thing I saw was that I was managing a lot of unexpected circumstances. My life hadn’t gone the way I expected and I found myself wondering if anyone’s life goes the way that they expect. That would be so boring! I mean really! What if your life turned out exactly how you thought it would? My life could never be called boring. It was quite the opposite. That was it! Three years ago I wrote the words I now use to define and describe my life.

My life is an unexpected adventure!

It was simple and true, and so much more empowering than what I called my life before. For the past three years now, I have been living my life from that perspective and I think that anyone one who knows me or even watches from a distance would agree. My life IS an unexpected adventure.

This year, instead of a New Year’s Resolution, I invite you to take a look at the words you use to describe your life. Listen to the thoughts that are telling your story. If you have a default word, that leaves you clinging to your mattress, I invite you to take some time and fill in the blank for yourself with words that you choose.

My life is…

I can’t wait to hear what you come up with!

~Rachel

I really thought that running out of gas in your car was a universal experience. I mean, isn’t that why we have AAA? Paying for AAA is essentially paying for the luxury of running out of gas! It’s why I have AAA.

I was sitting in a scuba diving lesson at Dive Utah and people were talking about their fears. Aaron has been certified in scuba for years, even years before we met. I was never interested. Every few years Aaron would ask me if I had magically changed my mind. My response was always, “No, Dear. Thank you, no. That is your thing, it is not my thing.”

A few months ago I realized that, I am still pretty young and there is still a lot out there that I could learn. I challenged myself to learn something new every month. I thought about learning to scuba dive and realized that if I really, REALLY hated it, then I didn’t ever have to do it. How could I know if I hated it if I didn’t even give it a chance?

That is how I ended up in a PADI scuba class in November.

I only have one fear in the ocean… SHARKS. I have logged WAY too many hours of “Shark Week” on Discovery. But, I also have watched enough Shark Week to feel pretty confident that should a shark come near me, I can keep my senses and bop it on the nose really hard – (which BTW sends them swimming off) AND I have also watched enough “Shark Week” to imagine myself an apprentice Shark Whisperer, able to hypnotize that same shark by carefully stroking it’s nose and then turning it over, leaving it calm and sleep-like belly up. Hopefully I will never have the opportunity to try either one.

In our first scuba class, someone else shared that their main fear while scuba diving is running out of air. The instructor, Dave who is a long time friend of my husband, answered saying, “A lot of people have that fear. But you have an oxygen gauge like you have a fuel gauge in your car. I mean, how many of you have ever run out of gas?” I, all too quickly and proudly, raised my hand high in the air before I realized, that mine was the ONLY hand in the air. “Oh puh-lease!” I said, “None of you have EVER run out of gas?” My classmates averted their eyes and maybe relished this awkward moment. I considered calling them all “LIARS!” Instead, I addressed our instructor, “Dave? You can NOT tell me that you have NEVER ever run your car out of gas!” Dave responded that he had not… never… ever. I was shocked. Dave looked at the rest of the class and said, “I guess we’d better keep an eye on this one!” and shot a glance at me.

Maybe it is a bad thing that my fear is of sharks, rather than running out of air. I don’t know.

So, long story short, I am now PADI certified. Here’s the proof!

I’m keeping that puppy right next to my Bradley Birth Coach card… though I think the PADI card has a better chance of seeing the light of day.

The PADI certification was pretty standard. The first few evenings were spent learning our gear and testing it out in a swimming pool.

The last few evenings were our open water dives.

I live in Utah. Our open water diving locations are… interesting. There is a murky lake- (Gah! Maybe I also have a fear of being underwater and NOT being able to see 2 feet in front of me… yes, I think I DO have that fear, because my heart is POUNDING just imagining it!) And then there is The Crater. The Crater is warmer and clearer than a murky lake. It is a natural hot spring, 96 degrees, 60 feet wide and 65 feet deep.

Doesn’t The Crater sound intriguing? Well, it is. It looks like a big funky hill from the outside

and when you are on the inside, looking out, well it looks like this-

So, we finished certifying in The Crater and voila the next day Aaron and I were off to Cancun for a few days. (That worked out perfectly) and I would be able to put my new diving skills to the test.

We set up a couple of dives immediately. Our first day diving would be a two-tank dive in Cozumel through a company called Aqua World.

Here is where it gets sticky. You may have heard stuff about diving, like how you should plan the dives so you are not flying the next day or how you can’t dive while you have a head cold or how your deepest dive should be first or maybe you have heard about safety stops if you go to certain depths, so that you give your body a chance to get rid of the excess nitrogen. Which reminds me… once when I was 12 my dad took us deep-sea fishing and I caught some wacky fish that was apparently a bottom dweller, because when I brought that sucker up to the surface, it completely exploded! Keep THAT in mind as I continue!

Another cool gauge tells you how deep you went. It clocks the deepest, depth. THAT is important because when you complete your dive you calculate how long your next dive can be, how much time you need to stay at altitude between dives especially if you are diving again soon. Because no one wants to get the bends and spend their vacation channeling Michael Jackson in a oxygen chamber.

PLUS since I just BARELY certified as an open water diver, I should only dive to a depth of 60 feet, in fact the fancy little chart only goes to 90 feet for a 21 minute dive before it is marked in gray.

If you go deeper than that, the numbers are in black… black is bad. No one wants to know what happens after you pass the black box. But what do we have to fear? We are in Mexico! With a dive company! They are certified and licensed in Mexico we can TOTALLY trust them. Can’t we?

The first dive is finished and we get back on the boat. The dive was AWESOME, especially the part where there were tunnels and Aaron told me to swim down so he could get a photo of me in front of the opening. (Though our camera did not work at that depth and took on water so none of the photos turned out) I swam down. Low and behold, IN the opening, no, GUARDING the opening was a massive silver fish, sporting a serious overbite with a row of sharp, white, gleaming teeth! I didn’t know what it was, but it was huge and scary! I screamed underwater… no one heard but the dolphins, and I swam out of there before Aaron knew what happened. As a side note, sign language is the best! Everyone, EVERYONE was so jealous that Aaron and I could have FULL conversations while they were limited to “OK?” “Share Air” “Go UP” “Go DOWN” – the Dive Masters were even jealous.

Aaron caught up to me and asked what happened, I signed “BIG FISH – BIG RACK of TEETH, GO SEE YOURSELF!” (These signs will be taught in a future episode of Signing Time… no probably not!)

Aaron took a look and he came back smiling. Not that it wasn’t scary and not that we weren’t out of our element and that we really were completely on snaggle-tooth’s turf, but I think he just liked seeing me swim so fast.

Oh, here is a great scuba prank. I believe in payback. At one point I got parallel to Aaron, not side to side, but I was swimming about 3 feet above him. He had lost me in his peripheral vision, which happens even when you ARE a scuba buddy and I used it to my advantage… if getting out of your buddy’s sight can be called an advantage… I swam up a bit. Then I reached down and with a claw hand-shape, I sunk my nails into his… rump. He took OFF! I couldn’t hear him scream, but I am pretty sure the dolphins did.

As the first dive came to an end, we came up to 15 feet below the surface to do a safety stop. That means you hang out at 15 feet for 3 minutes, as long as you didn’t go deeper than 60 feet. If you went deeper, you need to hang out longer at that depth… for 15 minutes, I think, but like I said, I am not certified to dive that deep.

When we hit 15 feet (you can tell because of your gauge) there was a freaking barracuda just hanging out, maybe enjoying his own safety stop at 15 feet. Not kidding, he/she was probably 4 feet long. But being under water makes everything look closer and bigger, (keep that in mind when you’re looking at those underwater photos of me.)

Finally he was bored or not hungry and went away, taking my Finding Nemo flashbacks with him. We continued to float for 3 minutes at 15 feet below the surface. (BTW, even Aquaworld says barracudas range from 10-50 pounds!)

Ah, now we return to the boat and get ready for another dive. I take a look at my depth gauge so I can figure out my pressure group since we were planning this second dive AND then a wreck dive the following day. (Diving to a wrecked boat) Let’s see on this first dive, we dove for 35 minutes (I wrote that on my Diver’s Log and… and… uh-oh… guess what my depth gauge said? I went 90 feet. 90 feet? 35 minutes and 90 feet? That doesn’t even show up on my little dive planner graph! I have NO idea what pressure group I am in! This is BEYOND the bad numbers in little black boxes. I have NO idea how to add that to my next dive! I have no idea how the nitrogen is going to carry over through the next day! I wrote down “90″ for the depth and “35 minutes” for the bottom time. The rest of it is still blank.

Dear PADI instructor Dave, I changed my mind, my biggest fear is neither sharks nor running out of air. My biggest fear is having my insides come out of my eyes, like that poor little sole I caught when I was 12!

All IS well that ends well. I didn’t say anything to our dive master. I left the pressure group blank. I wrote down the time and depth of the next dive and I said a prayer. (Cue Radiohead’s “The Bends”)

The next day I woke up with a serious head cold. There is a hard and fast rule in diving, that you DO NOT dive if you have a cold. But… I had heard that you can take Sudafed and still dive, but you are risking your sinuses imploding if the Sudafed wears off while you are mid-dive. Who even knew that there was so much possible exploding and imploding out there? Then, the weather turned bad and the wreck dive was cancelled. The wind kept up and so did my head cold and the wreck dive was cancelled the following day too.

Like I said, all is well that ends well. Right? The real bummer is I didn’t even see one shark! I saw baby turtles and all kinds of tropical fish. Years of NOT scuba diving because of sharks gone to waste! All that “Shark Week” training, and no sharks? Oh well, maybe next time. Besides, how do I even know if I am REALLY afraid of sharks, without seeing one face to face?

Grrrrrrrrrr… 2008-2009 Post

I was dreading the “Goodbye 2008 Post.”
Why dreading it, you ask?

Well, 2008 was really great. Did I see that coming in 2007? No!
Did I have ANY clue? – I doubt it!
I jumped back in my blog to see if I had done some sappy, silly tribute to past years, in past years. I hadn’t. Yeah for me!

So, let’s say this- 2008 was unexpected and full of surprises. I was silly. I was scared. I was amazed. I was reckless. I was bold. I was funny… hysterical really (if I do say so myself). I was miserable. I was unreasonable. I was exhausted and exhilarated. I was honored. I made new friends and lost new friends. I was surprised. I was creative. I found old friends and lost old friends too. I learned new things. I was humbled and humiliated. I overcame fears. I understood love. I sacrificed and was sacrificed for. I cried hard. I laughed harder.

I held newborn babies and looked at them in awe and wonder. I asked each new child, “Who are you?” None of them answered. They only looked back with blurry eyes, maybe asking the very same question of me, “Who are you?”

I paddled through a lagoon of crocodiles (in a paddleboat of course). I spent more than 50 nights in hotels. I went scuba diving 90 feet deep! (Oops! I was not supposed to go that deep). I don’t know how many miles I traveled or how many times I sang “The Silly Pizza Song.” No one can actually count that high.

All in all, 2008 was a beautiful mess! I wouldn’t change a thing. There were no surgeries for Lucy or Leah, barely any broken bones for any of us. We couldn’t have imagined all the good. We couldn’t have braced for the bad. We did more than survive 2008- we lived it.

So, I sit here looking into the face of 2009 and ask, “Who are you?”

…Or is it 2009 cradling my face asking the very same question of me?

A few years ago, both Leah and Lucy began asking for cell phones. (SIGH) Lucy rattled off the names of the other first graders who already had their own cell phones. Aaron and I tried not to roll our eyes. We said we would talk about it.

(Parental Huddle) What would be the best excuse? Did we even really need an excuse? Could we call and yell at the parents who had sent their 6 year-olds to school with phones? What if we said they could have phones when they could pay for phones and the monthly payment… that might put off Lucy, but not Leah. See, Leah has been working since she was four and she is not always paid in sushi.

We had the girls do the math. “Let’s say a phone costs $70,” I said. Their eyes lit up, I could see the wheels turning… Lucy was thinking, “I could earn $70!” Leah was thinking, “I already have $70!!”

“AND” I quickly interrupted their wide-eyed musings, “it costs $20 every month. What does a phone cost for the first year?” Leah started adding quickly and her smile faded just as quickly. Lucy was adding slowly, quietly, “20 + 20 = 40, 40 + 20 = 60…”

“THREE HUNDRED and TEN DOLLARS!” Leah hollered incredulously. She weighed it out, was it worth it?

Lucy’s eyes got wide with disappointment.

“Yep” I answered, “$310 and that is just for the first year. You usually have to sign a two year contract.”

Leah was thinking again, I could see it. “Well” she said, “how old were you guys when you got your first phones?” Leah was sure she had us, with pure and simple logic. Aaron and I smiled at each other. “Daddy and I had a cell phone that we shared. I was 24 and daddy was 26.” The girls looked at us like we were lying.

From out of nowhere Aaron stated matter-of-factly, “you can have cell phones when you are in the 7th grade.” I agreed. It sounded good. Besides, that was YEARS away. It seemed pretty logical, I mean I was in Jr. High once… for three long, tedious, painful years and let me tell you, I stood in line for hours and hours waiting for the pay phone when my mom forgot to pick me up day… after day… after day. (Nothing against my mom. There were 9 kids to keep track of, I mean really! Can you blame her? I don’t.)

And so it was said and so it was written: The Coleman girls will get cell phones in the 7th grade…

Ummm… that was the plan. Then, a few weeks ago I kept finding myself saying, “MAN! I wish I could get ahold of Leah before she gets home from school!” or “I forgot to leave Leah a note again!” I received a couple of adorable, slightly concerned voice messages from Leah as she arrived home, finding the house empty.

“Hi mom. This is Leah. You are not home and I don’t know what is happening! (CLICK)”

With Leah, there is no, “Call me back.” Remember, Leah is deaf. I can’t leave her a voice message and KNOW that she will be able to decipher it. Sometimes we talk on the phone. It’s limited. I enunciate and speak loudly… all of the things you are not supposed to do in-person with someone who is deaf. I repeat the important things in hopes she catches them. Have you ever played The Telephone Game? Yeah, it’s like that, but there are only the two of us playing and we’re using real telephones.
I wonder if she understands less than she lets on.

Leah doesn’t enjoy talking on the phone. If a friend calls, she doesn’t take the call. I relay the info to her through sign. It makes me think of something she told me once. I had asked her if she preferred English or ASL. She said, “I am really good at both, but with ASL there is never any question what someone is saying to me.”

When we decreed: “7th grade!” Leah never asked again. As I have said before, she is very literal. Lucy, on the other hand has continued to let us know which other 3rd graders now have phones and how she should join the ranks of phone-toting 8 year-olds. Lucy is insistent, and not just about this, she is insistent about a lot of things. (I really don’t know where she gets it!)

The week before Leah’s 12th birthday, (even though she is only in 6th grade) the rule was broken. (GASP!!!)

Aaron and I went to the AT&T store. We found a great phone with a full QWERTY keyboard, which is also rated for assistive listening devices. We bought it for Leah. Aaron added Leah’s favorite songs to the Mp3 player. He added her family and friend’s phone numbers to the contacts.

The day of Leah’s birthday we told family members to call her new phone and leave “Happy birthday!” messages, or send texts to the phone. That way when she opened it, it would be full of greetings and love.

Aaron and I knew that this gift was not on Leah’s radar. We turned off the ringer and wrapped it in a jewelry box, deep in tissue paper.

We had both of her grandmas over for dinner, as well as my sister Rebecca and her family. After dinner Leah opened her presents. She later told me, that when she unwrapped the black jewelry box, she had the thought, “I like jewelry!”

And then… she unfolded the tissue to see a phone, with a picture of her mom and dad signing “I LOVE YOU” on the screen.

Leah stared into the box and started yelling, “NO! NO! NO YOU… DIDN’T!!!! YOU GOT ME A PHONE? THIS IS… MY PHONE? YOU GOT ME A PHONE! A PHONE!” – and then she BURST into tears. Through her sobbing she continued, “I have a phone! You got me a phone! You really got me a phone?”

Everyone at the table had tears in their eyes. Leah’s surprise and gratitude touched us all.

A few days after her birthday Aaron and I noticed this card lying on the kitchen table.

Sure, many kids are thrilled when they get their first phone, but in my daughter I saw something different. Leah’s world is a world of communication where she is often left uncertain, misunderstood or misunderstanding. Once again, through her hands, Leah is now connected and sure.

(To date, Leah has only answered 1 phone call on her cell phone, though she has sent hundreds and hundreds of texts.)

Being Thankful for Leah

Thanksgiving is over…
and Leah’s birthday is today. She’s 12! (I KNOW, just go back and watch My First Signs and she will continue to live on as a 4 year-old and we can all just pretend that 12 isn’t happening!!)

The night before Thanksgiving, I was thinking about the things I am thankful for and then I thought that I could probably surprise myself by actually diving into my journals and reading how it really was. I have 10 journals, so I opened one up to see what year and what thoughts it held… The first one I opened was from 6 years ago. The entry written about the Christmas after we shot Signing Time 2 and 3.

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December 29, 2002 – Salt Lake City, UT

Christmas was hard. We had nothing and could give little, even to our own kids. Aaron and I didn’t give each other gifts. Two days before Christmas my dad gave us $200. The next day my sister Julie gave us $200. We were then able to get Leah a bike and a Gameboy. She also got all of her Signing Time wardrobe clothes and the “Leah Doll” – it was pretty humbling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After I read that I called Aaron in. I read it to him and we both sat there stunned. We had to think, really hard to even remember that Christmas. The following morning, Thanksgiving Day, I pulled my dad and my sister Julie aside and thanked them for giving us Christmas 6 years ago. Neither one of them vividly remembered helping us out. Just as I didn’t vividly remember the Christmas we really needed help. If it hadn’t been in my journal, would their generosity and our need have been entirely forgotten?

Then I couldn’t stop. Each night I have poured over my journals. It’s been painful. It’s been funny. It’s been an interesting journey, to say the least. My journals are stuffed with concert tickets, notes, postcards, scribbles from Leah, photos, and songs I have written.

I dug deeper in time, reading the details of Leah’s birth and then found this:

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December 10, 1996 – Salt Lake City, UT

… Aaron said, “It’s a GIRL!!!”
I started crying, “My baby, my baby girl!”
Aaron kissed me and said, “It’s Leah.”
Leah Jane Coleman. Leah who was called Anna before her birth. Leah who’d kick my ribs, (and sometimes my heart, it seemed) Leah who pushed against my guitar during all of those shows. Leah who gave me the feeling while singing “In Silence.”

Little Leah Jane whose daddy would run his fingers over my belly and say “Here’s your spider, here comes your spider!” Leah whose heels and knees I could slide around, whose little leg would press out hard as I massaged it. Leah with hiccups- Leah at 1:00AM and 10:30AM playtime.

Leah, who I threw up every day for. Leah who I prayed about and worried about. Leah, who made me what I’ve wanted to be most for years – a mom. My little girl’s mommy.

Leah with me while I hiked in Boulder, Utah. Leah in Bryce Canyon. Leah hiking the Zion’s Narrows. She’s my little girl. My sweet little girl now and for always. I love my daughter more than she may ever know.

It’s 3:20AM and I’m crying my eyes out. You’re here asleep next to me and your dad’s on the other side of you and that’s where we will always be, right beside you.

I love you so much. I love you more than you may ever know, maybe when you have a girl of your own. Goodnight my sweet girl, pleasant dreams. I’m so glad you are here with us. I love you, I love you – I LOVE YOU!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went forward in my journal, looking a year after Leah’s birth to find little bits and pieces. Confused entries about Leah’s hearing. Just a line here and there. Things like:

“We don’t know if she can hear us.”
“She has fluid in her ears, but her pediatrician thinks it’s more than that…”
“We can’t get in for the ABR test for 6 more weeks!”
“Still no answer on Janey’s ears.”

No answers in my journal for months and then I found this:

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March 31, 1998 Tuesday
Salt Lake City, UT

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so alone in my whole life. I feel like there is no one I can talk to because no one would understand why I’m crying. Actually I think they would misunderstand. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me or for Janey. I don’t want to call our families and tell them what “PK” the audiologist told us today. Half of my tears are simply tears of relief. The wondering and questions are done. A tearful release of 2 1/2 months- fears, hopes, anticipation and prayers.

I know it’s not helpful but I can only blame myself, and it’s eating me up inside. I think that in his heart Aaron blames me too. In only these past few months people have asked if Jane’s hearing loss is because of my band. And playing and practicing while I was pregnant. People ask. Or they say “boy that must be devastating with you being a musician and music meaning so much.” Do they really think I give a S#*! about my music in comparison to my DAUGHTER?

I’d never sing or play another note if it mattered. Music is nothing to me. Leah Jane is my world. She is wonderful. She is beautiful. I feel like the biggest obstacle in her way is me. I don’t know sign language. I came so close to learning it, so many times. But I didn’t. I feel bewildered. But I feel thankful that we caught it as early as we did….

….We may never know what caused it, or if she as born with it. “Deaf” is such an uncomfortable word for me to use. In a way I am glad that I didn’t know when she was born. Maybe I would’ve treated her differently. Maybe I’d be totally over protective. Everyone would’ve treated her a little different. But now I have had 16 months of Janey. And treating her like a regular kid (except that she is more awesome than most kids)…

…I know of 3 people who are deaf. I’ve had conversations with only one of them ever. I hardly know what the term means. I remember the deaf kids in Jr. High and High school. I sure could not tell you any of their names. They all stayed together with their interpreter and I never gave them a second thought.

Severe – Moderate – Mild mean so little all your life. But today, I was told my daughter has a severe hearing loss. And I still barely grasp the concept. But the word SEVERE is clanging around in my brain. SEVERE? What does that mean? And what does deaf mean? Is there a scale to measure it on? If hearing aids help you are you still deaf?

She can sign a few words now. MOMMY, SLEEP, EAT, SHOES, THANK YOU, BIRD. When I teach a sign she always “rolls it and rolls it and sticks it with a B”

She has the most beautiful lips and puckers for kisses. She also puckers when I tell her “NO” because it looks like kisses. How can I keep a straight face when she does that?
When she gets frustrated she hits her head with her hands, or on the floor.

When she’s nursing, she looks up at me then squeezes both eyes shut tight and then pops them open. She nurses, and the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. Maybe she’s never heard me say the WORDS I love you. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. She probably knows it more than most kids who hear it every day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks ago Leah and I were talking. She asked me how I felt when I found out she was deaf. I told her, “I was distraught. I cried. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I was scared.”

Leah smiled at me and said, “That’s so funny mom. You thought it was terrible and now you know it’s not.”

She’s right.