One child at a time

I must admit to feeling a tad defeated after reading this particular article in The Age last Saturday. I felt despondent that, after all the hard work on acceptance and equality that a large number of short statured people have done, there is still an element in society that perpetuates the image of the court jester and the freak show. As Peter Dinklage says, "...media portrayal is, in part, the fault of actors who are dwarves. You can say no. You can not be the object of ridicule." yet there are those who don't understand that. They see their antics as legitimate entertaining, a job and a means through which they can educate others about our condition. I don't see it that way. I believe that the best way to educate others about dwarfism is to simply get out there and be yourself in your regular clothes, going about your regular life doing your regular job.

So it was with a heavy heart that I read that article and I felt as though I just wanted to disappear into a hole until the controversy died down. However, I didn't disappear. Instead the girls and I decided we'd take a trip up to The Dandenong's to get some fresh air and see the beautiful bushland. What a lovely afternoon we had! It was freezing cold but sunny. We found a gorgeous little craft store and spent some time browsing.

A mother and her two little boys came into the store. Of course, the inevitable happened and the littlest one (who would have been about 4 or 5) said in a loud voice, as only a four year old can, "Look! Midgets!" His poor mother looked as though she was hoping the earth would open up and swallow them completely. She bent down and gently said to him, "No, that's not right. Don't call them that."

Internally I cringed but I took a deep breathh and went over to the boy and gently said, "Hi! You know what? Midget isn't the right word. It is actually dwarf, but you can call me Leisa. What's your name?"

We had a really lovely conversation. I learned their names and we talked about all the cool things that were in the store. Afterwards the mother thanked me for taking the time to chat and apologised for the use of the word midget. Apparently the children had seen a TV program that showed short statured people and refered to them as midgets and she knew it wasn't right. I told her that I just wanted them to have a positive and educational experience meeting someone who was different. A couple of other people in the store approached me after that and said how much they appreciated the way I handled the situation. This lifted my spirits because it made me realise that when these incidents happen there are other people who are listening and watching too and they reap the benefits from the encounter as well.

We bumped into the famaily again when we entered the bakery to have afternoon tea. The boys saw me and greeted me with an enthusiastic, "Hi Leisa!" Mission accomplished.

This was one of two encounters that happened over the weekend. At church on Sunday, one of my new friends approached me and encouraged me by retelling a conversation she and one of her youngest daughters had regarding me.

"Mummy, did you know that your little friend told me that she is little because her bones didn't grow very fast? I think it's good because she's a grown up and when I talk to her I don't have to look up all the time!" (paraphrased)

These two incidents over the weekend really encouraged me. The world doesn't necessarily need a documentary on dwarfism aired on TV or a controversial article in The Age to educate people what we're about. We just need to be ourselves, make the most of each opportunity when they arise and educate the world one child at a time.

Taking the bull by the horns

Yesterday was a bit of a "Jonah Day". I don't know where I first heard that expression - I think maybe I read it in one of the "Little House" books....no, I'm wrong. It was one of the Anne of Green Gables books. I know this because I Googled the expression. In this case, a Jonah Day means a day of feeling stupid, a pain in the butt and generally sick and tired of myself.

It came to 4pm and I gladly exited the office and went home. I sat on the train and thought. I got home and my gorgeous kids had started dinner. In fact it was almost cooked when I walked through the door. I entered the kitchen and there was a teacup with a teabag already placed in it, ready for me to make a cuppa. I opened my bedroom door and my PJ's were laid out on the bed waiting for me.

My children are so thoughtful.

After dinner I decided not to do anything. I sat on the couch and promptly fell asleep. No one minded.

With the morning came a new resolve. I'm tired of myself. For as long as I have been writing online I have struggled with the same mess. I am tired of it. So today I am taking the bull by the horns and doing something about it.

I am taking inspiration from my most favorite couple on the interwebs and becoming transparent - in my relationships, in my workplace, in my writings. I'm doing this just because I'm tired of hiding. Hiding and secrets are a remnant of my past relationship.

No more. This is me.

I have also booked a session with a counsellor. I can't afford the psychologist I've been seeing off and on for the past 13 years, but I have found someone attached to a local church who counsels at a very reasonable rate. I am going to throw myself into it head first with the aim of becoming well once and for all. I want to unlock the secret as to how to let it all go and move forward. I'm not going to look to this counselor as the one who will show me the light and lead the way. I'm going to find it for myself as they facilitate the journey.

Sometimes it takes a Jonah Day to move you on.

Rub it out, start again

Have you ever had one of those days where you just seem to go from one oops to the other and seem powerless to stop it? That's been today. 

For some reason I have felt clumsy, socially awkward and one of "those" irate people on the phone who make you wonder why you ever took the job in the call centre. 

Yep, that's been me today. I have been irate with a Centrelink customer service operator after waiting on hold for 30 minutes, I've posted a diary entry that, in the end, made me seem like a stupid, lovesick desperado, I've gotten emotional at work, I've sent texts I wished I hadn't. I've looked into the face of a kind of person I really didn't want to ever encounter.

It's 3:50pm and I have ten minutes until I walk out these doors and go home. I am so looking forward to it. Hopefully the trains will be running on time on this cold Melbourne day. Hopefully the puppy won't have peed anywhere or chewed up something or carted a rotten carcass onto the carpet.

I plan on having a good nights sleep and looking forward to the promise of a new and better day tomorrow.

Parental decisions

I've had to make decisions as a parent that no parent wants to make.

I've had to listen to doctors as they explain why they believe a particular surgery is necessary and then make the heart-wrenching decision to allow them to go ahead. I've never wanted to make those decisions. Not one of them was easy, even when the potential consequences of saying no and doing nothing were quite severe. At the back of my mind there was always this quiet voice of doubt that said, "But that is only potentially what will happen if you do nothing. It may not happen."

But you gamble with the odds and you do what you're told. You trade one set of problems for another and hope that the problems you're accepting are going to be ones your child can live with. For the rest of their life.

A little over 20 years ago I made a decision for my son. He was only 11 months old at the time. He was a bright, bubbly, alert little baby boy. No one would have ever suspected anything was wrong and, looking back on the whole situation now, there was nothing wrong apart from a head that was a little too large. Still, that shouldn't have been the indication that anything needed to be done. However, the surgeon recommended that something should be done based on what he could see physically. I was a young mother. I thought the surgeon knew better than I did. I went with his decision. I handed my baby over for the surgery. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

They got it wrong. We got it wrong. He should have been left alone. The first rule of medicine is "Do no harm". They thought they were helping. I thought it was necessary. We were wrong.

This decision can never be undone, no matter how much I wish I could turn back time and make a different choice. However, none of us can dare go to the place of, "If only". It's done and we live with the outcome of that decision every day. We love the young man we have today, not the one who may have come out of, "If only". That one doesn't exist. We have this one and he is wonderful.

Yesterday I realised that the people we entrust with our children's medical care are capable of terrible mistakes...and I'm sure they are sorry. Yesterday I realised that they still did things blindly. Yesterday I felt that, despite the care the professionals extend us, they are still learning....and we are their guinea pigs, no matter how much we pretend it doesn't happen.

Yesterday I wished that the Leisa of 2012 could go back and speak to the Leisa of 1992 and tell her to trust her instincts, trust herself and be bold enough to say no....because it would have made all the difference.

Mothers Day in review

Yesterday was Mother's Day and I woke early, as always. For some reason I got caught in a whole lot of nostalgic reflection whilst laying there in bed and I found myself yearning for the young days of motherhood, where the kids would come bursting into our room, all excited and bearing gifts they had either made themselves or purchased from the Mother's Day stall at Kinder or school. Those beautiful hand painted cards and sachets of roughly tied potpourri were the most beautiful gifts ever received as they were given with such love and enthusiasm, accompanied by lukewarm cups of tea and cold toast - the best breakfasts ever! The children would all then pile into bed with us for hugs and kisses and we'd all lay there squashed together, chatting and giggling about nothing in particular and everything important.

Yesterday I missed those days so much; maybe because life has changed so much over the past five years or so to the point where it's no longer recognizable to me. Even though my children are all grown up I wanted them all to jump into bed with me for a short while and just stop time for a moment. I wanted to feel like Mummy again, even though I am so ridiculously proud of my four grown up kids and wouldn't change anything for the world! I love this new, adult and equal relationship we have, but sometimes I miss being Mummy in a time where the four walls of our home was our world and the backyard was an adventure playground; when a blanket over the table was our cave; when one of the biggest treats was a container of bubble mix and we blew bubbles in the front yard and watched them float around the neighborhood. I miss the times we would have picnics in the backyard and I would make them "surprise lunches"; when we would take a pail of chalk and make pictures on the footpath for the neighbors to see. I missed cutting and pasting and drawing and playdoh. I miss sloppy Vegemite kisses, and Thomas the Tank Engine and Barbie and The Spice Girls.

I know it sounds so cliche, but the days of them being little are over SO very quickly. I wish I knew that back then but I guess when you're caught up in the daily busy-ness you kind of lose sight of it and you don't have that perspective. Maybe that's why God made it so that we become grandparents - we get to sit back and enjoy them in every moment, rather than being caught up with getting things done. I hope I get to be a Nanna.

For Mother's Day celebrations this year we went out to the movies and then dinner afterwards on Saturday night. On Sunday morning, my youngest (16) presented me with a cup of tea in bed. My gift was the DVD set of Series 1 of The Sullivans - one of my most favorite shows when I was young. (possibly too young to be watching it). I squealed when I opened it. I spent all day watching about 20 episodes. It was like seeing old friends I hadn't seen in 20 years. We had a lovely, quiet day. I had all my children with me. I couldn't have been happier.

Weekend

Over the weekend I had all four of my kids under the one roof because Tim turned 21 and Georgia turned 16. I couldn't have been happier.

Georgia and Tim

Chloe and Sarah

How did time go so fast? How is it that I have three adult children and the last one will be "legal" in two short  years? 

If the clothes don't fit, wear them anyway!

I wonder what it would be like to actually be able to buy clothes off the rack and have them fit perfectly? Tell me, what's it like?

I wish I had a dollar for the number of times someone has asked me, "Where do you buy clothes to fit you?" No people, there are no specialist stores where you are able to buy clothing exclusively for the vertically challenged. Oh I wish there was! Actually, I take that back. I'll handle the fact that I have to buy garments that need significant hemming if I could PLEASE find a store that stocked fashionable shoes in a wide children's size. If there were such a store I'd feel like I'd died and gone to heaven. Honestly. I don't own heels. Not one set.....save a pair of boots that have a two inch heel and they belonged to my niece....when she was EIGHT! I'm in a (Australian) children's size 12 in a wide fitting - very wide. You can't buy a decent set of heels in a children's size 12.


This? In a Children's 12? Tell her she's dreamin'!

As I write this I am dressed in a hotch potch of different clothes from different departments. My black leggings are three-quarter length size 10's from the girls section in Target. They're full length on me. My black dress is a girls size 14 mini dress from Big W. It comes to my knees. The jumper I'm wearing is a Womens Extra Small from K-mart. The body fits well....but there's 20cm of extra sleeve length I don't need so I have the sleeves folded and pushed up. They kind of look a bit bulky. *shrugs* My ankle length boots are some little beauties I found in Target the other day. Kids size 12's, flats. They're still a bit big, but the 11 didn't have the width I needed.  
I get jeans and pants altered. I've also taken to getting sloppy joes and windcheater sleeves taken up too. I've found that getting clothes altered to fit sometimes costs me more than the actual garments themselves. Strange thing is that when I get sleeves taken up they feel too short. Way too short. I guess having your cuffs at your wrists is normal, right? Doesn't feel normal to me.

Like I said, if the clothes don't fit wear them anyway.