Boston is Forever

I took KZ to the extremely crowded John Jay Park after school at 3:00 pm on Monday, April 15.  At 3:14 pm, my iPhone started buzzing with text messages. 

- R u ok?
- Where r u?
- R u in Boston or NYC?

At first, I was touched that so many of my friends thought that I was still fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I qualified for it four times, and ran it three.  Each time was one of the best days of my life next to KZ's birth and my wedding to Jeremy. 

- Did u hear about the bombs/gas explosions at the finish line?
- Photos of injured & bloody sidewalk online.  No sure facts.

The only sure thing I knew at that point was that I had to get KZ out of a crowded park in New York City.  My second thought was the safety of all my friends running.

KZ didn't want to leave the park.

She wanted more time to play.  She wanted ice cream.  She wanted to walk home, not run.  I pulled her by the hand down York Avenue as fast as I could towards our apartment. 

"Mommy's friends may be hurt.  We have to go home to see if they are ok."

No one else on the street seemed upset.  I was trembling so hard I could hardly stay upright.  What was going on?  Bombs, or a gas explosion, at the finish?  I was trying to do the math.  When exactly would my friends have started the race?  What wave where they in? What time did the explosions happen?  What about all my friends who live in Boston and may have been cheering at the finish?  I just needed to get home and turn on the TV.

"Can I watch PBS," KZ asked as we walked in the door.
"Um, no.  Play on the computer."

I knew that would keep her occupied as I watched the TV.

The headline banner on ABC read, "Terror at the Boston Marathon".

Terror at the Boston Marathon ... These were not words that went together.  Boston Marathon and "qualifier", or "winners", or "finishers", but not "terror", or later "victims". 

Boston is the Olympics for the common person.  This is the race that every runner dreams of and for which every person in Boston comes out to cheer.  This was MY marathon.  My friends were there running with their small children cheering them on.  I sat there frozen watching the news.  No one knew anything at that point except that there were two confirmed dead and multiple serious injuries.  I did everything I could not to cry in front of KZ.  She's four.  She's happy.  She was cheering for me the day before as I ran a very crowded half marathon in Central Park.  How could something like this be happening? 

Later, that night, after she went to bed, I lost it.  I sat in the floor of my kitchen sobbing ... for the little children who were dead or forever maimed, for the families, literally blown apart, for the lost of innocence of running freely.  I was crying for how close some of my friends came to the explosions.  Two were in the finish line and saw it happen.  One past the explosions just after they happened and saw everything.  She then had to go home and explain as best she could to her eight year old son. 

As I sat there on the kitchen floor, I felt a soft little hand on my shoulder. 

"Mommy, I just want you to be happy." 

I hugged and kissed her, dried my tears, and walked her back to bed. 

I first ran Boston in 1999.  That year, the theme was Boston is Forever.  The world may have changed drastically since then, but Boston still is Forever.

The Gaynor School

     "How are you?"  asked Juliana, the Associate Director of Admissions at the Gaynor School.
     "Fine thank you.  And you?"  I responded.
     "Did you have a nice weekend?" She asked.
     "So far," I said.
     It was Monday morning and we were on the phone.  This woman was not my best friend.  She wasn't even my friend.  She didn't care about my weekend no more than I cared about hers.  The elephant on the phone was what she was going to tell me concerning KZ's application and play date interview. 
     KZ had her play date at the Gaynor School on the previous Thursday morning.  As she met with the director of the Early Education Center and one of the co-founders of the fifty year old school, and one other little girl, I was given a tour.  It was one of the most perfect schools I had seen, and I felt as if I had seen every school in New York City by that point.  The Gaynor School had just opened a new 50,000 square-foot building, in addition to the older building built in 2006 with 37,000 square-feet, where the Early Childhood Center would be located.  The stairs were designed especially for smaller children.  The floors were a special sound absorbing material.  The indoor lighting coupled with the natural lighting was soft and warm.  Each room had a special surround sound speaker system, so if the teacher turned her back to write on the smart board, the children would still hear a crisp clear voice.  The class size was ten children to two teachers who had masters in special education.  Occupational therapy, speech therapy, reading specialists, and math specials worked with children throughout the day so that when the school days was done, the kids could go home and play like everyone else.  The school was a special education school for average to above average children with speech delays.  This school was heaven ... heaven with a line a mile long of little children looking for a spot.  Specifically, approximately 500 children for 7 spots.  Would KZ get in?  It was perfect for her, but that didn't mean anything. 
     It has been a year-long journey to this school.  A year ago, we didn't even know that KZ was deaf.  Thirteen private school rejections later, we were terrified that KZ was going to get lost in the public school system.  Would she have honestly been lost?  I didn't know.  I did know that I would have worked day and night to get her the best services possible within and outside of the Department of Education's system. 
     "I hope the news I have to tell you will be good news for you," said Juliana.  "We would like to offer KZ a spot in our 2013-2014 year."
     "Yes, yes, oh definitely yes,"  I started to cry.
     "If you want to take some time and talk to your husband about it,"
     "No, really.  We've talked.  We'll take it.  This has been such a long process, but we truly feel that KZ will be in the best possible place at Gaynor.  Thank you."
     I hung up the phone crying tears of joy for the end of a very long journey into the school system ...  a school system journey which was just beginning.

Great Day!

Today is a great day. The world's Catholics have a new Pope, and I saw the first Mister Softie truck of the year!

KZ-isms

KZ was having her speech session on Tuesday night.  The therapist asked ...

"Mommy is not home.  The kids are at Grandmas.  Daddy is very tired.  Who cleaned the house?"

KZ answered, "The cleaning lady." 

That's my girl!

Decision Day

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

     "I wanted you to hear this from me first.  KZ did not get into any schools." 
     This came from the Director of KZ's preschool.  Two days later, the school decision letters were to be sent.  As I sat there, not surprised, but numb, she continued. 
     "They just don't feel that KZ is ready for kindergarten."
     "What does that even mean?" my husband asked.
     "She seemed a bit 'young' in her play date interview."
     "She is four.  What do they want her to do?" I asked.
     "She needs to walk in, raise her hand and say, 'Here I am.  What do you want to do first?  Here's how I can contribute.'"
     Again, I just sat there.  I don't know any adult who can just walk into a room full of strangers and do that, let alone a four year old.
     "Kids actually do that?" I asked.
     "Oh yes, and that is what they are looking for.  Now KZ is young.  Most of the kids are almost a year older than she is," the Director said.
     And that was true.  The cutoff date for public school is based on the calendar year.  KZ has a May birthday, so she would be right in the middle, age-wise.  However, the cutoff date for private school is May 31st.  Her May birthday makes her one of the youngest kids in the class.  And it showed.  Play date after play date, I saw it.  Kids sitting there looking as if they could quote Kant.  KZ could quote Elmo. 
    "The schools would like KZ to spend a year or two somewhere else, then have you apply later.  They really did love your family," the Director said.
     But all of this about her being too 'young' really came down to something they were not saying.  KZ had been deaf and was speech delayed.  No one wanted to take a chance on her until her speech was closer to perfect.  When KZ took her ERBs, the LSATs of private kindergarten in New York City, she scored a ninety-seven out of ninety-nine in non-verbal, and a fifty-three in verbal.  Fifty is suppose to be average.  I was thrilled to learn that the little deaf girl was "average" verbally after fewer than six months of full hearing.  Within minutes of the report coming out, I learned fifty-three was average and acceptable, say in Oklahoma, but not in New York City.  Her score needed to be in the nineties.  The schools saw this big discrepancy in verbal and non-verbal numbers as a red flag signalling that she may have had a learning disability.  As soon as we got the scores, we were advised to get a neuro psych evaluation done.  The eval as it was called, would tell if KZ had any issues, and if so, what to do about them. 
     We were off to meet with the doctor. 
     She was a lovely woman, whom KZ took to immediately.  They worked together for two full days, then the doctor observed KZ in school, met with everyone who ever worked with KZ from speech therapists to past teachers, and had an hour long meeting with my husband and me.  When it was done, we were presented with a report.  A report that we received a few hours after being told that KZ would not be getting into any schools.
     "I'm glad you are doing this now.  There are a few issues we can address and correct so that they will not be a problem later.  The good thing, there is nothing diagnostically wrong with KZ.  Everything is language based and stems from her hearing loss.  With the right support, she'll be on track within months," the doctor told us. 
     "We learned this morning that we did not get any school offers."
     "I'm not surprised.  The schools don't like to take a chance.  They don't like to ruin their stats.  Have you heard of the Stephan Gaynor School?" she said.
     "Yes, a few friends have sent their children there,"  I said.
    "It's a great place.  It's for average to above average intelligence children who have language based issues.  It would be perfect for her.  I don't think she'll need to go there more than a year or two.  It's something to look into."
     "What are some of the things we should be doing to help her now?" my
husband asked.
     "Well, her right brain skills are off the charts.  She is amazing, and I do mean amazing at math.  Her piano playing is advanced for her age, and she can do complex puzzles faster than I can give them to her.  Don't even give her these types of things any longer.  Read to her, talk to her, work with her on spelling.  These are the things that will get her scores up," the doctor said.
     My husband and I were both engineers.  We had spent our careers working with math and science.  When KZ was a tiny girl, we started working with math.  Letters, please, everyone knew their ABCs, but math was where I heard all the angst.  Math was our focus.  It was something that came easily to us.  Words and talking were not a priority.  The one thing I valued most was quiet time.  After a long day, I didn't want to hear anything, except the sound of my pencil scratching out a Sudoku puzzle. 
     Dinner that Wednesday consisted of cupcakes and scotch.

Thursday, February 7, 2013
     I spent the day explaining to everyone who called or emailed wishing us good luck, what had happened.

Friday, February 8, 2013
     The emails came out.  The first one was from Dalton and arrived at 4:20 am in my inbox.  I couldn't even open it.  I didn't want to start my morning that way.  Then Marymount's letter arrived at approximately 8:00 am.
     "The admissions committee at Marymount School has completed the challenging task of selecting Kindergarten students for the 2013-2014 school year. In this competitive environment, when the number of qualified applicants
far exceeds the number of available spots, we find ourselves having to wait list students who we would love to see at Marymount School. Such is the case with Kaylia."
     WHAT?  Did I read that correctly?  KZ was wait listed at our first choice school!  I began dancing and laughing. 
     "Mommy, what are you doing?" KZ asked me. 
     "Jeremy, Jeremy, we were wait listed at Marymount!" I shouted as I ran to his home office to tell him.
     "What?  Wait listed?  Yippee!" my husband said.
     "Mommy and Daddy, why are you so happy?" KZ asked.
     "Because we love you so much, sweetheart."
     We got two more surprises that day.  We were also wait listed for Trevor and Hewitt. 
     My first phone call was to the neuro psych doctor.
     "Do you think that KZ can be successful at any of these three schools if we get an offer?" I asked.
     I wanted the truth.  I wanted above all else for my daughter to be successful and love school.  I did not want her to be frustrated and end up hating school altogether because we pushed her too hard.
     "Trevor and Hewitt have excellent reading specialists.  I'm not familiar with Marymount.  But yes, I do think, with the right support, she will be successful at any of these schools if she starts there in Kindergarten next fall."
     Now, we wait.

ID, Please

In the past, I got carded for beer.   In the present, I get carded for children's Sudafed. 

I had heard that people got carded for Sudafed, but I was a little surprised, and unprepared, when I went to pick up something for KZ's cough.  After speaking with the pharmacist, he told me that Sudafed was what she needed, but that I needed an ID.  I had just come back from running, with only my business card, a credit card, and $20 in cash on me. 

"Will my business card and credit card work?"  I asked.

 "No, I need a state issued ID.  I have to scan the bar code," he said.

 "Ok, I'll be back," I said.

 I returned about thirty minutes later, presented my ID and watched while he scanned it and entered all types of information into the computer.  I wondered to myself if bars actually go through such a process to ID people before they enter. 

 Then I started thinking about the numbers.  Meth labs are the reason why Sudafed is locked up.  People would buy it by the case, use simple chemistry to break out the meth, then make a bundle selling it.  But, how many people die from meth each year? It must have been a lot for such a public outcry to force Sudafed behind a locked counter.  Then I thought how many die from car accidents, which may or may not be caused by a drunk driver?  How many die from guns?  

I decided to do a little research.  Mind you, my research consisted of Google, so is not scientific, but I had to know.

 According to what I could find on meth, the last year there were records on the subject was 1998.  The number was 500 people.  I did see a few other sources that said 1,000 people, but nothing was exact.  

 Car accidents were the first leading cause of accidental death in the country, followed by gun violence.  According to a Forbes article I read, 

 http://www.forbes.com/sites/robwaters/2012/07/24/gun-violence-the-public-health-issue-politicians-want-to-ignore/

"gun violence is a public health issue, and a big one. In the 10 years from 2000 through 2009, more than 298,000 people died from gunshots in the U.S., about 30,000 people a year. If you exclude natural causes of death and consider only deaths caused by injury, it is the second-leading cause of death over that time span; only car accidents (417,000) killed more people. (These numbers come from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.)"      

 So I ask you who go to clubs, do you have to present your ID, have it scanned, and the bouncer enter information on the computer, before you are allowed in?  One would think this would make sense with an average of 30,000 people dying in car accidents a year?  And those of you who buy guns, I know at gun shows, they don't even do a back ground check.  How much information do you have to give to buy a gun?

 I truly feel something is beyond screwed up in our country when a person has to go through more to prevent her daughter from coughing, than a drunk driver has to do before getting into a car, or crazy person has to do before buying a gun.  Now, what is a mother to do?  I'm not certain, but I do want to make a change.  Not necessarily to stop Sudafed from being locked up, but to make it harder to drink and drive, or shoot and kill.  

 

 

 

A Few Funny KZ-isms

Last week, KZ and I were with one of her friends.  The girls were running down the sidewalk on Central Park South playing Red Light/Green Light.  The girls, both 4, stopped to look at a man dressed as the Statue of Liberty.  I know these guys want money, and can get kind of nasty if you don't give it to them.

"Girls, let's not talk to the Statue of Liberty," I said.
 
KZ just rolled her eyes.

"Mom that is not the Statue of Liberty.  That is a man pretending to be the Statue of Liberty," she said. 

They then continued with their game of Red Light/Green Light. 

I guess they told me.

______


It's been cold here in New York City -- Chicago cold.  The temps have been in the low teens with wind chills sub zero.  I wanted her to wear her coat, boats, hat, scarf, and mittens.  She did not. 

"KZ, please put on your mittens," I said, while negotiating with her to put then on.

"Mommy, it is not mittens, it is MIT-TINS. Make sure you say the T's and the final S,"  she said.

I just started cracking up.  Soon she is going to be correcting my pronunciation of everything.

Speech therapy is paying off.

______


Every now and then KZ still has a night time accident.  I needed to wash her sheets the other day.  While I was putting the sheets in the laundry, she asked me why.

"You wet the bed, Honey.  I need to wash the sheets."

"I didn't wet the bed," she said.

"Oh, really, then who did?"

She thought about it for a minute.

"Jake."

"Really, Jake, not Kaycee?"

Jake is our male Shih Tzu and Kaycee is our female Shih Tzu.

"Mommy, Kaycee has a bad knee.  She couldn't have climbed the ladder up to my bunk bed.  It had to be Jake,"

I loved the logic.

______