Child Life Month

The month of March is designated as "Child Life Month," a time for Child Life Specialists to promote, educate and celebrate their profession. Here is a poem for you, adapted from a poem written by Steve Slowinski)

I am not a nurse, a doctor or social worker.

I am not the Keeper of Toys, or the magical “make-this-kid-not-cry” person.

I am not just someone to play with the kids.

I am not superfluous.

I am a teacher, a helping hand, a support, an advocate.

I am an active listener, a therapeutic touch and a child development expert.

Every single day.

I am an Or prep-er, an IV teacher,

A de-coder of PICC, VCUG, MRI and NG,

A distraction provider, an inpatient support,

And a guide and voice for siblings.

All in the same day.

I am calm despite cancer, CAT scans and catheters.

I am strong in the face of syncope, sickle cell and surgery.

I am flexible and go where I’m needed,

Because children can’t always be flexible

About when they’re going to freak.

I am a Child Life Specialist.

When kids say they can’t, I tell them they can.

(Guest Blogger Matthew) Passing a Bluff Check

We play a particular game a lot called "I'm Going to Get There First." The title is pretty self-explanatory but what can I say, it gets the manbeast places in a happy and fast way and has really shorted out some imminent tantrums.

Anyway we took Teresa to work this morning and we get back to the apartment complex. We're headed to our building, and once we are at the sidewalk, I initiate IGTGTF. And I'm keeping a couple paces in front of him for the stretch, as I usually do, planning on coming up slow at the end, as per usual. He's a couple paces behind and says in his "I am not having fun" voice, "No, Daddy, I have to hold your hand." I assent, slow to a walk and hold out my hand. For his part, he briefly clasps my hand before tugging back on it and rocketing forward at a full run, leaving me behind. So... hello deception.

Why Are You Going to Work, Mommy?

This morning, I was getting ready for work, putting on my coat and shoes, grabbing my travel mug of coffee, when Malcolm inevitably asks me, "Mommy, where are you going?"

This is almost a ritual, these days. He asks where I'm going, and I tell him, "I'm going to work." He usually responds by asking me "you're going to work?" as if to verify that he's truly understood. But today, he instead asks me:

"Why are you going to work, Mommy?"

This is an important question, and the first time he's asked. So I put down my coffee, and sat down next to him on the couch. "There are some kids at the hospital who are sick, or hurt," I told him. "Sometimes they feel sad or scared, and it's my job to help them feel better."

He looked at me with such a serious face, clearly thinking about what I had just said. He then nodded, and told me, "Mommy, I want to come with you and help."

And Now a Word From our Guest Blogger

Hello Mommy's Blog Readers!

I'm going to write about my brothers. I have three brothers. They live with my B-Ma. (B-Ma is my name for my birthmom.)

I have one big brother. His name is Nahlo. In the picture, he's holding the baby. I have two little brothers, too. Noah is a year younger than me. Now there's Baby Michael, too.

My new brother is too little to play. But Nahlo and Noah and I like to play toys, and chase and giggle.

We like to eat pudding, too.

I like to play at B-ma's house with my brothers. I love my brothers very much.

- Malcolm Schoell

(guest writer)

An Invitation

In yesterday's mail, we found an envelope hand addressed to our son. Matthew and Malcolm sat down together on the couch to open it. It was an invitation to our friend's birthday party. Matthew read each word aloud to Malcolm, pointing to each word as he went.

Malcolm then carried the invitation around all night, and would climb first into my lap, then Matthew's in turn, and point to each word, and recite the invitation from memory, making up words when he couldn't remember them, and occasionally asking us "Uh, what comes next?"

I can't tell if he's more excited to be invited to a party? To have received mail addressed to him? Or to "read" it to us, as we read it first to him?

More Photo Catch Up

Photo Catch Up Time!

I've been quite lax, lately, about blogging and posting pictures. Bad Teresa, no biscuit. So, over the next week, please enjoy my pictures catch up days. Let's start with these, take last month at the storybook exhibit at our local museum.

Malcolm never pulled the sword from the stone . . . but you gotta admire his sincere efforts!