Listen: A Love Letter to Ladybug

I've decided to ease my transition back into blogging by joining up with Five Minute Friday. The prompt this week is "listen" and this is my love letter to Ladybug, who is experiencing undue frustration with one of her speech therapists.

I’m so sorry, Bug.

I know how frustrating it is to not be able to communicate your wishes. To not be heard. Adding insult to injury, now we’ve gone and changed all the rules to this tremulous language. I want you to know that we’re still listening. I want you to know that it’s okay to be mad. To pout and shout and tell us, however you need to, that we have it wrong.

I still remember the first time you refused me. I offered you all the usual favorites. You turned your head “no” to each book, so much that I had to double-check that, yes, you did want to read. Just not those. When it finally clicked, and I remembered the story we had started in another classroom, hours before, I was awestruck. “Yes!” Your little arm shot up, as though you had been ready for this moment, confident that I would eventually understand. I was honored that you trusted me enough to say “no.”

Thank you for your patience. Thank you for trusting me to listen. Please, please don’t stop trying. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, my friend, but we’re going to get through this. If there is one thing you have taught me over the past few months, it’s that everyone’s voice deserves to be heard. (Even my own. Even though I sing off-key and can’t remember the words.) So I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make people LISTEN. Also? I will continue to do a little victory dance every time you defy expectations. You go girl.

Love and admiration,

Katy

Ordinary

Well, I’m not living under a bridge. So there’s that.

Naturally, I did the one thing I swore up and down that I would never do, for my own sanity and general wellbeing: I moved back home. Life is … ordinary. In a walk-the-dog, do-the-laundry, take-the-car-for-inspection sort of way. Nothing you want to hear about.

I’m not sure where I’m going from here – with the blog, I mean, and life in general. But the important part, Glennon says, is to show up. I decided to start with a Five Minute Friday post. It won’t make any sense unless you first know where I am these days.

I work one-on-one with a very special little girl. Ladybug has a dazzling smile and thrives on social interaction. Her second favorite thing, besides people, is music: making it, listening to it, dancing along with it. You see, her ears work better than her eyes. Ladybug has cortical vision impairment, among other things, including spastic quadriplegia. I’m not sure if I even knew what those words meant six months ago. Nor do I know if they’ll still mean the same thing to me six months from now. Ladybug has come so far this past year; who knows what other surprises she has in store.

Ladybug reminds me every day to live in the present. This moment, right here, is sacred. We are growing, we are learning, we are loving. She has shown me the power in vulnerability, the joy of connection and the grace in asking for help. That last one is monumental. I’ve never been much of a team player; “group project” used to just mean that I had to write extra names at the top of my paper. I hold independence as one of my highest ideals. Just ask my dear roommates; Jo is forever teasing me about not allowing boys to open doors or carry groceries.

However, Ladybug forced me to realize that I can’t do it all. Her therapists are gracious enough to model humility and cooperation for me. It is physically impossible for the PT to safely stabilize Ladybug while reaching for a tool or toy across the room. It is cumbersome, not to mention distracting, for the speech therapist to record data while she works. So they ask me. I’m happy to fetch, to interpret, to scribe. And it makes it that much easier when the tables are turned, and I am sitting with Bug at circle time or quizzing her in our little work corner, to ask for what we need.

So. I’m asking for help. I’m singing in public. (It’s like living in a poorly orchestrated musical. But it brings Ladybug joy.) I’m driving an hour a day, sometimes without even bothering to turn the GPS on. And it is all quite extraordinarily ordinary.

Now Hiring: Trolls

It is incredibly disconcerting to go to an interview and be asked what you will do if you don’t get a job. Not just “if we don’t hire you” or “what are your other options.” But rather “let’s say, hypothetically, that you can’t find any job at all. What will you do?”

Um. Move into a cardboard box under a bridge?

Of course I didn’t say that. I said something about substitute teaching at home or taking on temporary work until the school year starts. I highlighted the fact that graduating early gives me extra time so, although not many places are hiring mid-year, I am willing to wait and work towards a position at a school I really love.

They don’t know this, but their school is actually the only one I’ve applied to. (Yes, I realize how irresponsible that sounds. But I’ve been so busy with 23 credits this semester that I haven’t properly started job searching yet.) I loved their program so much, I wanted them to have my resume on file. Then, lo and behold, they actually had openings!

If I got this job? I would be over the moon. I love the student population, the teachers, the atmosphere and the incredible professional development opportunities. The fact that they invited me back for a second interview means they agree I could be a good fit for their program, despite being younger and less experienced than some of their applicants. I don’t have a portfolio or a five-year plan. I’m also not really stellar at interviewing. (Unless you’re hiring me to weave verbal responses out of spun sugar, this might not be the best way to highlight my strengths.)

I sincerely hope that my lack of professionalism won’t prevent them from seeing the very real interest and dedication I have to their work. If I’m not a good fit for this program, though? I know I will find the right place for me. And I’m fairly confident that it won’t be under a bridge.