The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow, A Mom's Review

Half a chapter into reading this book, and I knew it would become near and dear to my heart. The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow is a Magical Realism novel about a baby born unable to speak, but with the most incredible gift of hearing. Bonaventure can hear color, dust falling off a moth's wing, the spirit of his deceased father, and the history of inanimate objects, such as the story of a pencil's graphite before being mined. As a toddler, Bonaventure tried to immitate the sounds and mouth movements of adults, but he soon gave it up in favor of listening, because silence was a much better teacher than speech. His father's spirit explained that it wouldn't be good for everyone to know just how accute Bonaventure's hearing was, so once he was old enough to learn sign language and write, he never let on that he could hear so much.

This book is written in a descriptively beautiful language, and even though it's Bonaventure's story, I kept being reminded of my Emmett, who is definitely not silent, but has a speech delay. I'd like to share a particular paragraph that I absolutely loved: 

Dancy Arrow had been traveling the road of her son's missing speech for quite a while, and her feelings on the matter ran in circles. Her main concern was for his safety, since without a voice he couldn't call for help. And it was a source of sadness to her that Bonaventure would never be able to sing. She also felt sorry for herself because of all theat she missed out on: no baby cooing, no cries of delight, no laugther, no questioning why, and no hearing him call her mama. She felt selfish for those feelings, and ashamed, and so forced herself to call to mind all that she did receive from Bonaventure's silence: the need to look into each other's eyes, his busy little hands, the language of his face.

My Emmett is definitely vocal; he babbled nonstop as a baby, shrieks with joy, and has the best, most contagious giggle-laugh. He also has a speech delay, which began as mild and has grown to moderate. This means communication is very hands-on and in-your-face: lots of pointing, gestures, repetition, facial expression, and eye contact. It definitely has its challenges, but more often than not I am amazed and how much Em can communicate with less than 50 words.

When he was just over 2 years old I bought him a water table that came with rubber ducks and frogs... the usual bathtub toys. He "helped" me build it and we set it up outside for him to play. Earlier that month we had bought 2 little frogs for his fish tank, and with his extremely limited language and dragging me back and forth and holding up the toy frog next to his eyes he let me know that the plastic frogs were the same animal as the living frogs in the fish tank even though they look nothing alike. And I was so pleased and proud that he went to great lengths to show me the meaning of the word "same". Over time he has developed his own sign for the word same: two index fingers next to each other pointing up.

The biggest reason I love The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow is that it made me see Emmett's speech delay not as a detriment, but as a gift. I have come to find such joy in his piercing eye contact, with beautiful brown eyes that have a smile all of their own. I love his need for constant motion and the way he explores the world with his whole body. I am secretly proud of his cautious nature; the way he observes and learns and processes nonstop. I love being able to speak complex sentences and see complete understanding in his face, and a determination to be independent. I love his busy little hands using tools and performing tasks which require fine motor skills well above his age. I beam with pride when yet another speech therapist compliments his attention span and desire to learn. I love to see him move at full speed; arms outstretched and little legs pounding the pavement and a shriek of laughter exploding from his lips.
I love my baby boy, and even though his speech delay causes hold-ups here and there, I wouldn’t change him for the world.

2017: The Year of Better Health

Edit: pics aren’t showing up, must fix this... sometime before I die.

I love New Year's Day because I tend to love the magic of new beginnings. I love a clean slate and the possibilities it offers, so I always have a carefully listed and numbered set of goals to achieve. This year, however, I forewent my beloved list because I had one main idea to tackle: fix your body and improve your health. This was not mesurable or goal-oriented, which kind of threw me off balance, but it has been my mantra for quite a few months. In the back of my mind I titled 2017 as "The Year Of Better Health," which has led me to check off several to-do's that I'd been putting off for ages. They are as follows:

1. I kicked off 2017 by getting LASIK Eye Surgery along with my brother Chris. It was unplanned, spur of the moment, and made 100% possible because of Chris. [His entire life is rather "unplanned and spur-of-the-moment"] I received a text from him saying "I'm getting LASIK next week!" and well... that got the ball rolling. Our entire conversation sounded very much like "Hey, I'm getting a drink, would you like one too?" "Sure, I'll take a drink, thanks!" (You can substitute drink with the word LASIK). He also proved to be my benefactor, because, of course, eye surgery cost was more than the usual pocket-chage amount I have available on any given day. And he allowed me to pay him back without hurry or interest. What a nice guy. (For the curious, LASIK in the U.S. with good insurance: $3,000. LASIK in Mexico at a moment's notice: $1,400)

So let me just say that the experience was TERRIFYING. The whole procedure only lasted about 20 minutes, but it was the most horrifying 20 minutes of my life. Every instict yells at you "BLINK! CLOSE YOUR EYES! MOVE AWAY!" and you have to just sit there and let a bright lazer burn off the messed-up part of you eye, and you can smell it. You can smell frying eyeball. And you lay there on purpose. It is also necessary to go blind for a couple of minutes while it's happening. *shivers*

Wewh, so glad that's never happening again. Big risks reap high rewards sometimes, and this was certainly the case here. I have worn glasses since I was 12, and contacts since I was 15, and they've been a royal pain in the butt the entire time. Even now, almost a whole year later, I lay in bed every night and thank my lucky stars that I don't have to get up to take my contacts off. I am grateful every single day for the gift of sight, and for the advancement of science which made it possible.

2. Fast-forward a few months to the most dreaded part of the Year Of Better Health: It was time to get my wisdom teeth pulled. Now, I know most people get these pulled before getting braces, or sometime in the teenage years, but #1, I'd never had health insurance until a couple of years after mariage and #2, I'm a huge cry baby when it comes to dental stuff. I haven't had a very good dental history (I blame the no health insurance issue) and for the past several years (as in, 5+ years) I've complained about my wisdom teeth hurting. The bottom 2 were fully impacted (see picture for reference) and were pushing against the rest of my teeth, which hurt plus screwed up anything my braces had fixed. I opted to be fully sedated, because duh, who wants to be awake while big, fat, gloved fingers are drilling away breaking stuff in there?

I knew I'd feel absolutely nothing during the procedure (I was 100% asleep) but I was really really not looking forward to the chipmunk-cheecks swelling I'd have the next day. I have fat cheecks because, well, I have fat everything, and I didn't want to imagine how much fatter they'd look after the surgery. Way to go, Mr. Oral Surgeon, because I had very little swelling, and thanks to the generous supply of hydrocodone, very little pain as well. Even now I still doubt he removed the two top ones because I had almost no bleeding (I pulled out unstained, saliva-soaked bandages) and absolutely no pain or swelling up there. The bottom two are a different story. Bye bye blood clots, because I got dry socket on those. I had these huge holes big enough to fit my pinky in, and Chris swears he could see my jawbone. They took forever to heal, and during those weeks either my mom or Chris had to syringe-pressure-wash them out after every meal (yeah, it was gross, now I will never doubt their love). Bless their hearts. Thanks guys.

I really have had zero dental issues since then. I've opted to get my teeth cleaned every 4 months instead of the recommended 6 (idk, I guess I'm trying to make up for all those times I skipped the dentist in the past?) and well... nothing to report. Finally no pain. Brush and floss guys.

3. Do you know what the "W" position of sitting on the ground is? See picture for reference, thats my adorable son who sits just like me. Last "big thing" to take care of during the Year of Better Health was this weird noise halfway between clicking and popping that my right knee made every time I extended it. It wasn't painful, just odd, like that noise shouldn't be there. It had been there, doing its thing for several years, and I would have probably just left it alone for the rest of my life, until one day it just became painful, and the next day more painful, and the next and the next until I couldn't walk right and my entire leg would swell up, mostly above the knee. I had a stash of leftover hydrocodone from getting my teeth pulled, and I popped those suckers like candy because the pain was so bad. Philip even had to come home from Louisiana during the middle of one week to take care of me. I finally dragged myself to an orthopedic surgeon, who sent me to get an MRI, and... turns out my meniscus was torn.

I always thought the pain was worse at night because I'd been walking/running/crawling/climbing around after my toddler all day, but I learned that easy movement was better for it. So when I lay still trying to sleep at night, it would swell and the pain increase.

Guess what the fix was? A steroid shot. In my knee. I used to be a big crybaby about needles, and then during pregnancy I got poked so often it just dissipated into nothing, but I swear, I would have run out of that ortho's office had my leg been in a functioning condition. I was scared but trying to play it cool, plus I'd left my brother behind with a napping Emmett in the car, so I didn't want to make them wait too long. That shot was the easiest thing ever! And seconds after it was over lady ortho made me hop off the exam table. Hop off onto both feet! It worked that quickly! It was slightly painful, like it hadn't taken full effect yet, but I marched right out of that office and have been walking fine ever since. It was an awkward walk, I'd been limping for almost a month and it's like I forgot how to walk properly.

And so that concludes any imporant-ish health issues I fixed in 2017. There's more things I need to address, mainly headache-related, but I've decided to call it a met resolution.

Cheers all!

-Dam.

Goodbye Again

It's been almost 12 months of P working away from us, from home, and although the monthly goodbyes have gotten smoother, they have not gotten easier. A thought crossed my mind as I walked him out to his truck today, carrying his work boots.

It's like when you get a cold and your nose is all stuffy, and you have to breathe through your mouth at night to get some sleep, and it takes FOREVER to fall asleep because your body is like "Wait, that's not right, that's not how it goes. This is not the normal, perfectly measured amount of air we normally intake as we sleep, and I don't like it so I'm going to stay awake until it gets fixed."
Technically, everything is fine with your body. You're not dying. You're not asphixiating. Respiration goes as normal. The only difference is that your nose is clogged up and booger-y, so your mouth is open and drooly and your throat gets dry from the constant inhaling and exhaling. But thats NOT how it's supposed to go, dammit. Then you think about how ungrateful you've been every night of your life for never thanking your nose for supplying you with perfect amount of air to fall asleep to.

When P is home, I can finally use my nose again. We fall into completeness, and we get to living. And the days pass by so damn fast that I forget to be grateful that both mouth and nose are available to breathe.

And then the weekend is over, and it's time to say goodbye again, and time to settle down and re-learn how to live without a nose. Life goes on pause, existing but not truly living. Of course, E makes it much livelier than it's been in the past, but he misses daddy too. One day, hopefully sooner than later, we will all live in the same zip code and it will be amazing.

Sincerely,
Perpetual Mouthbreather

The Attitude of Toddlers

A toddler does not fall down 100 times and think "maybe walking isn't for me."

I saw this quote on Pinterest and knew it was the epitome of my intrepid son. Today as I tried to feed him dinner with the least amount of distractions possible, he reached his little arm across the table as far as it would go to grab the spoon. It was clearly several inches too far away, yet he never desisted and he never thought "maybe it's just too far beyond my reach". This action is repeated far and wide many many times throughout the day, and today I had quick moment of reflection.

It's so hard being a toddler. It's hard to communicate, it's hard to walk quickly, it's hard to carry things, grown-ups don't always want to play, and you hardly ever get your way. This in no way deters my Emmett from trying and trying and trying some more. He never thinks "I can't go as fast as my mom" or "I can't walk down the stairs" or "I can't reach my snacks" or "I can't possibly catch this cat." He can't do a lot of things, but he doesn't know it. He just keeps on trying with everything he's got to reach his goal, and never gives up, even when there's no hope.

Maybe this is just a personality trait of my particular toddler (he's dangerously stubborn) or maybe it's part of growing up and all babies are this way, but wouldn't it be something if all adults had the same bravery and single-mindedness towards their goals? What if I had never thought "chemistry is too hard, I'll take it next semester" 3 years in a row? What if I had never said "there is no way they'll consider my application, I'm just a college grad with no experience." Or even now, what if I stop thinking "I can't go to grad school and be a full-time mom" and just do it like Emmett would: with a can-do and no-fear-of-failure attitude?

I must go chase after my little hurricane now, but he's certainly given me a lot to think about, and a lot to live up to.

My favorite mom thing

Somebody asked "what is your favorite part about being a mom?" and I found it hard to give a simple, straight-forward answer. I know the answer, but it sort of deserves an entire essay devoted to it. Here goes:

Philip and I are first-time parents and we are as clueless as they come. If I'm being honest, I think P had racked up more minutes of kid experience just because in the short 3-ish years I've known him, he's never been shy about asking to hold or play with someones kid. Mom confession #1: the first time I ever held a baby for longer than 5 minutes was when Emmett was born and my nurse ushered everyone out of the room, and so he finally stopped getting passed around for pictures and was plopped onto my chest. That kind of tells you how little experience I had with babies. (I've never babysat in my life either) The word "novice" is an understatement.

That being said, we have a lot of "firsts" in our family. First diaper change, first bath, first throw up, first full-night sleep... that sort of stuff. P works oil field, so it's not uncommon for him to be out of town half the time. Thus far, we have been blessed in that his jobs have been local and we all get to be together when he comes home from work, so I usually shove Emmett into his arms as soon as he walks through the door. Most of the time I get about 20 minutes of freedom before I hear the words "hey babe, come look at this!" and of course I have to come running before I miss the big event. 

The big event is something different every time, and to regular people it will seem like completely useless, mundane stuff, but to a first time mom it is the highlight of every day. 

My favorite part about being a mom is how everything is such a big deal: Emmett smiling at something random, Emmett laughing, Emmett trying to sit up, Emmett rolling over, Emmett falling over because he sneezed, Emmett snoring, Emmett holding his bottle by himself, Emmett sitting on his own, Emmett correctly putting his pacifier into his mouth, Emmett's reaction to being on Venom (our dog)... everything is so NEW! I love how I get to share this every day with P and how it's such a high priority for us to witness every single "first" there could possibly be. Our reactions range from "awww" and a smile to "Oh-My-Gosh-Quick-Take-A-Picture-And-Send-It-To-Everyone!" but they're always a big deal. We interrupt TV shows, video games, dinner, phone calls, household chores, naps... I've even walked out mid-shower because I had to "babe, come look" at something. Our precious boy takes priority over everything in our life, and even if we make a million first-timers mistakes by the time he's old enough to read this, I hope we can make up for it with our love, devotion and enthusiasm at being able to raise him as our son..

4 Months Old: Paused mid-roll to eat his hand and sat there for 5 minutes

5 Months Old: First time wearing a 12-month outfit which fit perfectly

Open Letter To My Little Brother

Dear Christian,

Now that you're back from your mission, I need to take advantage and tell you all of the things I didn't know how to say before you left. I know you will soon embark on your next adventure because you are too full of life to stay anywhere for too long, and you won't be afraid to take risks and run wildly into whatever the future has in store for you.

On the day you were born, not only was I blessed with a best friend, but also with someone who added color, spice, and meaning to my life. As a new mother, I have spent countless hours rocking my baby at night, and even though everyone says he looks just like me, all I see is you. When Emmett was born, memories I didn't know I had rose to the surface, and even though I was only 4 years old when mom placed you in my arms, I remember what I felt because it is exactly what I feel as I hold my son. The overwhelming urge to protect, to care for, to nurture, and to be whatever you needed me to be was present even back then, and as a little girl I wanted to shield you from any danger that came your way. As an adult, not much has changed in that respect.

I don't know when the hell this happened, but you're grown up now. I thought you would be my baby brother forever, but you've just spent 2 years in remote African villages, you speak 5 languages, and you have touched the lives of countless people. At 21 years old you have had crazier life experiences than most of the people I know, and I could not be more proud of you for that. My "protection" is the last thing you need, so instead, I offer my full support.

I want you to be wild and reckless. I want to get a 2am phone call because you lost your wallet during your impromptu cross-country road trip and you're stuck on the side of the road somewhere in Nebraska fending off a badger. I want you to show up at my door on a random Thursday looking for a place to stash your motorcycle so mom won't know about it. I want to wake up one morning to find that you and three friends have snuck in through the side window and are sitting at my kitchen table eating all of my cereal. I want you to call me on the 31st of the month saying you don't have money for rent tomorrow. I want you to drop off a basked full of horned lizards telling me they're the remains of a biology project gone horribly wrong. Whatever it is you need, I'll be here with open arms or an open wallet or an open fridge, depending on what's appropriate at the time. Never be afraid to ask for help, and never be afraid that it's too much... that's what I'm here for. I promise you my lifelong loyalty, devotion, respect, encouragement, advice, and unconditional love.

Someday, you'll meet a girl. Someday soon, because you're too damn charismatic and likable for your own good. Girls have been attached to you from the moment you entered High School, and it's a wonder you survived girlfriendless for almost two years. Teenagers are supposed to be painfully awkward, but I guess nobody told you because you never were. You've returned no longer a teenager, and have got way too much swagger and you're not holding back, so girls beware.
I need you to know that it's different this time. You're not juts looking for a girlfriend, you're looking for someone who has the potential to be a lot more permanent than that. Like, eternity kind of permanent. Even though you've just spent 2 years teaching others about that eternity, it's going to be scary as hell when you think you've found your own. It's okay to be scared. Actually, I want you to be scared. I want you to be cautious, calculating, and to really ponder and pray about what you're doing when you think you've found her. Right this second, I feel like no girl out there is good enough for my baby brother, but I know that's not really true. I know that you're way too important for God not to have someone freaking special out there for you to find. Go get her, and I'll sit here and try really hard not to be envious of your time. And remember, don't look for perfect or else you'll never find her. Look past "perfect" and find the potential for eternal happiness instead.

Lastly, I want to say Thank You. Thank you for 21 years of redundant inside jokes. Thank you for sharing that particular sense of humor that I have only ever found in you. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for keeping my secrets and allowing me to keep yours. Thank you for changing the oil in my car. Thank you for that one time you tried to teach me how to drive stick and we failed. Thank you for being super enthusiastic about food. Thank you for wearing that dress shirt at my wedding, even though you said you looked like a goldfish. Thank you for those 3 hours of driving around town getting sidetracked Harold and Kumar style even though we were just going to buy strawberries. Thank you for 108 P-Day emails, no matter how boring they got towards the end. Thank you for letting me be Kirby every single time we played Super Smash Bros. Thank you for the high-pitched singing of "Hey, Soul Sister" during the time your voice was changing. Thank you for introducing me to Lindsey Sterling and The Piano Guys. Thank you for being my support system when I want to vent and not making a big deal about it. Thank you for getting kicked out of band in high school, because it makes such a good story. Thank you for being straight up honest and never sugarcoating things. Thank you because no matter how annoying I became, the worst thing I ever got out of you was a "Dammit Damaris." Thank you for teaching me that even the most unpleasant jobs, like cleaning out the chicken coop, are made bearable if you have someone doing it along with you. Thank you for teaching me how to properly smile at a camera by demonstrating how to "show your teeth". Thank you for hundreds of "awkward hugs" that really aren't awkward at all. Thank you because your favorite "letter" is "the squiggly next to the 1" (~) and that always makes me freaking smile like an idiot. Thank you for always making me use a butter knife on butter. Thank you for killing cockroaches for me. Thank you for serving a mission. Thank you for being humble, friendly, outgoing, and never taking life too seriously. Thank you for being the kind of person that I hope to mold my son around someday. Thank you for letting us choose you, and for choosing us to be your family.

Welcome home, lil buddy.
Love always,
-d.

Chris' (unfinished) Mission Pics Video

Chris Mission Pics Vid - Kizoa Online Movie Maker