Lip Gloss & Cup Holders

I found this in old files…a recap of Britni’s 16th birthday party in 2008.  I can’t believe so much time has passed since then, as I remember this day so vividly.

 

Lip Gloss and Cup Holders

Ahh…another good day. Britni’s party was haphazardly thrown together, which is so out of the ordinary for me. I’m usually planning and shopping six months in advance for Britni’s birthday parties, but because of some recent life-changing events, this one was “planned” in less than a week.

And a good one it turned out to be.

lip gloss cupholders birthdayHer cake was yellow with buttercream frosting–green with yellow trim and a monkey on it. I had them write beside the monkey, “Goin’ Bananas!! Britni is 16!” (I love silly cakes…her 10th birthday she was hooked on the song “Old MacDonald’s Farm” so I had them put ‘E-I-E-I-O my! Britni is 10!’) The banana idea is because…well…she loves bananas! And of the few words she can kind of say, “Banana” is one of them, only she leaves off the “b”.

What did she get?

Ready for summer and ice cream!

She now has $151 and $26 in Dairy Queen bucks. I bought her a too cute tankini in orange and yellow that has orange slices all over it–it even has a sarong. From others she received a life jacket, a monkey beach towel, some bath gel in “Cherry Kiwi” scent, shampoo in coconut scent, a personal, handheld fan w/foam blades to use while she lounges by her pool, bathtub markers, sassy pjs in pink and black leopard print, and some much needed t-shirts. So happy about the DQ bucks…she knows where every Dairy Queen is within a thirty mile radius. We pass one of them after church on Sundays, and yes, more often than not, she gets an ice cream cone–vanilla, dipped in chocolate.

So much activity in my living room and kitchen for about four hours–kids playing with balloons, party horns being blown, squeals of laughter and inquiries for more cake and ice cream. In the midst of it all I looked over to the couch and saw Briana and Britni sitting together. Briana is nine…she told me last year that when Britni grows up, she and her friend Jordon were going to take care of her. “She is going to live with US because she can’t have a boy taking care of her!” Briana proudly announced.

BFFs

I noticed Briana taking the lid off Brit’s new sparkly lip gloss. I thought she would swipe some on her lips, but instead, she said, “Turn around here Britni, let me put some lip gloss on you.” Of course Britni did. Seeing that 9 year old putting lip gloss on my 16 year old’s lips warmed my heart more than one could ever know. While boys roughhoused in the floor bonking each other in the head with balloons and girls sat prissily on the couches, I was making sure guests had plenty to drink and had had all the cake and ice cream they wanted. Britni always seemed to have a friend sitting on either side of her, sometimes they were hugged up and showing off huge smiles while flashes from cameras illuminated the room.

A couple times I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Where is Britni’s drink?” one of her little girlfriends would ask. I’d hunt it down and hand it to them and they’d carry it to her and hold it while she sipped. (Britni can hold her own cup, but I didn’t want to deny them the opportunity to feel so needed by telling them she can do it herself. And to be honest, I think Britni herself allows others to help her that way because she knows it’s helping THEM feel important.)

Different, but wonderful

Her sweet sixteen. If she was a “typical” child she’d be talking about learner’s permits and cars and dates and dances at school and thoughts on where to apply to college next year. Some wonder, “Don’t you miss seeing her do all that?” In a word–no. I can’t miss what I’ve never experienced. My witnessing moments like I did today–the lip gloss on her lips, the cup-holding for her, the green, plastic bead necklace that she chose to wear with her black and white blouse with red patent leather belt–those things more than make up for it.

Yes…another good day.

You can read more about Britni here.
 

Welcome To The World, Queen B

Welcome To The World

25 years is 9131 days (have to figure in leap years, of course.)  25 years is a quarter of a century. 25 years have passed since I lay in a hospital bed in Roanoke terrified of delivering my baby because I’d been told she wouldn’t survive birth.  At 6:37 p.m., as Charlie Daniels played at Victory Stadium during Festival in the Park, she met this world as a whopping 8 lb. 13-ounce bundle of sweetness that smelled like cake and looked like Don King with her cap of hair.  It stood up on her head like the hair on those troll dolls from the 1960’s.

She looked like she had apples in her cheeks.  I was told it was because of hypotonia (low muscle tone)—I didn’t care.  I just wanted to kiss them.

Extended Childhood

25 years.  That’s how much time I have had so far being the Queen’s Omma.  We travel.  We shop.  We laugh.  We watch Barney (still) and we swing.  We laugh so hard her one eye closes & no sound comes out.  We enjoy life.  We love watching “Good Times” together (she loves her some J. J.  DYN-O-MITE!)  And we love DQ.

Oh, how our town needs a DQ.

She’s my perpetual kindergartener–even younger in some ways.  But that’s okay.  I relish the fact that she still wants to sit on my lap, and play with bubbles, and finger paint, and scribble with crayons.  Then there are the random times when she acts a bit older.  Her love of dinner theater and her sometimes sassy tone (which I love) reveals there’s a mix of ages intertwined in her “medically impossible” genetic makeup.

Aside from a few uniquely-said words, she’s non-verbal.  Non-verbal doesn’t mean she can’t communicate, however.  It can be frustrating for her sometimes when she’s trying to tell me something but just

doesn’t
know
how. 

It can also be interesting for me, too, trying to decipher her words, or learn her signs—like the time she watched me stand at the counter & snarf down dinner and was persistent in telling me something that was on her mind.  Omma was in a rush.  Had things to do. Had to get her bath ready.  Dry her clothes for school tomorrow. Gave no thought to dining etiquette. 

The Queen had been poring over a Barney book before my eating caught her attention.  She tapped the back of her little hand underneath her chin and would giggle and giggle and sign it again.  I kept asking her, “What are you saying?  What are you trying to tell Omma?”  The next day at school I mimicked the sign and asked her speech therapist, “What does this mean?” 

“That’s the sign for pig,” she replied.

And B giggled and giggled…

Blessed–indeed.

25 years I’ve had so far.  My blessings are not lost on me.  I do not—ever—take for granted a single day I have with her.  Nope.  I won’t.  I can’t.  Each day is a blessing.  Each day is a gift.  And today—May 29—is a day of celebration—a celebration of the amazing, unique, 95 lb., petite young lady who fills my days with joy and awe.

Happy 25th Birthday, Punkin.  I love you with every fiber of my being and I’m so proud to be your Omma!

You can read more about Britni here.