The Children’s Storefront…A Special Memory of Canada.

November 3, 2009 at 12:59 am (Blog World, Current Events, General Parenting, Little A, Little N, Pictures, Project 49)

Children's storefront

Outside of Children's Storefront on Bathurst.

When I spent three weeks in Toronto in Spring, despite my being busy with that whole, oh, conceiving a child while on birth control thing, one of my biggest challenges was to keep the kids and I busy during the many days that Big N was at work. I was in a new town and only had myself and public transportation at my disposal, and I have to say, we did very well finding fun things to do.

A reader of this blog (and I’m sorry, I can’t figure out how to look up who) suggested that I take the kids to someplace called “The Children’s Storefront,” that was just a few subway stops and about a ten minute walk from N’s house. This was one of the first places I ventured off to with the kids on the subway by ourselves. I was nervous because even though I looked it up on the internet, I didn’t quite get what this place was. It was a government-funded early childhood center funded by the Ministry of Children and Youth Services. It said it provided resources and information to families with children under six. Okay. So I’m thinking of this in an Americanized way, and I think that it is some kind of place for low-income, high-risk families where you have to apply for services and go through a bunch of bureaucratic hoops and then you get some kind of counselor that tells you what other services you qualify for while doing little developmental assessments on your kids. (Kind of like the Healthy Start program I was used to.)

But I read this article and decided to give it a go and just show up and see what is there,  not knowing whether I, as essentially a tourist from the States would even be allowed in the building. When I entered the building, which was a large multi-level playroom with a kitchen in the back with fresh coffee smells and a crockpot full of soup, I held the kids hands tightly and would not let them go running off into the fun. I awkwardly explained to the woman who seemed to work there that I was from the states visiting my fiancé and was just looking for places for the kids to go to keep us occupied that were low-cost. She invited all of us in and said we could come there any time for free, make ourselves at home, did I want some coffee or soup?

I was all, “Free? Really? You know I am not a resident of Toronto? Are you just being extra nice to me?” I was sort of dumbfounded by this whole notion. But she reassured me that the Children’s Storefront was for everyone with small children, it didn’t matter where you came from or how much money you had or what you needed…an hour of playtime or intense services for mom’s in crisis, they would try to help you out. I filled out no paperwork, gave no address or information about myself (officially, I did tell her our names, but that was it.) Not even a donation box was to be found. She went over some simple rules of play and introduced me to some other mothers. The kids ran off and did their thing while I horrified the moms with my stories of U.S. health insurance premiums and lack of health care, and they told me of different resources available in the Toronto area for moms and kids. I was loaded up with suggestions of other places to take my kids for free or low-cost, and she helped me navigate a better transit route back home.  On a subsequent visit, when Little A had a potty accident after we’d been there just five minutes and I thought we would have to go home because I stupidly forgot to bring extra clothing for him, she pulled out a huge garbage bag of clothes and let us dig in, sending us home in them and told us not to worry about returning them since we were leaving the area soon. (A still has these beloved Halloween socks from there. He was so happy to wear them on Halloween and remembered where they came from.)

It was just the coolest vibe ever. So Canadian. I even thought that if I was able to get permanent residency in Canada and get out from under the health insurance hell-hole I’m currently in and go back to work full-time, I’d totally love to work in a place like this or start something of my own like it. At the very least, I knew that when I got back to Toronto (sooner or later…) I already had some connections to build on and would not be so alone in a new city. I was so looking forward to going back there again.

I was very sad to learn that over the weekend there was a fire and the place burnt down. Everything was lost and the building is totaled. It was such a neat old building, too. So colorful. And a neighborhood landmark that had been hosting families for a couple of generations. Parents were there who had spent time there as children, and now it’s gone.

Luckily, it seems that the storefront touched others as much as it did me, and it is not a building but a community. There are already efforts to find a new location and rebuild underway.  There is a Facebook page called “The Children’s Storefront Needs a New Home” where organizing efforts are taking place, and a fund for donations set up:

Our Charitable Donation account is up and running at TD Canada Trust. The Transit # is 13602 and the Account # is 5206664. (The Children’s Storefront.com)

I know that this cause is far removed from most of my readers, but I thought the least I could do is make a small donation myself and to spread the word to anyone else that is interested.

Here are some pictures of my guys at the Children’s Storefront last Spring:

Little N goes straight for the trains. The staff person who was so helpful looks on.

Little N beelined to the trains. The staff member who was so helpful looks on.

More trains.

A and N discover that Toronto has toys, too.

Aaron Flying Airplanes, you can see a comfy kitchen area in the back.

I don't know if you can see, but there is a comfy kitchen in the back.

Children's Storefront4

New friends.

Children's Storefront5

Colorful and Cheery with lots of artwork and wall murals, I hope they can replace this atmosphere.

4 Comments

Good News About M2!

November 1, 2009 at 2:24 am (Guide Dogs)

I got some news today about what became of my guide dog I had to give up, M2. It is kind of surprising how much this news made me happy and sort of helped me put closure on the whole guide dog debacle of ‘o9. I had been trying to keep tabs on her progress, but there are confidentiality rules so I was only able to get limited information about her from the school. I had heard she went back into guide dog training and was doing well, and then I didn’t hear much else.

Well, today I got an email from the woman who raised her. I met her at my graduation and we exchanged emails, so she and I are not bound to confidentiality rules. Well, she let me know that M2 has been retired as a guide dog and that she was taking her back to live with them permanantly.

I would have been happy for M2 if she had been a guide dog for someone else, but this was actually my best case scenario for her. She doesn’t have to transition yet again to another setting, she will go back to those she is familiar with. She obviously had a strong bond with them when we met at graduation. They have 5 acres and other dogs, cats and horses which is about a dream come true for a dog like M2. And no little kids around to give her anxiety. Also, she is only about an hour and a half away, so I could actually take the kids and visit if I want to (she invited us.) I think it would be very good for the kids to see that she is okay and happy.

From what I gathered, she did fine in guide dog training, which did not surprise me. But then they had her stay with a foster family and work on her in-home behaviors and that is where things failed (also doesn’t surprise me) so she was retired (or “career changed” they call it. Tee Hee). I have to admit feeling a little vindicated about this. But moreover, I feel like M2 knew some guide dog things, but was not meant to be a guide dog and she will be much happier with this arrangement.

Interestingly, her puppy raiser said that she was surprised that M2 was matched with someone with young children as young children weren’t her thing and caused her a lot of anxiety. So, I think in the end, it was just a bad match most of all. Tonight is her first night home with her new/old family, and I hear she is happy and its like she never left.

I don’t know if this makes sense to anyone else, but this whole guide dog experience has been quite an emotional trauma for me. I felt sad and guilty and somewhat unsure of my decisions and my abilities and it was just a confidence shaker and, of course, very disappointing. I worried about the stress and trauma I was putting M2 through as well. Finally, this news makes me feel at least a little bit better about the whole thing. Like I did the right thing and like she is in the right place now and she will be okay and happy and have a good life. And it makes me feel a bit better about getting another dog sometime in the future. Like with the right circumstances and match, I will find another guide dog that will be as great as experience as my first one.

Sorry to be all going on and on about my continuing dog woes, but this was just something that made my day today and sort of puts some closure on my life with M2.

3 Comments

33

October 30, 2009 at 6:21 pm (Pregnancy, Uncategorized)

When I was pregnant with the twins, everything went to hell at 33 weeks. And then getting from 33 to 35 weeks was a day by day, minute by minute thing. So, it was a milestone to come up to 33 weeks this week and hope to get past it unscathed. I had hoped that I could carry just one baby all the way to term and avoid all the preterm stuff I dealt with before.

But I felt things going South over the last two weeks. At first I thought it was because Kim, my babysitter was gone and I was just feeling the extra work without her here. But then I woke up one night and called Big N and said, “I think you need to get here sooner.” He was planning on coming out November 24 for a Dec. 7ish birth. I told him I didn’t think I was going to make it. After a whirlwind of paperwork and flight changes, he is now coming here next Sunday.

People who are always healthy don’t seem to understand the feeling of when you are teetering on the edge and you calculate your every move, is this going to be too much? Can I get this one more thing done? Will this make me feel better or put me in the hospital? How wimpy am I being or how crazy am I being trying to do too much? It is frustrating because the kids are looking forward to Halloween, preschool, Sunday school, other stuff that I thought we could do and has been increasingly difficult. Sometimes I know a day of taking them to preschool is going to ruin me for the next 24 hours, leaving me barely able to walk to the bathroom, feeling out of breath and listening to the pump of my heartbeat as my blood pressure rises. But to stay in bed all day makes me feel shitty, too. Laundry piles up, the kids trash the house without my supervision, meals become PB&J and frozen pizza. And what about haircuts? Christmas presents? Applying for WIC in case I can’t breastfeed? etc. It all weighs on your mind when you are alone all day with two kids under what basically amounts to house arrest.

So, I went to the doctor today and as I suspected, things are turning south with this pregnancy. It’s not eminent danger territory yet, so I have almost officially made it past the 33 week marker (or will on Monday.) But my B/P has risen 20-30 points systolic, my protein in my urine and creatinine are up. I’m not in terrible danger, it just means that I just fulfilled my role of being a high-risk patient for the perinatologist and I no longer bore him. He now wants to see me two times a week and has brought my nephrologist in.

It also means that I’m in the balancing game that I was in with the twins, the race to give this baby more time while not going so far as to endanger myself. I will not make it to my due date, December 14 or even my goal date of  Dec. 7th. The doctor said to expect a November baby. Whether it is early or late November is still going to be a day-by-day thing. Basically, when he gets too uncomfortable with my B/P and kidney stats, he is going to call it quits and do a C-section. Now my goal is 36 weeks. One more week than I had with the twins.

The good news is that the baby is HUGE. Estimated to be about 5 and a half pounds, which is more than Little A and N weighed at birth. The baby is doing well and will likely do fine even this early. Still, a few weeks can make a big difference. So I’ll try to bed rest some more (I’m only one more week with no help and then I can probably do  bed rest the majority of the time.) And keep this kid in a little longer without anyone losing life or limb.

Also, good news is that I was able to get my H1N1 vaccine today. So I no longer have to walk around being in the highest risk group (third trimester pregnant women) and worrying about that.

That’s where things lie today. And as the famous and now MIA blogger GetUpGrrl used to say, “Nothing Bad Has Happened Yet.”

Day at a time. Day at a time…

8 Comments

Ur Boks…Aye Duzzunt Phit Innit.

October 24, 2009 at 1:50 am (Big N, D, Disabilities, Little A, Pregnancy)

Kan U Git a Bigur Wun? Kthxbai

Kan U Git a Bigur Wun? Kthxbai

I suppose there is some kind of hypocrisy in making life decisions that are nonconforming and then complaining because people are upset or uncomfortable that you don’t conform to something they can understand. I can’t run away from my own disability, but I could–I suppose–have arranged things so that I married an able-bodied man from Nebraska and had a house in the suburbs with 2 kids and a dog. Instead, my elevator speech about my life has developed into something like this:

I spent my 20’s and early 30’s pursuing my education and career in education and did not date a whole lot. In my thirties, I found myself single and wanting children with the old biological clock ticking, so I decided to persue fertility treatments as a single mother by choice. When discussing guardianship and other issues with my friend since grad school, D, who is quadriplegic, he asked if he could adopt my twin boys and be their father and my parenting partner. After much discussion, I agreed and that has worked well despite some health challenges along the way. In the meantime, for some odd 16 years, I have had a friendship and off and on relationship  with N, a blind Swede ex-pat who lives in Canada. Due to circumstances like immigration issues and others, we have not as of yet been able to live in the same country, but are working on it. I became unexpectedly pregnant with N’s child this year, and us three parents are working well together to find solutions so all the children are cared for and have access to all of their parents. We are a funny-shaped family, but we are foremost, a family. (Time permitting, I may add that there are really FIVE parents involved, mutually working together to take care of FIVE children…but we still are, albeit very blended and geographically and culturally diverse,  a loving family.)

OK, so complicated? Yes. Confusing to people at first? Ok, I can see how it would be. But is it really that weird? Is it really that freaky to understand?

Because what I get from many people, is this bit of a skeevy vibe. Like, I first of all am some kind of sexual freak with a fetish for disabled people. (Because disabled people dating disabled people is weird or wrong or disabled people being in relationships at all that result in children is icky.) And/or like they have in their head that D and I were married and I went out and had an affair with N because D can’t have sex (he can, btw…we don’t, btw) and/or too also since we all get along and often travel in a pack, we must be having some kind of kinky threesome. I have a feeling that people would accept us and understand us better if we were all in some sort of bitter custody dispute and hated each other. At least that would make sense! Because whatever it is that we are doing now, its just weird on some level they can’t explain.

But here is the other thing that adds layers to people’s freak out. It is actually many people’s main freak out. Is that we are all three disabled and there are all these children (FIVE! with FIVE! disabled parents…oh, and note that they are FIVE! healthy, smart children with no known disabilities. Disabled parents are only allowed to have disabled children, you know), we can’t possibly know what the hell we are doing. Even though, due to our geographical challenges (some of which are caused by policy discrimination because of our disabilities…not our inherent life decisions) we are all being–not perfect–but MUCH MORE mature than most parents would be in this situation, we must simply be doing it wrong.

So this pregnancy is getting harder. Little A and I had a cold last week that lingered in me for days, every coughing fit causing a Braxton-Hicks contraction. I’m huge and all my muscles hurt with the weight of the baby. I have days where I cannot walk without a cane because of my pelvic injury, I strategize before taking every step. My face is puffy, I have GERD, I have poop issues, I sleep erratically on a pile of pillows and get up 40 times a night to pee, I am exhausted all the time and have orthostatic hypotension, my kidneys sometimes hurt and I am tired of being constantly in pain and not being able to take any drugs for it. And, yes, I get sick of hearing myself complain about all this.

I live alone with two active four-year-olds who still need to go outside and get rid of excess energy. They still need to go to preschool and to church and to other stuff in the outside world. They still need to eat three meals and snacks a day and they still need their laundry done and their dishes cleaned. They still need hugs, kisses and bedtime books read to them. And I will be the first to admit, I can’t do it all alone right now, not with all this pg stuff and not with a new baby. I need help.

So I have my babysitter Kim (but Waaaah! She went to Budapest and won’t be back for two weeks!), and I have Krista who comes over a couple of times a month for a few hours and helps me out. But by far, my two biggest helpers for the day-to-day stuff are D and N. They are the two people who are involved and dedicated to the kids more than anyone else. They are who I can call at three in the morning. They are my A-Team. Between the three of us, we can usually get 85% of stuff done and we have hired help for the other 15%. (D has part-time help besides me. His attendant Rose, another two-hour a week CNA, Roxanna and a twice a month nurse, Lynn. N is the most independent of all of us, but has his roommate, Grant, to help with reading mail and friends from work who give him rides from time to time.) It is a complicated system, I suppose, but the point is that we try to do for ourselves as much as possible by helping each other out and then spreading the rest out to many people, most of which get compensated for their help.

So, all this is leading somewhere, I promise. I’m just finding that as I need more help in this late stage of my pregnancy, people are more confused than ever about who does what. Some people seem to think I can do it all myself and I am the main caretaker of not only my kids, but of D and N, too. Others think I can depend on D and N for everything so why am I asking for outside help? I get that people can’t possibly be expected to understand who does what and why and how, but can’t people just take my word for it instead of acting like I am teetering on the edge of sanity?

Examples: The kids’ preschool projects that I talked about last week. The teacher knew it was going to be an issue for me to take these two faerie garden things home. So she asked if I wanted to just keep them there until “one of my husbands” (okay, that made me chuckle) could help me take them home. That was all fine and good and nice of her to think of me—until she said, “oh, well, I don’t know if they are really any help to you anyway, are they?” Then I was like, huh? I didn’t know what to say to that. And then I said something muttery like well, D can maybe pick us up in the car or N could help me carry on the bus. But I ended up just taking them home one at a time anyway, because it wasn’t that big of deal and spending their day to come with me to help me carry a faerie garden just doesn’t seem like a good use of anyone’s time.

Another example: I called my doctor’s office today to see if I could get some kind of documentation for N to come out a few weeks earlier than the actual birth. Parental leave starts at the date of the baby’s birth. To come earlier, he would have to take some kind of family medical leave. I would need documentation from my doctor saying that because of my high-risk pregnancy and the fact that I live alone that I could really use some live-in help from a family member. Not a stretch in the least. Right? Am I being wimpy here or what? To me it doesn’t seem that unreasonable to ask. Does it? Not like it affects them anyway, he would not be paid for it and they’ve already hired his replacement for parental leave so he is set to go.

So this nurse that I knew from my last pregnancy but haven’t seen in five years calls me up and hems and haws over it. Doesn’t he have vacation? (Well, it is the end of the year and he is using part of it, so no. Don’t you think we’ve thought of that?) Then it comes out that she’s heard all the office gossip about us. I’m the one with the twins and the guy who is “confined” to a wheelchair and some other Canadian dude that has “difficulty seeing.” (Yeah, if not seeing at all is difficulty seeing.) She knows all about us. And her concern is this: She doesn’t think it is plausible for the powers that be to grant family leave to someone who is blind because how is he going to help me anyway? Have I thought about him being yet another burden on me? Don’t I have a family member who can come stay with me awhile?

Well, first of all…I’m asking for documentation that I need help for medical reasons, I’m NOT asking you to pick who should be allowed to help me. So what difference does it make to her? She just needs to say I need help.

And second…UUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH….Get me away from ignorance for just one day and I will be so happy! Can it happen? No?

I know.

Sigh.

I always used to joke about having brochures handy to hand out to people about my disability or my guide dog or whatever. Here is my new brochure.

Ways the Father’s of My Children Can and Do Help Me Out, and Ways They Cannot

N can and does:

  • Do laundry, dishes, cooking, housecleaning and shopping. (He does require  help with shopping, but store clerks can help him or D can, and he can bring all the bags in and put them away.)
  • He can dress the kids, help them with all of their little teeth brushing, bathing, and eating tasks. (With a small amount of guidance from me about what clothes match.)
  • He can completely supervise the kids, play with them, take them to the park and for walks, even do a modified version of reading books with them.
  • He can change diapers, make bottles, feed a baby, carry a baby, get up in the night with a baby, dress and bathe a baby, do pretty much all baby care except breast feed.
  • He is a pack mule. He can carry a shitload of stuff while still being able to cane travel. He can do any heavy lifting around the house.
  • He can run errands and travel independently if he is shown once or twice how to get somewhere.
  • He can order anything on the computer that we need and have it delivered.
  • He can do handyperson stuff around the house, yes. With tools. Like even drills and saws and stuff.
  • He can fix my computer (the software side of things, mostly).
  • Most importantly, he can let me sleep in, fetch me my morning coffee, give me back massages, keep the kids entertained, decompress with me at the end of the day, and generally let me have a little time to myself.
  • He can work and provide a salary that helps support us.

D can and does:

  • Drive me around a lot. Allow me to haul stuff I can’t carry on transit like a Costco haul or groceries.
  • He is also a different version of a pack mule. He always has water, napkins, little ketchup packets, hand sanitizer, etc. And you can always pack a shitload of stuff on his wheelchair when shopping/walking.
  • Act as my communication intervenor (otherwise known as SSP, special support person for the deaf blind) giving me visual and auditory information about the outside world and facilitates communication between me and others.
  • Act as my medical liaison by providing the above intervenor services but also by having medical knowledge and a knowledge of me needs and desires in a medical situation should I become incapacitated (or just drugged up.) Does pretty much the same for the kids. He researches a lot of kid controversies like vaccines and other things and gives me a report.
  • Take the kids out of my house for several hours at a time, entertain them, feed them light snacks, and teach them a hell of a lot about science, music and math.
  • Help to corral, monitor and entertain the kids on outings.
  • Fix my computer (the hardware aspects of it mostly with help from me or N to do the actual screwdriving kind of stuff). Also, need an extension cord? A phone? Spare parts? a Hard drive? Microsoft Office? 150,000,000 songs on MP3? D probably has it lying around somewhere that he’ll give me for free.
  • Chocolate. He always has chocolate at his house when you need a fix.
  • Understanding about illness and pregnancy stuff. He gets it because he lives his own version of it. Other men may try to be sympathetic and what not, but D GETS IT. This is the guy you can barf, bleed and have diarrhea in front of and not feel too bad about it.
  • Run errands for me to a limited extent. (He can usually do any drive-through or pick up something where he is already going, but I don’t ask him to make special trips just for me. It is too hard for him to get in and out of his car.)
  • Also decompress with about disability, kid, and other stuff.
  • Pitches in money for incidentals or unexpected big purchases and emergency needs from time to time.

There is probably other stuff I’m forgetting, but you get the idea. They do more for me than it seems like a lot of able-bodied husbands do for their wives. I think I do a lot for them as well. But now when I am pregnant, they are able to carry much of the burden and help me out a lot. I need them, and I’m really angry that people can actually stand in the way of my access to them because of their stupid, ablist ideas. It is hard to be a single mom, alone and very, very pregnant. It would be really nice if I could be cut a break here, ya know?

***************

Here is a funny I will leave you with, that could only happen in my family.

The kids have been asking the how babies are made questions. So I found this book in old boxes from my childhood called “How Babies Are Made.” The copyright is 1968 and it is published by Time/Life.* It is actually pretty good considering how old it is. It has these kind of cool, very simple illustrations and diagrams that are all made of cut out construction paper. It progresses through how flowers, chickens, puppies, and then babies are made with pretty straightforward language.

Now, as usual however, I have to supplement with my own information. Again, regarding the boxes I don’t fit in, this is starting to happen a lot. The kids went to a sibling class at the hospital and it was pretty good, but it was all “your mom and dad this” and “your mom and dad that.” In the UU church, we say “your grown-ups” because we actually recognize that not everyone has a mom and dad live-in dynamic in the home. So, I had to do some explaining about how it is okay that their dad doesn’t live with them, a lot of dad’s don’t, or moms, etc. And that N would be doing most of what they were saying the dads would do in this baby scenerio.

So anyway, I’m reading this book to them and supplementing my own information where necessary. (Little N: “I’m TIRED of the chickens, get to the part about the HOOMAN BEANS!)

Now we learn that it takes two things to reproduce. eggs and pollen to make a seed, sperm and egg to make a chicken, puppy, or hooman bean. Here is where I have to diverge, and where they are used to me diverging. Mom and dad did not lay down together and dad did not put his penis in my vagina and put sperm in to swim up to the egg. They have heard this part for years. Babies can be made in different ways, families can happen in different ways. We talk about adoption and other scenarios, but that it is still true that all babies start out with a sperm from a man and an egg from a woman. In our case, they know, daddy didn’t have any sperm for us to use because of his accident. So we were given a gift by an anonymous donor who we call Sergei but we don’t know him. But he gave mom some sperm to use to make A and N. And mom and dad went to a doctor and the doctor put a small tube in mom that let the sperm swim up and meet the egg (TWO EGGS!) and make (TWO BABIES!) a very special bonus!

So, this time was the first time they connected that I have a new baby in my uterus that must have come from somewhere.

Little A: Who gave you the sperm gift to make this baby?

Me: N did.

A: Did the doctor in Toronto put the tube in?

Me: No, N and I actually made this baby how they show in the book. Where he puts his penis in my vagina.

A: (Seeming to notice for the very first time that this is even a possible scenario and examines the construction paper cut out of a man and woman lovingly laying together in bed under the covers, and then an inset picture showing a very simplified diagram of a penis in a vagina with sperm swimming up to the uterus. His eyes get big…you see a light bulb go off over his head…he collapses in a fit of hysterical giggles on the couch.)

A: You let N POTTY in your VAGINA? You said POTTY only goes in the TOILET!!!!! (more giggles, Little N doesn’t get it at all.)

Me: (cringe and…eeeewww!) I go on to explain that potty does go into the toilet and two things come out of the penis at different times blah, blah, blah. He calms down, but he’s still bemused by the whole idea. My four-year-old is now a sex expert.

The other funny thing he said was when they were showing the tiny embryo grow bigger and bigger in the uterus, he exclaimed, “HOW is that BABY going to GET OUT OF THERE!!!”

To which my painful ladyparts cried, “I KNOW! That’s just plain crazy talk!”

*OMG! I found a funny blog post about this book! There are a lot of pictures of the construction paper illustrations, too.

8 Comments

Random Acts on Transit

October 9, 2009 at 11:27 pm (Bitchfest, Disabilities, Pregnancy)

When Big N came to visit last month, he took the light rail from the airport. And he commented that it was kind of interesting because in Toronto he can’t get away from people who want to help him sometimes and here he couldn’t find anyone to stop and help him get a ticket. He actually called me from the airport station and I verbally walked him through buying a ticket from the machine by memory. Then I told him that nine times out of ten, there is a waiting train at that station that is turned off and everyone gets on and waits up to about 1/2 hour until it goes. He said that there was no train, and I said that it was a double edged platform and to check behind him on the other track. Sure enough, train waiting. I wondered if people would just let the train ride away and leave him standing there.

D has had trouble on the train as well. There are two of four doors on each train car that he can use with a wheelchair. A ramp deploys and then once inside there are two spaces for wheelchairs. Both spaces are near the necessary buttons to push to make the ramp deploy when you want to get off. It really works best if you push the buttons before the train stops and the doors open or they have to re-close and the ramp deploys and then they re-open and everyone gets impatient and mad. The problem is, many times when the train is busier, no one moves for a person in a wheelchair. So you end up being sort of stuck in the aisle unable to push the button when your stop comes. Or, worse, you get in the designated spot, lots of people get on and are standing around you, and then no one moves when you want to get off. It is a 500 pound chair. It will break your foot. It can nudge you and knock you down.  So unless D wants to be killing people left and right, he pretty much has to yell at them to get them to move.

I say yell because often times (not always) a polite “excuse me, I’m coming off” doesn’t cut it. Sometimes it is because people are just oblivious to what is going on around them. They are on cell phones, have head phones in their ears, are engrossed in a book or on an electronic game. Or just spaced out. It’s not every one who acts like this and makes traveling while disabled hard. There are plenty of nice people who do what they can to be helpful. But many times (say 50% of the time??) no one seems to care.

So, Big N was commenting on something and wondering about the cultural implications.  He said that on our train, the pre-recorded announcement says and several stops (something like) “You are required to move for seniors and people with disabilities.” Compared to what the Toronto subways say which is (something like) “Please consider giving up your seat for pregnant women, small children, seniors and people with disabilities. Courtesy on TTC makes everyone have a better day!”

And one thing I did notice when I was using the subways in Toronto was that I NEVER did not have a seat. Ever. People could not give up their seats fast enough to give myself and my two kids three seats together. It didn’t matter how busy the train was. If I got us all prepared to stand, there were people corralling me to seats. It was as if they couldn’t stand to sit in a seat with a mother with small children in front of them. They just wouldn’t allow it. Now, this was when I was not pregnant, not always with Big N (who looks obviously blind) and not always with my cane visible (sometimes tucked under my arm or in a bag, because the speed of those subways rushing into the platform not 3 feet away from me scared the crap out of me and I always had my hands on both kids.) People just realized how hard it is for a mom to help two small kids stay upright on a train when it is standing room only and also seem to understand the need for a mom to stay very, very adjacent to her kids.

So, our question was, does asking people nicely like they do in Toronto help people be nicer about it? Instead of “you are required to move” like they do here? Or is it that the culture for being nice already exists there and so there is no need to get bossy about it? I don’t know.

I bring this up because I had the most hideous day yesterday on public transportation. I took the kids to their preschool and back which includes the train and–currently during my pregnant state—one very short bus ride. Now to be fair, on the way there in the morning I had no trouble except for finding adjacent seats. Many times there are seats for all of us but they are spread out and I don’t feel comfortable being apart from my kids. So, I was offered a seat by someone who moved because she had an empty seat next to her. And then one kid has to go on my lap or stand between my legs or we all just squeeze in together. It’s workable.

And then I was in their classroom all morning because I had to volunteer. I had to stand, sit on the floor, stand up again, sit in child sized wooden chairs, stand sit stand some more and just generally be physically busy. By the time it was time to go home, I was tired and my hips/pelvic bones were achy-breaky. Then, my other problem is getting the kids’ artwork home. Many times it is not a big deal, but sometimes it gets tricky. Last week they made “faerie gardens” in pie pans and I could only take one home. This week they did outlines of themselves on big butcher paper. Ugh. I’m all for kids doing art projects but I want most of these things to vanish after they are done with them and never be remembered again. Doesn’t work that way with 4-year-olds. So, I have a backpack, they each have lunch boxes, I have Little N’s faerie garden thingy from last week which is full of soil and seeds and beads and stuff and needs to be kept level. I have two rolled up pieces of butcher paper that are each taller than the kids. (The kids and I carried these intermittently. The kids tended to hit everyone and everything with them.) I have to walk two blocks to the bus stop and then I have to stand there for 20 minutes because the bus we usually take, we missed due to all the scrambling to carry stuff. And then I stood at the train station for 45 minutes because I don’t know why. The train was late for some reason (It usually comes every 6 to 10 minutes.) The missing trains made it so there were a lot of people to have collected wanting to get on the train and it was very busy.

So when it finally came, I had to herd the kids onto it without holding on to A. And a bunch of people rushed between me and a 4-year-old. Like, who does that? I never, ever get between a parent and their young child. I’m always conscious of making sure little kids are connected with their adult. Well, luckily, (I guess) A got on the train and couldn’t find me and freaked out and so just stood there yelling for me. So I found him quickly. But then there were no seats. So first and foremost I have to find a way for the kids to hang on to something they can reach. And then I have to find something for me to hang on to while I carry all this stuff that the kids can’t carry now because they need to hang on. People, I am seven and a half months pregnant with a giant kid who weighs in about the size of an 8 month one week fetus. Because of my pregnancy and my hip/pelvic thing, my balance is for shit and I can’t even make my legs do that wider “brace yourself” stance that you can usually get away with if there is nothing to hold on to. And already in pain, after about three stops of the shaky train braking and unbraking, I was almost doubled over in tear-induced pain. It was kind of one of those things where I was actually too far away from anyone who had seats to ask for a seat and I was right in the aisle and would have needed to corral my kids over to two or three seats. Wasn’t happening. And I was kind of starting not to be able to think straight anyway.

I hear this huge guy sort of smirk and say something about how he hoped I wasn’t going into labor on the MAX, which would make him late as he laughed to his buddy. This got the attention of some woman who was also standing, and she came over and asked if I was ok. I said, I’m not going into labor or anything but I just have a lot of pain right now. So she basically yelled that “This lady needs a seat!” And every one just kind of looked around at each other. So she whispers to me, “What a bunch of assholes.” Then she bellows to all these people (around 6 of them) sitting in disabled seating that they are REQUIRED TO MOVE and points to the sign. More eyeing each other like, “whose gonna do it?” and then finally one person moves. So I got one seat. I moved A to between my legs and I moved N to right next to me hanging on the (much better height for him) handicapped grab bars.

So there is my story. But I just want to say two things. I am not some sissy blind chick who has to have a seat all the time. When I am alone (and not pregnant) I think nothing of standing up and NEVER sit in disabled seating. When I’m with the kids, I usually try to find them a seat and am fine standing as long as they are sitting. In a pinch, we have all stood and not batted an eye about it. And I also try not to judge anyone for not moving out of disabled seating because you never know what people’s deal might be. But fuck if there aren’t times when people are so completely oblivious to the needs of others because they have their head stuck so far up their cell phone that they don’t realize they are next to living humans that I don’t get pissed off.

Also I would like to say that I usually can speak for myself, but the pain this time actually was that bad. And, embarrassing as it was,  this random woman stepping in and helping was a life saver for me. All I need now is the very real possibility that I could dislocate or break a hip or have so much pain that my blood pressure starts doing crazy dances. This is the most dangerous time in my pregnancy. Things all went to total hell at 33 weeks my last pregnancy. I have to be careful. I thanked her then, of course. But if you are that random woman (literally or figuratively in another similar situation) THANK YOU for stepping in and helping out a total stranger and not just minding your own business. As much as some people piss me off, I know that there are others like this woman who do more than make up for it by being a decent human being who cares about others. Sometimes your random act of kindness can literally mean more than all the rude and complacent people combined. And also? The people of Toronto rock for knowing enough not to put someone in this position in the first place.

***************

Oh, and another thing. Can I bitch about another thing? Moms need to cut the fucking judgment on each other already. I was asked about my due date by a group of moms (IRL), and I talked about my first week of December planned Cesarean. And I got the whole lecture about the overuse of Cesareans and how they aren’t natural and they are so awful and dangerous and natural childbirth is the most wonderful, bestest way to go. And I’ve read Naomi Wolf’s Misconceptions and I’m up on the controversy about overmedicalized births. Therefore, I totally support any woman’s right to assess her own risks and her own resources and comfort levels and to have all birthing options available to her. I am very glad that women can and do have such wonderful experiences with natural birth. Dooce’s account gave me goosebumps and I was nothing less than thrilled for her. However, until you have lost your eyesight, watched copious amounts of blood come out of your eye, nose, ear and mouth, been on bedrest, had to choose between your own health and that of your unborn children, and almost died during pregnancy…you pretty much need to shut the fuck up. Every person has to take their own circumstances into account and assess their own level of risk. I am a single mom to two young children with a severely disabled father who lives in poverty and cannot easily take care of them long-term. I have kidney disease and a bum hip and a uterus that has seen more than one major surgery. I simply CAN’T, CAN’T, CAN’T die or even be out of commission for too long without major implications for my kids. I know the risk of C-sections and in MY (ME, MINE, MY OWN) case, the risk assessment is way less to have this level of medical intervention. Okay? So share the love, sisters. This is about giving women CHOICES that they have control over, not just dictating how it should be done. How is that different than what the medical establishment has done already against women? Okay? Okay.

</bitch>

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