For some reason, I seem to attract people who are a bit offbeat and eccentric. It happens everywhere I go. For example, in line at the pharmacy, the lady behind me told me how she is the smallest in her family and has five year old twins to whom she gave birth when she was 41 years old. Her parents are dead and she has sixteen nieces and nephews. Then there was the time the girl asked me if Nathan’s hot dogs were meat or beef because she was just thinking about it. And then there was the car wash attendant who raved about the colored bubbles sauna effect and told me I would be amazed when I saw my wheels.
So, it wasn’t surprising to me, today, when I was getting out of the car, that I heard a voice call to me. “Hey sweetie, have you seen any angels flying around here?” It was the man I see at our church every Sunday. Throughout the mass he keeps his eyes fixed on the stained glass windows. His Mona Lisa smile betrays a hint of mysticism. In other words, he’s crazy. This gentleman walks all about town and I see him talking to invisible companions, gesturing as he speaks as if he is trying to solve all the problems of the world. He walks in every kind of weather, in Winter and in Summer, for miles…always with a smile on his face. He wears a baseball hat backwards over his long blond disheveled hair. His face is boyish and I would imagine, as a child , he was cherubic, angelic. “Yes”, I answered. “There are angels flying around all over the place. They are everywhere.” He pointed up the street and I told him he was headed in the right direction. With obvious delight, he gave me a hearty thumbs up . And off he went to find the angels.
I find angels in all the oddballs I meet. I am grateful to be blessed with an angel magnet in my soul.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized on January 23, 2018.
There was a knock at the door. Before I could answer, I found a woman of bohemian appearance, standing in the foyer. She had dreadlocks and carried a lot of bags. She greeted me and then asked if this were a place that cared for animals. “I saw a cat outside and the wheel chair ramp” she said, “so, I figured this is a place that takes care of animals.” I found myself thinking, certainly, that makes perfect sense. A cat and a handicap ramp, why wouldn’t someone come to the conclusion it’s a place for disabled felines and other furry creatures (cats in wheel chairs at the very least).
I explained to her that this is our home. I told her, that, despite what it looks like, it is not a facility for crippled cats or any other kind of challenged animals. She apologized profusely as she tip toed backwards, out the door, repeating in a whisper, “Sorry, sorry sorry”. Our 23 year old son, Sonty, just looked at me and said, “Do you think maybe we should keep our doors locked?” “Perhaps we should,” I replied, “but if we do that, we might miss out on entertaining angels unawares.” (Hebrews 13:2).
This entry was posted in Uncategorized on July 12, 2017.
On an unusually warm day this past May, I had to pick up our seven year old grandson, Lucas, from school. This takes a bit of orchestrating because, on any given day, there are three or more other kids that have to accompany me on this excursion. This day it was 22 month old, Xavier, aka ‘Zabor’, two point five year old Amelia and Lucas’ four year old sister, Evelyn. It was hot in the car. Evelyn decided to take off her shirt. Lucas, exasperated with his little sister’s disrobing, shouted in alarm, “Evelyn, you can’t do that in real life!”
What constitutes real life anyway? Certainly not fake news, boobs, noses, nails, lashes nor the way we often use social media to embellish our otherwise ordinary lives and mask our imperfections. Maybe real life is our beat up, worn out, naked selves with all our vulnerability loved, like the Velveteen Rabbit, in a way that makes us real. After all, the great spiritual traditions say God loves us just the way we are (and so does Billy Joel). In any case, Evelyn retorted to her brother with gusto, “Lucas, you’re not the boss of me! I can do whatever I want.” And she can. She’s a red head. No one in his right mind should mess with a red head… in real life.
When we think of a miracle, we usually think of something improbable or impossible. We think of those extraordinary events like water into wine (one of our favorites); the inexplicable cure from a terminal disease, a blind person recovering sight, the Phillies winning, your kid listening the first time he or she is told to do something, beating the odds to win the lottery, St. Anthony finding a long lost something or other or, for me, drinking my coffee while it’s still hot, a minute alone in the bathroom, two minutes passing without the word “Mom”.
An ordinary miracle is when the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. One plus one equals a thousand. This is a perfect description of our eight year old daughter, Rosey. If her individual parts were for sale, they’d all be on the “as is” rack. Crossed eyes, short leg, missing septum pellucidum (Trust me you need a septum pellucidum…Google it!) leaks like sieve and talking with her is like playing a round of Mad Gab. Put them altogether and you have a miracle! Magical, holy, inspirational. But, just for the record, our ordinary miracle, Rosey, was also not expected to see or walk or talk. So she’s an extraordinary miracle as well. With her we did win the lottery. Blessing!
This entry was posted in Uncategorized on June 25, 2017.
Our eight year old daughter, Rosey, loves to sneak my phone and send texts. Usually, they go to a family member. Most often they are gibberish mixed with emojis. Tonight, however, one of her texts went to a number I didn’t recognize. The content of her text was “A..s on your face.” The return text inquired, “Who is this!?” I quickly realized it was the lady from whom I’d purchased an antique typewriter on Craigslist. I immediately sent her an apology about Rosey and explained about her special needs. She answered that she herself is a Special Ed teacher and perhaps Rosey was connecting with an energy they both shared. You bet your a..s! To me it was just a silly covfefe. Sometimes, I think our world could use one universal auto-correct. Enjoy!
According to our daughter, Ebony, I have a flat butt. She asked me if this was because I sat on it too much. Seriously, Ebony? This butt hasn’t met up with a couch since Washington crossed the Delaware. That is an exaggeration, but sometimes it seems like that long ago, back when there were no children, no pets, and no home for which to care. It is almost impossible to imagine such a time, and frankly it must have been quite boring.
In reality, days in this house begin at 5AM and end around midnight give or take an hour. By 8 AM, we’ve already put in a full day. Four kids have been sent off to school. And these aren’t “normal” kids. There is Salinna with her cerebral palsy, a total care child in a wheelchair. Salinna is sixteen now and she is a typical teenager. She hates to get up in the morning and she won’t do a thing for herself! We ask her if she stayed up late talking with her friends on fb. (This is a joke. Salinna doesn’t walk or talk, but if she did…!) And then there’s dear Alex who wakes up asking for donuts or cupcakes. We think donuts and cupcakes are a perfectly fine choice for breakfast, but , of course, meds must be taken first. “No like medicine!” “None of us like medicine, Alex, but if you want to stay on this side of the grass for awhile, you have to take your medicine. No medicine, no cupcake.” Finally after this back and forth a few times he takes his medicine and states “I don’t wanna play outside”. Whatever. Then it’s time to feed the cats, walk the dogs, toss in a load of wash from the bed wetters’ club, followed by a regular load of wash and then feed and water Hazel, the horse and clean her corral. And if it is not every other day, there is no shower. Mothers and fathers do not need daily showers. They just need to wash the body parts that show. And that does not include a flat butt. Next, it is time for little Rosey to be on her way. Rosey likes the whole family to see her off to school, so whoever is available is beckoned to watch for bus #46 no matter how long the wait . Just after this, it is time to wake up Ebony who frequently can be heard running on her treadmill or practicing her vocals at 4AM. And so it usually takes a stick of dynamite to get her out of bed and sometimes that isn’t even enough. The bus driver will often offer to ride around the block to give Ebony a few more minutes to get ready. It would be an understatement to say that Ebony is not a morning person!
On most days, before this off to school routine is complete, our grandchildren Lucas and Evelyn (aka Devilyn) are arriving for Memere’s (my grandmother name) day care. Evelyn is the stereotypical redheaded two and a half year old, who is a whirling dervish, from the time she touches down at Memere’s until she is beamed back up to her parents at 6PM. And did I mention our baby granddaughter, Amelia lives with us along with her mom and dad? We watch her only on days ending in Y. At nine months old, with a speedy crawl, she’s become our resident “dustbuster”.
The day is filled with diapers, drop in visitors, occasional disasters and dinner. A drop in might be Freddy Love who first met us at a yard sale we held a few years ago. No telling when Freddy will come by but when he does he updates us about his wife who ran off with their pastor, or how he can cut down our trees for $800 or his plans to buy a million dollar house in Florida. Until his recent death, another drop by visitor was our friend Mr. Ray, self described as “the smartest man in the universe”. Ever since he did some electrical work for us a decade ago, he’d stop by on a whim or by a directive from God for cake and tea. He was a man familiar with little miracles. Not infrequently, Ms Georgia, the eccentric boarder who lives in the loft above the garage stops by at midnight to ask us to move the car or to drop off her rent money. In our universe, these unplanned visitors never fail to correspond with the disaster of the day. (lost pacifier, overflowing toilet, dog or kid or both barfing, pot boiling over, Evelyn disappearing, Evelyn in the snack cabinet, Evelyn wrapped in toilet paper and usually several of these concurrently).
So, dear Ebby, no buts about it, this butt is not a couch potato butt; but a butt worked to the bone.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized on August 14, 2015.
Do you know the birthday of the actor who is the voice of Slinky in the movie, Toy Story? Our daughter, Ebby, does. She also knows the birth dates and half birth dates of everyone she has ever met and the same about their neighbors and friends. Ebony knows trivial details about most celebrities. Ebby, as she prefers to be called, remembers conversations in great detail, no matter how long ago they happened, and the specifics of the settings in which they took place. Ebby can also spout off the dates of every medical appointment to which she or her siblings have ever been. She knows the day of the week any particular date falls on in years past and future. She’s a virtual “wiki brain”.
Ebony recently celebrated her sixteenth birthday, sweet sixteen. And sweet she is. When she came to us, Ebby weighed just four and a half pounds . Now she tops the scales at two hundred plus pounds. Who knew that such a tiny infant girl would grow up to be so large and in charge? With the New Year, Ebby resumed a gym workout program at the local YMCA. She is big and funny and wears lots of makeup . Sometimes I think she looks like a lady of the night . She thinks she looks absolutely stunning . She carries a bright pink shiny bag to enhance the look.
Ebby is a Facebook stalker. Talk to her one time and suddenly, she is your best friend . She will know everything about you…your birthday, your half birthday, where you live, who lives with you, and many random details about your life. Don’t have any other friends either. You have become hers and hers alone! She is a piece of work for sure.
Ebony has been diagnosed on the autistic spectrum scale. She says she is “artistic” , not “autistic”. And that she is. Ebony creates beautiful pieces of art filled with vibrant color and amazing detail. She produces mounds of drawings, staying up into the wee hours of the morning working diligently. Ebony has sold some of her artwork to raise funds to purchase a magic hairspray that supposedly helps her hair to grow.
Ebby is also a master baker and she is the reigning Queen of Cupcakes. Everybody, even random acquaintances, gets cupcakes for every occasion. She is crazy about the boy band , One Direction. She takes weekly vocal lessons and it is not unusual to be awakened at 3 AM to the sound of her practicing her singing in true Aretha Franklin style. It is no wonder that her father dozes off at work most afternoons. And we’re not really sure how to take this, but Ebony asked us if she could have sperms for pets. We told her she could but only if she agreed to walk and feed them everyday.
Ebby calls her dad FCC not to be confused with Federal Communications Commission. In this instance, it means French Canadian Cruel because her dad is French Canadian and she says he looks like Claude Frollo, the cruel master, in the Hunchback of Notre Dame. This is not so bad a comparison considering Ebby likens her sister, Salinna, to Squidward from SpongeBob SquarePants. Ebby calls me Class of 1970 instead of Mom because it is the year I graduated from high school.
Ebony is able to recite lengthy passages of dialogue from every movie she has ever watched and she can often be heard talking to herself, repeating a favorite line over and over. “Excuse me. Are you looking at me? Did you rub my lamp? Did you wake me up? Did you bring me here? And , all of a sudden, you’re walking out on me? I don’t think so! Not right now! You’re getting your wishes.” (Alladin). There’s no kid like our dear Ebony; she is more than we could ever have wished for.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized on February 6, 2015.
Four year old Alex is the seventh of our adopted children. He came to us after spending the first six months of his little life in Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Alex was born with a critical cardiac condition , hypoplastic left heart syndrome. The treatment for HLHS is a series of surgeries to gradually reroute blood as it flows through the heart to the rest of the body. Stents and other pieces of hardware become a permanent part of a repaired hypoplastic left heart. Basically, Alex was born with a broken heart. In some ways, he was one step ahead. He didn’t need to wait for some pretty little thing to break it for him.
Twenty year old Sonty is the second of our adopted children, a happy, loving intelligent boy, with a fully functioning heart. However, Sonty seems to lack a bit in common sense. Or maybe he just blurts out the first thing that comes into his brain. This condition is often known as FIM or “foot in mouth” syndrome. A few examples…two weeks after a visiting cousin, Michael, had returned home to Maryland, Sonty asked if Michael was sightseeing in the city. Then there’s the incident where I texted him to ask if he’d be home for dinner and he texted back, “yes no”. Or the time Sonty’s brother, Kevin, moved back from Florida and a month later Sonty said, “Hey, Kev, when did you get back?” Keep in mind, Kevin and Sonty live in the same house and sleep on the same floor. “Earth to Sonty!
It was a warm April day as Alex and Rosey along with their nephew, Lucas and their niece, Evelyn played in the long hallway that is the entrance to our home. Sonty and his friend sat on the steps enjoyably watching the little ones. As Alex pushed his toy cars across the floor, I noticed that he had something in his mouth. Alex is notorious for taste testing anything smaller than his head, whether edible or non-edible. He has snacked on pennies, dog food, little wheels off of Matchbox cars, cat food, paper, crayons and baby wipes. As I bent down to inspect what he was chewing on, he spit a piece of glass into my hand. I thought for a second (the usual length of most of my thoughts) and remembered that a few days earlier I had dropped and broken a wine glass in the hallway. I thought I had swept up all of the broken bits of glass , but apparently I had missed one. Sonty stood up to inspect the glass and then very seriously commented, “Oh, that must be a piece of Alex’s heart.” I looked at Sonty in disbelief. He then added, “What? Didn’t the doctors replace some parts of Alex’s heart with glass parts?” I said, “That’s right, Sonty. And every so often a piece of glass breaks off of Alex’s heart and he coughs it up and spits it out. Eventually , Alex will cough up his entire heart and he will then be heartless!” Needless to say, Sonty’s take on Alex’s heart became the subject of much comic exchange among his older brothers. However, while Sonty may be known, in our family, as a bit of an airhead, we all know, without question, his heart is made of the right stuff.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized on October 23, 2014.
It was a very rainy evening when we made the trip to the adoption agency in Allentown where Rosey’s birth mom would present her beautiful infant to us. Rosalina, Rosey’s mom , was a courageous and selfless sixteen year old who knew how difficult it would be to care for her newborn daughter in light of all the medical issues the baby was facing. Rosalina was alone , and as she introduced us to Rosey, I sensed in her a profound sadness, a grief for the loss of a child she had helped to create, grief that most likely would find an eternal place in the heart of this young mother. (When we arrived home and changed Rosey’s diaper for the first time, we discovered a note in her sleeper. The note, written by Rosalina, said,”I love you. Mommy.”) We could not have our joy without her sorrow. This is this because that is that. It is with deep humility and gratitude that we received Rosey into our family.
Rosey was off to a fast start; In her first week with us, Rose took a trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, went shopping at the Springfield Mall, and then met and was held by the Phillie Phanatic at a “fun day'” at Fair Acres nursing facility in Delaware County. It was life in the fast lane and she didn’t even have a driver’s license. It was “baby’s day out” everyday.
We would soon discover that our sweet little rose from heaven was not without a few thorns. That first week, after her whirlwind days, she slept like a baby each night. Then the party was over. During the nights that followed, Rosey cried like a baby, drank like a very thirsty baby, and was awake all night, just like a newborn baby. Dexter and I were sleep-deprived . We took turns tending to Rosey in the night. At times, she was inconsolable. We took her for long midnight drives or literally walked the dark streets with her. What we thought was an insatiable appetite was actually an insatiable thirst. It would take until July 25th to ascertain that something was awry with the little rose. Blood tests revealed high sodium levels caused by a medical condition called diabetes insipidus. This was just one effect of many related to her underlying condition, Septo Optic Dysplasia. The diabetes insipidus was also the cause of the unquenchable thirst. The pediatrician called and strongly urged us to get Rosey to the emergency room as soon as possible. We took her to The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia and so began a two week hospitalization. She was poked and prodded, scanned inside and out, right side up and upside down. She was stuck for blood draws every fifteen minutes. After all that, we learned that our little Rose would most likely never see, never walk, suffer seizures, and basically be a hot little mess, a little baby “freak” who would fit right in at “Freak Haven”. There’s no contracts with God. We were given the blessing of this heavenly flower. She was a miracle to us, but one whose prognosis was becoming more grim as the days went by.
From day one, we believed Rosey came to us by way of the intercession of Saint Therese of Lisieux aka “The Little Flower”. So, we placed an image of Therese in Rosey’s hospital bed and commended her to the saint’s guardianship. In time we learned something that was indiscernable to all the medical scans and testings. Rosey turned out to have angel wings. She continually reminds us that “all the way to heaven is heaven”.
This entry was posted in Marriage and Family, Uncategorized on September 12, 2014.
Adoption policies have standard criteria regarding the age of parents who wish to adopt infants. For someone who is over the age of forty-five, it is almost impossible to adopt a baby . At age sixty, you’d have a better chance of winning the power ball and being struck by lightening twice. Unless, of course, it is a one-legged baby with half a brain. Then a parent of any age can buy one get one free. The adoptive parent themselves don’t even have to have legs or brains. Why wouldn’t the most challenging children be offered to the elderly? Fortunately, this policy worked in our favor when we sought to adopt an infant in our golden years. Each of us even had a full set of legs and at least a brain between the two of us.
It was Thursday, May 21 2009. We received the call about a baby girl not yet born. The tests in utero showed that she lacked a corpus callosum and most likely had a club foot. Club foot we understood but corpus callosum? It sounds like a botanical name for a Gerbera Daisy. What we googled wasn’t very pretty and the kids that lacked corpus callosums were funny-looking little things. We really didn’t care. We knew love would conquer all and this little baby to be would be the cutest ever!! I am pretty sure a mother hippopotamus has the same thought as she waits for her baby hippopotamus to be born. And so we agreed to take the baby, missing parts and all. We were excited and spent the next few days eagerly awaiting the call that the little one had been born. Her name would be Therese in honor of St. Therese of Lisieux aka The Little Flower, to whom we are fondly devoted.
It was Sunday night, May 24th. Dexter browsed emails while I cooked dinner. One of the emails, a forward from our daughter, Suky, displayed a shower of roses and an inspirational text. It had been sent a few days before but Dexter only now had the occasion to read it. At that very moment, the call came. She had just been born. Were the roses in the email a sign from Therese? Traditionally, roses are associated with favors granted through the intercession of Therese. We needed no convincing. This was notre rose celeste (our rose from heaven). Soon we learned that her birth mother’s name was Rosalina. And so the baby would be called Rosalina Therese, our little Rosey.
As it turned out, Rosey did not have a club foot. She did have a corpus callosum, a thin one, but alas, no septum pellucidum. When its all put together, a corpus callosum (CC) minus a club foot(-CF) minus a septum pellucidum(-SP) plus one half a pituitary(+.5 P) equals Septo Optic Dysplasia(=SOD). To us, it sounded like Rosey should be a veritable Baby Einstein. According to the docs, it was more like she would be a another Helen Keller. Either way, no matter how you figure it, it’s all relative anyway, Rosey is our little miracle.
This entry was posted in Marriage and Family, Uncategorized on August 14, 2014.
The Napkin Notes and Coffee Thoughts blog is an uplifting glimpse into the family story of Kathie and Dexter Lanctot, cofounders of Epiphany House, Inc. an organization that promotes adoption of children with special needs. It is told from selections of their correspondence via napkins and small notebooks. It is a story they have been repeatedly been urged to tell.