The Trip to Holland.

I know you've heard the story.

You get ready for a trip to Italy, and you learn Italian, and you're all ready to eat the native foods and go to the native places and see the sights, but you get dumped off in Holland. Then somehow you're la-la-la-ing your way through Holland, clicking your wooden clogs happily and revelling in the blessings of tulips and windmills. This, or so the analogy goes, is just how it feels to have a "special" child, and aren't we all glad we're in Holland together?

Dang straight, I'm not. Twerp alert: I paid for Italy. I'm feeling gypped.

And gimme a break. Don't even tell me that the second you got off that plane, that you wouldn't be yelling at every single ticket agent, the pilot, the stewardesses, the radar tower people, God and some random puppy that got in your way that day. (No, you'd kick the puppy. You're just that mad.) I'm telling you, I'd have the most colossal temper fit you'd ever seen, right in the airport. It would look something like this, but you have to picture this scene with a middle-aged fat white woman roly-polying all over the ground and snotting everywhere. (Thanks for that link, Tammy!)

But the analogy isn't really a fair one. Because really, you're IN ITALY but no longer able to speak Italian with the people who surround you. You can no longer eat the foods you wanted to eat or go to the places you wanted to see as a parent. Sure, you can love your little Dutchman and pinch his little Campbell's soup kid cheeks, and you can rejoice in the fact that your child is a gift from God. And you can yodel with him or whatever it is that those Dutch people do. (I know they don't yodel... that was just me trolling for comments by being provocative.)

That doesn't mean that when your child doesn't speak and the other kids the same age in the church nursery are using the potty and giving an entire monologue, that you don't feel jealous. And angry. Why are we all working so hard, and things are still difficult?

It doesn't mean you don't want to smack some people upside the head, either. Do you know how aggravating it is to deal with stares and comments, knowing this is some horrible joke God is playing on your poor child? Here, you can be reasonably assured the know-it-all who advises you on child rearing in the local Wal-Mart hasn't had to deal with one stinkin' tenth of the problems you've been handling. And her kids don't have one stinkin' tenth of the obstacles to overcome your child does.

You feel jealous of the easy life those people have. You wish *you* had the easy life with *your* children and that you could be the one giving the stupid advice to Ms. Stupid and the Stupid Twins on checkout aisle 15. But nooooo. God puts all this on your family, and then you're supposed to suck it up and be gracious.

It isn't fair. Not that I'm doing so hot on the being gracious thing, and not that I'm doing so hot on even caring about not doing so hot on the being gracious thing.

I'd like to think that the world's biggest difference between people is the difference between Christians and non-Christians, but... I'm thinking it isn't sometimes. I'm thinking I have a whole lot more community with people (Christian or not!) who understand the nature of "disability." I know that Jesus is all about giving to others and stuff like that. I used to... a long time ago. Right now, I feel like I'm on a very taxing daily treadmill and have no energy for unexpected glitches. I need a break, and don't really get one. Well, except for this break I'm taking right now, writing about how I need a break...

Speaking of being in Holland, and my little Dutch guy Woodjie (OK, he's German, but I'm stretching the analogy so I don't have to write two posts), I went to the school he will be going to in December. I wish every school were like the public special-needs preschool in our district. I'd feel ok about paying tax money for schools and know that the teachers are really looking out for the students. I wouldn't be concerned about which children went where to school. You go ahead and homeschool, private school, public school and it's all ok with me.

(Well, I suppose in *theory* I feel that way already. But I really would in *practice* if all schools were like this.)

Maybe it's impossible because there are so many political entanglements with schools, or maybe it's because it's a SPECIAL NEEDS preschool. I'm not worried about what's in the reading curriculum when we're learning that A is for Allie the Alligator. Sure, Vinnie the Vampire kinda pushes things, but it isn't a fighting issue for me when we have so many other bigger fish to fry, like helping Woodjie talk. (Besides, have you seen what we've been reading lately? I can't very well be the pot calling the kettle black.)

I would rather, of course, that Woodjie be able to speak and sit nicely in a restaurant. Or go places easily. It isn't JUST about training the child, although it is that as well. It's that this child has a disability, and the school is a resource to help him through. Well, for preschool, anyway. Elementary school is too far away to worry about *too* much. We'll just see when we get there. I'm not sure where we're going or what we're doing with him later on.

This place has a classroom specially made just for children like Woodjie. Did you know there are other people using PECs right here in town? I saw some of these children, and they had books just like Woodjie. That was their way to speak, just like Woodjie! Wow. I've never seen kids like Woodjie McOnion McGillicuddy before. I knew they existed somewhere out there, but had never seen them.

Maybe they have parents, too. :]