Author: Melissa Pelletier

The Hard Part About Special Needs Parenting

My girl.  She’s almost 7.  She’s almost in second grade.  She’s in a regular first grade class.  She can sight read with the best of ’em.  She can count super high.  She can dance and sing and play.  She knows everyone’s name.  She has friends.  She has ALL THE FRIENDS.  She has 47 chromosomes. Hmm. My girl, she’s 6.  She’s in first grade.  She doesn’t understand much, if anything, of what she reads.  If I’m being generous, her academic skills are more on par with those about to enter first grade as opposed to those completing it.  She has trouble...

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Taking Time for Me

The past year or so has been nuts at work.  One project after another after another… then a few more… with lots of little fires to put out in between.   Home hasn’t been all that much calmer.  With first grade comes things like harder books to read and presentations to give.  (On cake.  She did a presentation on cake.  I don’t remember what I talked about first time I got up in front of everyone but it likely wasn’t as awesome as cake.)  The husband continues to work full time (no complaints there.) And the boy is 3. I don’t think that last part needs more explanation. The kids get my attention every night from 5:30 – 7:30 and that first half hour usually starts 5 minutes late and consists of running into daycare before I get charged overtime.  The rest is consumed with dinner, bath, books, and (tooth)brushing.  Turn off the lights and it’s back downstairs for an hour or two of the writing part of my job I can’t actually do during the day.  My husband gets me for maybe 20 minutes before I crash at the end of the day. The half hour I get for me is each morning with my coffee and Candy Crush in bed while my husband gets ready.  Glamorous, right?!! So for the past few weeks, I’ve made a point to carve...

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A Wedding Story

If you didn’t have a major life event in October 2005, you may not remember but that September leading into October, there were three straight weeks of rain.  Crazy rain.  Flooding rain. Hurricane-like rain. (Katrina had hit NOLA just a few weeks earlier.) And if you weren’t doing anything particular on the third consecutive Friday of that marathon rain session, you may not remember that particular day but it wasn’t just rain – it was monsoon rain.  It was crazy-high-winds-pouring-down-buckets rain.  It was knock-over-light-poles-on-91-in-Windsor kinda rain. It was also my wedding day. All good. My girls were with me.  Husband-to-be was...

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