MSI Press Blog

  In 1980, I fell down a flight of stairs. The day started out normally enough. Breakfast over, Donnie departed for work, and school lunches prepared, the kids and I were ready to take on the day, as usual. Lizzie had skipped off to her fourth grade class a few blocks from home. Three-year-old Noelle, dressed in a pretty pink dress and her blond hair tied up into two ponytails   with matching pink ribbons was tucked away in the back of our orange Pacer, where she could sit comfortably with her legs stretched out. (Those were days before the invention of seat belts.) Two-year-old Shane was seated on the outside stairs, waiting for me to bring out Doah, in his carrier, along with his suction machine for his trach tube. Doah was on the sofa, next to his suction machine. Everything and everyone in place – except that Shane needed a pair of socks. I quickly scooted down the basement stairs in search of clean socks that should have been on top of the dryer. And the, oops, I slippe...

  When Lizzie was offered the chance to skip first grade, I sought counsel from a professor of gifted and talented education. My concern wasn’t academics—it was social development. He reassured me, citing both research and experience, that if she was intellectually ready, she’d be socially resilient enough to manage the transition. So, she skipped. And he was right. The only social friction she encountered came from her classmates not quite understanding her academic passions. Still, they humored her—letting her lead them into scientific explorations that were far beyond the curriculum. Her delight at receiving a college-level genetics textbook for Christmas in fourth grade confirmed her oddness, but her enthusiasm for building a rocket launcher in the backyard was contagious. That is, until I shut it down. Maybe some mothers wouldn’t mind a backyard rocket launcher. I just wasn’t sure I wanted one in mine. Years later, Lizzie had the opportunity to skip seventh grade. Again, sh...

  Second grade at St. Alphonsus was no joke. It was a stretch academically—and financially. We chose Catholic school because it offered more challenge than the local public school, and we could just barely afford it. Tuition checks were written with prayer and crossed fingers. At home, we were transparent about money. Lizzie, precocious and perceptive, absorbed more than we realized. One day, her math teacher—a sweet sister with a chalkboard and a mission—wrote the problem: 23 - 35. She asked the class, “What’s wrong with this problem?” expecting a chorus of “We copied it wrong!” Her point: slow down, be careful, copy accurately. But Lizzie had other ideas. She raised her hand and said, “Maybe the problem is forgetting the negative sign, when you write the answer, -12.” The sister blinked. Negative numbers were not on the second-grade syllabus. She replied gently, “There is no such thing as negative numbers.” Lizzie, ever the truth-seeker, tilted her head and asked, “Well...

Precerpt from  Raising God’s Rainbow Makers (Mahlou) How Noelle Got Her Name When Noelle was born, Lizzie was four—our only child at the time, waiting at home with the babysitter while her baby sister was being airlifted 250 miles south to San Antonio for urgent care. Noelle had arrived with spina bifida, and the specialized treatment she needed wasn’t available in San Angelo. We were part of the hippie generation, drawn to names that danced outside the lines. So we chose  Anemone Esther —a name as delicate and wild as a sea flower, full of meaning to us. We filled out the birth certificate with care, believing we’d chosen something beautiful. But when we got home and told Lizzie her sister’s name, she burst into tears. “You can’t name her that,” she sobbed. “I hate it.” We asked why. “Because I can’t say it!” she wailed. Fair enough. So we asked her what name she’d choose. “Noelle,” she said promptly. “I like Christmas music.” And just like that, Anemone Esther became Noelle....