MSI Press Blog

  When all the kids were little, there was no lifeline. No safety net. No calm voice on the other end of a phone to help us sort out panic from emergency. If we called the ER, the answer was always the same, delivered in that flat, policy‑driven tone that never once considered the reality of our household: “We can’t dispense medical advice over the phone. You’ll need to bring the child in.” As if “bringing the child in” were as simple as grabbing a purse and car keys. As if we didn’t have three other children at home—one medically fragile, one medically complex, and one who was still learning to tie her shoes but was already being drafted into the role of second mama. So when Doah stopped breathing, or Noelle’s shunt failed, or someone spiked a fever that didn’t look like a normal fever, off we went. Donnie driving. Me in the back seat, doing whatever triage was required. And Lizzie—regardless of age—gathering the others, settling them, babysitting with a competence that grew far t...

  AI generated graphic   The rainbow makers never grew very big, except for Shane, who at 5'10" is not exceptionally tall for a young man. Lizzie topped out at 5', like me, Doah at 4'7", and Noelle at 4'3". Once in a while it has been a detriment to me at work, and Doah is always asked "pretty lady" or "handsome man" to get something off a top shelf for him at the store (they always oblige). Otherwise, we don't think about it much, but apparently others do. One day not too long ago, as Doah and I were eating at Denny's, a lady at the next table over kept glancing over at us. Not quite a stare, but clearly a fixation.  When we left, she followed us out, and as we approached our car, she spoke up. "Excuse me," she said, politely enough. "I really don't mean to bother you, but I just want to know if you are hobbits. Y'see, I've never seen hobbits before." Wow, how do you respond to someone with that...

  Doah’s mind often worked in ways that startled me—sometimes funny, sometimes profound, always his own. His mental challenges meant he processed the world differently, but that difference often revealed truths I might have missed. 💰 The Nickels When Doah was five or six, nickels were his treasure. He loved to collect them, roll them up, and march proudly to the bank to exchange them for “real” money. Anyone giving him a gift—birthday, holiday, or otherwise—knew to tuck in a few nickels. And if he spotted one on the ground, it was pure delight. He prized those nickels as if they were gold. A few weeks later, we were on a plane—I can’t even remember now where we were returning from—sitting in the middle two seats of a bulkhead row. The man on the aisle beside Doah noticed how awkward the bulkhead could be: overhead bins opening and closing, trays swinging out of armrests, all the little inconveniences that make travel taxing for a child. He was kind and solicitous, helping us ...

  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...