Cerebral Palsy Month: Ask Questions

The little girl was standing with her mother when the elevator doors opened. She looked at Mason with his crutches and her eyes grew round with wonder. "But, wha?" "I mean what?" "Wha...."

I am not sure if her mother was tightening her grip and that is why she couldn't form the sentence entirely. Seconds passed as Mason and I made our way with our luggage off of the elevator as she stammered and tried to form what she desperately wanted to ask:

"But what is wrong with him? Why does he use THOSE??" she finally got her questions out as she pointed to Mason's crutches (if you have been around here a minute, you know I named those power sticks the minute he started using them at 3) and her mother fairly jerked her onto the elevator.

The doors were beginning to close as Mason was explaining how they help him walk. We chuckled at her wonder as we made our way out of the hotel. I told Mason I wish parents wouldn't try and stop children from asking questions and asked him how he felt. Not surprisingly, his answer was amazing:

"I think that suppressing innocent questions is what begets ableism. If we welcomed questions, rather than making them taboo, disability wouldn't be as frightening."

"I think that suppressing innocent questions is what begets ableism. If we welcomed questions, rather than making them taboo, disability wouldn't be as frightening." -- Mason Shrader

It is Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month. I can't help but want to scream that we are willing to answer every single question you have. We are thrilled when your littles want to know all the things about the power sticks AND the power wheelchair. Let them ask!!

And the hotel we were leaving -- just one of the stops as Mason and his power sticks prepare to accept one of the FOUR offers he has received for his PhD program. He applied to four. He has been accepted to all four.

And that dear ones, is what Cerebral Palsy looks like!

One word. And yet.

Fifth grade was already off to a rocky start. The triplets' elementary school had a second floor for 5th-8th graders. Benjamin and Mason had to take an elevator and although we had been discussing it for more than a year, there was no plan in place in case of a fire. I didn't know I could fret over a set of stairs so much.

Regardless, the year had begun and the triplets were getting in the swing of things. The boys knew how to navigate the elevator and navigated the halls with the confidence of 10-year-olds with a circle of friends.

It was with this confidence that Mason would exit the elevator one day as two older boys were coming down the hall. I am just going to tell you that never have 8th graders seemed more adult than when your child enters 5th grade and middle school! Oh my.

These two seemingly grown men (by comparison!) were shoving each other back and forth when Mason walked off the elevator. One shoved the other right into Mason causing him to lose his balance -- not a hard thing to do admittedly -- and fall down. These boys didn't pause to help Mason. Rather, they kept shoving,  yelling loudly "Look what you made me do. You made me knock the little retard down."

I doubt those young men (Now actual men) would recognize themselves if they read this blog. No doubt they moved on and continued their macho match. But for my son -- and for me -- the incident is seared into our memory forever.

Mason was wounded. The story tumbling out of his mouth as soon as he got in the car. In one swift, thoughtless moment, those two boys had ripped to shreds the innocence as well as the confidence of my 10-year-old.

I was heart-broken.

I was furious.

I wanted to hunt down not only the boys but their parents.

It has in fact taken me hours to write this post, I am so overcome with the emotion of this memory.

Oh I know sticks and stones, etc. But words do hurt. Words have the power to wreak havoc. And they did. And they do.

One word and I realized the world would not always see my boys as the amazing over-comers they are. One word and I realized that the world would sometimes see the crutches, the wheelchair, and deem them unworthy of a glance, a care. One word and I realized my cute adorable children would not always bring out the best in people.

I watched as that one word -- and the disdain with which it was spoken -- caused Mason to stumble. One word and the kid who thought he could accomplish anything began to doubt himself. One word and he questioned his abilities. One word and he felt like a failure. Still.

Tomorrow is Spread the Word to End the Word Awareness Day. There is no place for the word retard or retarded in today's vocabulary.  No place.  A word used to divide, it is derogative and leaves people feeling less than human. Can we commit to getting rid of this word? Can we commit to teaching our children the harmful effects of words that divide us and hurt others?

It is Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month -- let's make people aware that we have more in common than our differences. And let's commit to only use language that reflects that!

Cerebral Palsy Awareness

The triplets were three when I wanted desperately for them to be part of an evening activity at our church. I asked how to sign them up and was told that of course they were welcome, as long as I was willing to stay and help. The group just wasn't set up for our unique needs, I was told.

After a wonderful Cub Scout experience in Richardson, Texas, we moved to Phoenix, AZ. I immediately reached out to the local Cub Scout pack. The leader returned my call only to tersely tell me that his pack was not set up to deal with our...unique needs.

I could type story after story of times where the boys wanted to try something, or I wanted them to try something, or their classmates were trying something. I could type story after story of times where we were turned down.

We didn't always handle it well. Some times I stayed and tried to teach those in charge how amazing my boys were. Some times, I hung the phone up and cried. Some times I ranted.

Always, I kept looking for the thing that would include them, the activity that would allow their value to be seen. Some days I look back at their childhood and think I had my fists raised the whole time. And even though we often had amazing people fighting with us, finding inclusion was too often a battle.

Last spring when the triplets graduated from college, I wept times three. I cried tears of pride -- their accomplishments amaze me. I cried tears of relief -- they did what some thought impossible.

And really, I cried tears of thanksgiving. I was so thankful that the boys had overcome, they had knocked down the walls -- the boys had proven that they could overcome all the challenges Cerebral Palsy throws their way. I was so thankful I could put my fists down.

Mason graduated Summa Cum Laude with degrees in Anthropology, Classics, and a minor in Archaeology. He spent summers in college on archaeological dig sites in Mexico, and off the coast of Spain. He has worked in the lab, he has dug in the field. He has climbed endless stairs to housing accommodations, he has slept in hammocks. He wrote his honors thesis that won awards and was asked to present his work again and again.

Mason has not let Cerebral Palsy prevent him from chasing his dreams. He continues to study classical archaeology in graduate school at Texas Tech. He has professors that believe in his abilities.

Frankly, it is my perhaps-biased opinion that he is a rock star. An absolute rock star.

But I need to be very clear that Cerebral Palsy still throws him the occasional curve ball. CP still throws down a road block periodically.

He has been told more than once that a field program can't accept him with his disabilities. He has been told that he can't. He has been told that he shouldn't. He has been told that if he tries, he will have to sign a waiver absolving the organization of responsibility if he gets hurt.

I feel my fists clenching and I want to fight for him. But Mason is not a seven-year-old who wants to join Cub Scouts. In order to chase his dreams, Mason is going to have to fight his own battles, he is going to have to knock down his own road blocks.

And then he will probably have to knock down a few more.

Cerebral Palsy hasn't stopped Mason. But that doesn't mean it doesn't try.

March is CP Awareness Month. And just like every month, we intend to kick it to the curb. 

Star Wars Fans since birth. Literally.

Wade and I had been dating for almost a year when he invited me to sit and view three movies back to back. He didn't tell me it was a test. But in hindsight, I am absolutely certain that the very future of our relationship hung in the balance. The very fact that he kept dating me after learning that young young me had not gone to the theater to see Star Wars, speaks volumes to the fact that he already loved me when this was discovered. Whew.

We were expecting triplets in 1997 when the original movies were re-released on the big screen in anticipation of the prequels. For "A New Hope" we braved the crowds and when the lobby of the Chicago movie theater turned in to a mash pit, a kind theater manager whisked me into the theater early. And so it began.

These babies kicked the entire movie. THE ENTIRE MOVIE! I was laughing out loud because already, I knew they were going to love watching it with their Dad.

When "The Empire Strikes Back" was re-released, the theater manager saw us when we walked in and whisked me to the calm and safety of the theater. And when "The Return of the Jedi" re-released, I was in the hospital on bed rest and had to miss it.

But in 1999, when "The Phantom Menace" opened, we stood in line all day to see it -- well, Wade did. I had three two year olds at home. The babysitter came in time for me to meet Wade to go in and FINALLY see a Star Wars movie the first time it was released.

After the hype died down a bit -- and by hype I mean the crowds because the hype was alive and well at our house -- Wade and I loaded three very excited two year olds and headed to the theater for their first action film. One bitty baby got scared when the previews started -- the surround sound hurt his little ears, I think. And when I went to take him to the lobby, his sister wanted to go with us, too. That left Dad with Benjamin. And Benjamin, well, Benjamin sat on Wade's lap, holding on to the seat in front of him talking to the screen:

"Hey Yoda! Daddy, it's Yoda!!!" 

"Jar Jar!!! Daddy, Jar Jar Binks!!!!"

"Darth Maul!!"

Don't worry, we were in a small town, months after the movie premiered and there was only one other Dad and child in the theater. My enthusiastic Star Wars fan didn't disturb anyone.

The next summer, when Benjamin needed surgery requiring a cast after, we were sitting with him when he woke in the recovery room. 

"Daddy, look! I am in a pod racer!!!"

And that boy didn't complain ONE time about wearing his "pod-racer" cast all summer!

And so last night, we were at the premiere of the latest movie, "The Rise of Skywalker." On a work night. On a school night. We were there. 

And I know, judging by my social media feed and the way we had to buy tickets months ago, (And you know, because I don't live under a rock!) that we are not a unique family in our love of Star Wars. And yet, last night, I felt super emotional as familiar faces popped up on the big screen. Memories swirled of babies kicking to the brilliant music of John Williams before they were even born, to the surgeries the films have distracted us from. 

I felt grateful for a universe that creates a level playing field for my boys with their friends (and strangers, and all of Twitter.).

But mostly, I felt grateful for shared experiences with their Dad. In my head I could hear the thousands of conversations over the years where they deconstruct the movies, where they read the books, where they anticipate the rides! I feel grateful for Jedis and lightsabers and even the Sith. 

And I am totally blaming my gratitude for the dozen or so times, I teared up last night. Totally.

So whatever the next generation of films offers, we will no doubt be huge fans. But last night -- for me anyway -- felt like saying thank you to the ones who began it all. And I loved every minute.

May the Force Be With You!

Happy 22nd Birthday to Benjamin, Mason, and Claire!!!!

Today is the 22nd birthday of my amazing trio. And I will just tell you that birthdays while your kids are in college are for the birds. I haven't been able to see them, hug them, celebrate them all day. When they were growing up, I always let them take the day off from school so we could play -- but today was the final regular class day for Benjamin before his finals exams and one of the last for Mason and Claire. We couldn't just take the day off and play.

We also had tornadoes in the area all afternoon. So I couldn't just get in my car and make the college rounds.

No, rather, I have sat and watched a feast of sappy rom-coms with my 13-year-old who I think was missing the celebrating as much as her mom.

It occurred to me the second or third time Cate and I had to jump into the closet because the tornado sirens were going off that today wasn't that much different than their actual BIRTH day.

I didn't get to see them that day either.

Sweet first photos!

On April 18, 1997, I had been already been in labor for ten weeks. I had been on bed rest in the hospital for nine of those, not even allowed to wiggle a toe off the edge of the bed, never sitting up. I had taken a myriad of shots on a daily basis to promote lung development and we were praying them to a safe delivery date.

My due date was July 7. I knew they would come early, but I was shooting for May 27 -- my daddy's birthday. It never occurred to me -- never -- that we would have April babies!

But my body had done all it could do. Physical changes for me -- not the babies -- mandated a C-section on that April day. 

All together in one swing in the NICU!

As I was wheeled into the operating room, my nursing team filed in to kiss my cheek one by one. They had been caring for me -- and for these three -- for months. They all told me they were praying.

The room was full of medical personnel. Doctors and nurses for me, and an entire team for each baby.  Poor Wade, I was too scared to talk and he had NEVER seen me unable to speak. I think that scared him most of all.

The doctor warned me that the babies might not have enough lung strength to cry upon delivery. I was prepared. But each one of my mighty three gave a cry to greet the world before being whisked into the waiting hands of their own personal medical team.

I did the smocking for these little outfits while lying in a hospital bed -- my
dear friend Linda turned them into heirlooms for their baby dedication!

 I was taken to the recovery room and vividly remember just being so cold. My doctor got me this wonderful heater that blew hot air under my blankets. (Honestly, I dream about that heat some days.)

I was so anxious to see my babies but I wasn't yet stable enough -- my body just had had enough. Those precious recovery room nurses saw my angst and one of them dug through the cabinet until she found a Polaroid camera. She handed that camera to Wade and told him to go get me some photos. Wade was so hesitant to leave me but he too, was eager to see our babies. I needed him to go to them. He came back with my first visual of the little people I had been talking to for months. I have never loved three photos more.

I would be wheeled down to meet them myself 24 hours later when it was deemed safe for me. They were the most beautiful little bitty things I had ever seen.

Those tiny babies would spend the next weeks in the NICU where one would have a good day, one might stay steady, and one would take two steps backwards all before switching it up the next day. I very vividly remember thinking that as long as the days in that NICU felt, I was going to blink and they were going to be grown up. And I was so very right.

Today, they are finishing their final semester of college. All three of those babies who spent their childhood doing every single thing together -- will graduate in just a matter of weeks. And all three of those babies who were born almost three month too early, make me so proud I could burst!!!

They better be ready to celebrate the 22nd Anniversary-of-the-first-time-I-got-to-see-them-with-my-own-eyes tomorrow -- because that is totally a thing!

Buzz, my three, and the little sister!

Happy birthday, Benjamin, Mason, and Claire! You are seriously more loved than you can ever imagine!

Words matter.

The little girl bumped into Mason in a crowded food court at our Walt Disney World Resort. It was unintentional and really, would not have been a big deal at all. Except for the grandmother. Except for  the fact that this fully grown woman grabbed her granddaughter and said:

"Be careful. You almost knocked the deformed man down."

Deformed.

The little girl's mother overheard:

"Mother, it isn't deformed. It's disabled."

Now, for the sake of my blood pressure, let us assume that the "it" in those two sentences was the WORD choice and NOT the man in question. Oh please let her have been correcting her mother's word choice not referring to my son as an IT. Because frankly, the use of deformed is already more than I can handle.

And it isn't really more than I can handle. We laughed as a matter of fact at our table. A laughter born of disbelief that in 2019 we still haven't educated society enough that these things don't happen. A laughter born of desperation to not cry that anyone anywhere ever thought calling someone deformed -- within their earshot no less -- was an okay thing to do.

A laughter that defused the hurt and sadness and actual pain of realizing one more time how often people are incapable of seeing past outward appearances. Sigh.

All grandmother had to say was "Sweetie, be careful. You almost knocked the young man down." (She could have thrown in handsome, even! :) )  She could have just told her granddaughter to say, "Excuse me."

We have heard more often than I can count mothers reprimand their children not to stare at us. If we are in close proximity, and I can engage in conversation, I have often encouraged the mother that staring isn't the problem. I tell her to let the child ask questions of me or the boys. I encourage her not to make disability taboo or something to whisper about.

Oh mothers (and grandmothers, obviously), your children are going to engage or disengage from people with different abilities exactly how YOU engage or disengage. If you act like it is a disease to avoid, guess what, so will they. If you act like it is something to stare and whisper about -- oh yes, they will too.

If you use words like deformed when speaking of the disabled, you better believe that will stick.

Just don't whisper. Don't stare. And for the love of all the amazing children everywhere, please don't call my boys and their peers deformed!!

You can start with hello.

Thank you, Mrs. Ernestine.

My first word of advice when parents ask me about college choice is always -- always -- look more at the heart of the school than at the architecture.

My trio all chose old, well-established universities. They all chose schools that were built before the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), and small enough liberal arts colleges that big overhauls have not been made in accessibility.

Loudly, I want to proclaim that overhauls are necessary on all three campuses. There are things that need to be done -- physically, and policy-wise to make those campuses more accessible. Period. (And rest assured, all three are doing what they can to get awareness raised on their respective campuses.)

But today, I was reminded of just how right I am when I say the heart of the campus is the biggest thing. The very biggest thing.

Almost four years ago now, Mason and I visited Millsaps College for a Welcome Weekend event. He went to his information sessions and I went to the parent sessions. In one session, the speaker introduced himself with a myriad of titles but one -- Accessibility Director -- caught my attention. I sought this administrator out following the session to introduce myself. I told him about Mason and what he needed to be successful in college. I asked if Millsaps could provide these things. He assured me they could as we walked across the campus. When we ran into Mason, I was thrilled to introduce the two of them. And then promptly realized how different college-life would be, when the director looked Mason in the eye and asked:

"Mason, I know what your mother thinks you need to be successful in college. What do you think you need?"

It won't surprise you to know that Mason's list was only a fraction as long as mine had been.

That was the day Mason took ownership of his college career -- months before he actually moved onto campus.

Today, I was at Millsaps for the semester ritual of Mom and son going together to purchase his textbooks -- for our next to last time. My mother-heart was happy enough watching the mini-reunions with everyone we ran into in that bookstore. As he begins his senior year, it is so clear that Mason has  a community.

After paying for his books, I started making my way out of the student center only to be stopped by one of the custodial staff, Mrs. Ernestine. "Are you his Mother?" she asked, nodding her head towards Mason. I smiled and said that yes, I am. 

She returned my smile, "Everybody on this campus loves your boy," she said. "You don't have to worry about him. We are all looking out for him."

I thanked her -- and tried not to cry. She went on, "Come here. Look over there. He is surrounded by his friends. I told you everybody loves him. Now you go on and don't worry."

Mrs. Ernestine is part of the heart of that campus.

Last week, Mason called concerned about some construction fencing that was blocking his accessible path for his scooter. I urged him to stop by and talk to the head of security, a college friend of his dad's, John Conway.

Mason called me back in minutes. "Mom, Mr. Conway is already on it. He has a plan and has instructed the construction team to move the fencing to make a path for me. I didn't even need to ask for it."

John Conway is part of the heart of that campus.

Benjamin has similar stories with a dear lady, Mrs. Elle, on his campus. Mrs. Elle has stopped me on numerous occasions to assure me she can get the doors for Benjamin and I should go on. She worries about him when he doesn't stop for lunch and she is always there with a hug when I am on campus. Mrs. Elle works in multiple buildings on Belhaven's campus but she always seeks out Benjamin to say hello. She is part of the heart of that campus.

I talked to my girl today, too. Goodness, she doesn't need the accessibility, and yet she actively fights for it for those that do. I told her about my conversation with Mrs. Ernestine and she laughed and told me that she was walking to campus for the first time from her just-off-the-edge-of-campus-apartment and one of the security officers saw her and offered her a ride in his golf cart today. We laughed that even she is well taken care of on campus.

As my trio begin their senior year of college (SENIOR YEAR!!!), I have learned so much about college choices, campus accessibility, and the ability of my children to overcome and persevere. I am not going to sugar-coat it and pretend that all of it has been rosy. And I am keeping notes in an effort to help those who come behind us.

But we were spot on when we said the heart of these three schools was exactly what we were looking for.

Mrs. Ernestine was a perfect reminder.

The Good. The Bad. And the Ugly.

Sorting through the thousand or so photos I took over the last two weeks, I am struck by the absolute beauty of this trip. I am overwhelmed with gratitude that we had this experience. And after a semester having my family separated by thousands of miles, I confess that I took as many photos of my crew as I did the scenery and I do not apologize for that even a little bit. (Especially since we left Mason studying off the coast of Spain so already we are separate...again.)

But I am also keenly aware that my photographs are of the good moments. I don't stop and photograph the hard times -- though I try to be honest about them -- and so am always struck when people comment about how happy we are "always".....seriously, that is not our reality and I don't want you to think it is.

So, if you are interested in a traveler's tale, please grab some coffee. I have about a million photos I want to share and might get a bit long-winded!

Let's start with the good:

1. Gelato. Holy smokes, the gelato was so divine. And this little gelato spot in particular made us smile for a myriad of reasons -- not the least of which, they recognized us upon our return and welcomed us back!

2. Entrance Fees.  We usually only paid for one or at the most one adult and one child. Italy's policy is that those with disabilities enter free, as does one companion. 

View from the Coliseum!

3. The history.  From the Arch of Constantine and the reminder that it was Constantine who returned to Rome demanding everyone become "Christian." To the Coliseum, where for 390 years, battles were reenacted, executions were held, prisoners were fighting wild animals for their freedom, and all in the name of entertainment. In those years more than 400,000 people died.

We saw the forums of Rome's mighty leaders. We toured the Vatican and saw the Sistine Chapel (I posted photos from those sights here and also here). And toured St. Paul's Basilica, built where Paul is buried. Seeing the actual chains from when Paul was imprisoned was emotional. 

And convicting. Paul wrote from his prison cell:

"I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances." Philippians 4:11

Oh, I need to have that level of contentment.

Outside of St. Paul's.

Inside St. Paul's Benjamin had plenty of room to navigate.

The eternal flame burning at the altar where Paul's prison chains are housed.

For perspective -- the columns were huge at the Basilica.

4. The pizza. Need I say more?

5. Tour guides. We made a wise decision prior to our travels and hired an accessible van for two days in Rome, the drive to our ship, and to also meet us at the port of Livorno to take us to Pisa and around Florence. On these days, Benjamin had to navigate the roads much less and Mason had to walk the cobblestones much less. They still had to....but the reprieve between major sites was a nice change.

We used www.romeconnection.com for these drivers and tour guides. They did an outstanding job helping us navigate the ancient cities!

With Marco, our tour guide for two days in Rome. Marco got us into and around the Vatican as if it were easy -- it is not. We were so thankful for his expertise!

With Heliana, our fantastic tour guide in Florence! The history this woman knew was incredible and so fascinating! 

With Florin -- our absolutely delightful driver! He and this van were an absolute game-changer!!!

6. The views. Once upon a time, I read a little book -- "The Red Sails of Capri" -- aloud to Cate that promptly drew her teenage-siblings' attention and enthralled us all. We have dreamt for years of visiting Capri. It did not disappoint.

And of course, my archaeologist son, Mason, was thrilled to visit Pompeii. He worked harder than he has ever had to in order to navigate these enormous cobble stones of the ruins but did not stop smiling the entire time!

Under an arch in Pompeii with Mt. Vesuvius behind them! Look at the size of those cobblestones!

The tour guide was enthralled with Mason's enthusiasm and knowledge. Of course.

She hardly had to break a sweat to hold it up! :)

She didn't either! (And no, the boys would have no part in the silly photos!)

Overlooking Florence in all her splendor!

And from the bridge in Florence.

A calanque (creek)  in Cassis.

In the village of Cassis, France.

7. Family Time. Oh man how I loved needing a table for SIX for every dinner!!

The Bad.

1. When we clicked wheelchair-access on the Disney Cruise site, all excursion options disappeared. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. We considered not taking the cruise at all. Not taking the trip at all. But the bottom line was that I desperately wanted my crew to experience Italy. And I also knew that Disney would ensure our rooms at night and our meals were accessible. Beyond that we were on our own.

So, Benjamin was able to tour Rome. Because we flew there and arranged our own tours.

Shrader SIX in the Coliseum!

He was able to see the tower in Pisa, and sight see in Florence. Again, because WE arranged the van and tour guides who would give us an accessible option.

My fab four in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa!

All six Shraders able to see the Duomo in Florence!

But he wasn't able to get off the ship in Capri. Or Marseilles. Or Cannes. So he and Dad stayed on the ship. He enjoyed every minute. He loves that boat. He WON six out of six Disney Trivia contests, was known by many families around the ship due to his wins, and thoroughly enjoyed himself. But still. He missed Capri.

Only four Shraders could see the majesty of Capri.

 And Cassis.

And he missed the short walk we took through the streets of Cannes. And the crepes at the little sidewalks. And we missed sharing all of this with him and with Wade.

2. Cobblestones everywhere.

Giant cobblestones in Pompeii were a physical challenge but my archaeologist son still smiled every minute!

3. Exhaustion. We walked five to ten miles every sight-seeing day. The weather was lovely and yet, the sun got hot as we tried to rapidly see as many sights as possible. This trip was not for the faint of heart. Not even a little.

Girls napping while we wait for lunch (Pizza, what else?!) in Sorrento!

The Ugly.

1. Rome arrival. Detailed here. I can't even go into that again. Sigh.

2. My attitude. Oh man. In the first days of our time in Italy, I desperately wanted everyone to love it as much and as intensely as I had dreamt about them loving it.  And the hard-to-navigate roads, coupled with inconsistent curb-cut-outs of Rome were leaving Benjamin frustrated and a bit frantic so we needed to help him drive. This led to some short tempers. Ok, this led to my short temper. One day, I will learn to get my expectations out of the way.

Luckily, we remembered to flex before we were too many days in and the trip because much much more enjoyable after that.

3. Taxi in Barcelona. We disembarked Saturday morning in Barcelona. We had to get Mason to his Field School and so had opted to just fly home also. We booked our transfer from the ship to the airport through DISNEY. As guests poured off the ship, they loaded charter buses for their transfers. Not one was accessible. We were told to wait. We waited. They called for us and led us to a small van with a steep ramp. I mean steep ramp. The "van" was not tall enough for Benjamin to get into and you know, keep his head on. :)  We measured and angled and finally reclined him, drove him up the crazy ramp and then raised him back up as much as possible. The vehicle didn't hold us all and our luggage. So Wade and the luggage went on one of the buses. The kids and I in the taxi. (I will commend the taxi and bus drivers and say that they worked very hard to stay together. At one point, the bus driver pulled to the side of the road to wait for us. He obviously read our discomfort with being separated in an unknown city/country.)

3. Arriving back in Philadelphia. Same song, hundred and fifteenth verse. Plane lands. Passengers get off. Wheelchair does not arrive. We wait. Aisle chair arrives. I have to explain Benjamin can not get into that until his chair arrives. Entire flight crew gather round us. THANKFULLY, they all understood and just sat down and visited with us. But we waited 45 minutes for his wheelchair to be unloaded and brought to the jet way. Seriously, can I say AGAIN, that the time lost in us forcing airlines to have a lengthy flight turn-over could be avoided if they engineered a way for his wheelchair to lock down instead of having him transfer out of his chair!! (Before you criticize me, please know the drawings have been done and are actively being considered. I didn't just come up with this idea! Check out this video!)

Traveling with a disability is a struggle. We have left Mason in Spain where he is doing a field school at an ancient burial site. He is walking up five flights of stairs for housing, hiking through brush for half an hour, and working in the sun on his knees and belly all day. Clearly, we don't avoid the hard stuff. But really, there is no reason Disney can not provide excursions from this wonderful cruise itinerary that make it easier for families like ours to travel. I want to encourage families to not be afraid to explore the world -- but until companies like American Airlines, Disney, and other travel companies decide our patronage is valuable, and make an effort to ease the travel burden by providing more accessible options, I can only say that seeing the world is worthwhile, and seeing the world is hard.

I have some jet-lag to overcome but if you want to come by and see the other thousands of photos I wasn't able to include here, just give me a shout! :)

From the overlook in Florence!

www.romeconnection.com