Chapter 67: First Day of School

September

"Daddy…Daddy!... Umm, Daddy!" Bronwyn bellowed at increasing volume as she anxiously started to get dressed for school. She was now in the big leagues - kindergarten – and she had the uniform to prove it. Amelia had recently taken Bronwyn shopping for her white shirts with the Peter Pan collars, red sweaters (both cardigan and pullover), and navy skorts. A few days prior to that shopping extravaganza, Lynne had taken Bronwyn to buy Mary Jane's and navy knee socks. Beyond a doubt, Bronwyn was going to look absolutely adorable in her little schoolgirl outfit. If, that is, she could manage to get it on and be ready in time on the first day of school.

Owen heard Bronwyn yelling for him, but he had his hands full trying to assist the boys in tying their plaid blue and red ties. One would imagine that since the boys wore these uniforms every school day last year that the ties would be just another item to put on. Somehow, in addition to losing the predictable amount of reading and math skills during the summer break, they had also completely forgotten how to tie a tie.

"Oliver…Oliver…sit still," Owen pleaded. "Listen, buddy, I'm going to come at this from behind so you can learn how to tie it yourself. I can't do that if you're wiggling and squirming or if you are trying to put on your shoes while I'm tying the tie."

"But, Dad…" Oliver groaned, "I want to get to school now. I want to see my friends. Bronwyn is taking forever and we're gonna be late and then I'm gonna get points taken off on the very first day of school. Dad, if she makes us late, I'm gonna hit her!"

"No, you're not," Finley refuted dryly as he walked by his brother and pushed him "accidentally."

"Finley, really? C'mon. Help me out here," Owen grumbled.

"Daddy….Daaaaaddddddddyyyyyyyy!" Bronwyn screamed. "This whole thing isn't working. I need help to look pretty."

"Yes, you do," Oliver yelled back, "you need lots of help to look pretty."

Owen nudged the back of Oliver's head, "Say you're sorry. That was out of line."

"Sorry," Oliver mumbled very quietly.

"Seriously, Ollie," Owen insisted, "Go down there, help your sister get dressed and tell her you're sorry." As he scooted Oliver toward the door, Owen sighed and took in the sight of his 7th grade, nearly teen, son. Finley's tie was crooked but tied. His belt was fastened, something Finley needed help with in 6th grade. "Wow, Finley, you're growing up," Owen sighed with awe.

"Dad, c'mon," Finley grumbled, "That's the corniest thing you've ever said to me. Why don't you go help Bronwyn?" Owen's head told him intellectually that Finley was being a 12-year-old, but Owen's heart sunk slightly nonetheless as he heard Finley's words. As of this year for certain, Owen was no longer cool in Finley's eyes. Unable to help himself and much to Finley's dismay, Owen stood up and straightened Finley's tie and kissed Finley on the top of his head before stepping out of the room.

"Dddddddaaaaaaaddddddddddddyyy! Oliver stole my shortses!" Bronwyn howled as Oliver ran down the stairs with Bronwyn's skort on his head.

"You have more than one, find another," Owen yelled with exasperation as he headed toward Bronwyn's room.

"Bronwyn, you're so stupid! It's called a skort. S-K-O-R-T, skort. Not shortses. You're gonna be the dumbest kindergartener at school and I'm not letting anyone know you're my sister," Oliver revealed from the bottom of the stairs.

"Oliver!" Owen bellowed a little more firmly than he intended. "Up here. Now." Turning his attention to Bronwyn, whose sweater was on inside out and misbuttoned, Owen praised what he could. "Bronwyn, look at that! Your socks and shoes are on. Your shirt is almost ready, and your hair still looks pretty," Owen celebrated. Amelia had done Bronwyn's hair that morning before heading to a doctor's appointment for Gwen. Owen was hoping to join her for the appointment after he dropped the kids off at school. They were anticipating some test results and updates that they both wanted to hear.

Owen grabbed a skort out of Bronwyn's closet and helped her step into it. "Ummm…Daddy…see, Daddy…Dad…that was the problem before," Bronwyn declared with wide arm movements as Owen slid the skort up and fastened the flat hook closures. "The shortses that Oliver STOLE from me had a bend in that buckle part and they wouldn't hook." Bronwyn sighed dramatically and proclaimed, "My whole day is already ruineded and it hasn't even starteded yet."

"Bronwyn," Owen smiled as he brushed his hand along Bronwyn's cheek and then hugged her. "Sweetie, your day is going to be absolutely, completely incredible. Kindergarten is fun. You're going to love it."

Sighing again at her plight, Bronwyn moaned, "I so hope so, Daddy. This is a de-pruck-shun."

"A what?" Owen asked trying not to laugh.

Finley was walking by and overheard the conversation, "I think she means production, Dad. That's her new word…or at least the new word she attempts to use."

"I don't attempteded to use it, you big bully! I say it my way," Bronwyn fought. Owen looked Bronwyn in the eye and gave her a non-verbal warning as he raised his finger to his mouth. "But, Daddy, he was mean first."

"I know," Owen said softly, "but if you react, he only picks on your more. When he says something mean, just pretend you don't hear him, remember? That's the trick Mommy taught you and she knows what to do because she had how many kids older than her when she was growing up?"

"Four," Bronwyn recited.

"Right. Mom knows the tricks about being the youngest. Learn from her," Owen smiled as he picked Bronwyn up and asked, "Now is my kindergarten girl too old to be carried?"

"Never, Daddy, never, never, ever, ever. Even when I'm a growned up, you can carry me," Bronwyn promised with stars in her eyes. Bronwyn believed her daddy was the best man on earth.

As Owen and Bronwyn descended the stairs, they spotted Oliver running a loop around the kitchen island and living room, attempting to escape his older brother. Simba and Nala, whom Oliver had let in even though the dogs were not supposed to be part of the morning bustle, were barking, jumping, and chasing the boys. By the time Owen reached the living room, Oliver had expanded his escape route to include running on and over the sofa, chairs, fireplace mantle, and entry way. Predictably, the dogs showed great delight in jumping on and over the furniture right behind Oliver.

Just as Finley was nearly within grabbing distance of his pesky little brother, Owen bellowed, "One…Two…" Both boys froze in their steps and looked at Owen like deer caught in the headlights. "Finley! Table, now. Breakfast. Oliver! Dogs out! Everybody, no talking." Owen ordered as both deflated boys drug themselves away from the chaos.

"Even me? But I wasn't bad." Bronwyn whined.

"Even you, you know why?" Owen explained calmly as he looked in her eyes and stuck out his bottom lip.

Bronwyn sighed, "Because I just whineded." Owen nodded his head as he put Bronwyn down on a dining room chair and readied her cereal.

Oliver had taken the opportunity to escape the tension as he put the dogs out. He decided Nala had a rat's nest in her fur that needed to be brushed out and Simba's collar felt just a little too loose, so he just had to adjust it.

Owen stood at the doorway and cleared his throat. Oliver smiled up at him and explained how he was caring for the dogs. "In the house, please," Owen declared calmly. "Grab some cereal and fruit, but please do not interact with your brother and sister."

"What's 'interact' mean?" Oliver inquired with confusion.

"Talk to, look at, touch, or notice in any way that they are there," Owen defined.

"Oh," Oliver responded with disappointment as he walked inside.

While Owen freshened up the dogs' water, Oliver headed inside and purposely bumped his elbow into Finley's shoulder as he headed to a seat at the table. Finley jumped up but followed the directions he'd been given to not speak. Instead of talking, Finley held his brother in a headlock and began to try to drag him to the ground.

Bronwyn, keeping her lips sealed, tried to scream as loudly as possible. She ran to get Owen while her brothers became more aggressive with one another. When she reached Owen, her eyes were nearly twice their regular size and her closed-lip scream continued as she pulled on Owen's shirttail.

"You can speak, Bronwyn. What's going on?" Owen asked, ready to return to bed and wishing he hadn't told Lynne he had the morning handled.

"Ummm….Dad, see, here's what's going on…Daddy, umm, so Finley and Oliver, well… they're fighting and Oliver started it. Well, he starteded it this time but earlier Finley did," Bronwyn tattled.

Owen sighed and knelt down to Bronwyn's level, "Bronwyn, so here's what's going on…" Owen declared as he imitated his daughter's sentence structure, "Bronwyn, so you are going to sit at the table and, well, be quiet and eat breakfast while I deal with them." Bronwyn shook her chin down firmly once, declaring her assent.

"Gentlemen," Owen bellowed in his combination Father-Army Major voice reserved for just such occasions, "Sit. Down. At. The. Table. Now." Both boys attempted to explain the situation, blaming the other for the issue. "I do not want to hear it. The next person who speaks is grounded until the weekend." The second the words escaped Owen's mouth, he prayed he would not have to enforce them.

Finley rolled his eyes dramatically and grumbled under his breath, "Why don't you sit down?" then he returned to his seat and resumed eating his breakfast. Oliver sniffled, straightened his tie and sat down. Owen, ignoring Finley's sass, sat down and poured himself some cereal while everyone ate silently. The melee actually managed to be quiet for four minutes before Owen prompted Oliver and Bronwyn to quickly go upstairs and brush their teeth. Owen stopped Finley from following his siblings up the stairs.

"Finley," Owen stated firmly, "Wait." In the hopes that his father would come to see how stupid the "no talking" declaration was, Finley was still taking Owen's directions about not talking literally. Rather than speak, Finley turned around and looked at Owen. "I'm not sure what's going on this morning, but it needs to stop. Leave Oliver alone, stop mumbling at me under your breath, and straighten up. The attitude stops now. As the one who just couldn't help but mumble back when I said we all needed to be quiet, the rest of your week is mine. No friends, no phone, you know the drill. Now, go brush your teeth without causing any trouble upstairs."

Finley was ready to explode, but he also knew that any reaction whatsoever would not help his case. He met Owen's eyes, nodded and even offered a non-attitudinal, quiet yet audible apology, "I'm sorry, Dad."

The backpacks were waiting in the entry and Owen handed the appropriate one to each kid as they headed out to the car. Usually, Owen liked to tease them and hand them the wrong backpacks and play dumb when one of the boys received the pink Barbie one. Today, nobody seemed to be in the mood for levity.

Relieved to have each child buckled and separated from the others, Owen took a deep breath and a large gulp of coffee as he started the car. The ride to school was like any other day. Bronwyn tried to talk non-stop. Oliver asked questions about random billboards, imitated his sister, and took pleasure in belching, and Finley plugged himself into his iPod. Bronwyn was truly trying her best to avoid looking at Oliver, remembering Amelia's trick. When they arrived at school, Owen drove to the parking lot rather than driving through the drop-off line.

Finley, horrified and embarrassed, questioned the change, "Dad, why are you parking?" The last thing Finley wanted his friends to see was his dad walking him to class like he was a baby.

Owen reminded the boys that it was Bronwyn's first day of school and that he was walking her to her classroom. Oliver, always one with a brilliant idea, suggested, "How about if you drop us guys off in the carpool line and then deal with Bronwyn?"

"What's the issue?" Owen asked innocently.

Oliver explained, "Dad, it's not cool for you to walk us into the school like we're kindergarten babies."

"I am NOT a baby!" Bronwyn screamed as she began to huff and puff. "Daddy! Why are my brothers soooooo mean?!"

Oliver retorted, "Yes, you are. Do you know how to get from your classroom to the library? Or from the playground to the gym? No? Then you're a baby."

"Oliver, buddy, I have a deal for you," Owen offered as Finley slipped out of the car without a goodbye. "Apologize to your sister for calling her a baby and then I promise to let you walk in before Bronwyn and I get out of the car." Oliver complied, believing an apology was nothing compared to the horrifying experience of being seen with his dad on the first day of 3rd grade.

After apologizing, Oliver maneuvered his way up to Owen's seat and subtly gave him two hugs and kisses, explaining, "One set for Mommy when you see her, ok? Oh! And one set for each twin!" Oliver added as he repeated his routine.

"Have a fantastic day, Oliver. I can't wait to hear all about it when I pick you up," Owen smiled. Owen turned to Bronwyn and sighed, "Well, Bronwyn, looks like it's just you and me now."

"Thank Goodness!" Bronwyn sighed with exasperation. "Oh! Those boys!"

Owen popped out of his seat, already holding back tears because his first little girl was starting kindergarten. He smiled as he unbuckled her and helped her put on her backpack. The two walked hand in hand to the Kindergarten room where the teacher greeted her and Owen. After reminding Bronwyn to find her cubby and set her backpack there, the teacher suggested they take a picture with Dad and then Bronwyn could go play until the bell rang. The picture, one Owen would treasure for the rest of his life, showed him leaning down behind Bronwyn with his arm around her and Bronwyn leaning back on to his chest. Both were beaming.

After the picture, Bronwyn smiled at Owen and declared, "Ok, Daddy, now you gotta leave. See ya later." She pecked him on the cheek and hopped away toward the other kids.

The teacher, understanding Owen's shock, smiled compassionately and offered, "All the other parents will be sniffling on their way to the parking lot because their son or daughter did the exact same thing. Her confidence and lack of fear are actually great signs, Dr. Hunt." Owen grinned and thanked the teacher as he headed to the parking lot along with the other forlorn Kindergarten parents and relieved 1st-8th grade parents.

As Amelia waited for the first specialist to examine Gwendolyn, she uncharacteristically fretted in the doctor's waiting area. She knew that both Bella and Gwen were developing well and were happy babies. Even so, Amelia knew that the check up on this day was more than a standard Well Child Exam. Today was Gwen's 2nd follow up in a series of 6 comprehensive and multi-disciplinary exams. She would be assessed by a team that included a pediatric neurologist, urologist, orthopedist, physical therapist, occupational therapist, and a pediatrician. She would undergo urodynamic testing and renal bladder ultrasounds to ensure her kidney and bladder functions were appropriate for her age. After those tests, she would undergo an MRI focused especially on her brain and spine. The tests and checkups would likely take the better part of the day, so Amelia had arranged for the entire day off from the hospital.

Luckily, since Gwen's surgical site had been low on her spine, her kidney and bladder functions had yet to cause any concerns. All of her internal organs were functioning normally and efficiently, and her neurological situation was also not impaired. Overall, Gwen had minimal challenges as a result of her Spina Bifida.

At birth, Karev had noted that Gwen had a deadened response below her right knee that extended through her foot. Her sense of touch in that area was virtually non-existent. Even so, the physical and occupational therapists who had begun working with Gwendolyn almost immediately after birth assured the family that Gwen would very likely walk and play like any other child. She would probably be delayed, but the outlook remained positive, nonetheless. For months, the focus of her OT/PT had been helping her bear weight on both feet even though she could only feel the left foot. The right side was capable of bearing weight even though Gwen could not sense it. This was a key reason why her walking would be delayed – her cognitive abilities needed to develop further before professionals could work on her ability to walk. Meanwhile, Bella had begun pulling herself up on tables and furniture. When her sister did so, Gwen wanted to join her but had convinced herself she couldn't do it without help.

The biggest emphasis at this point in Gwen's short life had to do with monitoring her right leg and foot to ensure that it remained supple and flexible. Even at her young age, orthotics were a significant part of her reality and helped ensure proper growth and alignment. Whereas most pediatricians advise that shoes are not very necessary for babies, Gwen's were. Other considerations that were monitored were Gwen's weight, movement ranges, and head circumference. She showed no need for a shunt and had consistently ended up in the percentage of SB patients who did not have various ailments, malformations, challenges, or surgical needs. Miss Gwendolyn was a fortunate little girl with two parents who attempted to calmly monitor her for any concerning developments.

Owen slipped inside the waiting area just as Amelia and the girls were being called back to see the urologist. The medical assistant knew Owen's face and met his eye as he took a few large steps to catch up with his family. Owen cleared his throat, to prevent scaring Amelia, and she turned to see him. A huge smile filled her face as she handed Gwen to him and commented, "Oh my…you look…bedraggled. I can't wait to hear about your morning."