And You Did It With Your Stutter - Washington State Science Fair 2026

Art The Impossible Girl made while awaiting judges at the Science Fair.
Her After School art teacher talked about Impressionist art - and she wanted to try it.
Trust me. It's perfect.

Of all the things I imagined as a parent, being a science fair mom was never one of them. But then again, all of the best turns in my life have been off the narrow road map I designed for myself. The Impossible Girl isn't into playing sports, or performing on stage. But she is curious, and artistic. She was one of 2 kids in her grade who participated in the State Science Fair. 

We bought a new dress for added confidence, tweaked the project after some feedback from her school science fair, and took it on the road. 

Now, for the parents, the science fair is a whole lot of sitting around. This year, 600 kiddos were judged on her day (1100 students over 2 days). I helped her set up her project and made sure she was as prepared as she could be. As the gym started to fill with the sound of several hundred students, the headband was swapped for noise cancelling headphones adorned with Mouse Ears that coordinated with her dress. We went to orientation and the judges kicked us parents out of the gym. For the next several hours, it would be the kids giving their presentations to judges. 

Now, for someone with Sensory Processing Disorder, this situation should be an absolute nightmare. Constant loud noise. Unpredictable circumstances. Having to talk to strangers upon first meeting. Feeling judged, weighed, and measured. 

I'd be lying if I said it was easy. The kids have worked for months on their projects. And the environment of the State Fair level is a lot. Honestly, it's challenging even for the Neurotypical crowd. 

But this is the thing she picked. 

And I love it. 

She picked something hard for her. 

She picked it because she had the right combination of friction, adversity, and support to accomplish it. I credit her school with that, and the event with an understanding staff interested in growing curious, problem solving humans. 

After the first three hours, they break for lunch. The kids eat, laugh, catch up with their friends, and walk around checking out the sponsored displays around the cafeteria. 

One of the sponsors had telescopes you could see the sun through.

After being shut inside the gym all day, fresh air was a must.

After a lunch break, the kids go back into the gym to do more presenting and waiting as special award judges go around. The Impossible Girl brought a coloring book and colored pencils to entertain herself between judges. 

She's the only one in headphones. 

She's the only one openly using her tools to battle through the situation. 

She isn't asking for special treatment. She's making it work for her. Her project notes a couple unique accommodations that made completing it doable for her, but they are minimal things like Speak to Text, and Scribe. 

There was a break for dinner and then we were back, waiting to see if we won anything at the awards ceremony. 

The auditorium was a buzz with anticipation. The announcer told an engaging tale about how long the event has been running, and explained that they would only be giving out 1st place and Special Awards during this ceremony. The rest would be receiving an email in the coming days and ribbons in the mail. Special awards usually come with monetary prizes or trips attached to them. 

We discussed possible outcomes, and made plans to hope for the best and cheer for our friends. If we didn't get a prize tonight, we'd wait for an email in the coming week. 

The announcer called first grade first places in each category to come to the stage and accept their awards. Then second place first places in each category were called to the stage by name to accept their awards. And right about when they were getting to third graders, I noticed The Impossible Girl's shoulders slumped forward a little and I heard her say something to herself as she fidgeted in her seat. I couldn't quite make it out, so I asked her to repeat it and bent close.

There are few moments in my life where my heart stopped and I launch into instant rage. I have a very slow fuse. Anger is a powerful emotion and my nervous system doesn't like to waste its power on puny situations. 

She said, "If I don't win anything, it's probably because of my stutter." 

I repeated it back to her to be sure I heard her correctly before my blood pressure rose. I heard it. 

You see, the first judge cut her off twice when she was trying to respond to a question. Her first judge at her school science fair had said she was visibly uneasy during their interaction as well. Both had cut her off when she was stuck in a loop, rather than waiting it out. 

And, despite having so many positive judges, the impatience of a few had left their mark. 

My voice came out with a sharp quiet edge.  "No. No. It won't be because of that. It's just the way you talk. It's not you. It's them. It's that one judge. He doesn't know how to listen and was impatient. It's not you."  I realized how sharp my voice was and quickly added. "I am not mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm mad at them. Because they don't get it." I wished my voice could overpower those thoughts -but I know they will always be there somewhere. I refuse to feed those thoughts. 

Luckily, she won 1st place and stood on stage, shell shocked, a few moments later. 

This isn't the first time others have defined her by the way she speaks when she's nervous. And if I'm honest, it won't be the last in her lifetime either.

 It makes me all the more grateful for her amazing friends who see her for all of it and embrace all of her anyway. 

We cheer for everyone. Having humans cheer for her, from her school, her teachers, her therapist team, has been vital to her ability to move through the world confidently. Hearing the teachers scream for her when they called her name will hopefully be louder than those thoughts.

And those who choose to define her abilities by her voice? I still believe they don't get it. They aren't our people.

 They have no idea of the years of time and work it took for her to CHOOSE to stand in that room and explain her project to strangers. Work many her age don't have to do. They don't know where she started and have no idea how far she's come. They aren't people who need the courage to stand in a room of their peers and pop headphones one because the din and echo of their voices will make your brain scream. They've never needed that brand of courage. 

I do believe that it can be taught though. (It's why I ask her if I can share her story.)

Stuttering Teaches the World to Listen. 

She won with her stutter - and she did it wearing headphones and a smile.

Because You Lived ; A Birthday Blog

My Sailor has recently gotten a pronounced grey streak down the middle of his curly dark blond hair.

And I adore it.

He hates it. 

He asked why Ilike it so much and I emphatically replied, "Because we get to grow old together! We're actually everyday living out that promise we made. We get to be here long enough to experience growing old together. Some people never get that." 

A few of my own silvers have grown in now too, and I find myself grinning from ear to ear when I catch a flashing glitter of grey in the mirror. Not that I'm excited to see my body change in the ways that natural humans do as they age, but maybe- just maybe- I am? 

If you've been a blog reader for any extended period of time (ye brave. ye few), you've read the confessions of my childhood. I've previously admitted to periods of deep bone tiredness in my youth, of feeling so much pain for so long that I'd considered leaving the planet on my own terms. I'm not going to beat around the bush. By middle school I had thought out suicide at least 3 different ways. I was heavily bullied for the majority of my youth (thank GOD cyber bullies weren't a thing back then). I could at least escape it at home, and in the end, I decided that I loved my parents a lot. I couldn't bear the weight of sadness my passing would cause them. 

So I hung on. I didn't act on it and endured the air pressing down on me with every cruel insult my peers hurled my way. 

Time passed. Things changed. And the weight of that pain eased by high school.

Then I fell in love and got married. 4 years and a lifetime later, I got divorced. Something I never dreamed a good Christian girl would end up doing. Even if it was for the best in the end, it shattered my world in the moment.

If it wasn't for my family and my dog, I don't know how I would have gotten out of bed. I never dreamed that would happen to me, but it was necessary. 

What got me out of bed? My dog needed me.  If I didn't get up and feed him every day, he would have died in his crate and no one would ever find me. My dog deserved better than that. So, I got up every day and fed and walked him. Then I was able to go to work and punch a time clock and make a living.

And eventually, the pain passed.

Since then, I've head heart breaks, pandemics, deaths in the family, deployments, and all sorts of life altering, often painful events. 

I also fell in love, got married, built a business, transplanted to an entirely different state, and had an amazing kiddo. 

 I never considered using life's escape hatch since.  

I consider my birthday my personal New Years.

It just passed and I turned 46 years old, complete with grey hairs, a few extra pounds, and probably dipping my toe into perimenopause.

And I have one thing to say to that exhausted, devastated soul from my past - 

Thank you. 

Because you held on, I get to have grey hairs and wrinkles. 

Because you made it through those dark days, I got to bring this little light from the shadows.

Because of you, I am strong enough to carry what life throws at me - and wise enough to ask for help along the way. 

Because of you, I've been able to rescue and love 5 dogs through their lives.

Because of you, I've started a business where I get the honor of connecting with humans, supporting them, building humans of all walks of life. 

You held on even when all you could feel were the cold and constant cuts of isolation and depression. When the praise never outweighed the criticism and the pet names weren't as loud as the school yard labels. 

You learned you were 'different' early on, and that felt scary. You spent most of life watching life and friendships from a distance. You stayed when each heartbreak seemed to prove you were unworthy of love.

But because you stayed through all of that, I can embrace and hold space for the differences in others. 

That uphill battle every day to get out bed has led to a space you've filled with peace. 

Thank you for grabbing those little life preservers that floated by. I know sometimes you had to seek them out, but you did it. They felt so simple and stupid at the time, but they were all reasons to hold on, and you took them. You didn't have to. You could have let go and allowed the darkness to swallow us at any point - and no one would have blamed you for it. 

But you took those little moments and little responsibilities to keep you afloat. You wanted to give up, but you didn't. You did what you had to do - even when it seemed utterly futile.

You chose hope. You chose bravery. You learned the true definition of courage - perseverance through the presence of fear and pain. You acted on faith that someday, as long as you were able to stay on this side of dirt, things just might change for the better. And they did.

The bullies grew our thick skin. Our armor is tough. 

The darkness taught us to look for even the smallest pinhole of light and push towards it. 

The haters taught us what NOT to do to others. We are worthy of love and respect.

The years wandering in the fog taught us patience. 

Every grey hair proves I'm still here.

 

I get to get old - because of the choices you made.

So, thank you kid, for choosing to stick around. 

 We Made It.