In this journey of raising a child with autism, I am full of the "what ifs" and the "what will it bes". I am caught in a worry trap at times and need to rest in the "all things are possible." By the time my daughter graduates from high school it will be 2025. Lord willing, that is a "will be". By that time, she will reach adulthood. That is a will be too. The what ifs bring me to thinking, dreaming, and praying.
Dr. Laura Hendrickson wrote a book about her son with autism. He is now long graduated. He became valedictorian of his class. In Laura's book, Finding your Child's way on the Autism Spectrum, she relays all the what ifs, worry traps, and lessons learned. At the conclusion of the book she includes Eric's valedictorian speech. After reading it, I was speechless and crying.
In that moment of reading, I began to picture myself sitting in an auditorium and listening to my own daughter standing at the podium. She is decked in purple and yellow. She is tall like her dad and still as much looking like Goldilocks than ever. She walks up to the microphone confidently and she speaks with assertiveness, intelligence, and with the evidence of God's good work in her.
Her words, like Eric's are hope-filled. "We are called to glorify God and do His work" he says. "Is there one ideal personality type and set of abilities that glorifies God the best? Do we have to fit a mold? On the contrary, each of us is uniquely designed for the contribution God intends for us to make through our lives." ( p. 127, Hendrickson Finding your way on the Autistic Spectrum - Eric's speech) Uniquely designed for the contribution she is to make. I sit in my seat, reflect, and marvel at the contributions she has made. She has made us laugh. She has noticed the beauty secrets of creation. She has had energy and joy that make us wake up and be joyful ourselves in this weary world.
In this image of the future, I begin to tear up with joy and thanksgiving for all that God has done thus far. My daughter continues as Eric does: "I have autism." she admits as Eric does. "I have often temped to ask '-"why can't I be like everyone else? Then I am reminded that my life is not a mistake. God made me just the way I am and He has a purpose for me even in the things about me that are different. Perhaps especially in the things about me that are different." ( p. 128 Hendrickson) I know I will at that moment recount all the times I have put that dreaded label on her. I will then recount all the trials and struggles and screams and tears. I know by then my daughter will have asked that dreaded why question. But yet, in that moment, she will say with confidence as Eric does: "I am NOT a mistake! My differences are especially purposeful! " The tears will continue. My daughter will have again testified to the work of an amazing God. I will need tissues to continue to wipe my tears. This is where my husband will squeeze and hold my hand. The inexpressible joy will continue to flow.
Her speech continues and creates a pin drop silent audience. There are no dry eyes. "Let me do what God has called me to do. Let me do the work of pleasing Him and becoming more like the image of Christ rather than what this world wants. This I say is what she always did. She knew to be who God made her to be. " I thank Him for helping me." she says ( just as Eric thanks God) "It is because of Him that I stand here today." ( same conclusion as Eric's) There is thunderous applause. She smiles and laughs heartily as she always does when joy captures her spirit. She bows slightly and smiles and throws her cap in the air with the other graduates. The laughter continues.
In six weeks, my daughter will begin kindergarten. We are FAR from 2025. She is far from being valedictorian of her class. Somehow after reading Eric Hendrickson's speech, it is closer than I think. Not just because of time moving so fast. But because it is a witness to God at work. My dreams for my daughter became visible. Valedictorian 2025. It's possible!
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Be Tranformed by the Renewing of the Mind
Such strange things that two little peeps in this household like to collect. There is a small flowery suitcase, I once had as a kid belonging to my daughter now with a collection of stuff. It includes a princes card, a couple of Thumbelina like dolls, a plate that once sat on my dollhouse kitchen table, a tooth box, pennies, and countless contents keep overflowing and trickling out. Some of the clutter is so meaningless like several pieces of paper with one scribble on the side. Three broken angels that she won't let me fix. A very small "what do you even call it" longs to be easily lost by me! Things saved for some sort of "just in case time."
I have thrown away and rearranged to clear up the clutter and make her room more presentable. But then I get the ultimate shriek and groan. "Where is it? That's mine!" A missing piece or a change is not acceptable. These are her treasures. She demands that I treat them as such. I am trying to clean and purge while she attempts to accumulate and clutter.
There is a verse in Romans that comes to mind. "Do not conform to this world, instead be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Keywords and phrases sticking out in this Cluttery World- renew your mind, and be transformed. This verse speaks volumes for me in this now of life.
If I drew a picture of her mind needing renewal it would be as overloaded as that flowery suitcase. All the sighs, sounds, textures, and smells bombard her in one moment. She is trying to make sense of all the clutter in this world she comes into contact. It's a constant struggle. There are useless coping attempts of broken up jargon, flitting around, and repeated speech. All of which lead to frustration. Her therapy sessions help her to Motor Plan her way to a renewed mind. Her Therapeutic Listening at home is also somehow a pathway to a kind of peace.
We went to a local farm where everybody seems to go to pick strawberries. Prior to the trip, I showed pictures and told some information. This was a new experience for us as a family. We arrived and my daughter began to take things in:
"Where are the kids?" she questions first. "Are we going to pick the strawberries?"
We walk along in the tall scratchy grass. A rooster crows and the hayride tractor revs up. Kids floating around and moms are shouting out this and that. She took all in. We ride on the hayride and she is calling out "To the strawberry patch!" She is wound up. Everyone notices and stares. She is striving to make sense of it all as best she can.
We climb down from the wagon and find ourselves in the middle of a HUGE patch of strawberries. "Let's see what is under here." I say guiding her to lift up the rough green leaves. "Oh it's a strawberry!" I show her how to pick it. She tries with reservation.
" Pull gently." I say "There, see a red berry! "
She tries a few times more.
"Mom! Look the hayride is ready to go!" she cries out several times as I speedily try to fill up my container and hers.
She holds her strawberries with pride. Amazed at the fullness.
"Try one" I say hoping to add a new fruit to her diet.
She is not willing.
We return to the main buildings which include a barn of petting animals. The stink is strong and the animals though penned up, are as close to her as the nose on her face. I hold her and while squeezing me she says "Oh they are so cute." After a small cup of ice cream, she is ready to go home. Poor dad and brother are still interested in feeding one more goat. But sister has experienced an overload of senses and her mind needs a rest.
Be transformed by the renewal of your mind. So much to make sense of this world. Each experience brings new stimuli. How I wish she were transformed so that her mind was capable of organizing and making sense of things. Then she would pet the animals, pick more strawberries, feed the animals, mingle with the kids, and eat the delicious sweet berries I just know she would love. But her mind is in process of being renewed. She is not yet transformed. So what she experienced at the strawberry farm was all that she needed to experience for her own perfect renewal. She knows now about some things to expect and she will expect them again sometime.
Until then, then she receives therapies that aide in the transformation. She is making gains. More so, God works in her mysteriously in ways I can't comprehend. Through His ways, she is being renewed day by day through His grace. We too are being renewed day by day and hopefully freeing us as she from the "clutter" of this world. She will one day as we all will be- transformed. Transformation through the renewal of your mind- more yet to come.
I have thrown away and rearranged to clear up the clutter and make her room more presentable. But then I get the ultimate shriek and groan. "Where is it? That's mine!" A missing piece or a change is not acceptable. These are her treasures. She demands that I treat them as such. I am trying to clean and purge while she attempts to accumulate and clutter.
There is a verse in Romans that comes to mind. "Do not conform to this world, instead be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Keywords and phrases sticking out in this Cluttery World- renew your mind, and be transformed. This verse speaks volumes for me in this now of life.
If I drew a picture of her mind needing renewal it would be as overloaded as that flowery suitcase. All the sighs, sounds, textures, and smells bombard her in one moment. She is trying to make sense of all the clutter in this world she comes into contact. It's a constant struggle. There are useless coping attempts of broken up jargon, flitting around, and repeated speech. All of which lead to frustration. Her therapy sessions help her to Motor Plan her way to a renewed mind. Her Therapeutic Listening at home is also somehow a pathway to a kind of peace.
We went to a local farm where everybody seems to go to pick strawberries. Prior to the trip, I showed pictures and told some information. This was a new experience for us as a family. We arrived and my daughter began to take things in:
"Where are the kids?" she questions first. "Are we going to pick the strawberries?"
We walk along in the tall scratchy grass. A rooster crows and the hayride tractor revs up. Kids floating around and moms are shouting out this and that. She took all in. We ride on the hayride and she is calling out "To the strawberry patch!" She is wound up. Everyone notices and stares. She is striving to make sense of it all as best she can.
We climb down from the wagon and find ourselves in the middle of a HUGE patch of strawberries. "Let's see what is under here." I say guiding her to lift up the rough green leaves. "Oh it's a strawberry!" I show her how to pick it. She tries with reservation.
" Pull gently." I say "There, see a red berry! "
She tries a few times more.
"Mom! Look the hayride is ready to go!" she cries out several times as I speedily try to fill up my container and hers.
She holds her strawberries with pride. Amazed at the fullness.
"Try one" I say hoping to add a new fruit to her diet.
She is not willing.
We return to the main buildings which include a barn of petting animals. The stink is strong and the animals though penned up, are as close to her as the nose on her face. I hold her and while squeezing me she says "Oh they are so cute." After a small cup of ice cream, she is ready to go home. Poor dad and brother are still interested in feeding one more goat. But sister has experienced an overload of senses and her mind needs a rest.
Be transformed by the renewal of your mind. So much to make sense of this world. Each experience brings new stimuli. How I wish she were transformed so that her mind was capable of organizing and making sense of things. Then she would pet the animals, pick more strawberries, feed the animals, mingle with the kids, and eat the delicious sweet berries I just know she would love. But her mind is in process of being renewed. She is not yet transformed. So what she experienced at the strawberry farm was all that she needed to experience for her own perfect renewal. She knows now about some things to expect and she will expect them again sometime.
Until then, then she receives therapies that aide in the transformation. She is making gains. More so, God works in her mysteriously in ways I can't comprehend. Through His ways, she is being renewed day by day through His grace. We too are being renewed day by day and hopefully freeing us as she from the "clutter" of this world. She will one day as we all will be- transformed. Transformation through the renewal of your mind- more yet to come.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Kinship
Nineteen months after my daughter was born, our son arrived. He was and still is the short, stubby, little Greek boy with sideburns and hair down his back. He babbled, rolled over, and crawled all in one day, (It seemed.) He was our youngest who began to show us he strived to be oldest. In other words, he will be 69 tomorrow. He was advanced.
Here we are with two kids. In some ways, they are totally opposite. One is delayed and making gains at catching up. One is running for Congress at age four. Sister and Brother are both one of a kind. One looks more like Goldilocks. The other looks a little like Jungle Boy- at least in the summertime. Different are they in so many ways. But yet, the bloodline unites them.
We love them both. They love each other. They share something rare and powerful. It is for the better that they are who they are. Not only for themselves. But also for each other as well.
Sure they fight and tease each other. They do things that any siblings do. Goodness knows I am ready to pull my hair out at times because of it. Just try looking for a bathing suit with these two in tow!Brother is a true boy. Sister is a girly girl. The two can drive each other batty and into screaming fits. Yet, something else more enduring and encouraging exists in this relationship.
If my daughter is ever in a sour mood, there is a questionable time frame as to when it will turn sweet again. My son catches on and instead of fueling the fire, he says "apple". My daughter immediately replies with "peach". My son continues with "pear". My daughter replies with "strawberry." This is a back and forth banter that relieves and cheers her soul.
If my son is crying and having a fit because his shirt is inside out, ( his "highness" is learning to fix it himself) my daughter comes along, gives him a smooch, and says "It's alright, now here's your shirt," This gives him a burst of laughter or a calm.
There are moments when we have gone different paths for a few hours. Moments when a divide and conquer plan is more effective for errand completion. When the reunion takes place back at home base, there is a calling out of names in sheer joy. There is a running towards each other. There are exclamations of " It's you! I'm so glad you are here!" There is embracing.
There are dramatizations of Max and Ruby or Little Bear and Cub. They break into character in a blink. "Max!" shouts my daughter "You have to put your shoes on before you go outside" My son points to the door with his bare feet and says "Outside!" In the bathtub, there's a huge splash ( among many) . My son says "Hey you scared away my breakfast!" My daughter says "Your breakfast?" The continue into the script of Little Bear meeting Cub.
There's even something more powerful about this brother and sister relationship. They are good for each other. They are teach each other. My Congressman can hold my daughter's hand and show her the handshakes and mingle tricks of socialization. He can encourage and nudge her to expand her vocabulary and strengthen her sentence. He will explain and comfort when things are not making sense. He will accept and love despite the "weirdness" displayed that draws a look. My daughter can show my son the wonders of the water. The splashes, the smooth slippery feeling is to be enjoyed. She can nudge and encourage him to climb high even if it is scary. She can wrap him up cozy and tight so that he can feel loved and safe when worried or scared. She can feed his imagination by dragging him in to pretend time.
Sister and Brother. Older and younger. Congressman and Ballerina. Two peas in our pod. Our kin has a sweet kinship.
Here we are with two kids. In some ways, they are totally opposite. One is delayed and making gains at catching up. One is running for Congress at age four. Sister and Brother are both one of a kind. One looks more like Goldilocks. The other looks a little like Jungle Boy- at least in the summertime. Different are they in so many ways. But yet, the bloodline unites them.
We love them both. They love each other. They share something rare and powerful. It is for the better that they are who they are. Not only for themselves. But also for each other as well.
Sure they fight and tease each other. They do things that any siblings do. Goodness knows I am ready to pull my hair out at times because of it. Just try looking for a bathing suit with these two in tow!Brother is a true boy. Sister is a girly girl. The two can drive each other batty and into screaming fits. Yet, something else more enduring and encouraging exists in this relationship.
If my daughter is ever in a sour mood, there is a questionable time frame as to when it will turn sweet again. My son catches on and instead of fueling the fire, he says "apple". My daughter immediately replies with "peach". My son continues with "pear". My daughter replies with "strawberry." This is a back and forth banter that relieves and cheers her soul.
If my son is crying and having a fit because his shirt is inside out, ( his "highness" is learning to fix it himself) my daughter comes along, gives him a smooch, and says "It's alright, now here's your shirt," This gives him a burst of laughter or a calm.
There are moments when we have gone different paths for a few hours. Moments when a divide and conquer plan is more effective for errand completion. When the reunion takes place back at home base, there is a calling out of names in sheer joy. There is a running towards each other. There are exclamations of " It's you! I'm so glad you are here!" There is embracing.
There are dramatizations of Max and Ruby or Little Bear and Cub. They break into character in a blink. "Max!" shouts my daughter "You have to put your shoes on before you go outside" My son points to the door with his bare feet and says "Outside!" In the bathtub, there's a huge splash ( among many) . My son says "Hey you scared away my breakfast!" My daughter says "Your breakfast?" The continue into the script of Little Bear meeting Cub.
There's even something more powerful about this brother and sister relationship. They are good for each other. They are teach each other. My Congressman can hold my daughter's hand and show her the handshakes and mingle tricks of socialization. He can encourage and nudge her to expand her vocabulary and strengthen her sentence. He will explain and comfort when things are not making sense. He will accept and love despite the "weirdness" displayed that draws a look. My daughter can show my son the wonders of the water. The splashes, the smooth slippery feeling is to be enjoyed. She can nudge and encourage him to climb high even if it is scary. She can wrap him up cozy and tight so that he can feel loved and safe when worried or scared. She can feed his imagination by dragging him in to pretend time.
Sister and Brother. Older and younger. Congressman and Ballerina. Two peas in our pod. Our kin has a sweet kinship.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Fairy Tale Fascination
"Once upon a time there was a beautiful little girl named Goldilocks. One day, she went for a walk in the woods. She saw the Three Bears Cottage and knocked on the door.
"Hello? Anyone there?"
This is my daughter reading while looking at pictures.
"Now mom, you be the grandmother. You be the wolf. ( pointing to her brother). I'll be Little Red Riding Hood."
She closes the door, grabs her basket of cardboard cookies, and ties a red scarf around her neck. It drapes behind her just like a cape.
"Well hello, Grandmother, I made some cookies for you. " she says in full expression and perfect articulation.
This is my daughter in fine form as Red Riding Hood.
"Isn't it lovely!" she states twirling around in front of the mirror. "Now I am all ready for the ball."
She floats around to the classical music I play on the piano and bows at the conclusion. We all applaud. This is my daughter playing the part of Cinderella at the ball.
Goldilocks, Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and more are all on the list of must reads and must pretends. We have done chalk drawings on the driveway of Jack and the Beanstalk, acted out Little Mermaid in the swimming pool, and used a cardboard box for The Three Little Pigs. We have much riding on Fairy Tales.
Forget the fact that the original stories are full of abuse, molestation, breaking and entering, drug addiction, and I really don't want to know what else! I am still getting over the shock of knowing the truth behind the real tale. I am thankful that they are more familiar as fairy tales. With this, there is a sparkle of innocence and a sure "happily ever after" ending. Heaven knows we need that in this worldly of worlds. My daughter's fairy tale fascination is one that I hope will last awhile. I am tired of the stories at times. After all, how much excitement and voice can I put into Papa Bear's "Somebody's been" lines. I want what comes from being well versed in fairy tales to last forever.
As a teacher, I see the beginning of a reader. Fairy tales are familiar, easy to follow, and have a predictable sequence. And IF my daughter should start a conversation in fairy tale language, most would be able to join right in. I should add that any Jon Sciezka, (author of the Princess and the Bowling Ball, The Stinky Cheese Man, etc.) change is not welcome but any James Marshall version is absolutely just fine. James Marshall, wrote many versions of fairy tales and embellishes with humor and catchy descriptions. Still the tales exist in true easy to follow form in his books. Jon S embellishes with run- ons, wise cracks, and abrupt changes that confuse the early reader. The confident reader is built when the skill of story structure is ingrained. The familiar is confidence building for her in language, story structure, matching words to pictures, and fluency. She reacts to the stories, comprehends, and makes connections. She is seeing herself as a reader. All this thanks to fairy tales.
As a parent, I realize the dominance of the princess in the fairy tale can blow ones budget or be a reason to grab hold of it. Thanks to Disney, it is in our everyday world. I am used to the princess underwear idea. But I'm still getting adjusted to the princess toothbrush. Yet the princess in the fairy tale is graceful, confident, beautiful- inside and out, and most of all never forgets where she came from- a life of trial overcome. For me, giving my child the lead in the fairy tale be it princess or not, (Goldilocks pretty much thought she was a princess) has instilled in my child confidence, built her oral language, creativity, and interaction with people. Any dramatic play involving fairy tales is a highlight and a great experience for her to strut her stuff. I am thankful for the fairy tale script to build her dramatic talent. An added bonus is that there are life lessons in a fairy tale of good over evil. Be like a princess. Twirl and look beautiful yes. But also be kind, creative, strong, and confident. Live as though there is hope of happily ever after. A lesson I should hold onto as well.
"Mommy, will you start with Once upon a time there was a princess named Aurora?" Pointing to her brother, she demands that he be the prince to kiss her. She sleeps in a heap of her favorite blankets and sits up at the kiss that her brother has blown at her. (he's not into kissing his sister) "Why prince, are you going to take me away to your castle?" There is laughter and do overs and requests for finding Sleeping Beauty- the book. So much pleasure and joy in the ages old existence of a fairy tale. The fairy tale fascination might just live happily forever after in the mind of one particular princess.
"Hello? Anyone there?"
This is my daughter reading while looking at pictures.
"Now mom, you be the grandmother. You be the wolf. ( pointing to her brother). I'll be Little Red Riding Hood."
She closes the door, grabs her basket of cardboard cookies, and ties a red scarf around her neck. It drapes behind her just like a cape.
"Well hello, Grandmother, I made some cookies for you. " she says in full expression and perfect articulation.
This is my daughter in fine form as Red Riding Hood.
"Isn't it lovely!" she states twirling around in front of the mirror. "Now I am all ready for the ball."
She floats around to the classical music I play on the piano and bows at the conclusion. We all applaud. This is my daughter playing the part of Cinderella at the ball.
Goldilocks, Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and more are all on the list of must reads and must pretends. We have done chalk drawings on the driveway of Jack and the Beanstalk, acted out Little Mermaid in the swimming pool, and used a cardboard box for The Three Little Pigs. We have much riding on Fairy Tales.
Forget the fact that the original stories are full of abuse, molestation, breaking and entering, drug addiction, and I really don't want to know what else! I am still getting over the shock of knowing the truth behind the real tale. I am thankful that they are more familiar as fairy tales. With this, there is a sparkle of innocence and a sure "happily ever after" ending. Heaven knows we need that in this worldly of worlds. My daughter's fairy tale fascination is one that I hope will last awhile. I am tired of the stories at times. After all, how much excitement and voice can I put into Papa Bear's "Somebody's been" lines. I want what comes from being well versed in fairy tales to last forever.
As a teacher, I see the beginning of a reader. Fairy tales are familiar, easy to follow, and have a predictable sequence. And IF my daughter should start a conversation in fairy tale language, most would be able to join right in. I should add that any Jon Sciezka, (author of the Princess and the Bowling Ball, The Stinky Cheese Man, etc.) change is not welcome but any James Marshall version is absolutely just fine. James Marshall, wrote many versions of fairy tales and embellishes with humor and catchy descriptions. Still the tales exist in true easy to follow form in his books. Jon S embellishes with run- ons, wise cracks, and abrupt changes that confuse the early reader. The confident reader is built when the skill of story structure is ingrained. The familiar is confidence building for her in language, story structure, matching words to pictures, and fluency. She reacts to the stories, comprehends, and makes connections. She is seeing herself as a reader. All this thanks to fairy tales.
As a parent, I realize the dominance of the princess in the fairy tale can blow ones budget or be a reason to grab hold of it. Thanks to Disney, it is in our everyday world. I am used to the princess underwear idea. But I'm still getting adjusted to the princess toothbrush. Yet the princess in the fairy tale is graceful, confident, beautiful- inside and out, and most of all never forgets where she came from- a life of trial overcome. For me, giving my child the lead in the fairy tale be it princess or not, (Goldilocks pretty much thought she was a princess) has instilled in my child confidence, built her oral language, creativity, and interaction with people. Any dramatic play involving fairy tales is a highlight and a great experience for her to strut her stuff. I am thankful for the fairy tale script to build her dramatic talent. An added bonus is that there are life lessons in a fairy tale of good over evil. Be like a princess. Twirl and look beautiful yes. But also be kind, creative, strong, and confident. Live as though there is hope of happily ever after. A lesson I should hold onto as well.
"Mommy, will you start with Once upon a time there was a princess named Aurora?" Pointing to her brother, she demands that he be the prince to kiss her. She sleeps in a heap of her favorite blankets and sits up at the kiss that her brother has blown at her. (he's not into kissing his sister) "Why prince, are you going to take me away to your castle?" There is laughter and do overs and requests for finding Sleeping Beauty- the book. So much pleasure and joy in the ages old existence of a fairy tale. The fairy tale fascination might just live happily forever after in the mind of one particular princess.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
She's absolutely perfect
"One more story mommy", said my daughter before bed.
I am holding the book labeled "A great read aloud loved by teachers and parents. "
Chrysanthemum doesn't have this label for nothing. Immediately she whispers "Mommy, I am Chrysanthemum!" I smile and say, "You do like this story don't you?"
"She's absolutely perfect" her parents say when Chrysanthemum was born. Her name must be everything that she is. Her name sounds perfect to her. Her name looks perfect to her. She is sunny, bright, and imaginative and skipping along each day of life. She thinks she is "absolutely perfect".
This does not mean Chrysanthemum is stuck up or self- centered. She has learning and growing to do and a self assurance to gain. Yet, she is perfectly living life happy and appreciative and being who she is because that is what she needs to do. Then, duh duh dum...., there is name calling on her first day of school.
This is the part in the story my daughter recites well. During role call there is giggling at the sound of her name. Then all kinds of no so perfect remarks follow:
"It is so long." says so and so.
"It scarcely fits on her name tag." says another.
"I am named after my grandmother" says a know it all, as though that fact gives way more credence than being named after a flower. Her absolutely perfect feelings turn into dreadful, droopy, and wilting feelings. Chrysanthemum has bad dreams and dreams that help her feel a little bit better. After all the name calling and giggling towards her, Chrysanthemum works to have the same confidence her parents have in her. "Oh pish!" they say. (A great word that I will keep in my pocket for someday.) "Your name is perfect."
The story's happy ending is that not only does this little girl think that she is absolutely perfect. She in fact KNOWS she is absolutely perfect. With the help of a music teacher, Mrs. Delphinium Twinkle, the lesson of uniqueness is learned. The sound of your name is the very announcement of the uniqueness of you. A marvelous lesson learned. Chrysanthemum gives the most timid child a boost.
The name we chose for my daughter happens to be after her grandmothers not a flower.
"Absolutely perfect" is what we said when my daughter was born. Then she grew and grew and developed and then didn't develop. She delayed. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't typical. She was autistic.
I bear the most blame for thinking of her mostly as autistic. Many a times, have I introduced both my kids by first stating their names and ages and then a descriptor. This is my son- he's 4 going on 69. This is my daughter - she is six and is mildly autistic. It is positively sinful, shameful, awful, and inexcusable. I blame others for seeing her that way or not accepting her as a whole person. I assume the school system will always see her that way. I have complained that the label of ASD will follow her all throughout school. I have felt that outsiders including teachers, kids, and even friends and family will always see her as ASD. This very thought boils my blood. But I am my worst enemy when it comes down to the labeling.
My daughter is a Chrysanthemum. She is absolutely perfect. She sees the joy and delight in things I might belittle. Sunny days are great but I am not breaking into song over them (you know like Curly from Oklahoma). There is a hearty laugh at things like someone making a big splash in a pool. I might scream - "too cold". There are declarations such as "Isn't it a perfect day!" or "Wow mommy look at the butterfly!" There is running in the woods with a mile wide smile and a smooth stick at hand. There are expressive readings of any fairy tale. The enthusiasm for cracking an egg and watching the yellow slime ooze out is contagious. The mermaid she becomes in the water is imaginative. The singing confidently in the mirror is glorious. My daughter is everything that she is supposed to be.
My daughter has learned all of her letters and sounds enthusiastically. She remembers all the names of her friends at school. She can ride a bike nearly without training wheels. She taught herself to swing. She makes connections like "Hey I know what we should do. We should take the yellow food coloring and make the pink lemonade yellow! " She can hit a tennis ball high to the rooftop. She appreciates the beauty of a sunset. My daughter is all that and more.
The cruel and awful world and I see her all too realistically and imperfectly. Voices tell me she isn't perfect. She is not typical. She is autistic. Yet, she is who she is. Who she is absolutely perfect. I do not mean she never makes mistakes. I do not mean that she is the easiest child in the world to raise. She will wither, wilt, and droop. She will have autism the rest of her life. No cure and forever a Spectrum Kid.
It is high time that I realize my daughter is another Chrysanthemum. She is not a label. She is more than that. She is everything she is supposed to be. She is absolutely perfect. She doesn't just think it. She knows it. "Mommy, I am Chrysanthemum." she told me that night. In that moment that declaration whispered to me a new and necessary revelation. She is as Kevin Henkes put it, an "indescribable wonder."
"Oh pish" I say to the ASD label. She is absolutely perfect. I don't just think it. I know it now too.
I am holding the book labeled "A great read aloud loved by teachers and parents. "
Chrysanthemum doesn't have this label for nothing. Immediately she whispers "Mommy, I am Chrysanthemum!" I smile and say, "You do like this story don't you?"
"She's absolutely perfect" her parents say when Chrysanthemum was born. Her name must be everything that she is. Her name sounds perfect to her. Her name looks perfect to her. She is sunny, bright, and imaginative and skipping along each day of life. She thinks she is "absolutely perfect".
This does not mean Chrysanthemum is stuck up or self- centered. She has learning and growing to do and a self assurance to gain. Yet, she is perfectly living life happy and appreciative and being who she is because that is what she needs to do. Then, duh duh dum...., there is name calling on her first day of school.
This is the part in the story my daughter recites well. During role call there is giggling at the sound of her name. Then all kinds of no so perfect remarks follow:
"It is so long." says so and so.
"It scarcely fits on her name tag." says another.
"I am named after my grandmother" says a know it all, as though that fact gives way more credence than being named after a flower. Her absolutely perfect feelings turn into dreadful, droopy, and wilting feelings. Chrysanthemum has bad dreams and dreams that help her feel a little bit better. After all the name calling and giggling towards her, Chrysanthemum works to have the same confidence her parents have in her. "Oh pish!" they say. (A great word that I will keep in my pocket for someday.) "Your name is perfect."
The story's happy ending is that not only does this little girl think that she is absolutely perfect. She in fact KNOWS she is absolutely perfect. With the help of a music teacher, Mrs. Delphinium Twinkle, the lesson of uniqueness is learned. The sound of your name is the very announcement of the uniqueness of you. A marvelous lesson learned. Chrysanthemum gives the most timid child a boost.
The name we chose for my daughter happens to be after her grandmothers not a flower.
"Absolutely perfect" is what we said when my daughter was born. Then she grew and grew and developed and then didn't develop. She delayed. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't typical. She was autistic.
I bear the most blame for thinking of her mostly as autistic. Many a times, have I introduced both my kids by first stating their names and ages and then a descriptor. This is my son- he's 4 going on 69. This is my daughter - she is six and is mildly autistic. It is positively sinful, shameful, awful, and inexcusable. I blame others for seeing her that way or not accepting her as a whole person. I assume the school system will always see her that way. I have complained that the label of ASD will follow her all throughout school. I have felt that outsiders including teachers, kids, and even friends and family will always see her as ASD. This very thought boils my blood. But I am my worst enemy when it comes down to the labeling.
My daughter is a Chrysanthemum. She is absolutely perfect. She sees the joy and delight in things I might belittle. Sunny days are great but I am not breaking into song over them (you know like Curly from Oklahoma). There is a hearty laugh at things like someone making a big splash in a pool. I might scream - "too cold". There are declarations such as "Isn't it a perfect day!" or "Wow mommy look at the butterfly!" There is running in the woods with a mile wide smile and a smooth stick at hand. There are expressive readings of any fairy tale. The enthusiasm for cracking an egg and watching the yellow slime ooze out is contagious. The mermaid she becomes in the water is imaginative. The singing confidently in the mirror is glorious. My daughter is everything that she is supposed to be.
My daughter has learned all of her letters and sounds enthusiastically. She remembers all the names of her friends at school. She can ride a bike nearly without training wheels. She taught herself to swing. She makes connections like "Hey I know what we should do. We should take the yellow food coloring and make the pink lemonade yellow! " She can hit a tennis ball high to the rooftop. She appreciates the beauty of a sunset. My daughter is all that and more.
The cruel and awful world and I see her all too realistically and imperfectly. Voices tell me she isn't perfect. She is not typical. She is autistic. Yet, she is who she is. Who she is absolutely perfect. I do not mean she never makes mistakes. I do not mean that she is the easiest child in the world to raise. She will wither, wilt, and droop. She will have autism the rest of her life. No cure and forever a Spectrum Kid.
It is high time that I realize my daughter is another Chrysanthemum. She is not a label. She is more than that. She is everything she is supposed to be. She is absolutely perfect. She doesn't just think it. She knows it. "Mommy, I am Chrysanthemum." she told me that night. In that moment that declaration whispered to me a new and necessary revelation. She is as Kevin Henkes put it, an "indescribable wonder."
"Oh pish" I say to the ASD label. She is absolutely perfect. I don't just think it. I know it now too.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
An Autistic Child , A Mennonite family, and Aldis
One Wednesday morning, I stood in my Old Mother Hubbard Kitchen and made a decision to head to the grocery store so that my "little doggies" would have some "bones". I decided Aldis would be the perfect destination. I like Aldis and my kids do as well.
Upon parking, I realized I had to get organized. Did I have my quarter for the cart? Did I have cash or debit card? Did I have bags? I had two out of three. The last item, I could either do without or buy the 10 cent bags. In we went reciting Old Mother Hubbard. I am just joking. Though I did think my kids should learn that one for grocery store trips.
Soon after being in the store, I noticed three Mennonites. One was an older woman and the other two were young girls that were perhaps in their teens. All had the dress of a Mennonite female. The white bonnet like covering, plain colored dress ,and white apron were sure signs. They were graceful moving about the store. There were no bonks and slams or clunks. They were quiet. They almost seemed to mouth words as they spoke to one another. They cooperated with each other. One was the list checker. One fetched needed items. One minded the cart. All of this while they moved about the business of grocery getting.
Then there was our little threesome. We used our loud voices: "Hey look there's Graham Crackers!"
"Mommy, I want to ride on the cart!" insists my daughter. There were plenty of bonks, clunks, and slams. I am not necessarily referring to just my kids either. There was fair cooperation. We did have a little of the usual bantering -
"I'll get the cheese- No I want to get the cheese! Mom, it's my turn to get the cheese!"
Despite the obvious differences between us and the Mennonite family, there is some real common ground. Shocking and surprising, yes, it is true. It all dawned on me as we rode home. There is some fascinating common ground. Aldis was the place for my children and the Mennonite family to get groceries. Aldis is just the kind of store fit for both.
Aldis offers no whistles and bells. The Mennonites spend their lives away from the "whistles and bells" of this world. They don't go the extreme of the Amish, but like them they appreciate and live out simplicity. No buzzes, beeps, and loud music at Aldis. No pop recycling machine roaring and clattering. No helpers punching and stocking items. Just the store is what you get. My children, one being autistic, don't need the whistles and bells either. Every sound and sight is recorded in my daughter's mind and may bombard her. She can go about the business of grocery shopping by working with me and not against me. The simplicity is a relief to her. It helps her function and feel confident. My daughter can put this and that in the cart because there's no flickering or buzzing or beeping to distract or disturb her. The Autistic child and a Mennonite can be in fine form at Aldis.
Aldis has all the staples you need and just enough extras. If milk, eggs, cheese, and bread are on your list. They are available. You might find fruit snacks, granola bars, and marshmallows. Just enough extras to satisfy and not too many to spoil. For the Mennonite they are only looking for the staples. They able aren't into spice, luxury, and food presentation. They are into good food to eat and nourishment. This is exactly my plan for my daughter. I need her comfortable with the staples. She needs to develop a taste for turkey and not necessarily tofu. Aldis can set the table for both the Mennonite family and the autistic child.
The design of the store is perfect. There is one way in and one way out. There are a few check outs. . The aisles are not terribly long. It is easy to see everything at once so that you can find things quickly. I can encourage cooperation because of this design. I can manage children in this small size store and allow them to participate a little more freely than in another local Store of stores. I am not as afraid of losing my child at Aldis. I left my leash at home. I am joking again. You know as well as I that a kid on a leash in any Store of stores is not a bad idea sometimes. For my autistic child, the design is a comfort to her as well. She is familiar because of the easy to learn lay out. She can move confidently because her way is organized in this small and manageable store. The Mennonite can feel the same. The store is built just like their homes. Organized, clean, and just the right size help to with ease of movement. Did I not mention how gracefully they moved through the store? It was almost like they were ....dare I say it.... dancing! Both the Mennonite and Autistic child can make themselves at home at Aldis.
Aldis also requires you do to some work. The Mennonite is all about working. You need to bag your own groceries, have your own bags, load up your own car, and return your own cart. This is where they strut there stuff. They are the true model of cooperation. So they thrive when work is to be done. This too is a "hands on learning about work" place for my children. There is a cart to empty and groceries to bag. There is a heavy cart to push to the car. There is a load to load up and a cart to return. Both the Mennonite and the autistic child can benefit from this work.
An Autistic Child and a Mennonite have some real common ground. I didn't even mention the fact that my daughter is actually related to some Mennonites. Her great grandfather was born into a Mennonite family and raised so. Though when my grandfather reached adulthood he no longer "accepted the faith", we still had relatives, brothers and sisters of my grandpa's, who remained in the Mennonite faith. . Growing up, I remember plenty of experiences where I wondered and pondered the great differences that separated us. Yet, at the this one particular moment in time at Aldis, I realized we had much more in common that I ever thought before.
Upon parking, I realized I had to get organized. Did I have my quarter for the cart? Did I have cash or debit card? Did I have bags? I had two out of three. The last item, I could either do without or buy the 10 cent bags. In we went reciting Old Mother Hubbard. I am just joking. Though I did think my kids should learn that one for grocery store trips.
Soon after being in the store, I noticed three Mennonites. One was an older woman and the other two were young girls that were perhaps in their teens. All had the dress of a Mennonite female. The white bonnet like covering, plain colored dress ,and white apron were sure signs. They were graceful moving about the store. There were no bonks and slams or clunks. They were quiet. They almost seemed to mouth words as they spoke to one another. They cooperated with each other. One was the list checker. One fetched needed items. One minded the cart. All of this while they moved about the business of grocery getting.
Then there was our little threesome. We used our loud voices: "Hey look there's Graham Crackers!"
"Mommy, I want to ride on the cart!" insists my daughter. There were plenty of bonks, clunks, and slams. I am not necessarily referring to just my kids either. There was fair cooperation. We did have a little of the usual bantering -
"I'll get the cheese- No I want to get the cheese! Mom, it's my turn to get the cheese!"
Despite the obvious differences between us and the Mennonite family, there is some real common ground. Shocking and surprising, yes, it is true. It all dawned on me as we rode home. There is some fascinating common ground. Aldis was the place for my children and the Mennonite family to get groceries. Aldis is just the kind of store fit for both.
Aldis offers no whistles and bells. The Mennonites spend their lives away from the "whistles and bells" of this world. They don't go the extreme of the Amish, but like them they appreciate and live out simplicity. No buzzes, beeps, and loud music at Aldis. No pop recycling machine roaring and clattering. No helpers punching and stocking items. Just the store is what you get. My children, one being autistic, don't need the whistles and bells either. Every sound and sight is recorded in my daughter's mind and may bombard her. She can go about the business of grocery shopping by working with me and not against me. The simplicity is a relief to her. It helps her function and feel confident. My daughter can put this and that in the cart because there's no flickering or buzzing or beeping to distract or disturb her. The Autistic child and a Mennonite can be in fine form at Aldis.
Aldis has all the staples you need and just enough extras. If milk, eggs, cheese, and bread are on your list. They are available. You might find fruit snacks, granola bars, and marshmallows. Just enough extras to satisfy and not too many to spoil. For the Mennonite they are only looking for the staples. They able aren't into spice, luxury, and food presentation. They are into good food to eat and nourishment. This is exactly my plan for my daughter. I need her comfortable with the staples. She needs to develop a taste for turkey and not necessarily tofu. Aldis can set the table for both the Mennonite family and the autistic child.
The design of the store is perfect. There is one way in and one way out. There are a few check outs. . The aisles are not terribly long. It is easy to see everything at once so that you can find things quickly. I can encourage cooperation because of this design. I can manage children in this small size store and allow them to participate a little more freely than in another local Store of stores. I am not as afraid of losing my child at Aldis. I left my leash at home. I am joking again. You know as well as I that a kid on a leash in any Store of stores is not a bad idea sometimes. For my autistic child, the design is a comfort to her as well. She is familiar because of the easy to learn lay out. She can move confidently because her way is organized in this small and manageable store. The Mennonite can feel the same. The store is built just like their homes. Organized, clean, and just the right size help to with ease of movement. Did I not mention how gracefully they moved through the store? It was almost like they were ....dare I say it.... dancing! Both the Mennonite and Autistic child can make themselves at home at Aldis.
Aldis also requires you do to some work. The Mennonite is all about working. You need to bag your own groceries, have your own bags, load up your own car, and return your own cart. This is where they strut there stuff. They are the true model of cooperation. So they thrive when work is to be done. This too is a "hands on learning about work" place for my children. There is a cart to empty and groceries to bag. There is a heavy cart to push to the car. There is a load to load up and a cart to return. Both the Mennonite and the autistic child can benefit from this work.
An Autistic Child and a Mennonite have some real common ground. I didn't even mention the fact that my daughter is actually related to some Mennonites. Her great grandfather was born into a Mennonite family and raised so. Though when my grandfather reached adulthood he no longer "accepted the faith", we still had relatives, brothers and sisters of my grandpa's, who remained in the Mennonite faith. . Growing up, I remember plenty of experiences where I wondered and pondered the great differences that separated us. Yet, at the this one particular moment in time at Aldis, I realized we had much more in common that I ever thought before.
Friday, June 14, 2013
The P31 ASD #1 Mom
I recently read through Proverbs 31. This has been the highlight of highlighting the perfect woman. It was read at my Grandmother's funeral- the one we named my daughter after. It was read at my other Grandmother's funeral. She was the one who lived to be 100. Two very "perfect" women. I could truly see much of P 31 in them. You may even find a story about them published and on the shelf hopefully in your lifetime- and mine. Being a descendant of both, I would hope that there are some P31 qualities in me.
I look down the list and I see that I need to be able to spin thread, sew fine linen, and know my yarns. There is no way in Helsinki that I could ever attempt such tasks. I knew this since being in the Busy Bee Club- sewing or anything of artistry using a needle and thread is not my talent. Hemming pants? I'd rather staple the hems with a stapler (same one used for paper).
I also need to be able to rise while it is still night and make food for my household. In the middle of the night, if I am awake, I am still trying to figure out WHAT we are having for dinner the next day much less preparing the food. That decision takes at least an hour sometimes.
I need to consider a vineyard and buy it. Sadly my pattern has been too spontaneous for considering. Just recently I went to Walmart to buy one of those "bigger" pools that look like a real pool. I brought it home and began to set it up. My husband the real man of consideration says-
"Did you think about finding a level place in our yard so the pool would not lean to one side and water wouldn't spill out? Did you think about the maintenance needed?"
No of course not. I just thought it was a perfect real pool enjoyed by all of us. We ended up returning it. And to my husband's credit - the pool thing needed more consideration.
I need to bring my food from afar. I can make Armenian food that is mighty tasty and considering not too many know that there is a nationality called Armenian- I'd say that is "afar" enough. And occasionally I visit the world foods section at the grocery store. And now that they have done away with online shopping for groceries, I am trying to smell, tap, and squeeze my produce like my Armenian grandma used to do. So I am trying to be "choosy" about the foods available. Plus I am still contemplating the "afar" foods part when I am serving the pickiest of eaters.
Then there's a part about my husband not having any lack of gain. Did I mention the part about not having dinner ready sometimes... like one time basically said- "Whatever is in the fridge- you can eat - I already ate the leftover French Onion soup." He ends up making himself a grilled cheese sandwich. Not too good on the gain part that time.
I need to laugh at the days to come. I am trying not to be a worry wart. But I have subtracted so many hours worrying. Life did not change drastically because of my worrying. It accomplished nothing. I do have Greek in me too and basically I need the beads.
Let me compare this also to being a mom of an autistic child. Many a time, I not only think P31 but also the qualities of a perfect mom of an autistic child. I will call her the #1 ASD mom. I met a teacher recently who will be my daughter's ASD teacher. I could just tell that SHE would be the perfect candidate. Years of training, a degree in the field, warm, loving, roll up her hands and dig in kind of gal is she. And I haven't even seen her in action. I just know my daughter is going to love her. Then there's me. There is so much more I should be doing because of her autism. Three years into this life knowing my daughter is autistic and twenty three years of teaching elementary kids (some of which were autistic) I should be a pro by now.
First, I should be using a visual schedule everyday. "And then we wake up" says my daughter nearly everyday. She needs to know the agenda. I tell her but if I showed her too it would keep her confident. During busy weeks and topsy turvey times I have it all ready to go. But for the most part, I don't. Not really. Up and coming kindergarten all day everyday life is going to necessitate one. Not very P31ish either.
I should be making fruit and vegetable purees each week . I should be sneaking them into her diet just like Jessica Seinfield . I need to put the purees in pancakes, cookies, cupcakes, muffins, and even her oatmeal. I did for awhile. It was my cooking bible. I do now and then. But not often enough so that she at least has some fruit or vegetable each day. Does giving her a fruit snack count? Or how about drinking one of those Fruitables? The ingredients do include many fruits and vegetables- so it is practically like drinking a salad! The p31 woman would be growing her own in that vineyard. The # 1 Autistic Mom would have the purees ready each way, enrolled their child in food therapy, or made cute pictures of the five senses and changed them into a place mat as a reference for meal time.
I need to know exactly what to do and say when there is a conflict, meltdown or tantrum. Even if it is something new, unexpected, and surprising. Like the time, she all of a sudden wanted to leave a friend's house for no reason and screamed the whole way home and took her nearly an hour to settle down with me squeezing her tight and whispering to her that it was going to be alright. You go back and retrace steps in your mind and are still puzzled as to why it happens in the first place. The P31 woman would have wise insight on her tongue even in the real challenge of the day. The #1ASD mom would be proactive and journal the antecedent, the action, and the next time plan.
I need to introduce new play schemes and allow for practice. There is a certain fabulous fairy house in her room the handcrafted that she looks at and admires. It is simply a work of art. Yet, she has no idea what to do with it. I need to make a visual sequence, and have practice time centered around this fairy house. That is what the #1 ASD mom would do. The P31 woman would have a similar plan developed at 4:30 am.
I am far from P31 and far from being the #1 ASD Mom. But instead of being down in the dumps , I am actually encouraged. Because for the first time I have realized that the list in Proverbs 31 is not really what counts. What is most asked of me is just one thing. Enter the scene in City Slickers. Curly the Cowboy and City Slicker Mitch are talking "life" side by side on horseback in the wide open west. Curly has taken off his cowboy hat and put on his counselor spectacles. He says:
"You focus on one thing- the rest don't mean - doo doo." . More importantly, there's the passage in Luke where Jesus, reminds Martha, " You are worried about many things, but only one thing is needed." (He left out the doo do part)
All these years of reading P31 and thinking how familiar I was with the passage and I wasn't thinking about the one thing. I always had the list of 101 things I needed to do to be both P31ish and the #1 ASD mom. What a relief to know that the only thing needed to be both is to stay close to the One and Only. This is a challenge at the same time. The items on both Mom lists can be more of the goal setting drive clouding out the One thing. Not being close to the One and Only- I am in "deep doo doo. " If you know the movie City Slickers there is a stronger word for doo doo and that one word is pretty strong. It does say it best and convey a stronger warning. Being far from my One thing, I shudder to think of the consequence. Sadly I am guilty at times.
"The woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." The P31 woman could do all of these things because she feared the Lord. For the first time, I have come to realize this doesn't mean fearing that if you don't do the things on the list , if you don't have the qualities mentioned, you are a failure. It doesn't even mean that you are to aim for these as a checklist for success. It means being fearful of being too far away from the One thing and being closer and closer to doo doo (sin). I have found that in striving to be close to God, things happen. Things that I cannot take credit for. Things that really resemble- the "With God all things are possible!"
When things seem so impossible, I know that that the One and Only is working in my daughter in ways I cannot. Amazing things happen. Like the other night- I was reading Chrysanthemum and she whispers "Mommy, I am Chrysanthemum." Pretty sophisticated connection and use of her schema I would say. Another time when I am sad she says "Mom, it is a prefect day!" Humble Pie at my service! Another time she dives right into a neighborhood ball game with- big tall scary men, sweat, loudness, and flying balls. Go figure. It's all the One. It's a reminder that He is at work.
P31 and #1 Mom are only possible when I fear the Lord. I fear being detached by focusing on the list. Yes, it matters, the visual schedule, the food purees, the considering before buying, etc. but what is number one on both is fearing the Lord. Then those things on the list are more possible - even accomplished. Even things that will be praiseworthy. Being in close contact with the One. That in a nutshell makes me 31ish and #1 AD Mom. That is the woman that is to be praised.
I look down the list and I see that I need to be able to spin thread, sew fine linen, and know my yarns. There is no way in Helsinki that I could ever attempt such tasks. I knew this since being in the Busy Bee Club- sewing or anything of artistry using a needle and thread is not my talent. Hemming pants? I'd rather staple the hems with a stapler (same one used for paper).
I also need to be able to rise while it is still night and make food for my household. In the middle of the night, if I am awake, I am still trying to figure out WHAT we are having for dinner the next day much less preparing the food. That decision takes at least an hour sometimes.
I need to consider a vineyard and buy it. Sadly my pattern has been too spontaneous for considering. Just recently I went to Walmart to buy one of those "bigger" pools that look like a real pool. I brought it home and began to set it up. My husband the real man of consideration says-
"Did you think about finding a level place in our yard so the pool would not lean to one side and water wouldn't spill out? Did you think about the maintenance needed?"
No of course not. I just thought it was a perfect real pool enjoyed by all of us. We ended up returning it. And to my husband's credit - the pool thing needed more consideration.
I need to bring my food from afar. I can make Armenian food that is mighty tasty and considering not too many know that there is a nationality called Armenian- I'd say that is "afar" enough. And occasionally I visit the world foods section at the grocery store. And now that they have done away with online shopping for groceries, I am trying to smell, tap, and squeeze my produce like my Armenian grandma used to do. So I am trying to be "choosy" about the foods available. Plus I am still contemplating the "afar" foods part when I am serving the pickiest of eaters.
Then there's a part about my husband not having any lack of gain. Did I mention the part about not having dinner ready sometimes... like one time basically said- "Whatever is in the fridge- you can eat - I already ate the leftover French Onion soup." He ends up making himself a grilled cheese sandwich. Not too good on the gain part that time.
I need to laugh at the days to come. I am trying not to be a worry wart. But I have subtracted so many hours worrying. Life did not change drastically because of my worrying. It accomplished nothing. I do have Greek in me too and basically I need the beads.
Let me compare this also to being a mom of an autistic child. Many a time, I not only think P31 but also the qualities of a perfect mom of an autistic child. I will call her the #1 ASD mom. I met a teacher recently who will be my daughter's ASD teacher. I could just tell that SHE would be the perfect candidate. Years of training, a degree in the field, warm, loving, roll up her hands and dig in kind of gal is she. And I haven't even seen her in action. I just know my daughter is going to love her. Then there's me. There is so much more I should be doing because of her autism. Three years into this life knowing my daughter is autistic and twenty three years of teaching elementary kids (some of which were autistic) I should be a pro by now.
First, I should be using a visual schedule everyday. "And then we wake up" says my daughter nearly everyday. She needs to know the agenda. I tell her but if I showed her too it would keep her confident. During busy weeks and topsy turvey times I have it all ready to go. But for the most part, I don't. Not really. Up and coming kindergarten all day everyday life is going to necessitate one. Not very P31ish either.
I should be making fruit and vegetable purees each week . I should be sneaking them into her diet just like Jessica Seinfield . I need to put the purees in pancakes, cookies, cupcakes, muffins, and even her oatmeal. I did for awhile. It was my cooking bible. I do now and then. But not often enough so that she at least has some fruit or vegetable each day. Does giving her a fruit snack count? Or how about drinking one of those Fruitables? The ingredients do include many fruits and vegetables- so it is practically like drinking a salad! The p31 woman would be growing her own in that vineyard. The # 1 Autistic Mom would have the purees ready each way, enrolled their child in food therapy, or made cute pictures of the five senses and changed them into a place mat as a reference for meal time.
I need to know exactly what to do and say when there is a conflict, meltdown or tantrum. Even if it is something new, unexpected, and surprising. Like the time, she all of a sudden wanted to leave a friend's house for no reason and screamed the whole way home and took her nearly an hour to settle down with me squeezing her tight and whispering to her that it was going to be alright. You go back and retrace steps in your mind and are still puzzled as to why it happens in the first place. The P31 woman would have wise insight on her tongue even in the real challenge of the day. The #1ASD mom would be proactive and journal the antecedent, the action, and the next time plan.
I need to introduce new play schemes and allow for practice. There is a certain fabulous fairy house in her room the handcrafted that she looks at and admires. It is simply a work of art. Yet, she has no idea what to do with it. I need to make a visual sequence, and have practice time centered around this fairy house. That is what the #1 ASD mom would do. The P31 woman would have a similar plan developed at 4:30 am.
I am far from P31 and far from being the #1 ASD Mom. But instead of being down in the dumps , I am actually encouraged. Because for the first time I have realized that the list in Proverbs 31 is not really what counts. What is most asked of me is just one thing. Enter the scene in City Slickers. Curly the Cowboy and City Slicker Mitch are talking "life" side by side on horseback in the wide open west. Curly has taken off his cowboy hat and put on his counselor spectacles. He says:
"You focus on one thing- the rest don't mean - doo doo." . More importantly, there's the passage in Luke where Jesus, reminds Martha, " You are worried about many things, but only one thing is needed." (He left out the doo do part)
All these years of reading P31 and thinking how familiar I was with the passage and I wasn't thinking about the one thing. I always had the list of 101 things I needed to do to be both P31ish and the #1 ASD mom. What a relief to know that the only thing needed to be both is to stay close to the One and Only. This is a challenge at the same time. The items on both Mom lists can be more of the goal setting drive clouding out the One thing. Not being close to the One and Only- I am in "deep doo doo. " If you know the movie City Slickers there is a stronger word for doo doo and that one word is pretty strong. It does say it best and convey a stronger warning. Being far from my One thing, I shudder to think of the consequence. Sadly I am guilty at times.
"The woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." The P31 woman could do all of these things because she feared the Lord. For the first time, I have come to realize this doesn't mean fearing that if you don't do the things on the list , if you don't have the qualities mentioned, you are a failure. It doesn't even mean that you are to aim for these as a checklist for success. It means being fearful of being too far away from the One thing and being closer and closer to doo doo (sin). I have found that in striving to be close to God, things happen. Things that I cannot take credit for. Things that really resemble- the "With God all things are possible!"
When things seem so impossible, I know that that the One and Only is working in my daughter in ways I cannot. Amazing things happen. Like the other night- I was reading Chrysanthemum and she whispers "Mommy, I am Chrysanthemum." Pretty sophisticated connection and use of her schema I would say. Another time when I am sad she says "Mom, it is a prefect day!" Humble Pie at my service! Another time she dives right into a neighborhood ball game with- big tall scary men, sweat, loudness, and flying balls. Go figure. It's all the One. It's a reminder that He is at work.
P31 and #1 Mom are only possible when I fear the Lord. I fear being detached by focusing on the list. Yes, it matters, the visual schedule, the food purees, the considering before buying, etc. but what is number one on both is fearing the Lord. Then those things on the list are more possible - even accomplished. Even things that will be praiseworthy. Being in close contact with the One. That in a nutshell makes me 31ish and #1 AD Mom. That is the woman that is to be praised.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
The Summer Gift of Transition
The current scene as I am typing and drinking tea is this: My husband is downstairs building a tower out of packaged up toilet paper rolls with the kids. We plan to go to an indoor swimming pool later and meet with some friends. My daughter has already drawn a map to the pool and explained it.
"Hey mom! We're shredding paper!" cries my daughter. I hear the whirring of the paper shredding machine. This is the "official" day of summer for the kids.
Right now, they act as if school never happened. The world is at their finger tips and they are chocking it full of play and adventure minute by minute. The routine is already broken. One has not eaten breakfast. Both are still in their PJ's. They slept in until 8 am! Yes, summer has arrived for them.
My mind is not yet adapted to the summer life. There are still some "official" items of business left for teachers to do in the next day or two. My summer begins in couple of days. For decades, my summer has always meant a list of fun that I always meant to do but never had time because it was eaten up by work. I could polish my toe nails, drink tea and scout out my garden, stay up late and sleep in, redecorate, write, bike for 25 miles a day, etc. Summer has changed meaning now.
This year summer is a transition time for us. For next year, my daughter will be in kindergarten. She will be mostly in a general education classroom. She will have a brand new school she's never seen before. She will be going to school all day and every day. She will be going year round. This means summer ends August 5. We have eight weeks of summer.
I feel a little bit like my summer is the story of The Parable of the Talents. It's a Bible story where the Master gives each servant a certain number of talents then goes away on a trip expecting each one to DO something with the talent they have been given. For some reason, I have always pictured the "talent" in this story to be money. But the word talent I daresay is more a gift given by the Master. Two of the servants have doubled or tripled their talents. One servant buries it in the ground and gives it back. The master tells the first two - "Well done!". The last one, the one who basically did nothing, he calls "worthless". It gets worse but I won't get into that. The point is the giving of the gift. Receive it well and don't waste it.
Like no other summer, this one brings a gift of crucial transition time. Transition for us means being sensitive to this "in the meantime" part of this journey until it's time for kindergarten. This is thinking, wishing, preparing, and maintaining "kidship" time so that we are ready and willing to take kindergarten on time. Each day of summer will count invaluably toward preparing my daughter for a total turnaround in her life. Summer's gift of transition time is here.
My list is endless as far as "to do's" and more than ever I am challenged to really prioritize and weigh in the value. As a teacher, we remind parents to take them to the library, read to them, cook with them, have play dates, keep a journal, etc. So how does it all pan out into eight weeks of summer? I don't even have a prepared visual schedule. As I weigh in the possibilities, there are certain musts that might just be all the summer we have time for.
We will play. That in a nutshell is huge. The sky is the limit on both growing socially and emotionally as well continued foundation building. Just play time alone is accomplishing much. I want to play new things and expand on the old play schemes. She's come so far and she is just getting started at the same time.
I will read social stories to her written by yours truly. I want her get acquainted with the concept of kindergarten. They may not start out once upon a time but they sure will have a "happily ever after" attitude threaded throughout. If she could learn to read them because they will be of early emergent style- then wonderful! I have worked with her on reading as well and put my masters degree in reading to use.
She will have therapy. Her therapy is one of the "schools" away from school. Though she calls it the "play place" due to the happy, lively, and warm environment. It is once a week which makes it scheduled and routine. It will help smooth out the expected "wrinkles" of this upcoming transition.
I will follow her lead. Many times, my kids have their own ideas and I wind up chasing them around and I try to keep up. There are things to make. Flowers to grow. A bike to ride somewhere. Swinging to do. Tea parties and lemonade stands to have. In following her lead, I am validating what she already knows and praising her for the risk taking she is willing to perform.
I wish to provide new learning through unique experiences. My daughter's schema is one of her strengths. She soaks in new experiences. Sometimes it is with kicking and screaming. Oh too quickly do I recall the time she rode a horse for the first time. The first time she saw the Nutcracker she covered her ears the whole time and insisted on leaving at intermission. Yet, she remembers and she is richer for it. So we may try the circus? How about a baseball game? Shall we consider an orchestra concert for children? A play? Maybe all of the above?
So much I long to do and just the gift of summertime to do it. Transitioning time until kindergarten will fly by just like each school year does for me. Yet, I do want to look back and call it a "well done" summer.
"Hey mom! We're shredding paper!" cries my daughter. I hear the whirring of the paper shredding machine. This is the "official" day of summer for the kids.
Right now, they act as if school never happened. The world is at their finger tips and they are chocking it full of play and adventure minute by minute. The routine is already broken. One has not eaten breakfast. Both are still in their PJ's. They slept in until 8 am! Yes, summer has arrived for them.
My mind is not yet adapted to the summer life. There are still some "official" items of business left for teachers to do in the next day or two. My summer begins in couple of days. For decades, my summer has always meant a list of fun that I always meant to do but never had time because it was eaten up by work. I could polish my toe nails, drink tea and scout out my garden, stay up late and sleep in, redecorate, write, bike for 25 miles a day, etc. Summer has changed meaning now.
This year summer is a transition time for us. For next year, my daughter will be in kindergarten. She will be mostly in a general education classroom. She will have a brand new school she's never seen before. She will be going to school all day and every day. She will be going year round. This means summer ends August 5. We have eight weeks of summer.
I feel a little bit like my summer is the story of The Parable of the Talents. It's a Bible story where the Master gives each servant a certain number of talents then goes away on a trip expecting each one to DO something with the talent they have been given. For some reason, I have always pictured the "talent" in this story to be money. But the word talent I daresay is more a gift given by the Master. Two of the servants have doubled or tripled their talents. One servant buries it in the ground and gives it back. The master tells the first two - "Well done!". The last one, the one who basically did nothing, he calls "worthless". It gets worse but I won't get into that. The point is the giving of the gift. Receive it well and don't waste it.
Like no other summer, this one brings a gift of crucial transition time. Transition for us means being sensitive to this "in the meantime" part of this journey until it's time for kindergarten. This is thinking, wishing, preparing, and maintaining "kidship" time so that we are ready and willing to take kindergarten on time. Each day of summer will count invaluably toward preparing my daughter for a total turnaround in her life. Summer's gift of transition time is here.
My list is endless as far as "to do's" and more than ever I am challenged to really prioritize and weigh in the value. As a teacher, we remind parents to take them to the library, read to them, cook with them, have play dates, keep a journal, etc. So how does it all pan out into eight weeks of summer? I don't even have a prepared visual schedule. As I weigh in the possibilities, there are certain musts that might just be all the summer we have time for.
We will play. That in a nutshell is huge. The sky is the limit on both growing socially and emotionally as well continued foundation building. Just play time alone is accomplishing much. I want to play new things and expand on the old play schemes. She's come so far and she is just getting started at the same time.
I will read social stories to her written by yours truly. I want her get acquainted with the concept of kindergarten. They may not start out once upon a time but they sure will have a "happily ever after" attitude threaded throughout. If she could learn to read them because they will be of early emergent style- then wonderful! I have worked with her on reading as well and put my masters degree in reading to use.
She will have therapy. Her therapy is one of the "schools" away from school. Though she calls it the "play place" due to the happy, lively, and warm environment. It is once a week which makes it scheduled and routine. It will help smooth out the expected "wrinkles" of this upcoming transition.
I will follow her lead. Many times, my kids have their own ideas and I wind up chasing them around and I try to keep up. There are things to make. Flowers to grow. A bike to ride somewhere. Swinging to do. Tea parties and lemonade stands to have. In following her lead, I am validating what she already knows and praising her for the risk taking she is willing to perform.
I wish to provide new learning through unique experiences. My daughter's schema is one of her strengths. She soaks in new experiences. Sometimes it is with kicking and screaming. Oh too quickly do I recall the time she rode a horse for the first time. The first time she saw the Nutcracker she covered her ears the whole time and insisted on leaving at intermission. Yet, she remembers and she is richer for it. So we may try the circus? How about a baseball game? Shall we consider an orchestra concert for children? A play? Maybe all of the above?
So much I long to do and just the gift of summertime to do it. Transitioning time until kindergarten will fly by just like each school year does for me. Yet, I do want to look back and call it a "well done" summer.
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