I was first a teacher in August of 1990 in inner city Atlanta. A "Damned Dehydrated Yankee" even before I met my students, I passed out from the heat and an ambulance was called. I was told to drink and start eating collard greens, and fried okra. My first classroom consisted of stained carpet, desks, chairs, cockroaches, and a thirty kids who looked more like adults than I. At a young age of 22, I was to show my expertise from my great education from the North.
The second year I was first grade teacher. I found myself lying on the floor with lights out and doors locked. To disguise the "action movie like scenario" to more "business as usual" I started telling a story about the time I saw Santa Claus for the first time. Screams, slams ,and bangs of a "shooter intruder" may have drowned out the excitement of my story. But the kids found my story to be more interesting because the other noises were all too familiar to them. A note from one of my students sticks out plain as day: Miss Roger, ( My name was Miss Rogers at the time) you is thin. You like a toothpick. You got big teeth and your eyes pop out like a ghost. Perhaps in a nutshell the impression that I made. ( There was a filled "water balloon" incident and a trial for a threat over a pencil but let me just wet your appetites for now) The focus of those times were more survival and developing a thick skin than actual real teaching.
The Parent Teacher Conference time was three hours. A handful showed up. Those that did, it was the first time I 'd met them. Those that I met, I shuddered to meet. I was some suburban, young, goodie goodie from someplace they never heard of. Who was I to teach their child? Those I met preached the "My child is gonna be a doctor or a lawyer. Like I tell them, you gotta get your education." Many kids were nagged and raised by the older sibling.
In 1994, I was teacher in a small southern town. The classroom was new smelling with whiteboards not chalkboards. There was a nature trail. The kids had teddy bear names like Amber and Clinton or Jessica and Trip. They got excited about going roller skating and cooking a hot dog in the sun. ( Really you can do that in Georgia)
Parent teacher Conference time was designated for three hours. Turn out was nearly 100 percent.
Their vowels and word drawls were a challenge. "Where did you see it?" was really "Where did you sit?" "Yes, ma'am and No ma'am were insisted by them and foreign to me. The mentality for good grades and character were valued. Comments like "We are really working on Johnny being sweet." were frequently spoken.
After six years of the south, I was teacher in suburban Grand Rapids, Michigan. School was just like I knew it to be with some positive differences. The artistic size and shape made the room feel modern. There were workrooms for teachers, computers at our desks, lockers in the hallways, and shiny bright teacher's manuals. For the most part the kids lived a life they were supposed to live. They got their kicks out of light up shoes, trinkets to dangle and weigh down their backpacks, and who was going to be first in line. Motivation to learn was strong.
Parent teacher conferences were nearly 100 percent. These were hard working professionals and stay home moms who would be sending their kids past college through graduate school. They were seen often in the classroom and kept teachers on their toes. For the first time there were labels for parents- which I won't relay. After a year of teaching in this district, I came to a halt in my thinking... Wow! I have come full circle!
I was parent in August of 2006. I now had two roles when it came to kids. I had the teaching part down pat, my parenting was a blank slate. I had taught inner city kids and deep south kids. I knew kids of various nationalities and kids of special needs. I helped kids of high economic status families and low. All that was under my belt and now I was at the very start of parenthood.
It has been six years of parenting thus far and twenty three years of teaching. With that kind of experience I am more a teacher than a parent. That's what you get when you are a mommy come late! Things learned from the classroom have come in handy. For discipline and management, there's plenty to draw on. Thinking on my toes isn't too hard as far as a consequence or a correction. It's easy to be creative and inventive. I've had to do it all along. Teacher first then parent has its advantages.
I've dealt with parents of school aged children for years. Now, I am that parent. Like the inner city Atlanta parent, I will have big dreams for my child. Like the deep south one, I will surely want them "sweet". Like the parents I work with now, I will inherit my label. Like all parents, I will advocate for the success and well being of my child. As a parent of a special needs child, I picture myself ready to advocate armored with research, experience, and emotions. This is my child, the one I bore, and will be investing a lifetime in not just one school year. Of all the kids, I am most concerned about MY child's well being.
Yet, this is a parent talking who is also a teacher. I was and still am at the other end. I know those parents that come with their defense dissertation. I know the feeling of being told "You blew it! Don't do it again!" I know the curriculum and what is developmentally appropriate. I know the questions to ask at conference time. I can remediate at home using best practices and not just what I learned way back when. Maybe I could even be in the "teacher shoes" of my child's classroom and have understanding for their perspective. Wearing two hats will be a challenge and a benefit all in one.
Here goes my first official school year as parent and teacher. Two roles that are significant all in themselves. Yet for me intertwined. I am parent and teacher in August of 2013.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
The Scripted Talk
Imagine you're a deer. Your prancing along, you dip your little deer lips into the cool clear water, and bam! All of your brain guts spread out all over in little bitty pieces.
You know, you shouldn't stand so close to the frozen food section. Because you are so hot you are gonna melt all this stuff.
Safe? Course he isn't safe. But He's good.
Somebody tell a joke.
Could you please call me Cordelia?
I did it. I still do. Sometimes, I use lines from books, movies, TV, shows. I use scripting in my conversations. Sometimes it draws a laugh. Sometimes I get a "huh" look. Perhaps I know too many scripts. That makes me a real geek. All those phrases and lines listed above are from movies, books, TV shows, etc. Media presentations that made me laugh or remember. Language that, for better or worse, influenced my dialect.
My daughter is another script girl. Once we were in the church restroom, all of a sudden with a voice set in perfect restroom acoustics she says "Hey, have you ever heard of Viola Swamp? The meanest substitute in the whole world. She's a real witch. " Some talking from Miss Nelson is missing. Totally unrelated to anything and not at all purposeful. Another time, she decorated and undecorated her Christmas tree. She scripted: "Now, all the decorations are taken off. I know Christmas is over, but there are other holidays, like Easter, Halloween, and Valentine's Day." Words embedded in her mind from a Max and Ruby episode. At that time, she was dramatizing. Another time, she covered herself with laundry. I asked "Clara, what are you doing?" She replied, "Don't ask!" That got me thinking- wow! What a mature response. How did she learn that? Where else? A script. A Davey and Goliath script. ( An old claymation series about a boy and his dog) That time she applied it well to context.
Research says, this is typical of an autistic child. Research says, get them off scripting by not letting them watch movies or television programs. It says, it makes them stick out as the geek in the conversation that no one will be able to follow.
Sometimes my daughter does it out of nervousness, or maybe just to fill in some silence. Sometimes, it seems to be a way of communicating feelings that she has matched with the current context. It is as though she has stolen words from somebody else's story and put them into her own. Sometimes I wonder if this justifies her scripting. After all it IS one building block of her language.
Before she spoke real English, she basically spoke in tongues. She had the perfectly articulated jibber jabber. She had the gestures, the inflections, and even some eye contact and perfect eye wandering. She was in fact talking.Maybe inventing her own script.
I am not sure scripting will ever disappear in her conversation. She may be rehearsing as the lead in some future production. She does have some talent. I owe that all to the script.
And just in case you are puzzled about where the beginning lines of this blog came from:
1. My Cousin Vinny- movie
2. My Blue Heaven-movie
3. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe- book, movie
4. Moonstruck-movie
5. Anne of Green Gables-book, movie
You can always check out the script.
You know, you shouldn't stand so close to the frozen food section. Because you are so hot you are gonna melt all this stuff.
Safe? Course he isn't safe. But He's good.
Somebody tell a joke.
Could you please call me Cordelia?
I did it. I still do. Sometimes, I use lines from books, movies, TV, shows. I use scripting in my conversations. Sometimes it draws a laugh. Sometimes I get a "huh" look. Perhaps I know too many scripts. That makes me a real geek. All those phrases and lines listed above are from movies, books, TV shows, etc. Media presentations that made me laugh or remember. Language that, for better or worse, influenced my dialect.
My daughter is another script girl. Once we were in the church restroom, all of a sudden with a voice set in perfect restroom acoustics she says "Hey, have you ever heard of Viola Swamp? The meanest substitute in the whole world. She's a real witch. " Some talking from Miss Nelson is missing. Totally unrelated to anything and not at all purposeful. Another time, she decorated and undecorated her Christmas tree. She scripted: "Now, all the decorations are taken off. I know Christmas is over, but there are other holidays, like Easter, Halloween, and Valentine's Day." Words embedded in her mind from a Max and Ruby episode. At that time, she was dramatizing. Another time, she covered herself with laundry. I asked "Clara, what are you doing?" She replied, "Don't ask!" That got me thinking- wow! What a mature response. How did she learn that? Where else? A script. A Davey and Goliath script. ( An old claymation series about a boy and his dog) That time she applied it well to context.
Research says, this is typical of an autistic child. Research says, get them off scripting by not letting them watch movies or television programs. It says, it makes them stick out as the geek in the conversation that no one will be able to follow.
Sometimes my daughter does it out of nervousness, or maybe just to fill in some silence. Sometimes, it seems to be a way of communicating feelings that she has matched with the current context. It is as though she has stolen words from somebody else's story and put them into her own. Sometimes I wonder if this justifies her scripting. After all it IS one building block of her language.
Before she spoke real English, she basically spoke in tongues. She had the perfectly articulated jibber jabber. She had the gestures, the inflections, and even some eye contact and perfect eye wandering. She was in fact talking.Maybe inventing her own script.
I am not sure scripting will ever disappear in her conversation. She may be rehearsing as the lead in some future production. She does have some talent. I owe that all to the script.
And just in case you are puzzled about where the beginning lines of this blog came from:
1. My Cousin Vinny- movie
2. My Blue Heaven-movie
3. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe- book, movie
4. Moonstruck-movie
5. Anne of Green Gables-book, movie
You can always check out the script.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Today, Yesterday, and Tomorrow
We just came back from the beach, eating out, and playing with friends. "Okay, it's time to go home." I say in a calm voice breaking into all the giggles. To the kids, it's like the breaking down noise of a record or film projector. My daughter stops, and says her usual, "and then we wake up". This is her way of saying - what's next? Today is soon to be over. What about tomorrow? She needs to know. Her yesterday is remembered, her today is her currently on her mind, and her tomorrow is wondered about. All in one thought simultaneously.
Should everyday be therefore planned and storied out for her? Should I always have the blueprint in place for today and tomorrow so that yesterday will always be a contribution to happy, well planned out memories? Impossible even for the high maintenance controlling type. Life is just like that. Most people operate at the speed of light. Sometimes you just can't live any other way in order to survive.
We drive, go out to dinner, ... maybe even say our wedding vows- ( I am sure this has been done) while we text. We have a conversation at the pace 55 miles an hour ( can your mouth move that fast?) each one talking about something different and your job is to follow along. We go 80 and the speed limit is already 70! We get our feed of news through sound bites. We tweet. We talk in abbreviations. We wear our underwear in public- a short cut to getting dressed to save time. (okay maybe that is more a complaint than a sign of faced paced but maybe not?)We are a nervous wreck when our technical gadgets break down. The George Jetson age is looking more and more like the dinosaur age. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow are all running together. Think about it.
My grandmother lived to be 100 years old. She remembered yesterday vividly. When I asked her on of her "todays" ( meaning a day when I was around and so was she) "What did you do today?" She once said "Nothing!" The tone was a little bit frustrated but also... hinting at this... Do I have to have a laundry list of activities to make this day count?) I know many a time, she just enjoyed sitting and talking. That was her idea of "nothing". She saw the sign of yesterday, today, and tomorrow running together. She knew how to stop it. Do nothing. Halt time. Ironically now, she knows the no stopping of life- but only life of pure today always.
I am five years from halfway to 100. For me even now, yesterday, today, and tomorrow run together. Each today, I deal with the immediate needs both planned and unplanned. I story through the tomorrow to prepare for what probably will be for my daughter's sake and my son's. I somehow record the yesterday, for fond memories of a day that counted. Each day counts and in fact is numbered. Even if I don't do the math or the recording, Someone else is doing it for me. That Someone is the one who authored yesterday, today, and tomorrow. They are all one in the same to Him.
Here we are remembering today which is changing to yesterday by the moment. We are thinking about tomorrow and trying to make it all count towards a well numbered life. "And when we wake up" my daughter will say when I tuck her in tonight. "Let's just wait and see" won't do. Maybe there is a way to hold all three in one moment. Until then we are closing in on tomorrow .... then... today, then.....
Monday, July 15, 2013
The Dog Hater
On my street growing up, nearly every house had a dog. Next door on the left was one that paced the circumference of their fenced in yard. He was probably looking for a way out as though he were in prison. He was a wolf basically in my eyes. ( really he was a Siberian Husky) One to the right of us was a very pretty collie. She jumped and had some pretty sharp claws. A hyper little ball of fur. Two doors down was a giant black curly poodle- Whiskers by the name. Not sure that name was appropriate- I couldn't tell if he even had whiskers. Then the houses near the end of our street had a Doberman pincher named Georgie - seriously Georgie ? Why not something like Fang? Lucky was another dog. An important one actually.
Being a kid in my neighborhood was pretty fine. Except for the dog loving thing. I was a dog hater. I just couldn't get past the slobbery, sharp clawed, hyperactivity of a dog! If we went to Mrs. B's house to deliver Christmas cards , we got bonking and almost truck engine sound of a dog!
"Georgie!", Mrs. B would say in her old lady scratchy voice- "Now settle down."
Yeah right. Settle down- try calming a tornado. Then there was Molly the Collie. True a very pretty dog. But can you imagine being jumped on and all of the sudden face to face with a drooling slobbery dog that you are forced to dance with? Collies are basically fur with ADD. Added to all of that and I also had the trauma of being bit at age five. I was just minding my own business and all of the sudden this ugly dog comes shooting out of a garage and takes a chomp at me. I had the scar for years after. It is 40 years later, but I bet if I took out a microscope, you could still see it.
One day my brother and his friend took advantage. Such teases boys can be but such horrible creatures too. One day, I was on my home from the white house after playing with my friend so and so. ( Okay her name was Suzie- her name is probably so common she is protected) I had to go through Mollie the Collie's house to get home. Mollie was nowhere to be found. As I reached her yard, Zoom! Out shoots Mollie. I scream and run back to Suzie's house and ring the doorbell in the meantime trying to think of an excuse for why I was back. Then, I heard laughing. Those boys had held on to Mollie's leash in the garage until I came by. Mollie was revved up and ready.
Still working on payback from that experience - its just that age and maturity has gotten in the way.
After some time, Lucky came to save the day. Lucky and my friend so and so. ( I won't say her name because hers is not so common) One day, I came to so and so's house and found her petting Lucky under a shady tree. She was just gently petting him. I froze in my tracks and was trying to decide if I should go home. But my friend invited me to come sit down. I don't know what possessed me to agree- a sudden wave of absolute bravery? Soon my hand was guided by her hand. I was petting a dog not running from one! Thanks to my friend so and so who is now a big so and so- she's a vet probably the go to one in her area too!
If it weren't for Lucky and my now Vet friend, I would be where my daughter is right now. I seemed to have passed on the hate of dogs to her. Being a dog hater is not because she is autistic per say. It is because aside from being autistic, she is also .... me! Having another dog hater has had its challenges. Anywhere near a dog and she jumps into the nearest trusted arms. She screams and catches the attention of anyone close by. There are glances, side comments, and dirty looks that say "Get over it girl!"
It's going to take a long time for my girl "to get over it." One reason - she's a six year old me. The other reason- she has autism. The unpredictable behavior , activity, and look of a dog is enough sensory fright for this girl. And to be honest that is probably what made me a dog hater too. I didn't necessarily change from dog hater to dog lover. We did get a dog eventually. She was kind, gentle, furry, and the only dog we did ever get. Just the one dog and that's all. Enough experience to help me mature and realize ways to get over my fears. We won't be getting a dog until forever is over. It isn't the fear thing - it's other things- attachment, another family member, work, mess, money- etc. We will simply enjoy the beautiful pals and dog shows from across the street- yeah, we will just be temporary masters to other people's dogs. But certain ones mind you. They have to have certain credentials.
Maybe you will find a children's story on the shelf one day about a certain dog hater. Maybe you will gain new understanding if you are a dog lover. Maybe my daughter will one day pet a dog! Maybe not. Regardless, here's one former dog hater who has passed down her dislike. And off we go to a friend's swimming pool, and they have a dog. Maybe this is the day? I am thinking maybe not... but then again...
Being a kid in my neighborhood was pretty fine. Except for the dog loving thing. I was a dog hater. I just couldn't get past the slobbery, sharp clawed, hyperactivity of a dog! If we went to Mrs. B's house to deliver Christmas cards , we got bonking and almost truck engine sound of a dog!
"Georgie!", Mrs. B would say in her old lady scratchy voice- "Now settle down."
Yeah right. Settle down- try calming a tornado. Then there was Molly the Collie. True a very pretty dog. But can you imagine being jumped on and all of the sudden face to face with a drooling slobbery dog that you are forced to dance with? Collies are basically fur with ADD. Added to all of that and I also had the trauma of being bit at age five. I was just minding my own business and all of the sudden this ugly dog comes shooting out of a garage and takes a chomp at me. I had the scar for years after. It is 40 years later, but I bet if I took out a microscope, you could still see it.
One day my brother and his friend took advantage. Such teases boys can be but such horrible creatures too. One day, I was on my home from the white house after playing with my friend so and so. ( Okay her name was Suzie- her name is probably so common she is protected) I had to go through Mollie the Collie's house to get home. Mollie was nowhere to be found. As I reached her yard, Zoom! Out shoots Mollie. I scream and run back to Suzie's house and ring the doorbell in the meantime trying to think of an excuse for why I was back. Then, I heard laughing. Those boys had held on to Mollie's leash in the garage until I came by. Mollie was revved up and ready.
Still working on payback from that experience - its just that age and maturity has gotten in the way.
After some time, Lucky came to save the day. Lucky and my friend so and so. ( I won't say her name because hers is not so common) One day, I came to so and so's house and found her petting Lucky under a shady tree. She was just gently petting him. I froze in my tracks and was trying to decide if I should go home. But my friend invited me to come sit down. I don't know what possessed me to agree- a sudden wave of absolute bravery? Soon my hand was guided by her hand. I was petting a dog not running from one! Thanks to my friend so and so who is now a big so and so- she's a vet probably the go to one in her area too!
If it weren't for Lucky and my now Vet friend, I would be where my daughter is right now. I seemed to have passed on the hate of dogs to her. Being a dog hater is not because she is autistic per say. It is because aside from being autistic, she is also .... me! Having another dog hater has had its challenges. Anywhere near a dog and she jumps into the nearest trusted arms. She screams and catches the attention of anyone close by. There are glances, side comments, and dirty looks that say "Get over it girl!"
It's going to take a long time for my girl "to get over it." One reason - she's a six year old me. The other reason- she has autism. The unpredictable behavior , activity, and look of a dog is enough sensory fright for this girl. And to be honest that is probably what made me a dog hater too. I didn't necessarily change from dog hater to dog lover. We did get a dog eventually. She was kind, gentle, furry, and the only dog we did ever get. Just the one dog and that's all. Enough experience to help me mature and realize ways to get over my fears. We won't be getting a dog until forever is over. It isn't the fear thing - it's other things- attachment, another family member, work, mess, money- etc. We will simply enjoy the beautiful pals and dog shows from across the street- yeah, we will just be temporary masters to other people's dogs. But certain ones mind you. They have to have certain credentials.
Maybe you will find a children's story on the shelf one day about a certain dog hater. Maybe you will gain new understanding if you are a dog lover. Maybe my daughter will one day pet a dog! Maybe not. Regardless, here's one former dog hater who has passed down her dislike. And off we go to a friend's swimming pool, and they have a dog. Maybe this is the day? I am thinking maybe not... but then again...
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Caterpillars and Butterflies
Ever tried to look for a caterpillar under milkweed? You have to look at the right time. You have to have patience in your pocket too. When I was teaching first grade, I brought in a caterpillar for observation. In a fishbowl covered in some netting , we watched that guy munch, crawl, munch, crawl, you know- it's a very hungry caterpillar. No, we didn't give him ice cream, sausage, or a cupcake. Eric Carl told us that would give him a tummy ache. ( You have to be a teacher to understand) Plus, a nice green leaf was readily available each day. After a forever time, ( to the kids mostly) we noticed that the caterpillar that was once munching on a green milkweed leaf, was now hidden in a gold beaded sack. It was only a matter of tallies before the big switcheroo. We tallied the number of days it took for the caterpillar to switch to a butterfly- a math and science integration. The day it happened it was like Christmas morning. The kids excitement was out of control. It was a miracle. I myself was blinking my eyes to make sure I had the correct visual. My eyes weren't seeing things. The monarch burst out all orange, black, a little white, and wet. Teachable moment right then had cancelled all other lesson plans.
My flower garden with reds, oranges, pinks, has been an attraction for the butterflies. It's not like its a mini rainforest mind you. We don't see the brilliant blue morpho butterfly. We see the brilliant white moth, some monarchs, some kind of yellow one, - enough to intrigue both kids. The minute one is noticed, there is an announcement-"Hey look at that beautiful butterfly!" There is the chase. It's kind of like the butterfly initiates a game of tag. The kids know no boundaries when chasing a butterfly. There is the observation when it finally rests on one of the flowers. It is then that they can describe this butterfly and differentiate between that one. Butterflies are a kid fascination in this household.
My Spectrum kid is a butterfly wanna be. She longs to be noticed, colorful, admired, and flying high. Don't we all? Lately, I have noticed how she has become the "social butterfly". She has been bravely right in the middle of people conversation and activity here in the neighborhood. She has conversed with neighbors even when they are not really open to talk. She lures them in with her questions and exclamations. She introduces us to new friends that arrive. My Congressman boy at times, thinks he is already a butterfly. He's pretty confident, knows the ropes of things, and shines all on his own. But both kids and everyone needs to do the work of the caterpillar first. Us caterpillars have some serious munching to do. Munching on green leaves - we feel so much better when we do that. Just like the Very Hungry Caterpillar did. So for both kids, for me, and for you, do "healthy green leaf" things- read, play, learn, listen, and be careful. This is all important for being a butterfly- even one who simply flits from flower to flower. If you want to be a big beautiful butterfly bursting with new life and hope- well you've got some serious caterpillar work to do. Get into the Word, rely on your Creator, focus on the "fly high things" of life.
If you know your symbols, you would know that the butterfly is actually a symbol of the resurrection. New life- the switcheroo inside the chrysalis is a lesson in the hope to come. Here on this earth, hope could mean potential - dreams that come true, amazing things happening, . Hope later ... well too much "Christmas" "Easter" for our caterpillar brains. Think of all the time you said "no more!" upon some serious frustration and consider it done! Think of the last time you experienced paradise and consider that to be everlasting. Pretty amazing stuff upon some pondering.
So here we are all caterpillars. It doesn't matter who you are. We are all working out our time until we are a butterfly. We may have butterfly moments of flying high and being colorful, and those ultimate butterfly moments takes us all the way to Mexico. That is where all butterflies that hatch go. They fly all the way to Mexico. Mexico could literally be your paradise or it could be those moments when a kid feels grown up. It could be the moment when success has been experienced. It could be the moment you were rewarded with something after some serious work. But a real resurrected butterfly will reach an even higher paradise than Mexico. All we have to do is to the work of the caterpillar until one day we curl up in our chrysalis and burst out a big, beautiful, butterfly!
My flower garden with reds, oranges, pinks, has been an attraction for the butterflies. It's not like its a mini rainforest mind you. We don't see the brilliant blue morpho butterfly. We see the brilliant white moth, some monarchs, some kind of yellow one, - enough to intrigue both kids. The minute one is noticed, there is an announcement-"Hey look at that beautiful butterfly!" There is the chase. It's kind of like the butterfly initiates a game of tag. The kids know no boundaries when chasing a butterfly. There is the observation when it finally rests on one of the flowers. It is then that they can describe this butterfly and differentiate between that one. Butterflies are a kid fascination in this household.
My Spectrum kid is a butterfly wanna be. She longs to be noticed, colorful, admired, and flying high. Don't we all? Lately, I have noticed how she has become the "social butterfly". She has been bravely right in the middle of people conversation and activity here in the neighborhood. She has conversed with neighbors even when they are not really open to talk. She lures them in with her questions and exclamations. She introduces us to new friends that arrive. My Congressman boy at times, thinks he is already a butterfly. He's pretty confident, knows the ropes of things, and shines all on his own. But both kids and everyone needs to do the work of the caterpillar first. Us caterpillars have some serious munching to do. Munching on green leaves - we feel so much better when we do that. Just like the Very Hungry Caterpillar did. So for both kids, for me, and for you, do "healthy green leaf" things- read, play, learn, listen, and be careful. This is all important for being a butterfly- even one who simply flits from flower to flower. If you want to be a big beautiful butterfly bursting with new life and hope- well you've got some serious caterpillar work to do. Get into the Word, rely on your Creator, focus on the "fly high things" of life.
If you know your symbols, you would know that the butterfly is actually a symbol of the resurrection. New life- the switcheroo inside the chrysalis is a lesson in the hope to come. Here on this earth, hope could mean potential - dreams that come true, amazing things happening, . Hope later ... well too much "Christmas" "Easter" for our caterpillar brains. Think of all the time you said "no more!" upon some serious frustration and consider it done! Think of the last time you experienced paradise and consider that to be everlasting. Pretty amazing stuff upon some pondering.
So here we are all caterpillars. It doesn't matter who you are. We are all working out our time until we are a butterfly. We may have butterfly moments of flying high and being colorful, and those ultimate butterfly moments takes us all the way to Mexico. That is where all butterflies that hatch go. They fly all the way to Mexico. Mexico could literally be your paradise or it could be those moments when a kid feels grown up. It could be the moment when success has been experienced. It could be the moment you were rewarded with something after some serious work. But a real resurrected butterfly will reach an even higher paradise than Mexico. All we have to do is to the work of the caterpillar until one day we curl up in our chrysalis and burst out a big, beautiful, butterfly!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Stanley is not Flat
Flat Stanley is a character who has been around awhile. His first adventure occurred when a bulletin board falls on him and he becomes flat. He finds he can have fun and be useful after being a kite and capturing some robbers. Stanley was flat and pretty cool things happened because of it.
Ironically, there is another Stanley who was around awhile and then recently no longer. He was actually a real person. In a small way he is like the one in the children's story. He recognizes the coolness potential of being "flat". I shall define flat in his terms as being mundane, dull, nothing there to speak of. Let's just say the not so typical child could be flat and its hard to see the potential in someone so flat. Face it. Who knew that Flat Stanley would later become a writing project for many third grade students?
Stanley's last name is Greenspan. (probably no relation to the financial guru guy) I must admit when I first linked this guy's name to autism I wasn't thinking "cool" thoughts. It was on the onset of my daughter's diagnosis and just wasn't sure this expert had anything to offer my child. Stanley invented what is most needed for her in order that she experience the adventure of life and be far from "flat". Stanley invented Floortime.
Floortime was defined by Greenpan as basically, sitting on the floor and playing with your child. But wasn't as simple as that. It was teaching turn taking, conversation, play schemes, eye contact, body language, and more. Floortime was the number one therapy needed to get her well ... rounded! Enter the Center of Childhood Development Center and the experts at floortimes. Imagine a trained Occupational Therapist and a Speech Pathologist working with your child in a play like setting. That in a nutshell is the therapy my child receives each week. To explain more would take a dissertation.
Flatness has turned to roundness with such therapy. My daughter has initiated play with others: "Come on please come over here and we can play with my princesses." She has carried on conversations that last several minutes using appropriate questions and comments: Did you see the swimming pool over there? It was so big. I want to splash in that pool! ( more on that therapy topic later) She has giggled her way through a play scheme of basketball and hoops. She has requested again and again to play tennis. ( thus a twenty or so investment in the sport) So it has been worth the mortgage payment each week. ( No offense to the workers at Center for Childhood Development- you have to earn a living too)
Flat Stanley is a hero in my book teaching the non- typical child that though "flat" there is potential. Stanley Greenspan is another one unlocking the potential despite the flat. A stretch to compare the two Stanleys? Maybe. But thanks to both, the "Stanley" in my life is not flat!
Ironically, there is another Stanley who was around awhile and then recently no longer. He was actually a real person. In a small way he is like the one in the children's story. He recognizes the coolness potential of being "flat". I shall define flat in his terms as being mundane, dull, nothing there to speak of. Let's just say the not so typical child could be flat and its hard to see the potential in someone so flat. Face it. Who knew that Flat Stanley would later become a writing project for many third grade students?
Stanley's last name is Greenspan. (probably no relation to the financial guru guy) I must admit when I first linked this guy's name to autism I wasn't thinking "cool" thoughts. It was on the onset of my daughter's diagnosis and just wasn't sure this expert had anything to offer my child. Stanley invented what is most needed for her in order that she experience the adventure of life and be far from "flat". Stanley invented Floortime.
Floortime was defined by Greenpan as basically, sitting on the floor and playing with your child. But wasn't as simple as that. It was teaching turn taking, conversation, play schemes, eye contact, body language, and more. Floortime was the number one therapy needed to get her well ... rounded! Enter the Center of Childhood Development Center and the experts at floortimes. Imagine a trained Occupational Therapist and a Speech Pathologist working with your child in a play like setting. That in a nutshell is the therapy my child receives each week. To explain more would take a dissertation.
Flatness has turned to roundness with such therapy. My daughter has initiated play with others: "Come on please come over here and we can play with my princesses." She has carried on conversations that last several minutes using appropriate questions and comments: Did you see the swimming pool over there? It was so big. I want to splash in that pool! ( more on that therapy topic later) She has giggled her way through a play scheme of basketball and hoops. She has requested again and again to play tennis. ( thus a twenty or so investment in the sport) So it has been worth the mortgage payment each week. ( No offense to the workers at Center for Childhood Development- you have to earn a living too)
Flat Stanley is a hero in my book teaching the non- typical child that though "flat" there is potential. Stanley Greenspan is another one unlocking the potential despite the flat. A stretch to compare the two Stanleys? Maybe. But thanks to both, the "Stanley" in my life is not flat!
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The Happy Reading Reality
"Happy Reading!" says Debbie Miller reading guru among teacher circles. So the teachers say the same "Happy Reading!" at the conclusion of their mini lesson. I like it. It sounds so cheerful and positive. It is a good luck wish for a meaningful experience in reading
I have a masters degree in reading and with that I've had certain check list of ambitions. Yet one perhaps overlooked, is teaching my own kids- yes the ones I bore- the ones that supposedly have the same genetic love for reading genes as me ( and their father), to read and to read happily! Sure their teachers are and will do wonders for them. I do not doubt they will learn to read. Yet, with my daughter in particular, I do wonder what her picture of "Happy reading!" will be.
When my daughter was around the age of 2 or three, I remember waking up to hear the sound of her piling books on her bed and beginning to read them. At this stage she was mostly turning pages and looking at pictures. She was also speaking in tongues with inflection. She knew exactly what to say and acted like a reader from such a young age. The actual weight of books was almost a pleasure or comfort to her. If I tried to remove one for fear of a big BONK in the middle of the night, it was sure to be noticed. The written word needed to be near her at all times.
Now, she has some great reading behaviors in place. She observes the pictures and uses fairly matched story language for each illustration. She has great expression and good fluency. She finger sweeps and knows the right to left directionality. She holds up any consonant and says in her teacher voice "Now this letter makes the ---- sound." She remembers a story after hearing or - yes, okay seeing it on DVD. It then becomes a part of her schema, (another Debbie Miller word) for future readings and connections.
Yet, there are other querks to her reading. She enjoys the textures of pages. She loves the smooth, glossy kind or the easily turned kind. She loves the weight of the hard cover book and the way it presses on her lap. She loves to stack books up like a tower. Neatly stacked large ones at the bottom and small ones at the top. This weekly stack of books from our weekly library trip follow her everywhere beginning with the breakfast table. I feel often like the caddy of books.
Her stamina for reading is flexible. Peers have read to her and the attention is captured. Listening to a story on tape without the illustrations is better than listening to the story with the book at hand. At this time, she is not interested in the print. She is interested in the lovely sound effects and voices of a story told. Bedtime stories are read by her. A few page turns matched with the best sentences she can muster and she is done. "Read to me" are rare words. "I'll read it" is more of the norm.
Enter now the nearness of the kindergarten classroom. The teacher will begin teaching more of the system of reading. Beginning sounds, words in sentences, letters in words, finger hopping, phonemic awareness, and high frequency words. There will be read alouds and shared readings. There will be paired reading and solo reading. There will be expectation and evaluation. Happy Reading?
Stories are so much a part of her. Now comes the time to keep the momentum going. Reading is the key to getting more story. Reading her way is on its way to reading the way. The way that enables her to get the printed message so that she can pretend, tell, share, write, message, ( and I am not talking about texting on her cell phone here- I am talking about oral language) ... fill up her schema! Happy Reading!
Now she is happily reading. With good modeling and instruction she will be on her way to "happy forever after reading." The challenge is the excitement in learning the system while keeping the love for the story. Happiness will take work now. Frequent reminders of the "happy" will be needed. So we will act out stories, visit the library, prize new and good stories, and yes reinforce the system. All to keep her happy reading now and forever after.
I have a masters degree in reading and with that I've had certain check list of ambitions. Yet one perhaps overlooked, is teaching my own kids- yes the ones I bore- the ones that supposedly have the same genetic love for reading genes as me ( and their father), to read and to read happily! Sure their teachers are and will do wonders for them. I do not doubt they will learn to read. Yet, with my daughter in particular, I do wonder what her picture of "Happy reading!" will be.
When my daughter was around the age of 2 or three, I remember waking up to hear the sound of her piling books on her bed and beginning to read them. At this stage she was mostly turning pages and looking at pictures. She was also speaking in tongues with inflection. She knew exactly what to say and acted like a reader from such a young age. The actual weight of books was almost a pleasure or comfort to her. If I tried to remove one for fear of a big BONK in the middle of the night, it was sure to be noticed. The written word needed to be near her at all times.
Now, she has some great reading behaviors in place. She observes the pictures and uses fairly matched story language for each illustration. She has great expression and good fluency. She finger sweeps and knows the right to left directionality. She holds up any consonant and says in her teacher voice "Now this letter makes the ---- sound." She remembers a story after hearing or - yes, okay seeing it on DVD. It then becomes a part of her schema, (another Debbie Miller word) for future readings and connections.
Yet, there are other querks to her reading. She enjoys the textures of pages. She loves the smooth, glossy kind or the easily turned kind. She loves the weight of the hard cover book and the way it presses on her lap. She loves to stack books up like a tower. Neatly stacked large ones at the bottom and small ones at the top. This weekly stack of books from our weekly library trip follow her everywhere beginning with the breakfast table. I feel often like the caddy of books.
Her stamina for reading is flexible. Peers have read to her and the attention is captured. Listening to a story on tape without the illustrations is better than listening to the story with the book at hand. At this time, she is not interested in the print. She is interested in the lovely sound effects and voices of a story told. Bedtime stories are read by her. A few page turns matched with the best sentences she can muster and she is done. "Read to me" are rare words. "I'll read it" is more of the norm.
Enter now the nearness of the kindergarten classroom. The teacher will begin teaching more of the system of reading. Beginning sounds, words in sentences, letters in words, finger hopping, phonemic awareness, and high frequency words. There will be read alouds and shared readings. There will be paired reading and solo reading. There will be expectation and evaluation. Happy Reading?
Stories are so much a part of her. Now comes the time to keep the momentum going. Reading is the key to getting more story. Reading her way is on its way to reading the way. The way that enables her to get the printed message so that she can pretend, tell, share, write, message, ( and I am not talking about texting on her cell phone here- I am talking about oral language) ... fill up her schema! Happy Reading!
Now she is happily reading. With good modeling and instruction she will be on her way to "happy forever after reading." The challenge is the excitement in learning the system while keeping the love for the story. Happiness will take work now. Frequent reminders of the "happy" will be needed. So we will act out stories, visit the library, prize new and good stories, and yes reinforce the system. All to keep her happy reading now and forever after.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Don't Forget the Story
Today is a day of parades, picnics, and booms. This has begun to be accepted as tradition even by those new to the Independence Day Celebration. We, with a couple of kids, have enough experiences in the memory bank to name this day enjoyable! ( Well, minus the booms) Throughout, all the celebration today threads the "We hold these truths" theme.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
I read this. I marvel and I remember the bits and pieces of history I remember that led to and went behind this cherished masterpiece. Lately I have wanted to read and research more. So much of what we are able to do in this country is because of the story that took place. We don't realize it until we look again into the Declaration and know what gift we have been given. I read and reread so that I don't forget the story.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. This is an evident truth to them. All men are created equal. So today at the Fourth of July neighborhood bike parade everybody rode! All different bikes - some invented and decorated. Some not. ( like ours- but next year is the year we will triumph!) Some on training wheels some not. (Yeah- like my girl!) Some who bonked into kids and some that wanted to rev up and move ahead of the leader. Most typical kids. At least one not. But all created equal. All enjoying the excitement of riding behind a real police car with sirens sounding and neighbors standing alongside waving. We are all equal. Being equal was a crucial part the story that brings us this day each year.
Certain unalienable rights. Rights that cannot be taken away. Rights that belong to the kid who wouldn't tell me her name. Rights that belong to the adult who decided to stay home and not walk the parade with their child. Rights such as Life. Life that we can have here in this country. A Right to Life has been given to us. Life that only we can live. It that means you have only one leg. You have the right to live. If it means you are a Congressman wanna be. You have the right to live. If you have autism. You have been given life. Live this life well. The right all of us neighbors in this average class development are all scratching out. Life is a story of you and I. Don't forget the story of life that was sacrificed for us on the battlefield AND on the cross.
The right to Liberty- freedom. We are free and not enslaved. We are free to have a swing set in our backyard for entertaining. We are free to wave the American flag on the front porch. We are free to have grill out parties and volleyball games. We can play "God Bless America" on our car stereo system as we parade through the 'hood. We are free. We can be free to jump up and down and flap
our hands if we are excited at the sight of all the bikes gathering for the parade. This freedom was a gift. Don't forget that part of the story.
The right to the pursuit of happiness. Who can deny that part of the story? There are those that came here to make dreams come true. Immigrants who came to pursue and prosper here and make this country even greater. There are those who are dreaming about some kind of happiness now. We all have the right to go for it. Nothing not even autism will stand in the way. This is the "all things are possible" given to us in the Declaration of Independence. These dreams are small such as having a Popsicle Stand after the parade. These dreams are big like getting a bigger, and better bike for next years parade. Pursue your happiness because you have been given that right. Don't forget that part of the story!
There's more to the Declaration of Independence. It is full of counts of memorable torment and suffering, and brokenness. It if full of forthright decisions that have all led to this our Independence. Don't forget it was for a better life that this was written. It was for a new and more prosperous country that the sacrifice was made. Don't forget that part of the story either.
It's 2013, 237 years later. Because I didn't want to forget and wanted others to remember, I took some parts of the Declaration and made copies. I gave each family that came to the parade today a snippet of this text. I got many thank- you's and some were caught off guard. One young girl said she had to memorize it and write it in her own words for schoolwork. Appreciation was expressed. I was happy to remind some of the story through this small act.
I see the future of my kids and my own. I think about the future of this country. Sometimes I just want to shout "Don't forget the story!" With the signing of this Independence documents we are now to blessed to be a part. This means strive for freedom, life, and the pursuit of happiness. Uphold them and help take part in that in small ways and big. Treat others equally. Take turns. Mingle with your neighbors. Pursue dreams. Live freely and respect that freedom others have as well. Allow others to experience the same rights. Enjoy them together.
Sometimes I fear we may have forgotten the story. Sometimes it seems we have been too far away from this priceless foundation supporting and effecting our safety and happiness. If our forgetfulness or even ignorance is too common, we will then just consider this just another day. A rain on our parade. A spoiling of our picnics. A silence of the booms. Don't forget the story.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
I read this. I marvel and I remember the bits and pieces of history I remember that led to and went behind this cherished masterpiece. Lately I have wanted to read and research more. So much of what we are able to do in this country is because of the story that took place. We don't realize it until we look again into the Declaration and know what gift we have been given. I read and reread so that I don't forget the story.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. This is an evident truth to them. All men are created equal. So today at the Fourth of July neighborhood bike parade everybody rode! All different bikes - some invented and decorated. Some not. ( like ours- but next year is the year we will triumph!) Some on training wheels some not. (Yeah- like my girl!) Some who bonked into kids and some that wanted to rev up and move ahead of the leader. Most typical kids. At least one not. But all created equal. All enjoying the excitement of riding behind a real police car with sirens sounding and neighbors standing alongside waving. We are all equal. Being equal was a crucial part the story that brings us this day each year.
Certain unalienable rights. Rights that cannot be taken away. Rights that belong to the kid who wouldn't tell me her name. Rights that belong to the adult who decided to stay home and not walk the parade with their child. Rights such as Life. Life that we can have here in this country. A Right to Life has been given to us. Life that only we can live. It that means you have only one leg. You have the right to live. If it means you are a Congressman wanna be. You have the right to live. If you have autism. You have been given life. Live this life well. The right all of us neighbors in this average class development are all scratching out. Life is a story of you and I. Don't forget the story of life that was sacrificed for us on the battlefield AND on the cross.
The right to Liberty- freedom. We are free and not enslaved. We are free to have a swing set in our backyard for entertaining. We are free to wave the American flag on the front porch. We are free to have grill out parties and volleyball games. We can play "God Bless America" on our car stereo system as we parade through the 'hood. We are free. We can be free to jump up and down and flap
our hands if we are excited at the sight of all the bikes gathering for the parade. This freedom was a gift. Don't forget that part of the story.
The right to the pursuit of happiness. Who can deny that part of the story? There are those that came here to make dreams come true. Immigrants who came to pursue and prosper here and make this country even greater. There are those who are dreaming about some kind of happiness now. We all have the right to go for it. Nothing not even autism will stand in the way. This is the "all things are possible" given to us in the Declaration of Independence. These dreams are small such as having a Popsicle Stand after the parade. These dreams are big like getting a bigger, and better bike for next years parade. Pursue your happiness because you have been given that right. Don't forget that part of the story!
There's more to the Declaration of Independence. It is full of counts of memorable torment and suffering, and brokenness. It if full of forthright decisions that have all led to this our Independence. Don't forget it was for a better life that this was written. It was for a new and more prosperous country that the sacrifice was made. Don't forget that part of the story either.
It's 2013, 237 years later. Because I didn't want to forget and wanted others to remember, I took some parts of the Declaration and made copies. I gave each family that came to the parade today a snippet of this text. I got many thank- you's and some were caught off guard. One young girl said she had to memorize it and write it in her own words for schoolwork. Appreciation was expressed. I was happy to remind some of the story through this small act.
I see the future of my kids and my own. I think about the future of this country. Sometimes I just want to shout "Don't forget the story!" With the signing of this Independence documents we are now to blessed to be a part. This means strive for freedom, life, and the pursuit of happiness. Uphold them and help take part in that in small ways and big. Treat others equally. Take turns. Mingle with your neighbors. Pursue dreams. Live freely and respect that freedom others have as well. Allow others to experience the same rights. Enjoy them together.
Sometimes I fear we may have forgotten the story. Sometimes it seems we have been too far away from this priceless foundation supporting and effecting our safety and happiness. If our forgetfulness or even ignorance is too common, we will then just consider this just another day. A rain on our parade. A spoiling of our picnics. A silence of the booms. Don't forget the story.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Green Eggs and Ham, Babette's feast... Food for Thought.
We need a Sam -I- am in our house just like we need a Babette. Sam could make that very No Way Guy turn a little more open minded when it comes to food. His persistence and change of scenery I suppose helped. Then there's Babette. She's probably a character pretty unknown compared to Sam- I -am. She convinces folks that food actually has taste. Food that your stomach will work to growl for. Green Eggs and Ham and Babette's feast. A book and a movie relevant to my world at this time.
Growing up, I had a short list of dislikes when it came to food. Notice I said, dislike. I had to try them in order to discover that I did not like them. Mushrooms for instance. I did try them several times. They are okay. If they are hidden in the supreme toppings of pizza that is even better. But I am certainly not going to eat a whole can of them like I would say.... artichoke hearts. Olives, - just plain too rubbery and salty. I may be the only Greek on the planet that doesn't like olives. My dislike of fish started when they appeared in the freezer in our downstairs dungeon and seemed to still be living. Then the neighborhood fisherman would invite us over to watch him clean them. No thanks. But I did the Sam -I- am thing and I did try it.
I also know the pleasures of food. We kids grew up learning this. Food was an art in the kitchen and eating it was enjoying it just like you do in a museum or concert hall. Things looked and smelled good and tasted even better. Perhaps having more of a ethnic background helped spice up the cuisine. But there was also a fresh vegetable garden in the backyard. There was the expectation that you at least tried it.
As the head chef in our kitchen, I find myself needing the talent of both Sam- I- am and Babette. I will leave my husband out of this as he is a better eater than I. His list of dislikes is shorter than mine. There are two other customers that are regulars three times a day. With all the exasperating trials in eating, it is a wonder they still drop by for a bite to eat.
I am working to stretch my children's short list. Right now the sensory issue is huge with my daughter. I know I must one day go through the senses with a certain kind of food. First, look at it. Second touch it. Third smell it. Leave the tasting for last. But sometimes I truly wonder if she were really hungry and what was served was all we had to eat, would she eat it? Food Therapy has not be implemented as of yet. I have heard some stories about it and wonder if this will truly click with her.
My son could certainly be included in the therapy. He has his own ideas of how food should be presented and prepared. Perhaps he is just like any other kid. I know there is a short list on even the typical child's list that includes chicken nuggets, hot dogs, cheese pizza, mac and cheese, or hamburger. I have read about how a child's tastes buds are still developing and spinach or broccoli is something there tongue is not ready for yet. Those of you who are able to get your child to eat parsnips, congratulations! You have one gifted child.
If I had the talent of Sam- I- am and Babette, I could cook for four instead of two. No longer would cereals be on the stand by at all times. Their vitamins would be a true supplement and not a substitution. They would get the vitamins straight from the fruit or vegetable ....even bite into it raw. I did- fresh off the plant. (You get hungry when you're out in the hot picking crops) They would eat like king and queen because there would be true flare to their eating.
But instead, there are many "it must be this way" and "don't even think about that way." I hide and sneak things in as the popular Jessica Seinfield does. I read through ingredients looking for more 1-2 syllable words rather than to struggle through a pronunciation. The health food store has many new inventions. But when it comes down to it, if it doesn't look a carrot or feel like a carrot ... it isn't really totally a carrot.
So here I sit in this Babette and Sam -I -am wanna be position. I love to cook and share a good meal. Many have complimented my cuisine with very high marks. But I find myself still working to win over two that would rather drive by Wendy's then eat real food. Waiting for the day when they will wipe their drooling mouth at the taste of delicious as they do in Babette's feast and say "I do so like Green Eggs and Ham".
Growing up, I had a short list of dislikes when it came to food. Notice I said, dislike. I had to try them in order to discover that I did not like them. Mushrooms for instance. I did try them several times. They are okay. If they are hidden in the supreme toppings of pizza that is even better. But I am certainly not going to eat a whole can of them like I would say.... artichoke hearts. Olives, - just plain too rubbery and salty. I may be the only Greek on the planet that doesn't like olives. My dislike of fish started when they appeared in the freezer in our downstairs dungeon and seemed to still be living. Then the neighborhood fisherman would invite us over to watch him clean them. No thanks. But I did the Sam -I- am thing and I did try it.
I also know the pleasures of food. We kids grew up learning this. Food was an art in the kitchen and eating it was enjoying it just like you do in a museum or concert hall. Things looked and smelled good and tasted even better. Perhaps having more of a ethnic background helped spice up the cuisine. But there was also a fresh vegetable garden in the backyard. There was the expectation that you at least tried it.
As the head chef in our kitchen, I find myself needing the talent of both Sam- I- am and Babette. I will leave my husband out of this as he is a better eater than I. His list of dislikes is shorter than mine. There are two other customers that are regulars three times a day. With all the exasperating trials in eating, it is a wonder they still drop by for a bite to eat.
I am working to stretch my children's short list. Right now the sensory issue is huge with my daughter. I know I must one day go through the senses with a certain kind of food. First, look at it. Second touch it. Third smell it. Leave the tasting for last. But sometimes I truly wonder if she were really hungry and what was served was all we had to eat, would she eat it? Food Therapy has not be implemented as of yet. I have heard some stories about it and wonder if this will truly click with her.
My son could certainly be included in the therapy. He has his own ideas of how food should be presented and prepared. Perhaps he is just like any other kid. I know there is a short list on even the typical child's list that includes chicken nuggets, hot dogs, cheese pizza, mac and cheese, or hamburger. I have read about how a child's tastes buds are still developing and spinach or broccoli is something there tongue is not ready for yet. Those of you who are able to get your child to eat parsnips, congratulations! You have one gifted child.
If I had the talent of Sam- I- am and Babette, I could cook for four instead of two. No longer would cereals be on the stand by at all times. Their vitamins would be a true supplement and not a substitution. They would get the vitamins straight from the fruit or vegetable ....even bite into it raw. I did- fresh off the plant. (You get hungry when you're out in the hot picking crops) They would eat like king and queen because there would be true flare to their eating.
But instead, there are many "it must be this way" and "don't even think about that way." I hide and sneak things in as the popular Jessica Seinfield does. I read through ingredients looking for more 1-2 syllable words rather than to struggle through a pronunciation. The health food store has many new inventions. But when it comes down to it, if it doesn't look a carrot or feel like a carrot ... it isn't really totally a carrot.
So here I sit in this Babette and Sam -I -am wanna be position. I love to cook and share a good meal. Many have complimented my cuisine with very high marks. But I find myself still working to win over two that would rather drive by Wendy's then eat real food. Waiting for the day when they will wipe their drooling mouth at the taste of delicious as they do in Babette's feast and say "I do so like Green Eggs and Ham".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)