Church

On Church day, I wrestle her to the ground to comb her hair. I admit it is the only day I comb her hair.  I beg her to wear this cute dress with a pink ribbon. I force it over her head and tell her to try twirling. She does and the princess feeling lasts long enough to get us to church where she can't be - naked. We pile into the car and I give her the run down- Yes, first we go in and sing the songs, then we put some money in the plate, then we go sit at the tables outside so that mom and dad can listen to the important message. Then its Sunday School!

For years, I remember sitting in church reading and even "playing" in my seat. I remember singing songs and that wasn't so bad. But the talking on and on- ugh! I believe I read the whole Little House Series during the sermons.  I even remember a lady coming up to me after church saying "I saw you reading and it looked like you were baking a cake." I think I was looking at a picture cookbook and pretending to make a cake. I counted heads in the front row. I traced the window patterns in the air. I doodled.

When I think of church when I was under the age of 10, I remember waiting.  Waiting for the talking to stop so I could go get a brown, sugary, Pinwheel cookie. ( you have to be in West Michigan to know) Waiting for the chance to get up from the cold, hard seat, twirl, and tap around in my shiny black shoes. Waiting to find my friend Kelle and wanting to sneak a bit of leftover communion bread with her. Waiting to walk downstairs, play with toys, and have my own church- in Sunday School.

So now my six year old daughter is stuck in the same situation.  We are in church and she sits. It is what kids are supposed to do. Sit and keep yourself occupied and quiet until church is over.  The minister stands up and shares how so and so is sick -"Oh, no! He's sick! What are they going to do?" she says.
A missionary stand up and starts "Many years ago, "
"Better listen mamma" he's telling a story."
 The offering comes around- "Look mom, it's time to give him a piece of your heart. Do you have any?" I reach in and get her involved that way. Hey, at least she is listening a bit. More than I ever did. Bless her heart for trying!

As soon as the minister stands up for the sermon,  we escape to the lobby. There I unpack coloring books, pens, crayons, sticker books, a puzzle, - whatever can be entertaining for the next twenty minutes or so. She keeps herself occupied a little bit - then asks 
"Where are the kids? Is it time to go to my class yet?"
The minister says "Now pay attention to that word in the scripture because it is crucial."   
"Mom can you read this page to me please" , she says.
I not only miss the reason why the word is crucial in my Christian walk, I miss the word all together.
The concluding song ends and people begin to file out of the sanctuary.
"Okay, Momma, time to go!" she announces.
We pick up everything and practically race down the stairs like the rest of the kids to Sunday School.
At this age, she is finally at church. The waiting is over.

For a young kid, our Church now is the way it was many years ago. Wait- be quiet- wait- listen- wait-learn. It's beginning to get engrained in her as it was in me.  But my little young brain just couldn't grasp it and nor can hers. Nothing gained in church except the order of things and a little bit of nice music.  For the time being, my child has to do the same- my autistic child.  For the time being she does as she is told with little complaint and more- she tries to get something out of it- make the best of it for as long as she can- bless her heart for trying!

Forever Slow Joe

The ride to Buffalo seemed as close to forever as my five year old mind could grasp.  Blankets and pillows were set up in the way back seat of our Ford Station Wagon. My brothers and I slept there with nothing but boredom to keep us occupied.  Seeing a night turn to day and then almost night again defined the ride as forever. Being, old enough to say "Back in the day" there were no hand held games, x boxes, I-pads, texting devices, just meager little things like fingers, cassette tapes, and road signs. Tracing word and letters, tapping songs, looking for the alphabet on road signs- helped forever seem a little bit like "just a long time". 

The light at the end of the tunnel was seeing Bells Grocery Store which was walking distance from my Grandparents house. Then forever changed into now when we saw the white picket fence and the white two story house that seemed to stick its neck out just upon seeing our station wagon glide towards  house number 118. I remember kisses from my Grandma's fresh lipstick and my Grandpa's prickles. I remember a hearty dinner with the family army. Then, when the table was cleared, the moment had come. The moment I had been waiting for the whole forever car ride.

"Grandma, could you please put on Slow Joe?" I pleaded. 
"Sure Sweetie, " (Sweet Grandma said it and meant it.)
Grandma had it ready to go probably since after breakfast. The drop of the needle and the music began. All twenty something of us crammed and cozy, got a little quieter. The music began and I began stare off into wonderment.
"Once there was a middle sized boy who liked peppermint ice cream. His name was Joe and he was a slow boy. Sometimes he talked like this- Hel-lo! Sometimes he walked just like this: step, step, step, step, - Sometimes Joe just liked being slow "
Not the most thrilling beginning but thrilling enough for me.
"One day Joe was at his Grandmother's house. Joe's Grandmother made some autumn vegetable soup. Grandmother poured some into a kettle and said "Now, Joe, you take that soup right down the hill to mother. Joe started down the hill.  Step , Step, Step, ...  a  wiggly green caterpillar came wiggling by.  He walked down the hill with caterpillar - step, step, step, - Along came the milkman. 
"Do caterpillars like- pep-per-mint ice- cream? " asks Joe.
"No, Joe, caterpillars like green leaves. But look!  There's a hole in that kettle, you better hurry home before all the soup is gone. " says the milkman.

Does Slow Joe hurry along? No, he continues slowly noticing all the little but important things in life like a brown worm and a shiny black ant.
As I relay the story to you, I am filled with excitement and endearment.
Slow Joe, the dear little boy who liked peppermint ice cream steps about carefully and slowly in life just because he wants too.

The drama builds as it begins to rain. The French horn plays.a perfect rendition of real rain. Two drops of rain fall plink plink into the kettle of soup. Soon, it was raining all around. And Joe went slowly down the hill, step, step, step- ( with perfect step step music playing) down the hill farther and farther away from the peppermint ice cream. Now there's not one leak but two. And its raining.  Just picture being young. You've been  told to do something. Yet, it is a hard something. And all you want is your peppermint ice cream! The suspense was just as alive then as it is now for me.

"Joe, you saved the soup! " says his mother. "Now, what you do want, an apple, a cookie or what?
Poor  Joe knows that there wasn't any peppermint ice cream to speak of in the house. So he just says- "Give me a crumb of bread, a slurp of mud, and a green leaf."  Slow Joe who paid attention with wonderment to the little things in life,  plans to go back and give the ant, caterpillar, and worm, a treat even though HE wasn't getting anything. Even after saving the soup from leaking out and getting washed with rain water! Poor Joe.

"Joe, I was going to ask you to go to the ice cream store, but it will be closed in another minute! "
After one second of pondering peppermint ice cream, he takes the money, the mud, the leaf, and the crumb and moves like a race horse, airplane, motorcycle.....( the trumpet is blaring- its the perfect racing musical instrument)

I am doing circles around grandma's dining room table at this moment.  I stop with heavy breathing just like Joe.  Life becomes fast, exciting, and deliciously wonderful.  Joe eats the peppermint ice cream cone from top to bottom - Lick! Lick! Lick! Because Joe liked peppermint ice cream! I chime in along with the story-the most perfect ending in the whole world.

The forever drive day ended with Slow Joe. We were finally at Grandma's. The story was just as good as it always was. It still is.

"Thanks Grandma!" I say after it is all over.
"You are welcome, sweetie." she says. Sweet Grandma said it and meant it.

The Simple Slow Joe, the boy that took forever, was the story I looked forward to even after the forever to Buffalo. A gift from Grandma telling us that forever wasn't so bad.  Now, forty some years later, I have shared it with my own kids who take the same delight in this boy who took forever to do a simple task. Yet, Slow Joe, is a story that will be slow to leave our minds. Maybe it will take forever.

By the way, you can listen to it on Youtube. Just search Slow Joe and the peppermint ice cream. Maybe its a great forever for you too.

Nobody, Someone, Everybody

 All the Nobodies strive to be Someone in order to be a part of the Everybody.  To help you understand who is who, let me help you. The Nobodies are the known but ignored. They are disregarded or thought of as less.  You know the plain belly Sneech. The one who didn't go to the hot dog roast. Those are the ones. The Someones are those that have status. They have the star on their bellies. They have the 50 or more likes on Facebook or better yet, comments. They have arrived. The  Everybody is the normed reference from which we draw information. They are the majority of people who feel, believe, and live a certain way. The Everybody is the widely accepted because they are full of a whole lot of Someones.

On one hand I am all three. I live in my own little world and lead a fairly "quiet" life. I am certainly no big time celebrity recognized by People Magazine. I know what it feels to be ignored and forgotten. I wasn't the big girl on campus by any means. I was the shy wallflower with buck teeth. Yet, more often, I feel so much like a Someone and a part of the Everybody.  It feels pretty good to be the one who gets to attend the marshmallow and hot dog roast. It is easy to enjoy and relish in the Someone that you are and forget the "Nobodies".

These are thoughts that race through my mind as I raise one who might feel like a "Nobody" at times. Her skills of social interaction might push her into the "Nobody" crowd.  She speaks sometimes in tangents, or disconnected discourse. She is confusing and weird. Her hand flapping and jumping when excited cause stares. Being born "not typical" she is automatically in our cruel society given a "Nobody" label. I have read stories that are too real to our lives. Stories of a parent holding their crying child because they are regarded as "Nobody" with no friends to indicate they are Someone. There are no birthday party invitations and no play dates. No telephone calls. Just loneliness.  This is the pain of the "Nobody."

This "Nobody" treatment comes in little dosages. It happens when my girlie says hello to a "friend" and gets ignorance. It happens when she invites a "Someone" to play and they turn away. It happens when her "out of the box" behavior is regarded as too different and not the way. This is the threat of living a life of a "Nobody." And as the story goes, McBean, the money maker guy earns a fortune on the  be Someone and join the Everybody concept says "You can't teach a Sneech." That is just the way it is. Not a chance. Not a chance?

Turns out, Mr.  McBean was quite wrong, we are happy to discover. They learn a valuable lesson on that day on the beach. A Sneech is a Sneech. Bottom line we are all Someones. We are ALL included in the EVERYbody. My child is and will always be a Someone.  If the God of all the Universe would die so that ALL of us (whether you believe it or not) "Nobodies" can be Somebodies, than we certainly welcome anyone and leave No-body apart from the Everybody by regarding them as  Somebodies. Each Someone can contribute something amazing to Everybody world. I witness this daily raising my Someone. Chances are parents of  special needs kids ( some really big Someones)  do too.

Dare to see each person as Someone. Recognize the quantity of  EVERY in Everybody. It is a lesson we must learn or we ourselves are simply being Nobodies.

Yes Day

Pizza for breakfast. Stay up late. Fill the grocery cart with all the sugary cereals you want. It's Yes Day. The sky is the limit.  The book written by Amy Krouse Rosenthal, is a favorite of kids. Everything desired is granted. The best kind of day is Yes day.

This year, we made my daughter's birthday Yes Day.  We made tents. We had cheeseballs for breakfast and a chocolate milk stand complete with whipped cream. We transformed the deck into a playroom. Her favorite fall asleep outside accessories were ready.  Requests were granted. It's was her day of celebration.

We did have a real birthday party two days before. Officially her birthday was on the day we designated as YES day. Two days before we invited 9 friends to join us for a sack race, parachute time, bubbles, and a musical parade which included handmade tambourines, birthday blowers, and hats. We ate chocolate frosting on yellow cake and cheese pizza.
    "My girls' first party." one mom said.
   "Yes, and pretty hometown and simple." I replied.
   "That is as it should be" she answered.
Yeah! to that mom. For she knew that the best  "yes" and the "Wows" of birthdays are simple and inexpensive.

I have been pondering some of the times I have said Yes to my children.  I say Yes at times when they are holding a trinket from China in the dollar store.  Yes, you can have chocolate milk before dinner. Yes, you can watch that DVD. Yes, you can have two juice boxes. Yes, you can jump on the  bed..Yes, I will say no when needed. Yes, at times I need to practice "No" more often.

There is something called a Yes Bank. The parent keeps track of the number of times "Yes", is said so that when the child gets a "No" it is more easily accepted.  Perhaps it's a way of reminding your child to count their blessings. I've tried this on my children. One day, my son threw a fit because he did not have a rubber ducky for his bath. I lined up 15 different toys in his possession. I asked him to pick one that he could enjoy right there and then. It worked miraculously. It was his turn to count his blessings and wait to see if  his desire continued to exist or was it just an " in the moment I want." We want and then we want something else.

Yes Day is most appreciated because the kid in the story knows, that this is a special day. In fact, all other days on his calendar are understood as Not in a million years,  and Over my dead body, He understands "No Language " perfectly! So when that special miracle of miracles of a Yes Day comes, he is making careful choices of what to do to celebrate.

The trouble in our  real world is that Yes Day is overblown. Yes Day is everyday. Yes Days are the norm.  Yes always and No almost never leads to"must be bigger, better, and more days.: Yes Days are leading up to "I deserve the best always and only the best." Yes Day everyday is building up to possible financial debt and a serious epidemic entitlement.

It starts at a young age. Kids gets a yes or the threat of a tantrum. The parent is their best friend and giving in to everything.  The parent works to please the child instead of the other way around. It's everywhere. It's the "I'm first, that's mine, I deserve it, I have arrived, It's all about me"  molding of entitlement. It is at school, at play, at church, -it's everywhere.

Adults face the same "It's all about Me" - "I deserve it" mentality as well. A well known adult Financial Guru tells others to save the YESes for later. Often he advises to save them for years later until you can truly appreciate and control your Yeses Saving up nurtures that appreciation.  Ironically, his advice has led him to great financial success which mean wait, work, and being intentional. Sometimes that means a NO. Mr. Ramsey shows no signs of entitlement. Ever hear how he answers every "How are you?"
"Better than I deserve." is the answer.

I do not wish to crush the self esteem of my children with No's. I wish to build their self assurance. I do not wish to spoil them with too many Yeses so that they are more Brats then Babes. I wish to teach them appreciation and gratitude. I do not wish to build this "I deserve it all" attitude. I must build an attitude of giving because they have been so blessed.

"Does this day have to end? " the boy asks his father. This is the one Yes that may be hard to accept. Yet, even back to the "Not in a million year"s days, the boy remembers with appreciation and looks forward to the next Yes Day. It doesn't mean there will never be any more Yeses ever. There will be some but  balanced with some "No, not this time" or even some "No not evers." Whether the right intentional Yes, or the waiting and rejecting No, we avoid the entitlement epidemic and take the path of  betterment of a person that we  deserve.

Learning to speak

  I can't remember the first words my daughter uttered. I do remember the clearly enunciated speech with gestures and all. She spoke in tongues and we needed an interpreter. There were no first words but just a wonderfully crafted jargon with inflection. It was painfully hard to write down only about 20 clear words in her vocabulary as she was quickly nearing three. She was no walking dictionary.

 As she is mastering language, I realize I too have for my work cut for me. I have yet to master any language . Despite good genes- (some of my family members spoke up to 6 languages fluently) I am still working to speak well and with ease. Sort of sobering when I the parent, am to be a model of well articulated language that will rub off and advance my daughter's delayed speech. Today, the challenge is to maintain mastery of our native tongue. Though,  proper language mastery matters little or has been the outdated way to talk. Just read Facebook or Twitter. Any form of media will give you an idea of the new way to talk.

If you are an "in" talker you must use words certain words in new ways. It is easy to catch on and rub off. I am guilty of speaking like an "in" talker.  It is almost like being in the South for awhile when you are original Northerner. It may be like trying out the slang in New York City but originally from Colorado Springs. After awhile, you take on the talk. Listen to any "In" talker and you are tempted to talk the same way or be totally irritated by the fast paced haphazard poetic licensing of words. Words used in unusual ways. Words spoken in places that surprise and puzzle me.

 Recently I was just at the beauty salon. Way back when you might hear the lady next to you getting her hair done say "A shampoo and set will be sufficient." Sounds like the Queen of England no?  I hear the lady next to me say the word "like" 19 times. "I am like so tired of my hair, it like gets too frizzy and I am like not ready to like spend a whole lot of time on it so I like need a really easy like style. The one "like" necessary is in the last sentence. "Like" has sure gained popularity- maybe even more than awesome.

People at the beauty salon tell their life story.  I imagine conversations taking place at a salon in NYC might sound like this-"So I says to Flo , I says Flo... you gotta add some body to your hair, it will look glamorous. "The hairdresser responds- "You are so right, I was just thinkin that the other day. Sounds like the Queen England with a twist." They mind their grammar but there is style . This is what I said to my hair lady: "I have to wet my hair in the morning even if I have already washed it. the night before. Otherwise, it will be very frizzy. 
"I know right." she responds. 
This confuses me. I know right? After thinking it over, this means, I agree. I suppose.

There is the frequent overblown use of the word "Seriously".  The customer says "I would like to take five inches off. "  The stylist says "Seriously? I seriously think that would seriously be a mistake. " I wonder if the sentence " We are getting very seriously thinking of dying my hair blond is still accepted? (Seriously, I remain a brunette forever. Until I seriously let the gray take over.

Some sit down and tell their stylist: "I so need a color.  It's so past the time. "  Or how about.." I so need that new curl gel." No longer is it "I told you so" or "I'm  so very glad to meet you or even "I am so tired." It's the word used for entitlement and emphasis.

  The word "perfect" has given the word "awesome" competition. "Perfect I have you down for three o'clock on Wednesday. "   No longer is it "This fits perfectly." But it's more the verbal response you get from offering your credit card- "Perfect". Perhaps just a way of showing an upbeat positive attitude about everything from finding your other earring to winning the lottery?

All in all I figure I am feeling a little like Henry Higgins. "Why can't we learn to speak? Set a good example. " Is that we all need to marbles in our mouths, practice blowing out candles, and say tongue twisters over and over again to bring us back to the basics? It's what turned Eliza Doolittle into a real lady that even fooled the Queen. Do we need a dictionary from Noah Webster himself to review all the parts of speech and articles? Do we adapt, change, and go with it and just say "whatever!" In the meantime,  my daughter gets the remediation and the therapy. We are ALL learning to speak.

Late in Blooming : Leo and the Moonflower

Leo the Late Bloomer is a sweet story. It's in the classics collection for good reasons. Parents and teachers alike who might be caught in the comparison act, need a little Leo to remember that you  can't place expectations on the child but rather expect the child to develop at their own unique pace. This is part of my lecture as a Young Fives teacher and was a part of my lecture at conference time during my K-1 teaching years.  Leo has soon made its way into the "sentimental tug at your heart strings" list with me. Partly because Leo blooms above and beyond what his parents could have ever imagined. The "I did it" I told you so ending is a good parent reminder to stop the push and just be.

It's hard for Leo's parents to just let things be. What sort of encouraging signs did they have along the journey? Page after page, there are mishaps, little wanderings, and even some stubbornness. "Good things come to those who wait." seems to be written all over Leo's face. It's the parents who have their moans and groans and frowns.

At least Leo tries. At least he seems happy go lucky, which helped maintain a good self esteem. At least he had his own way of managing. All of this led to his blooming.

Riding on only two wheels, sustained play with her brother for over and hour, saying hello to a male neighbor, -even going out of her way to do so- all huge victories. Those are the ones longed for but unsure if they were possible.  When success is reached, it's the trumpet announcement, balloons releasing in the sky, applause and the big Hallelujah opening up from the sunbeam sky victory. Delay after Delay. Setback after set back- finally victory. Some are made ahead of the game. Some took therapy, practice, waiting, praying, and crying over and then ... finally,when we stopped looking for a major on stage performance, - ta da! It happens the ultimate victory moment.

I still wait for big victories. The day, she meets a real friend who appreciates her, giggles with her, pretends with her, and can't wait to play with her.  I wait for the day she reads the words on the printed storybook page fluently and with expression instead of imitating the fairy tale narrator with mixed up senseless jargon.  I wait for the day when she eats Armenian food- preferably my favorite Mahnti. Could be a total long shot considering it takes a certain taste bud to actually LIKE it. Okay,  I wait for the day that she eats what everyone else is eating. I wait for the day when she carries on a conversation just like a good tennis volley.

These days of waiting for the victories are long, hard, and sometimes unbearable. There are days of setbacks that suck the energy out and I am slapped with the reminder of the rocky road journey of life with autism. There are days when she is overwhelmed, screaming, and moaning. There are days when she digs her heels into the ground and scratches me just like a cat with claws because she won't budge. There are days when "friends" reject her because they found someone more appealing for play  and she was just the stand by. There are days when there are stares and whispers from the cold cruel world. How to believe that the blooming will come and she will be victorious?

Being fairly new to the gardening scene, the moonflower is a fascination.  It's just like the Morning Glory only white and night are its glory time.  Most think they are weedy, invasive things that smell like peanut butter.  Most amazingly, you can literally watch it bloom right before your eyes. It is a sight worth seeing if you are into wonders of the world.  It is a late in time bloomer all around. It doesn't bloom until late July or August. The time of day is late- like dusk or after. Late but worth the wait. It glows in the night just like the moon. Blooming before your very eyes. You will blink and blink and wonder.

I wish the blooming could be as easily noticed as watching the Moonflower. Perhaps it is. Each day I am challenged to note small victories in the blooming process. As they say "Count your blessings. "  It is necessary to count the small victories. If my daughter tries one carrot in a day- Hurrah! If she remembers to go back and forth with her toothbrush instead of chewing on it- Hurrah! If she comes out of her room and says "Good Morning" instead of moaning on her bed, Hurrah! Small victories count for something. They count towards the big time blooming. They remind you that the blooming is possible and probable and on its way.

Leo and the Moonflower. Both late in the way of blooming. Yet the blooming is better and not never. For me, it is the small victories that tell me so.

Play Kit

If it was my friend Suzie it was little slips of paper, pens, stamps, and a giant ottoman for playing library. We would tip toe around the living room, find hard cover books that were really important looking, and make fancy scribbles on the slips. We ordered the books in a ruler straight spine way and grouped them by the pretty or ugly pictures or by word count.

If it was my friend Heidi, it was a red wagon, beach pails covered with cloth, chapter books tied in bundles, baskets, and bonnets. We were the Ingalls girls out in Minnesota or somewhere on the prairie. We rode to town as Heidi played a double role as horse and Pa as she pulled me on the wagon around the house. It was a bumpy ride as I am sure it was in real life.

 Way back before there was dirt, I am sure my grandparents, and their parents, would say all they needed was a rock or stick for play. I believe it. I too, decades later, played in the dirt with rocks, and sticks, with my friend Kelle. We played school in the dirt. We made a giant divided square for a desk with work. We spelled words in the dirt with our stick writing utensil.

 Memories of my play are simple, sweet, and now historical. Today, the toy store is full of mind boggling wonders.  The telephone on wheels with the rolling eyes, the Slinky that walked downstairs, and the Jack in the Box are either antique or hard to find. They are now replaced by a cell phone with lights and bleeps, a remote Control Robot, and an  X Box. And I may be way off and even old fashioned in my accuracy. Santa has to really keep up with the times these days. Sad to say that play now has to be more exciting, more costly, and more larger than life.

 I thought our imagination and a few odds and ends was enough. I know from my own play experiences that I call "fabulous" that what I needed to play does not have to be the above mentioned. I also know that in today's world, simplicity can still open my kids world up to larger than life play.

Ever since reading Out of Sync Child has Fun, and another book on play for autistic children, the play world at my house became not just cars and trucks, and dolls and princess dresses. I've discovered a whole new world of sensory pleasure and a broaden your horizons opportunity. (and I mean for every child not just my special needs one) Consider the entertaining and engaging play for kids using simple little play kits:

Ice Skating in the summer- old shower curtain, shaving cream, and bare feet. Aside from the hazard of falling on the driveway and cracking your head open... it was a total blast for my daughter. Or just do it on the grass- a shaving cream slip and slide eh?

Marshmallow Popper: Balloon, foam cup, mini marshmallow- assemble and watch the marshmallow fly. ( I used this for a Pop Goes the Weasel performance and it worked wonders) Just don't do it in the woods- I wouldn't want Chippy Chipmunk to choke.

Baking Soda, food coloring, white vinegar, and a tray. Mix liquids squirt on the baking soda. Colorful designs and fizzes all around. ( A mess but worth it- I could cook a whole dinner while kids were occupied with this) As an added bonus -you are teaching high school chemistry at an early age.

Scavenger Hunt- photographs of things around the house, treasure hidden in the house. Kids look at picture go there first and find the next photo. This tells you where to go next and so on until the treasure is found. ( Had this ready for my babysitter and she said our kids did it three times and didn't care much about the treasure)

Foam shapes, water, bath tub- just get the foam shapes wet and it sticks to the bathtub. We have murals there all the time. Picasso, Rembrandt, look out!

Bucket of Water and soap- colored with food coloring and an old paintbrush- paint the house ( wash off the old spider webs too)

Marble Run- Take a noodle and cut in half the long way. Set it up on an incline such as a stairway- and voila! It's a winner!

Bubbles in the swimming pool and food coloring- makes swimming glorious! ( in the kiddy pool that is)

Paint toast - clean brush, food coloring and water- they eat colored toast.

 I have tried every idea on this list with my own children and others have come by - ( we seem to be the magnet house) and at first because it is NOT the latest and greatest .. the kids are skeptical and hesitant. They have even gone so far as to say- "What's the fun in this? or "I will just watch."  But then... surprisingly- they all learn the fun in the simplicity of a few things.

We do have a remote control robot. We do have a pretend cell phone.  We even have a little computer ...for BOTH children.! Yet, play is still simple, fun, and larger than life with more of the play kits I find just around the house already. Happy Play Everyone!

Reflections on teaching and parenting from a parent who is also a teacher

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.

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.

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.....

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...

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!

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!

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.

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.

 

 

 

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".

Valedictorian class of 2025

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.