In This Moment

(editor’s note: yes, another post about saying goodbye to an integral member of our team and life.  I have more to write about on other things…the words just aren’t flowing yet.)

Dear Mrs. T,

I don’t know where to start to say goodbye and thank you for all that you’ve done for our family.  I couldn’t even say hello to you last time I saw you without crying…not once but twice.

I guess like all things, I’ll start at the beginning.

You remember how we first met? Howie was turning three. He had been in early intervention for occupational therapy under “clinical judgment” for sensory processing issues but did not yet have his autism diagnosis. You went into the private daycare that he was attending to evaluate him to see if he would qualify for services at our public preschool. Remember how he was on the verge of being kicked out of that daycare? After you went to see him there, we sat around a very small table at the preschool and we discussed Howie’s eligibility for special education services. While he didn’t qualify at the time, the preschool team all agreed to let Howie start at the public preschool that March so you could keep an eye on him.

And keep an eye on him you did. You had me fill out the “Dunn Sensory Profile” and for the first time I was able to see quantitatively his sensory needs and differences. Questions like “does your child hug too tightly” or “does your child spin” were now indicators of sensory processing issues and not random unexplained things that my child did. You taught me words like “proprioceptive” and “vestibular” and explained to me what a sensory diet was in terms that I could understand. You consulted with Howie’s preschool teachers as we tried to figure out what was going on with him. This wasn’t something special that you did just for us. This was just what you do.

Remember when Howie did get his autism diagnosis at age 3 ½? That now we had a place to start with an IEP and goals and ways to help him? You were right there at his first IEP meeting to bring him on for direct services for fine motor work as well as a consult for all things sensory for him in the classroom. You gave me ideas for equipment and exercises that we could do at home to help him regulate. You introduced him – and me – to the How Does Your Engine run program and worked with him on his handwriting, his tune ups, and classroom fidgets. You were always willing to try new things and look at his programming from a sensory perspective, and never once dismissed an idea that we had to help him.

The incredible wealth of knowledge and experience that you bring to the table when working with a student and their family is extraordinary and we benefited from that immediately. You never once looked at the “autism” label and implemented a cookie cutter OT program around that label. I didn’t know it at the time, but I know now how seamlessly you worked with the whole preschool team to teach self-regulation, handwriting without tears, and fine motor skills.  You were part of my oldest son Gerry’s preschool programming and I didn’t even know it.

With your wealth of knowledge and experience comes this incredible way of predicting the future needs and successes for children. Remember when Howie “graduated” from direct service with you in kindergarten?  Remember how I panicked? You called me and reassured me that he was ready and you wouldn’t take him off your caseload if you didn’t believe that to be true.

Sure enough, Howie’s handwriting is better than everyone else in the family. You just knew he could do it.  You believed in his abilities when so many others did not.

With the reassurance that he was ready to come of your direct caseload, you promised that you would stay on as a consult for his sensory diet. You created specific sensory and self regulation/advocacy goals for him in his IEP. At this point in time, Howie was having a particularly hard time not only with sensory overload at school, but with learning what tools could help him “feel better”. You called me to say you were creating a sensory tool box for him to have in his classroom and asked for my input into what should be in there. You worked with me, his teachers and his aides to help teach Howie what he needed and how to ask for it. You never let him flounder.  You were always there to make sure he got what he needed to make it through the day.

I remember so clearly one IEP meeting when Howie was in first grade. I expressed my sadness and worry over his struggles and his inability to figure out what he needed. “Just wait until he’s 8 or 9 years old,” you said. “You will see tremendous growth not just in understanding and coping with his environment, but also in his ability to ask for what he needs to cope with that environment.” You were absolutely right. At our third grade IEP meeting, most of his self advocacy goals had been met.

You never said “I told you so” at that meeting, but I know you were thinking it with a smile.

And now here we are.  Your retirement.

You have been with us from preschool through the start of this year in fourth grade. You have watched my child grow in ways I never could have predicted (but you did).  You listened to every single concern I had along the way and addressed them.

Your institutional knowledge of my child has been instrumental in his successes and in helping him get the accommodations and services he needs in the classroom.

Your kind and gentle manner has guided him and me through the darkest of times.

You saw things in him that no one else did.  You changed his classroom to fit him and never once asked him to change to fit his environment.

You taught his teachers what his movements and mannerisms and outbursts were trying to tell them.  You believed that behavior is communication and you looked at his world through his eyes to see how to help him.

Everything that I now understand about sensory processing issues and autism, I know because I learned it from you.

I am grateful every day for what you taught Howie, his teachers, and our family about our sensory issues.

And I thank you for helping us embrace and not fight his unique way of interpreting his world.

Have a wonderful next chapter as you head off into retirement.  You will be missed, but never forgotten.

Love, Alysia

“No matter where I go

Every time I look back on this road

You’ll always be a part of who I am

Everything I’ve known

Every seed of greatness you have sown

Through good and bad

Your love has watched me grow” – In This Moment by KC Gan and Alison Yap

 

Hazy Shade Of Winter

Last Sunday, I finally broke.

It was about 8:45am and I was leaving for work.  Gerry was in the car with me.

We only had a couple of inches of snow fall the night before which in the grand scheme of all things winter wasn’t a lot. Tim had shoveled the driveway at midnight so it was clear.

The plows, however, had come through early that morning and created a crusty, slushy pile about three inches tall right along the edge of the driveway.

Just the perfect consistency for me to get my car stuck.

I haven’t been stuck in snow in my car in years.  I grew up in Vermont.  I got my driver’s license in the dead of winter and have been in every possible bad weather driving environment.  The last time I was stuck was high school maybe?  College?

I rocked the car back and forth to get it free, shifting to reverse and first gear like I was taught.  Still stuck.  I got out and shoveled around the tires and tried again.  My tires sank deeper into the muck of sand, snow and ice.

I got out of the car and went into the house. I was choking back tears at this point.

“I’m stuck,” I said to Tim.  “I need your help.”

Tim came out and shoveled around the car.  He did the shifting gears thing to rock the car and shoveled some more.  The wheels spun and finally broke through. I hopped back into the car and with Tim out in the road giving me the all clear, I pulled out from between the seven foot snowbanks that line our driveway and sped off to work.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” my voice breaking a bit.  “I’m just running late now.”

“You know this is the first winter when I’m really tired of it,” Gerry said. “This is a lot to deal with.”

“It sure is, kiddo.  I’m done too.”

I’ve lived in New England my whole life and I have never experienced a winter like this.  I’ve spent the last four weeks watching my mailbox disappear.  My view of our road out our bay window is now obstructed by snowbank taller than Rob Gronkowski. My usual “hey it’s winter we will make it through” attitude has been replaced with anxiety, claustrophobia and complete weariness over what will come next.

At first it was ok.  Fun even.  A blizzard!  How exciting.  We watched the weather forecasts and marveled over the drops in pressure.  My human barometer ran laps inside the house as I watched the snow maps for our area change color to show a potential two feet of snow coming our way.  We stuck a yardstick in the snow to see how much we would get.  I baked cinnamon rolls for breakfast.  We watched movies and did crafts.

And then one snow day turned into two.  Back to back and one week after the next. The forecast showed no break.  Every storm was hitting us and we were in the target snow zone. The storms came one right after the other.  The storms had non-threatening names like “Juno” and “Linus” but they came charged with high winds, snow, and freezing temperatures.  Jim Cantore came to visit.

With each forecast, my winter spirit broke.

Anxiety kicked in for my kids.  They would sit by the window and ask if school would be cancelled. Will we have a delay?  Will they close? Is it safe for Dad to go to work?  Will we lose power?  If we lose power, will the fish die? When will they make the call?

The questions would come in rapid fire.  Until every phone would ring and the texts would come in that yes, school was closed for the day.  Again.

Before it sounds like I’m a parent who doesn’t enjoy being with my kids, these school closings aren’t just about the kids not being in school.  We’ve had delayed, rescheduled, and delayed again IEP meetings.  When Howie and Lewis aren’t in school, they are missing those services that we’ve so carefully crafted and fought for in those IEPs.  If my kid happens to have lunch bunch or his social skills group on a Monday, he’s missed it four times. Their curriculum and routine is broken.  Lesson plans are thrown out the window. Our home services have been cancelled. I rely on those plans to help my kids navigate their world and help me at home to work with my kids.

Is this life and death?  Not for us specifically but for so many it could be.  The worry and fear is real.  Tim spent seven hours clearing our roofs from snow to prevent a roof collapse.  I have friends with buckets in their kitchens, bathrooms, and playrooms as ice dams have created leaks all through their house.  At night, the house “pops” from frost quakes.  There are power outages and dangerous driving conditions.  My tiny small nonprofit business has had to close five times because of the weather.  We are dependent on that revenue from families visiting our sensory gym to stay open.

I haven’t slept through the night since the Patriots won the Super Bowl.  Between the wind and the noises inside and outside the house and the “how am I going to make it through another snow day” anxiety inside my brain, there’s little calm to be had in my head. This is the first year I have actively researched schools and programs and real estate in Arizona.

Yesterday, a friend texted me after we had lunch together.  “You seemed glum today, winter got you down?”

I responded with “Just tired.  February has worn me out.”

People say to me you’re from Vermont, this should be normal for you. And it’s true that the cold and the snow is what winter is here.

But this isn’t “normal”.  It’s not called a historic winter for no reason.  And I am done.

As I write this, it’s snowing again.  Lightly.  But it’s snowing.

I know spring will come and there will be much joy in Mudville when the snow melts. But it will take a long time for us to recover – both outside our house and in our heads.

“Seasons change with the scenery;
Weaving time in a tapestry.
Won’t you stop and remember me
At any convenient time?
Funny how my memory skips
Looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme.

Drinking my vodka and lime,
I look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.” – Hazy Shade of Winter by Paul Simon

 

Superstition

When I was a kid, I used to have these semi-religious, existential conversations with my dad about fate, free will, superstition and destiny. I would say I believed in fate, that some things were just meant to happen and meant to be.
He would use his “frog in the pond” story on me, asking me if he told me that there was a frog in the pond who controlled everything in the world, would I believe it. I would always answer “of course not”. Which led to discussions of science versus fate, proof versus belief.

Tonight, as the bases were loaded and I went back upstairs to my spot and put on my 2004 series winning pants and the inning ended, I would like the thank the frog in the pond for helping the Red Sox out of a jam.

– My personal Facebook status during last year’s Red Sox World Series run

 

I’ve always been a superstitious person.  I grew up believing in many of Jewish superstitions shared by my grandmothers. I remember how adamant they were that my mother not attend my grandfather’s funeral when she was pregnant with my sister.  I remember a lot of “pooh-poohing” and spitting from my older relatives when I was a child. Even now, I have a small “Raggedy Ann” doll in the back of my car that has been in the storage compartment of every single car I’ve owned because I believe it keeps me safe.  I have certain “lucky socks”, pants that I pull out for Red Sox World Series games, and I never drive on long trips wearing anything other than sneakers.

When I was pregnant with my boys, I never had a baby shower and I dutifully tied a red ribbon on the leg of the crib for all of my children, whether they actually slept there or not.  And I never, ever opened an umbrella in the house. Ever. Rationally I know that these superstitions aren’t based in any fact or science.  However, why tempt the evil eye?

When I became a parent, my belief in the need to “do things in this order or else something bad could happen” continued.  If Gerry would fall asleep in the car wearing a certain coat, I would make sure he had that coat on each time I needed him to sleep in the car until it was no longer appropriate seasonally. I would cook his oatmeal for the same exact amount of time each morning before daycare.   I would follow things in certain patterns to make sure the same result would happen.  Most of this was probably sleep deprived induced behavior and not true superstitions, but I believed that I had to do some things in a certain way to make sure I got the same end result.

Then came Howie and my superstitions kicked into high gear. Almost from day one.

He had certain clothes that he would be happy in and if he wore anything else, he would squirm and scream and cry.

I had to mix his formula a particular way or he wouldn’t drink it.  And he had to nurse from side to side in a certain pattern or he wouldn’t fall asleep.

He could only fall asleep on me, no one else.  If anyone else tried, he wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the day.

He had to be touching my skin to fall asleep.

He had to sit in a certain place at the table or he wouldn’t eat.

I had to give him a green plate.

We had to watch one episode of “The Backyardigans” before bed. And then he would sleep in my bed so when he woke up every 45 minutes, he had me there to help him get back to sleep.

I had to put socks on him at night or else he wouldn’t sleep.  Until that “wore off” and we went without socks. Or he needed to wear certain pajama pants to bed.  And then we moved to no pajama pants at all.

He couldn’t wear any other pants but cotton ones with no buttons to school or else he wouldn’t have a “good” day.

I had to give him his melatonin right before the shower, not sooner or later.  Brush his teeth after the shower, not before.

We had to snuggle in a certain way before bed or else he would be up all night.

I had to warm up his yogurt smoothie in the morning for exactly 30 seconds in the microwave or he wouldn’t drink it.

Then came the autism diagnosis for him.

And for me a better understanding of the comforts of routines and the unsettling nature of triggers.

These superstitions were my own creation based on his responses to his sensory needs – the patterns of “we must do this or else” were a reaction to what I didn’t understand.

Superstitions are “a belief or practice resulting from ignorance, fear of the unknown, trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation.”

I didn’t know or understand why he needed socks worn a certain way, or why he could only drink a warm smoothie, or wear pants that were so tight they made a mark on his skin.  I feared changing up the color of plates because I feared the meltdown that would come.  I believed there was “some magic” in giving him the melatonin at a certain time and I thought that if we didn’t snuggle in “just this way”, all hell would break loose and we’d never sleep again.

But I get it now.

I know that he needs to feel comfortable in his clothes in order to get through the day at school or sleep at night.  I know now that the warm yogurt is a sensory aversion to anything too cold to drink.  I understand the comfort in sitting in the same seat at the table for dinner.

These aren’t superstitions.  These are genuine responses to known sensory triggers.

With that knowledge also comes the ability to move from the rigidity of the patterns.  After years of practice and tiny changes, we can serve food on different colored plates.  “The Backyardigans” is no longer the show of choice before bed.  He’s falling asleep in his own bed with me at the end of the bed, not tangled up snuggling in it.

We no longer practice from a place of ignorance or fear, but one of understanding, acceptance, and the belief that these sensory issues are real and the routines are necessary for comfort and calm.

There are times when I still catch myself falling into the superstition pattern.  Last night, Howie put his pajamas in a different order than usual, with his tight bike shorts on over the tight compression pants that he wears to bed.

I panicked for a moment, almost telling him that he will never sleep if his clothes are out of order because he has slept so well three nights in a row so changing it up would be disastrous.

Instead, I reminded him that with the smaller bike shorts underneath the compression pants, he will feel a tighter “hug” on his legs which will help him sleep better.

He smiled, changed his clothes, and climbed back under the covers.

I’m working really hard to recognize the appropriate cause and effect to help my kids understand these their triggers and needs.

However don’t expect to see me opening any umbrellas inside anytime soon.  And my “Raggedy Ann” doll will always be with me.

Chilling out in the compression pants and the Yogibo.

“Very superstitious, writings on the wall,
Very superstitious, ladders bout’ to fall,
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin’ glass
Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past

When you believe in things that you don’t understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain’t the way ” – Superstition by Stevie Wonder

 

The Wheels On The Bus For The Third Time

It’s May, 2014.

We are sitting in Lewis’ kindergarten transition IEP meeting.  As a team we are reviewing every service and service delivery to make sure it fits right for Lewis as he leaves preschool.  It’s not my first rodeo and I have plenty of anxiety over the whole transition process based on past experience.  Lewis’ incredible preschool teacher and team know this – and know Lewis – and we discuss every detail to make sure we are all on board and understand how kindergarten will look for him for the new school year.

We discuss his social skills programming, his need for visual and written cues when transitioning, his extended school year plan, and all the supports he will need for success.

“So now let’s talk transportation,” says his teacher.

I sit up straight in my chair, stiffening a little.

“I know this is something that we’ve talked about in the past.  But we don’t really feel like he needs specialized transportation.  I really think he will be okay on the big bus.”  His teacher stops talking for a moment.  “Um, you don’t agree?”

Tim elbows me.

“You’re pulling on your sleeves,” he says. 

That’s my “tell”.  My sign that I’m having an anxiety attack.

“It’s not that I don’t think he can’t be on the big bus.  It’s just that…” I take a breath.

“It’s just that I don’t know how I’m going to manage all three kids getting to school at different times with different modes of transportation.”

************

This morning I sent a message to my friend Jess.

“I’ve officially lost my ability to write,” I texted.  “I’m trying to write about how Lewis taking the bus and me driving Howie is an example of not just our acceptance of what each kid needs but an understanding of those needs….None of the kids asked why one was going to school one way and one another…we’ve taught them that everyone is different with no stigmas attached.  But the words aren’t coming without sounding stupid…”

And she gave me brilliant advice like she always does: “Start in the middle.  Where the feelings are.  Don’t try to start at the beginning.”

Where the feelings are.

So here goes.

A long time ago, that meeting would have made me sad.

The big bus would have seemed like “The Holy Grail” of transportation.  Going to school the way most kids do.  Getting that big “first day of school” bus picture.  I would have looked at it as one of my kids can ride the bus and one of them…can’t. My anxiety in that meeting would have  focused on their disabilities in the negative, the kind of deficit model of looking at challenges and accommodations as a something bad and temporary with the hopes that maybe someday things will get better. I would have focused on the fact that I had one kid whose challenges kept him off the big bus, while both his big brother and little brother were able to ride it.

But here’s the thing.  I’m not that me anymore.

Last school year, we took Howie off of the mini bus. He had been riding the mini-bus since kindergarten to and from school and it’s written into his IEP that he needs specialized transportation. But for second grade,  I started driving him to school and he would taking the mini bus home.  He needed a “sensory overload free” way to enter school in order to start his day off right.  He didn’t want to talk to anyone or have anyone talk to him.  About halfway through the year, that need for a sensory overload free trip became evident for the ride home as well.  He would be able to use his calming tools to get through the school day, but have a very difficult time with that on the way home.

Once I began driving him both ways, his stress level leaving the house and coming home lessened greatly, spilling over to a better day at school and at home in the afternoon.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t take the mini bus.  Or even the big bus.

It was that both of those choices weren’t right for him.  For his success – academically and emotionally – he needed me to drive.  This accommodation was no different than any of the other supports listed in his IEP.

Two kids – two brothers – with the same autism diagnosis.  Needing two completely different accommodations.

Perhaps it’s semantics again.

But changing the question from “Can my kids do something”  to asking  “what is appropriate for them” – it made all the difference.

 

**********

May 2014

“So what do you think?  Do you think Lewis can take the bus to kindergarten?”

All eyes of the team are on me.

“I know that with a lot of prep he can.  I think we should give it a try,” I say.

“Are you worried that Howie will be upset or jealous that Lewis is on the big bus?”

I smile. “No, actually, I’m more worried that Lewis will wonder why he doesn’t ride with Mom to school.” I say.  “But he will know that’s just how he gets to kindergarten.  And Howie will know that too.”

I sigh.

“It’s the logistics that make me nervous.  Gerry’s bus to the junior high comes at one time, the elementary school bus at another.  And somewhere in there I need to drive  Howie to the elementary school too.  But we will figure it out.  We always do.”

I shift in my seat, pulling at my sleeves.

“Can we talk again about the fact that my last kid is leaving this amazing preschool for kindergarten?  I’m not so sure how I feel about that…”

**********

We talk a lot in our house about fair not meaning equal.  My kids have seen the cartoon of three characters of all different heights looking over a fence.  They each have different sized boxes to stand on so they can see over the fence line.  They aren’t equal sized boxes.  Each character needed something different to get them to the same place.

We’ve never said “I hope someday you can take the big bus to school.”

In our town, some kids walk.  Some arrive in cars.  Some take the big bus.  Some take the mini bus.

There’s no better or worse way to get to school.  For my boys, there’s no stigma attached to any mode of transportation.

My three kids need something different to get them to school.

For one, it’s mom’s car.

For the other two, it’s the wheels on the bus.

All through the town.

On the bus yesterday for kindergarten orientation. He did just fine.

 

 

 

 

Diamond Road

Howie was on the floor of his room. He was wrapped up in a towel, drying off from the shower.

“Mom. Do I look in sorts?”

“I don’t know. Not really I guess. Maybe a little? Are you?”

“No,” he responded. “I’m a little out of sorts.”

“I could tell. You think it’s because you’re not feeling well?” He had been battling a mystery fever for the past two days. No other symptoms, just a low grade fever.

“No. Not that.” He was looking up – not at my face but just passed me.

I stood over him as he stayed cocooned up on the floor.

“Why do you think you’re out of sorts?”

“Sensory overload,” he replied. His eyes shifted and immediately connected with mine.

“Really. What overloaded you?”

He sighed.

“Life.”

Howie paused for a moment.

“Sometimes that just happens,” he said.  “I need a fidget. Like something rubber. Or a ball.”

He said it in a very quiet, almost nasally voice. It’s the voice I recognize when he’s uncomfortable.

I looked around quickly in his room.

“I found a small Minecraft Creeper figure. Will this do?”

“Yeah.”

He took it from me and smiled.

I took a quick picture of him on the floor with the creeper and showed him his happy face. He stayed on the floor for a few minutes, rubbing his hands over the figure and squeezing it.

I left the room to help Lewis into the shower. When I returned, he was dressed in his pajamas and in bed.

“Can I share the picture I took of you with the creeper to show people how you look when you’re back in sorts?”

He snuggled under the covers and grabbed his weighted stuffed animal.

“No,” he said. “Don’t share it. Can I have a Mom squish?”

I leaned over and squished him tight. Part of his self-advocacy has to be the right of refusal of what I share and what I don’t.

“I won’t share it. I promise. I love you.”

I took my position at the end of his bed. He slid his legs under mine and fell asleep.

**********

I could write about the sheer enormity of that conversation and what it means for him, for me, and for the people in his world. About how much hard work he has done with his teachers and therapists to get here – to not only understand his body but express it in a way that we could understand. I could write about all the signs I missed during the day today that could have told me what he so eloquently did tonight and even though I preach “behavior is communication”, I ignored it all.

I could write that.

But right now I am just listening to him sleep. Soft, even breaths.

The ones that I now recognize come when he’s back “in sorts”.

And I’m just going to stay here a while.

A photo from a different wrapped in a towel day. One that I’ve had permission to share in the past.

“ Walk with me the diamond road
Tell me every story told
Give me something of your soul
That I can hold onto
I want to wake up to the sound of waves
Crashing on a brand new day
Keep the memory of your face
But wipe the pain away” – Diamond Road by Sheryl Crow

 

Hero

“Can I help you find something?”

“Yes.  I’m looking for an end of the year present for my son’s teachers.”

“Can you tell me a little about them?”

“Well, sure.  I need something special.  I know we all say that, but I really mean it.”

I pause for a moment.

“My son calls himself Hero Howie at school.  But his special education teachers? Actually all of my kids’ teachers? They are heroes too.  His and mine.”

“I have just the thing.”

 

Because you help my kid out of the car in the school drop off circle with a hello every morning.

Because you watch him in the cafeteria before school starts to make sure he starts his day off on the right foot.

Because you welcome him in to the school and know him by name.

Because you believe in him when no one else does.

Because you understand how a slight muscle movement or seat squirm or change in town of voice means he’s overwhelmed and needs a break.

Because you modify the assignments to fit my kid.  Not because he can’t do the work but because you know when he’s reached his limit.

Because you read books and websites and attend seminars outside of school hours to understand my kid better.

Because you love to come to work every day knowing that it’s about my kid and his successes.

Because it’s not just a job to you.

Because you see autism not as a limit but as his strength and step out of the diagnosis box to see him as an individual.

Because you understand that the aggressions are not personal but part of the fight or flight overload of the day.

Because you wake up after those tough days ready to teach again.

Because you celebrate his successes and stay up at night figuring out how to help him the next day.

Because you believe in progress not perfection.

Because you do cartwheels in the halls and make collages of every single picture you’ve taken of him.

Because you request to be my child’s aide and teacher next year.

Because you love him.

Because you taught him to love himself.  And believe in himself.

To Mrs. M and Mrs. C and Mrs. S at the elementary school and Mrs. M at the preschool…

You.  You are the heroes.

And for that, I am forever grateful.

 

 

“And then a hero comes along
With the strength to carry on
And you cast your fears aside
And you know you can survive
So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And you’ll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you.” – Hero by Mariah Carey

 

 

Time In A Bottle

The boys made a memory jar for Tim for Father’s Day.

I just knew there was no way they could create a piece of artwork or something homemade – the pressure would be too great and we’d end up where we were last year.

So I stole this gift idea from my friend Jess.

I asked the boys some questions and recorded each answer on a slip of paper.

And because the answers were so perfect, I had to share them here.

What’s your favorite thing you did with Dad this year?

G: Learning how to play guitar and going to all the concerts

H: Going on the water slides at Great Wolf Lodge

L: Playing Hot Wheels

What is something that dad did that made you laugh?

G: All his funny jokes

H: When he said the slide at Great Wolf was like a toilet

L: When he calls things bathroom words

What is your favorite thing that Dad cooks?

G: Homemade pizza

H: Pork chops, chicken skewers and hamburgers

L: Macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese and quesadillas

What do you like to do with Dad?

G: Go to Guitar Center

H: Go on water slides

L: Watch the Palladia channel on TV

What would you like Dad to teach you this year?

G: How to mow the lawn

H: How to armpit fart since I’m not very good at it.

L: How to ride a bike with two wheels.

Now my answers.

My favorite thing we did this year? We were a team – through school meetings and sports activities and everything in between.  You didn’t miss one baseball game or concert or IEP meeting.  You arranged your schedule to be there for the boys and for me.  We took “divide and conquer” to a new level to make sure each kid had alone time and quiet time.

At the meet and greet with Joe Bonamassa

Something that made me laugh? I have many specific private moments when I laughed until I cried.  And then there were the times when I wanted to cry, you made me laugh instead.  Holding my hand through it all.

My favorite thing you cook? Everything.  Duh.

That’s right. That’s bacon wrapped meatloaf.

What do I like to do with you? Again, everything.

What would I like you to teach me this year?  I want to find my “fun” again.  I see how the boys turn to you for the games, the laughs, the “let’s do this” together.  You understand the boys in ways I can’t.

I want to learn all that from you.

Happy Father’s Day

“If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I’d like to do
Is to save every day till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I’d save every day like a treasure and then
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do, once you find them
I’ve looked around enough to know
That you’re the one I want to go through time with.” – Time In A Bottle by Jim Croce (which also happens to be the song from our wedding)

 

Vacation

note: I was given complementary passes for food, accommodations and other activities to attend the grand opening event at Great Wolf Lodge in Fitchburg, MA.  But all opinions are my own.

We had seen the commercials for a long time: Great Wolf Lodge was coming to the New England area!  My kids – avid water park fans but haters of bugs and heat – were so intrigued by the idea of an indoor water park that when we were offered the chance to be there on opening day, we couldn’t say no.  Even though it was on a school night.

We prepped for the trip the way we do with most new places.  I spent a lot of time with the boys on The Great Wolf Lodge website so not only did we know what would be there, we knew what rides and activities were going to be appropriate for their skill level and height.  They had pictures of the rooms online as well and we “walked” through the park, learning about each of the rides and requirements.  We created our own social story so there would be no surprises.

We arrived in the evening around dinner time and it was a little late for us to use the water park that night. There was no disappointment, however, since there was still plenty to do:

getting our wolf ears

In the Howlin’ Timbers part of the park, there is a nine hole indoor golf course.  It was perfect for Howie and Lewis.  They had a blast playing the course.

Mini Golf

There is also a giant arcade area near the restaurants and lobby.  Not surprisingly, this is where my kids wanted to stay the longest.  Like many arcades these days, the games are paid for on a pre-paid card so there’s no fumbling with money or tokens for each game.  I was amazed at how quiet the arcade was.  Usually arcades are not only my kids’ sensory overload nightmare, but mine as well.  The Great Wolf Arcade was quiet and calm. So we were able to stay and play for a long time.

skee ball anyone?

Alongside the arcade is a pizza place and ice cream shop.  We opted for pizza to go and brought it back up to our room.  I have to tell you – I have incredibly picky pizza eaters.  The “Hungry As A Wolf” pizza passed the test from all three of them. That’s almost unheard of in our house.

mmmmm…pepperoni

We were given a KidCabin Suite in the newest part of the resort, overlooking the Howlin’ Timbers play area.  The room was one queen bed plus a fold out couch and then a separate area with a bunk bed and day bed.  My kids settled into their own special area, which also has its own TV.  They were in heaven.

Bottom bunk man. And yes, wifi is included free at the resort. We asked ahead of time.

Oldest kid gets the top bunk

At the risk of TMI, this was the first time in our vacations as a family that Tim and I shared a bed at a hotel.  And the kids actually stayed in their beds.  That doesn’t even happen at home.

The kids had the buffet breakfast at the Lodge Wood Fire Grill restaurant in the morning.  Here’s where they were annoyed at me for taking a picture before they could eat:

ok…maybe only two were annoyed with me…

There’s also a Dunkin Donuts on the premises for breakfast, lunch, dinner and whenever you need it.  Because this is Massachusetts and there needs to be one on every corner.  Thank goodness.

We hurried back to the hotel room to change into our swim clothes.  And off we went.

The water park area of the resort is split into two sides.  Great Wolf took over an existing water park area so one side is where the original park had their waterslides and the other side is all new.  It seem to cut down on the crowds and confusion and it wasn’t so overwhelming.  It also made it easier to find each other as Tim and I played “divide and conquer” with the kids.  He did the bigger slides with Gerry and Howie and I spent most of my time with Lewis in the Tadpole Pond area.

obstacle course on Big Foot Pass

The best way ever for my kids to fight each other

lazy river riders

In all, my family tried out every ride at the water park.  Gerry’s favorite was the Howlin’ Tornado:

The Howlin’ Tornado.

That was the view of the Howlin’ Tornado from our hotel room.  Through the rain.  That’s right – it poured the whole day we were there.  Did we care?  Nope.

Howie’s favorite was Alberta Falls – the dark tunnel side.  It may or may not be because Tim told him it was like they were getting flushed down a toilet.

Alberta Falls

And Lewis was incredibly happy to stay at the little kid area.  And I was incredibly happy to have him stay here.  I actually sat down.  At a water park.  It was a miracle.

Life jackets are provided for all ages and all sizes at the park but we opted to bring our own.  Considering the fact that I brought three suits for each kid because I didn’t know what would fit or feel right for them in the moment, the more familiar we are with something, the better it is.  Our own life jackets bring that sensory comfort level.

Speaking of sensory issues, I kept checking in with Howie about how he was doing and feeling along the way.  The water park was not crowded but it was very echoey and I was worried that he would be on noise overload.  He kept telling me he was fine.  The only thing that seemed to bother him were the smells in the area near our hotel room.  Everything was new : paint, carpet, beds.  Those smells were slightly overpowering.  But there was no heavy chlorine smell in the park and no overly bright lights.  Every half hour or so, there was an alarm that went off at the wave pool.  But that was it. All of the places where I expected that he would have a hard time, he did great.  All of the kids did great.  I was amazed.

We had a late check out of 2pm, so we stayed at the water park area until about 1:30.  We changed quickly in the hotel room and checked out.

Our water park passes were good though until the park closed that night.  There are lockers and changing rooms if we wanted to stay.  We chose to check out the other parts of the Howlin’ Timbers Play Park instead.

The ropes course is included with the water park passes.  So we had to try that.  And by”we” I mean everyone else in my family that is not me:

getting strapped in

Who is this crazy kid up so high?

The lower ropes course was more their speed.

I was super impressed by the staff at Great Wolf and how attentive they were.  When the line to go on the ropes course got long, two other staff members appeared out of nowhere to assist on the course.  The staff all seemed to be local as well, as indicated by their town on their name tags.  I love the boost to the local Worcester County economy with that.

After the kids were off the ropes course, they played two games of bowling each.  No rental shoes needed.  And bumpers for the kids so no gutter balls.  This was a big hit with my guys.  It was also not noisy at all like many bowling alleys.  Again that made it so much easier to stay and play.

 

Strike!

There were several things that we didn’t get too because we just ran out of time and energy.  There’s a whole MagiQuest game and movie theater that we didn’t even attempt.  It looked like fun but we had to save something for next time.  There’s also a kid spa and a story time that we skipped.  My kids aren’t fans of people in costumes so we stayed away from those areas.

Because I am always looking through my special needs parenting glasses, there are a few things that stood out to me at the park.  First – it was very quiet.  Many areas were carpeted so there wasn’t a lot of noise bouncing off the floor and walls.  The lighting was also natural light in many places in the park.  The arcade was calm and quieter than most arcades I’ve been in.  There was also a variety of food choices on the menus for the restaurants so there seemed to be something for everyone.  We did bring a lot of our own food but every room has a decent sized fridge and microwave so that wasn’t an issue at all.

Now we were there for the grand opening and it wasn’t very crowded.  We’ll have to go back to see if all these things stay the same when the resort is full.

I also liked that everything was on their website so we could preview it ahead of time, even the room layouts. That was huge in making sure my kids knew everything before we left.  We aren’t the “surprise!  Here we are!” kind of family.

There are definitely some things to know before you go.  You can’t purchase day passes only to the resort so you have to stay overnight. The water park passes are included as part of the hotel room, as is the ropes course.  While there, I was thinking how wonderful it would be to have our kids’ home therapists with us to help with turn taking, peer interactions, and meals, yet I didn’t actually want to pay for a hotel room for them. Considering the number of special needs families who may need to bring a babysitter/therapist/teacher along to help out, I did ask if you can purchase additional day passes though for people joining your party who are not staying over.  The answer was yes to that. Definitely ask when you make the reservation to see how many day passes you are allowed to have.

Your room key is a chip in the water park bracelet so there’s no possibility of losing your keys (or having them stolen) while swimming and you can choose whose bracelets are activated as keys.  We did have to warn the kids that they would need to wear the bracelets all the time as this is usually a sensory issues for all of my kids.

When we got home. the kids were asking when we were going to go again.

This mini-vacation came exactly at the right time for our family.  We needed a stress free time away from the house where we could just relax and be ourselves.

We got that at Great Wolf Lodge.

I know we will be back very soon.

“Vacation
All I ever wanted
Vacation
Had to get away…” – Vacation by The Go-Gos

 

 

 

 

Child Of Mine

 

“The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!” – Piglet quote on the wall of our sensory gym

Last week I got an email from one of Howie’s teachers.  She explained that they had been working on a math assessment test about money and coins.  The directions were to count the money and show your work.  The teacher said that Howie had refused to show his work. His explanation was that he didn’t have to “because I have autism.”

She wrote that they had worked through the refusal by reminding him that this was for his third grade teachers and while she knew he could do it in his head, he needed to show his new teachers that he understood the work.

Now Howie has never been a big fan of reviewing concepts.  “I already know how to do this!” is a frequent refrain when doing assessments or review work.  But this was a new wrinkle.  He had never refused to do work because of autism before.

I wrote back and said I was kind of stunned by all of this since we’ve never said anything like that to him or around him before.  We’ve always talked about autism – and specifically his autism – in a positive light.  Talking about the gifts it brings him.  Lately we had been discussing how there are times when different brains have a harder time with some activities, and that’s why sometimes he needed to leave the room to take a test, or use his headphones or have a sensory break.  But we’ve never said he couldn’t do…anything.

I expressed my surprise at his statement and said I would talk with him about it.

Later that afternoon, Howie and I were sitting across from each other on the floor of our living room.  His iPad was on his lap and he was creating his newest world on his Blocksworld app.

“Hey bud'” I said. ” I heard that you had some trouble working on your math assessment today?”

“Yeah.  But the fruit snacks helped me get through it.”

“What was hard?”

“I had to write it all out but I knew the answer.”

“Your teacher said you told her that you couldn’t do the test because you had autism?”

” I said I didn’t have to do the work because I had autism,” he said. He didn’t look up at all.

“Well, autism isn’t an excuse you know,” I said. ” You can do hard things. But you still need to do the work.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t,” he said.  “I said I didn’t have to.  I didn’t have to show my work. I could see it and do it in my head.”

I sat there and just looked at him.  His eyes never left the iPad, fingers moving and swiping and tapping as he built a cityscape for his Blocksworld cars to drive through.

Not an excuse.

A reason.

Not a negative.  A positive.

Not can’t do. Don’t have to to understand.

Part of his gift.  He could see it in his head. So why do the extra work?

He wasn’t trying to get out of doing the test itself.  Just the showing his work.  And not because he didn’t want to.

Because “I didn’t have to.”

He was actually advocating for himself.

“I understand now,” I said.  “But you know there will be times when you have to show your work, even when you can do it in your head.  It’s important for other people to see what you see.”

“I know,” he said. ” And the fruit snacks were really good.”

***********

In our world, autism isn’t and won’t be an excuse.  We’re never going to teach him he can’t do something because of how his brain is wired.

But it can be a reason why things are hard. Or, in this case, easy.

Maybe it’s semantics.

This is why we felt it was important that Howie knows and understands his diagnosis. So he could say, “I see this differently because my brain is wired differently.”

A few weeks ago, M. Kelter of Invisible Strings posted this on his Facebook page:

Without the words to say “because of my autism”, how might this interaction have gone? Alternative scenarios might have involved a long, drawn out stand off, viewed as noncompliance, leaving everyone exhausted, frustrated and miserable.

Leaving my kid feeling like a bad kid.  A failure.  Different without explanation as to how or why. Removed for long periods of time from his general education classroom as things escalated, keeping him away from his peers.

He knows he leaves to take tests in a quiet space so he doesn’t get distracted.  We are working on helping him understand that his aide is there as a “coach” and “interpreter” when he needs help.

But he also needs to know that we will listen to what he is really saying and doing and go beyond the specific words that he is using  in order to make sure that we understand their meaning.  Because here he was, in his way, appropriately advocating for himself.

It’s our job to make sure we hear him when he does.

“The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!”

 

“Although you see the world different than me
Sometimes I can touch upon the wonders that you see
All the new colors and pictures you’ve designed
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine.

Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine.” – Child of Mine by Carole King

 

On Top Of The World

On Thursday, I may have accidentally peeked at my Mother’s Day present from Howie.

Not on purpose.  I was going through his backpack for his homework and found this:

the cover

(he calls me Momabom)

and cue the tears…

After I wiped the tears away, I sent his teacher an email:

Hi!

I just took a peek at the People magazine Mother’s Day project and I’m in tears. I’m curious – How much help did he need with that?

That’s a special gift. Thank you.

I don’t know why I needed to know how much help he needed.  Maybe because I knew how hard these past few weeks have been.  How putting pen to paper has been so challenging. I knew these were his words and our stories. But I just…I just had to ask.

She wrote back:

It was a process and very much a team effort, but I have to tell you…never have I seen him quite as motivated to write as when I mentioned it was for Mom-to thank her for all of the special things she does.  🙂  You can definitely see the bond the two of you have.  Glad you enjoyed it, but you shouldn’t have PEEKED! 😉

And I started to cry again.

Happy tears.

I’ll admit that in the past I might have been a little discouraged that he needed help with this.  In the beginning, complete independence was the goal in my head.  No supports.  All on his own.

But on this special needs journey that I’ve been on, I’ve realized that this – this People Magazine Mother of the Year story – this is the Holy Grail.

Everything we – and he – has worked so hard on is wrapped up in this amazing Mother’s Day gift.

Teachers who will wait and work with him in his way with what he needs.  Knowing that he can do the work but he needs the supports to succeed.

Presuming competence all the way.

His smile when he gave it to me this morning said it all.

“I love you, Momabom”, he told me this morning.

“I love you too, little man.”

I love all three of these incredible little men. Happy Mother’s Day to me.

“If you love somebody
Better tell them while they’re here ’cause
They just may run away from you

You’ll never know quite when, well
Then again it just depends on
How long of time is left for you

I’ve had the highest mountains
I’ve had the deepest rivers
You can have it all but life keeps moving

I take it in but don’t look down

‘Cause I’m on top of the world, ‘ay
I’m on top of the world, ‘ay
Waiting on this for a while now
Paying my dues to the dirt
I’ve been waiting to smile, ‘ay
Been holding it in for a while, ‘ay
Take you with me if I can
Been dreaming of this since a child
I’m on top of the world.” – On Top Of The World by Imagine Dragons