socially speaking
April 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
The unspoken language of our bodies, innuendo, sarcasm, and play. My twelve-year-old son endeavors to speak the unspoken, stumbling through with fragmented comprehension. This is his greatest challenge as a child on the Autism Spectrum.
Before his diagnosis the tell-tale signs were endearing quirks. His ability to play creatively, independently for long periods of time were perceived as a strength. His interaction among peers was limited and awkward, but his eyes always found ours and his mannerisms were respectful and engaging. As an older child navigating the congested halls of middle school, so many moments of misunderstanding have created a new awareness of invisible handicaps as my son attempts to speak the language of social.
On his birthday my son came home and diligently reported that students on the school bus threw items at him, saying they were presents. I contacted the appropriate school administrator to request they observe the bus video and ensure that my son was treated respectfully. The video footage showed my son caught in the middle of a game of keep away where other students’ belongings were being passed around and inadvertently gifted to my son after he announced to the audience of travelers that it was his birthday.
These moments of contrasting perspective and internalization create an illusion of harm. My son feels victimized, unliked, and curls into defensiveness. Stretching his perspective outside this space and teaching him to see the world around him with neutrality and understanding is an ongoing exercise towards speaking the unspoken.
On this occasion we have the benefit of an administrator that is willing to coach our son using the tools available. A patient individual willing to share the bus video with our son to give him a different view of an experience, a rare opportunity to look at a moment of time; studying the social interactions of his peers. A small step, a large lesson. A singular act of patience and kindness.
extra{ordinary}
April 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
Monday. Just another day in a string of days that once gathered together create a week in a month, in a year, in a lifetime. Only today was no ordinary Monday, it was an extraordinary boy’s birthday.
My husband, daughter, and I woke our household celebrity with a sleepy rendition of Happy Birthday. We shared breakfast and a simple gift before sending the birthday boy to school, his head was full of holiday while his body was begrudgingly grounded in the business of school.
The call came late morning, a muddled message with creative pleas to come home. My husband and I responded with a temporary reprieve from the routine of the day curious to uncover the story behind the request. Over a homemade sandwich our son shared the simple, suffocating frustrations of watching his birthday hours slipping under a pile of school work. We talked through the unglamorous truth that birthdays do not dismiss responsibilities and then shuffled a calmer pre-teen back into the fray of middle school with promises to preserve a piece of our evening for celebration.
A wish to feel extraordinary and the reality of the ordinary culminated in a lesson about responsibility and a stolen moment together with our son. It was an extra ordinary day.
happy accidents
April 14, 2012 § 2 Comments
Yesterday was scattered with serendipitous moments of friendship and I pause this morning to reflect on the power of a conversation, a genuine moment of stillness that allows us to connect with another soul over a simple greeting. Like an invisible thread fate stitches stories with patchwork personalities; people who share similar journeys, others who inspire action, some who share passion. People pass through my days and I marvel at the blessing of their stories.
In the moments just before school began, watching my daughter walk towards the front doors yesterday, I turned and paused to say hello to a school aide only to find myself quickly wrapped in an intimate conversation centered in the unique challenges we share as mothers of daughters with a common special need that complicates school days. A simple greeting had gifted me a moment of connection to a woman who before that conversation I did not know. Our stories are unique, but the shared spaces inspire an awareness that lends both strength and comfort, hope and celebration.
I was still reflecting on my good fortune when I crossed paths an hour later with a woman I had lost touch with amid the unceremonious busyness of school and home. I met this woman in the chaotic space of preschool activities, sharing conversations on motherhood over park playdates with our children. Between the aisles of our checkout lanes and over her shopping cart we caught up and made new promises to share pieces of our summer vacation at a park. Again, a simple greeting had gifted me the company of a friend; a woman who accompanies me on my journey through motherhood.
These happy accidents of friendship occur with amusing frequency. At the local YMCA on a climbing wall, the outdoor pool under a summer sun, on airplanes, at a local bakery over an order of cookies; in unexpectedly common places I find myself in the company of compassion born of experience. Mothers and children who share a journey similar to my family’s find their way into our lives with a predictability that has not escaped me. Today, I celebrate years of conversations and friendships born of a genuine, unhurried hello.
brick by brick
April 9, 2012 § 1 Comment
This weekend we began packing away the chaotic contents of our family LEGO room, noisy handfuls of bricks tumbled into large storage containers. As primary colored creations were contained from clutter into controlled chaos, memories filled the corners of my heart with gratitude for years of creativity and sharing.
Our children were the fortunate recipient of their father’s old LEGOs and my husband happily embraced a second childhood as both children discovered the joy of creating; the physical manifestation of a moment of inspiration. Lifting the weight of each bin, I wondered if I could measure their time together with these tiny building toys, one moment piled on top of another brick by brick.
Our toy room was a kaleidoscope of colorful shapes; kits and creations piled haphazardly and intentionally on flat surfaces and scattered across the floor. Packing away the remnants of this piece of our life was my children’s choice and I welcomed their decision to make room for a new experience. Still as we tucked away these well-loved toys for another generation I found myself pausing over various pieces, marveling at my children’s creations, and collecting memories for safekeeping brick by brick.
blank page
April 5, 2012 § 4 Comments
I’m a happy contradiction of blank page and full heart. Thoughts and stories ripple unwritten pages in my mind with the same cool breeze that carries my neighbor The Robin’s song into my kitchen. It is a rich peacefulness, decadent with daydreams and wishes that fill the space between tasks. Spring is infectious in its paused possibility spilling across days balanced with sunshine and hope. I am in love.
My husband, that quirky romantic, steadfast in his loyalty greets me each morning and the sight of him is a sharing. Across a chaotic dinner table or passing in the hallway, a simple look recalls the weight of our children as newborns nestled in our arms, nights of worry for fears unspoken, and dreams for days to come.
I watch my children as they linger over dandelions bouquets and sidewalk masterpieces, flecks of chalk lingering on their clothing evidence of their flourishing imaginations. The silhouette of their faces alight from a backyard fire pit as we savor s’mores on a school night contrasts the rounded youth of their faces against the gangly limbs of their maturity. I want to sweep them into my lap and hold this moment a little longer.
With the same brevity of The Robin’s perch, I acknowledge a fleeting note of appreciation for the girl who has accompanied me into womanhood. Despite the laugh lines and markings of pregnancy, my heart is full of the dreams and faith of my youth. Beneath the housekeeping, meal planning, and child rearing is a little girl who loves a quiet moment with a book and dances when no one is looking; a head full of dreams and a heart full of gratitude.
weeding flowers
April 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
Dandelions are popping up inside my home, generous bouquets bundled with love.
First my son appeared at our door having collected two handfuls between the bus stop and home. He eagerly extended one yellow bundle for me before asking if he might deliver the other to a friend. He preserved mine proudly in a small glass container at the center of my kitchen island, but not before he created a video documentary of one particularly beautiful dandelion on film.
Less than an hour later my daughter lamented our tragic landscape, void of the lovely yellow blossoms so generously sprinkled across our neighbors’ lawns. She embarked on a passionate journey to collect stems of sunshine to accent my store-bought, cut flowers indoors.
My daughter found an absence of sunshine in a sea of green and my son uncovered something extraordinary in a bouquet of sameness. I am weeding my definition of beauty and giving thanks for the blessing of a dandelion.
note to self
March 28, 2012 § Leave a comment
Seven days. The withdrawal and quick clicks from a smart phone to check in on my life on-line revealed a hard truth. I wasn’t missing much. My mail was steady, but impersonal. My friends on Facebook didn’t send for a search party. My blog is a journal.
In the time it takes me to keep up on-line, I caught up in real-time with my husband, children, and parents. Every morning my husband and I slipped out for a long walk to savor a quiet cup of coffee. Our days were filled with movement in the sunshine. Evenings were spent huddled together over leisurely meals and movies. It was indulgently unglamorous and in the harsh light of day my on-line distractions were reminiscent of childhood toys fraught with the distinction of loved, unused amusements. Like a pull toy that followed me rattling for attention, I rested old habits in the corner of my mind.
Our vacation is over, but I hope to hold tightly to this small moment of consciousness as I settle back into the routine of home.
home
March 18, 2012 § 3 Comments
A place within and in between, constant and ever changing; more solid than beams and bricks and yet at once intangible. My mind and heart are wrapped around the word home today. This week I have been preparing to visit my mother while taking care of my little girl, a quiet week with pockets of business and gentle reminders that home is a moment of understanding and recognition between two people of something shared but unspoken.
The past few weeks I have watched my vivacious seven-year old side kick fight off a variety of irritating cold and flu symptoms. Yesterday a fever robbed my little girl of her smile and she drifted into a deep sleep; I was restless without the playful antics and dramatic declarations that punctuate my daughter’s days. Today, as she tugs joyfully at my patience with stubborn independence our house feels more like home.
Like mother, like daughter. My mother and I tug tirelessly at one another’s patience with the same predictability. We are as similar as we are different, stubborn certainties mingled with unspoken insecurities clutter the space between hugs and harmony. I have learned to appreciate the complications between my mother and I as both universal and unique; sore subjects and shared respect hallmarks of our journey as daughters and mothers in a sisterhood of womanhood.
This week as I prepare to share time with my family in the infinite space of home that ties us together with heartstrings, I am folding clothes into suitcases and unfolding old memories. Celebrating and giving thanks for my daughter and my mother.
unwritten
March 15, 2012 § 3 Comments
Stuck inside my thoughts, dwelling in distraction, I came across a quote that inspired me to set aside the act of writing for an exercise in living.
How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.
Henry David Thoreau
This blank space that so peacefully accepts my thoughts without judgment created a place of solitude where I could pause on the periphery of my life lost in thought. In my youth I tucked myself quietly between the pages of countless books seeking the reassuring security of a story. Writing has gifted me the same peaceful reprieve from expectations and uncertainty.
Rather than reflecting, I have begun to seek. Where I rested in uncertainty, I have created movement inspired by curiosity. I am balancing my words with exercises in living. The pauses between sharings filled with life.
constructive criticism
March 8, 2012 § 2 Comments
Teachers and specialists have assured me it is quite normal for a sibling of a child with special needs to become a miniature caregiver. In this respect my daughter is exceptionally normal. From the time she was born I would follow behind my son trying to help facilitate social experiences. I would watch to note his strengths and identify areas of concern that we might later role play or work through; uncomfortable dialogue and mannerisms that created conflict among peers. My daughter grew naturally from a witness to these exchanges into a tiny tutor in the subject of social behavior; actively identifying and demonstrating proper behavior in different settings.
Some days my daughter will guide her big brother with one hand on the small of his back, speaking quietly just behind him. She cues expectations naturally, predicting and translating his environment. She does this with love and frustration. At times she wishes him her equal and resents the imbalance her older brother’s needs create. Other times she is his greatest champion, defending him against unkindness and following in his shadow marveling at his interests.
My daughter has her own needs that have gifted her unique experiences outside the norm among peers. Sensitive and aware she aligns herself in the company of children sometimes marginalized and stands true in her beliefs in the face of other’s opinions. Recently she lent me constructive criticism for my own social behavior.
It began when another parent initiated a conversation outside my daughter’s school. I could not wriggle free of the exchange and found myself taking hurried steps toward the back of the building where my daughter meets me daily. I was late and she was angry. Frustrated by the distraction my daughter offered me a social script. She instructed me that in moments when I cannot be rude and I have a commitment to say: I’m sorry but my daughter is waiting for me. I need to go. She offered me the solution so naturally I had to remind myself to answer. Quickly I acknowledged the polite and appropriate language as well as the gentle reminder that she rightfully wants to be my first priority at the end of her school day. Then I pulled my daughter into a hug and celebrated her ability to recognize a problem, offer a solution, and share her feelings confidently. Internally I marveled at how quickly I had become her student.
It was a small moment on the outside, but my daughter’s ability to help others navigate the unspoken social rules that complicate simple exchanges is extraordinary. I pause here to admire the way in which she guides us all with a gentle heart and a quiet certainty, kindness and conviction.
