Do I?

Anderson has been in speech therapy for four years now.  During that time, he has made tremendous progress with communication. We went from goals like "using multi-word phrases", to "speaking in sentences of five or more words", to "initiating conversation" to "answering w questions".  You mention the word "autism", and most people's first thought is non-verbal, or slightly verbal.  They're taken aback by Anderson, because he is definitely very, very verbal.  In fact he doesn't really stop talking, which is problematic during things like, oh, SCHOOL.  Or homework. Or trying to get to sleep. Or when you have a raging headache. Or after you've listened to it non-stop for two hours. You get the idea.

There are times, however, when his delay is evident. If you spend more than a few hours with him, it definitely rears its head. When he is frustrated, or when he needs something that requires more explanation than a simple sentence, it becomes obvious.  He is still echoing times when he has been in trouble--or now when someone else has been in trouble--if he feels like he has done something "bad", whether he has actually been naughty or not.  He echoes his current teacher, who says things like "I am very disappointed that you made a bad choice", or "You are disobeying me". Although I'm glad that he has an outlet for his feelings and emotions, it still hurts my mama heart that he can't just say "my feelings are really hurt", or, as Amelia loves to tell me, "I'm super angry right now!" (but that's another post altogether). I just wish things were easier for him sometimes.

Another area where he still has some work to do is his tendency to talk in questions.  He doesn't do it all of the time, but it still happens. I have to confess this...it's really endearing. It's one of those little things I know that I'll miss, when he stops.  One of my favorite ways that he does this is that he asks you the question that he wants YOU to ask HIM. So, instead of saying "I'm hungry!", he might say "Mom, am I hungry?"  I'll of course ask him if he's hungry, and he says yes. Another popular one is "Do I want to play outside?"  Again--the answer is yes.

A few weeks ago, the kids were in a wedding.  It was a very long day for them, and they did an AMAZING job (and it didn't hurt that the bride thought of everything in terms of thinking of how to keep the kids entertained, and I mean everything!!).  Anderson has really come out of his shell in terms of warming up to people he doesn't know, and he loved the attention he got that day--and believe me, he commanded attention in many ways.  During the reception, after rocking the dance floor, eating cake and cookies and all kinds of other goodies, and running around opening and closing doors for the wait-staff (yes, that happened), he sat at the table, long after his bedtime, with sleepy eyes. He was in the kind of daze that can only be caused by hard play and sugar. He looked right at me and said, with the most contented smile, "Mom? Did I have so much fun at the wedding?" I kissed his sweet, sweaty head and told him yes, he'd had a very good time at the wedding.

This afternoon, as we were riding home from school, he was telling me that he plans to play "Meadowthorpe" (the name of his school) when he goes to Nana and Papaw's this weekend.  Then, he thought for a minute and said, "Do I like elementary school?" Yes--the boy is in love with school. Something I most definitely did not expect, but I'm thrilled with, of course.  And then, after we got home and I was helping him out of the van, he looked at me and said "Mommy? Do I miss you?" And then, he hugged me.  He hugged me and put his head on my shoulder for a good five seconds. All without me begging, or grabbing him and forcing it. He hugged me, and he loves me, and he misses me when he is not with me. Sure, he can't say those things, but he said it all today. It's something I will remember forever.


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My Public Service Announcement
I can't say enough about early intervention--if you're a new mama/mama to a toddler and you suspect your child may have a speech delay or any other kind of delay, I urge you to seek an evaluation through your area's early intervention service provider. Early intervention is KEY.

Getting Schooled

So the kids have been in school for between five and six weeks, but technically less with days off, holidays, etc. I am telling you...I am in AWE of the academic progress they have made in that short amount of time. Blown away.

Anderson...he knows all of his letters and their sounds, as well as how to write them correctly. His memory is a gift; he can remember most anything for an unlimited amount of time.  His teachers use a verbal path for letter-writing, meaning that they say the exact same thing every time they write a letter. For example, when they write a capital M, they say " straight down, slant down, slant up, straight down".  He has them ALL memorized. His handwriting isn't half bad, either.  He can write letters on command, meaning if I tell him how to spell them, he can write words. He loves practicing his writing and pretending to be his teacher. He does read-alouds at home, which consist of him questioning his "class" and reprimanding them when they talk while he is talking. He loves to talk about "disrespect" and "disobeying", and getting "oops notes" when someone is bad. He can also write and identify his numbers through 10 (something he could NOT do before school, for sure), and knows how to put two single-digit quantities together to make a bigger number, like two and three make five. He knows words like characters and illustrator, and states on a daily basis that "Mr. Katte's office is no place for me!" (the principal...). All in all, it's fair to say that he is really, really enjoying school. I am absolutely amazed at how he has handled the transition, and how much he is enjoying learning.  I do have to say, though, that as I anticipated, anything that requires work beyond literal or memorized skills is difficult for him.  Part of their homework each night is that we have to read together, and log our books on their reading logs.  Being the teacher mom that I am, I of course am not just going to read; I am going to ask all of the many types of comprehension questions.  Here is a snippet of my questioning of Anderson two nights ago:

Me (reading aloud): "The big boat said, 'Thanks, Joe!'  Anderson, what did the big boat say?"
Anderson:  "Uhhhhh...he said he wanted to float?"
Me (reading aloud again): "Listen...The big boat said, 'Thanks, Joe!'  What did the big boat say?"
Anderson:  Uhhh...he said he wanted to go home?"
Me (reading louder): "LISTEN...The big boat SAID,'THANKS, JOE!' WHAT did the big boat say?"
Anderson: "Thanks???"

Shew. We have some work to do, there.  Good thing I'm professionally trained. :-)

Amelia has also learned so much.  She already knew letters and sounds and numbers and all that jazz, but she's learned quite a few sight words and lots of content information. The other day, I asked her if she did reading groups. You know, because I'm nosy about what other schools do in kindergarten.  Her response surprised me; she said, "Yep! Sure do! I go to journal, then Mrs. Smith, then phonics, then ABCs, then Ms. Lundgren!"  She has her group/center rotation memorized already!  So, I asked her what she wrote in her journal. She proudly said, "My opinion!" I was totally blown away. As stupid as it is, because I work with the standards pretty much every single day and have most of them at least partially memorized, I never thought about MY kids learning the standards.  You Fayette County people following the pacing guides for ELA standards know that the first writing piece is an opinion piece. I couldn't believe it. Not only did she know what an opinion was, she was able to tell me about what she wrote. I cannot believe my daughter is WRITING.

So, all in all, school has just gone so much better than expected.  I'm thrilled.  Coming up next in our lives: Anderson starts private swim lessons. That's going to be interesting.

Next post will be all about the wedding that the kids were in this past weekend. It was a whirlwind of a few days, but it was unbelieveable. They did great and we all had a truly fabulous time. Can't wait to share.

Kindergarten Comedy

I've known for years that kindergartners are funny little people. I love going into our K classrooms and just talking to the kids because they say some hilarious stuff (sidenote: I love kindergartners. I could never teach kindergarten.  I do not have the patience, and those teachers are saints). My own K babies are no exception to this rule. We've had some pretty funny conversations around here since the dynamic duo started their educational career.  A few highlights:

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The kids are supposed to listen to reading every night as part of homework.  I don't know about you all, but we honestly don't have time for me to read two different stories to two kindergartners. So, while they have their bedtime snack after showers, I read out loud to them.  They weren't keen on this at first, but it's grown on them. Amelia has always been a good listener and can answer questions, make predictions, all of that good stuff.  Anderson...well...he has the attention span of a flea, and that's putting it mildly.  That first night, he kept trying to talk to me about all things non-related to the book.  As often happens with teacher moms, I was getting very frustrated. We had the following exchange:

Anderson:  Mom, I played outside today...
Me:  Anderson--I'm reading. Listen to the book.
Anderson:  Can I have a sandwich for lunch?
Me:  LISTEN to the story!
Anderson:  You know what mom? I can't take showers when my nose is runny....
Me:  ANDERSON!!! STOP TALKING!!
Anderson:  Mom...
Me (loudly and with the correct hand gesture--and you know what I mean): ZIP IT!!!!!!  ZIP!!!! IT!!!!!!
I continue reading.  Anderson doesn't talk, but I can see him gesturing wildly out of the corner of my eye, trying to get my attention. I ignore. He continues. I finally look at him.
Me: WHAT??????
Anderson (whispering and pointing to his mouth): But I don't have a zipper....

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Upon getting in the van each day, Amelia doesn't want to talk about what she learned at school that day. She wants to tell me all about who got in trouble. As a nosy concerned parent, I'm all for this kind of dishing.  It may not be a stretch to even say that maybe I ask her about it now. Anyway, last week she got in the van and here was our conversation:

Amelia:  I'm sad...my friend Hannah just got in trouble.
Me:  What did she get in trouble for?
Amelia: She hit my brother...she had to sit in time out.
Me (foolishly thinking she might be upset for this injustice thrust upon her brother):  Ohhh...are you sad that your brother was hit, or are you sad because she got in trouble??
Amelia:  I'm sad she got in trouble!
Me:  Well, why did she hit Anderson?
Amelia:  Well...I said to her, "Get him!!!", and she did.
Me:  Ummm....well...did you play with her after she got out of time out?
Amelia;  No. She didn't want to play with me after that.

Can't say I blame Hannah. My girl is already hiring hitmen.

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Anderson, naturally, has speech.  His speech pathologist is wonderful and was kind enough to email me something Anderson said during his first official speech session. He attends speech with another student, and apparently this little guy is quite...loquacious.  He tends to try to dominate the conversation.  Anyway, here's what happened:

Anderson (to Speech Pathologist, hereby known as SP):  I want to tell you about showers...
Other kid:  Blah blah blah blahblahblahblah....
Anderson: HEY! I was trying to tell...(he looks at the SP)...um, what's your name?
SP:  Mrs. H...
Anderson:  I was trying to tell Mrs. H about something!!!!!

She was impressed with his speech that day, I can tell you. He's already cracking everyone up.

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I know there are more funnies that I can't even remember in my overtired state.  We've already had our first funk-of-the-year; Anderson threw up at school yesterday and ran a fever all night.  His teacher texted to ask about him and let me know he was the first to "christen" her classroom this year (aka puke all over the place). Proud mom here, I'll tell ya. He also managed to puke all over my couch, something I had been able to avoid for FIVE YEARS. That was a hell of a streak. Anyway, I'm tired and staring at Amelia like the ticking time bomb that she is. Yay, kindergarten germs!

Happy 2nd ARDSiversary

This week marks the two year anniversary of Marty's near-death ARDS experience.  In some ways it seems like a lifetime ago, and in others it feels like it was just yesterday. I've been both dreading and anticipating it this year because I have the TimeHop app on my phone, and I knew it would bring up my Facebook updates from that time in our history. I'm sure it sounds a little bit crazy, but it's something I never want to forget. The raw emotions of the whole experience are an important fingerprint on my life. It changed me forever, helped me not to take things for granted, so as painful as it is, I need to remember it.

TimeHop is not disappointing me:

That particular day was the absolute worst of my whole life. It's a blur of sitting in the ICU waiting room, doctors and nurses updating me periodically with numbers I didn't understand.  The part of the day I remember most vividly is actually that night. Marty was too unstable for me to comfortably go home.  I slept at the hospital that night, my mother-in-law and sister with me in the waiting room with the lights that wouldn't turn off, much less dim. Everyone finally fell into restless sleep around midnight--everyone except me. I lay there in that uncomfortable chair covered in hospital linens that have that bleached-out, sterile smell that you only find in hospitals. I laid there and I cried. I cried more than I've ever cried in my entire life. Every single time I closed my eyes, all I could picture was my children without their father. Me telling them that he was gone.  Their reactions. It absolutely shattered me. It was the kind of grief that you only experience a few times in your life. The kind that changes you.

These days, things are pretty good.  During Marty's last hospitalization, we discovered that he has significant sleep apnea, most likely caused by the brain tumor he had in his 20s. Since then, he has used a C-PAP machine, which has both helped his apnea issues and his drainage/aspiration issues. Having the constant blast of air has really kept his lungs drier, for lack of a better word.  He had a cold this past week, and for the first time in YEARS--and I mean YEARS--he didn't wake up one morning with lung crackles and rattling. His chest stayed completely clear. Between sleeping in a recliner that keeps him at an upright angle and using the C-PAP, we are figuring out how to keep him healthier.

So, in a time when things are completely hectic--both kids are getting used to school and the boy is still struggling with PE, work is busy for both of us and some days are just plain hard--those are the things that make me grateful.  Grateful that things worked out, despite how grim they seemed on the date of the picture posted above. Even on the craziest days, I'll never take our insane lives for granted.

(If you're interested in reading more about ARDS, including stories of people just like Marty, visit the ARDS Foundation here. )

Why having your kids go to school is hardest for teachers.

The As have two weeks of kindergarten under their belts.  They've pretty well rocked it, if I do say so myself. Aside from an unfortunate whistle-blowing incident in PE, during which Anderson freaked out, things have gone fairly smoothly--from what I can tell.

I've decided that being a teacher and having your kids go to school is just incredibly hard. I'm not taking anything away from you non-teacher mothers out there, but I think it's even harder for us. Especially if our kids aren't in our school. See, I know too much. I've spent the last seven years as a K-3 Curriculum Coach. That means I go into K-3 classrooms and work with teachers to create engaging units and lesson plans that meet curriculum standards. Sometimes I model-teach, which is one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes I work with kids in intervention groups. Sometimes I just hang out, because I miss being with the students.  But another part of my job is to attend professional development sessions, so that I can stay informed about all that is up-and-coming in education. Over the past seven years, I bet I've had well over 400 hours of PD on topics ranging from behavior management to very specific literacy strategy instruction. I've been fortunate enough to attend many national conferences. All this to say--obviously I have very specific ideas of what I believe instruction should look like in classrooms. How teachers should teach. What they teach and when they should teach it. At my own school I collaborate with our leadership team and our teachers to be sure that we are providing the best instruction possible. I KNOW what happens in OUR classrooms. But my kids are going to our neighborhood school. I have absolutely no idea what happens all day every day. And that's hard for me.

Don't misunderstand; their homeroom teachers have been nothing short of amazing. I've had many interactions with them already, and I know that they are good teachers. They're kind, warm, and just right for my kids. But I have no clue what they do all day! Sure, they bring home a newsletter and the odd worksheet here and there. That doesn't tell me what their literacy block looks like. Do they do a combination of whole group and small group instruction? What does it look like when they're teaching phonics? Are they teaching them correct letter formation? Do they have an assessment that they use to drive instruction? Are they monitoring the class to be sure that my little crazies are actually paying attention?

If you have kids in school, you know what kinds of responses you get when you ask them what they did at school that day. Anderson immediately talks about the whistle in gym (we are working hard to get over that...), even if he didn't go to gym that day. Amelia pretty much just gives me the run-down on who got in trouble that day in her room. Sometimes, if I ask just the right question, I get something out of them. Amelia read the "David" books her first week and told me that she learned that "mothers and teachers still love their kids if they get into trouble".  Anderson can recite his class rules, and apparently they have some kind of class motto: "Be kind, be honest, be your BEST!"  The "best" in the motto is said with a nice fist pump. I know there are good things going on.  But not knowing the instructional part of it is, well, hard.

I don't know. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it'll help me let go of some of my controlling tendencies. Or maybe I'll just continue to hound the teachers and be "that mom". I'm just playing it by ear. :-)

Lucky

The kids spent last week with Marty's parents (aka Nana and Papaw). I had three days of professional development for work, followed by a full workday this past Monday, and Marty couldn't take off four days in a row. Since we have no local family, this was the best option--especially since the kids absolutely LOVE going to stay with them. I missed them terribly, but was so busy with work that I didn't have time to focus on them being gone. 

They came home Monday afternoon. I don't think I've ever been happier to see anyone in my life. They were happy, full of stories and excitement over both their trip and the fact that they were home to their toys, their dog, and most exciting of all--their new bunk beds. After hugs and kisses all around, we jumped right back into our routine, spending time playing outside together before getting ready for bed. After showers and pajamas, I asked Anderson if we were going to "snuggle", which is code for getting into my bed and watching his favorite elevator videos. I was shocked to realize that I couldn't WAIT to "snuggle". In the hectic whirlwind that is our everyday lives, "snuggling" is just another thing to check off the list before I can finally drag myself to bed, and I admit it; sometimes, I wish I could just skip it. Sometimes, I wish he was just one of those kids who says goodnight and crawls into bed, kind of like his sister. And most of the time, I would rather watch anything than elevator videos (linked in case you want to check out Anderson's current favorite). Watching grown men, albeit also on the ASD spectrum, ride and talk about elevators is not the most...entertaining thing to watch. It is admittedly oftentimes like listening to fingernails down a chalkboard.

On this day, though, I swear it was as if I had taken off the blinders of our regular busy routine. I was seeing our routine through new eyes. As we crawled into my bed and he pulled the comforter up to his chin, I watched him. I looked at his little profile in the light of the phone; his slightly pudgy cheeks and nose that are still holding onto toddlerhood.  His long blonde eyelashes and perfect pouty lips. His slightly out-turned ears and fuzzy hair. His eyes, intent on the videos. His genuine smile as he looked at me and said, "see those indicators?" I watched it all and soaked it in, stored it in a locked treasure box in my heart that I can unlock on those days when I literally would rather do anything than the bedtime routine. In those moments, I was purely and completely grateful. Thankful for all of it--for the gorgeous blonde boy that I created and love so fiercely. For the fact that he is on the spectrum, because he has taught me so damn much about acceptance and quirkiness, that different and unique aren't qualities to be embarrassed of but real actual gifts. Gifts that are so rare in this conformist world! In that moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude, gratitude that I was chosen to be his mother.

Life isn't always so sugar-sweet and perfect. I know that there will be days, probably sooner rather than later, where I will once again dread the bedtime routine. I'll be so tired and stressed that I just want to get into bed without having to hear Dieselducy talk about original, glass-back cabbed elevators. But I'll remember that particular night and know in the back of my mind that it's all a gift I was lucky enough to receive.

Our Orbit

He wakes up, and I know. I know immediately. Breakfast is a battle, the granola bars he has eaten a million times, including yesterday, are "yucky". They are "bad", they "will make you throw up".  He glances out the window and sees an overcast sky and cries. It's going to rain today, he says. We can't play outside. Oh no, we can't play outside anymore ever again. We are fifteen minutes into the day, and I know.

His orbit is at its farthest point from me. He's on that outer arc, pushing against the gravity that threatens to bring him back, closer to me, to his family.  It's a struggle; he wants to come back and he doesn't want to come back, and it's a familiar, painful struggle.

I know what the day will be like, and I'm right. Every simple decision is hard, none of the toys cooperate and there are many tears, lots of yelling and hurt feelings. Amelia understands the cycle, but she's five.  On these days, we go above and beyond to find creative things to do, things that are novel and new but not outside the comfort zone. On this particular day, we make Eclair cake, which requires the use of a mixer--one of his favorite things. He settles in, gets his toy mixer out and just like that, calm settles over the house. We breathe, and enjoy a solid hour of quiet play.

These orbital shifts are hard. There are a few rough days, days where he swings, almost out of control, through that farthest point. In the beginning, his anxiety spread through our house and caused everyone to be on edge. But that's the thing about orbits. They're routine, and predictable. So while my wild satellite inevitably pushes his way to that distant part of his path, the part that is most distant from me, I hunker down to ride it out, knowing that almost as quickly as he swings away, he will always, always come back around to me.