I recently learned

1.  Neutral ground for playdates is a really really good idea (and kids personal bedrooms are a bad space for learning how to share.)

2.  You can find lots of clothes for 3 year old girls at thrift/consignment stores easily, but 5 year old boy clothing in good condition is a rare treasure.

3.  L and I have very similar taste in clothing.  She went through the shopping bag when we arrived home and picked out the two items I liked best and then demanded to try them on.

4.  Even if it is the first day of sun and temps over fifty in months I will still get badly sunburnt in two hours (but my kids won't.)

5.  Navigating the muddy waters of independence, cooperation and grace when things aren't the way you'd like is hard at 4 and still almost as hard at 30.

6.  Computer game play is the only thing that will motivate G enough to actually poop on the toilet.  Candy, toys, stickers, charts, praise, pleading and stories are not it.

7.  It bothers me to hear someone use the word mainstream as a verb and specifically when it is their biggest goal for my child's educational future.

8.  Food, games and activities are all much more appealing to 2 and 4 year olds when offered by peers and siblings than pesky adults.

9.  The dog will actually eat a cigarette butt if we try to make him spit it out.  Ugh!

10.  G has developed an interest in the notion of a secret formula.  (Where does he get this stuff?!)  He named one of his animal creations Secret Formula and made sure his dad typed it out right for him.

loud, crazy fun at the farm

We took an evening this weekend and went to a nearby farm.  It was a lot of fun.  It's a historic farm with lots of animals, old buildings to explore (many have been restored now) and various treasures to find hidden in the corners.  We did have to watch out for a few angry geese, but all the other animals were friendly and well behaved.

G's favorite parts of the trip were climbing on the antique tractors they have stationed around the barns and twiddling with knobs (which happily do nothing these days) and cockadoodle-dooing back and forth with a rooster in a nearby tree.  G let out a cockadoodle and then listened for the rooster to answer.  If there was silence, he turned to me to ask "Rooster do it again Mama?  Cockadoodle-doo again?"


L's favorite highlights were the loud noises of the sheep with small lambs as they called to eachother and sticking her nose right next to the rabbit hutches so she could announce if the rabbit in that house was a "biiig" rabbit or a "smaaaaaall" rabbit.

My favorite parts were the kids' enthusiasm as they ran all over excitedly and seeing a bit of sunshine.

half full

I've been wrestling with questions here.  Too many questions, not enough answers and an overall lack of good strong, appealing options to choose.  The lesser of two evils... why is that a choice I have to make for my kid?  Ugh.  And then I have to wonder, what if the amount of evil is less but the damage done by that particular evil is more intense.  The knots in my stomach are practically braiding themselves.

I've been thinking about Kindergarten.  Not for me, for the little guy, G.  The way things are set up, Kindergarten placement is in black and white.  Regular Education and Special Education.  I had been obsessing over hoping that G would be accepted into the charter program called Open Classroom where they encourage parent involvement and participation as well as different approaches to learning in general.  But we got a letter saying Nope! this past weekend, so I'm back to mulling over our limited options and researching the earliest date to reapply to Open Classroom for 1st grade.

What do I do when there is no good choice for my kid?  How can I reconcile with that?  I want things to be right, not bad or mediocre, not maybe, possibly pleaseGodpleaseGod okay.  If it was just me, it wouldn't be so huge, but this is my baby, who I treasure above all else and who I want to see shine to the best of his ability.  I'm thinking: It's the beginning of his education.  Everything rests on the next few years, right?  And then I realized that just because we think of school as the only place to learn, it doesn't mean that's accurate.  G has done most of his learning at home, the fun stuff like animal noises and strange fish anatomy as well as the really hard trudges through frustrating and confusing concepts like asking permission (how and when), the idea that not making a choice is still a choice with consequences, and that sometimes your favorite shirt is dirty and therefore unwearable.  School can be the extra, the addition to what we do at home.  That will work for us.  And if I need to show up frequently at school so that I can make sure things are going well and I know what's happening in the classroom bring by fresh baked cookies and craft supplies I found in the cupboard at home, I will.

I know I am an idealist in life and certainly as a mom.  It's not a bad thing, even though it can be frustrating.  It keeps me wishing and hoping and looking and adjusting my perspective.  Oh, how I wish that so many things weren't painted in black and white.  Would it be so hard to have integrated, combined kinds of education continue throughout elementary schools?  Why can't there be more alternative options.... homeschool groups that aren't formed based on religious beliefs, other public charter options, more different kinds of classrooms with different approaches?  Why is it a choice between not enough help and not enough challenge?  

G will keep learning and growing and charming the flowers out of the ground, just like he always has, and I will keep learning how to be as graceful as possible in the alien landscape of parenthood.

time pains

I don't know exactly how much G understands about the concept of time as the Western world defines and values it, because he can't tell me, but from what I can glean, there are gaping holes.  I know he doesn't understand months, or years.  I don't think he understands weeks.  I do think he knows what a day is, but if I say yesterday or tomorrow it doesn't seem to click for him.  Anything past or future is most often out of reach in conversations.  We live in the here and now, even when we don't want to.  G does best with visual representations when he's learning and Time is pretty hard to show visually.  How do you draw a picture of "If we have time after going the grocery store and the bank then maybe we can make playdough volcanoes"?  We have calendars with pictures of activities, and he loves to look at clocks, but when I tell him we will make cookies in a little while, I don't know what he thinks I mean, or if he thinks I don't mean anything at all and am ignoring his request.  Maybe he thinks I just pick what we are doing or not doing at any moment without there being any rules imposed on me in my decision making.  Schooltime is not 12:40 p.m. but rather, whenever Mama decides it's time for school.  I wish the world fitted itself around me.  Then I could set my clock by my kids needs and desires.


We talk about days of the week and time but it's still our number one enemy right now.  It is hard to accept schedules, changes of plan, specific orders of events when you don't know why it is the way it is.  It's hard for G to live within the rules that most of us do.  He has tantrums because we have to do something he doesn't want to do before something he really wants to do and he can't understand why.  I wonder if he imagines the world is out to make him miserable, or that Mama makes every decision about everything like what days school is happening, when it is lunchtime, when we run out of his most beloved food: cheese, how long it takes to get home, whether or not it's sunny out, etc., etc.  That's just they way it is does not impress him.  In fact, it's an assemblage of words that means nothing to him as well as not explaining anything when we run into trouble.  Occasionally I catch myself wishing he could just take "Because that's the way it works" as an answer, but then I remember that I was never satisfied with that kind of adult speak as a kid either.  He wants to understand how everything works and doesn't, and that's a gift.  And I'd definitely miss his thorough examinations of why things are the way they are if he didn't care, even though they quite frequently drive both of us into a state of utter frustration.  


Now I'm off to the school playground to watch G play and then to convince him that time to go home is coming whether or not he wants it to.

no good, very bad day

It was one of those days when things just seemed to keep going the wrong way.  The water heater finally gave up on life.  Much book keeping and accounting needed to be done and redone.  Ugh.  And then, G had a breakdown at his friends birthday party.  You might think I'd be most upset by the major appliance failure or the utterly dreaded book keeping fiasco, but you'd be wrong.

The party was at a museum and we thoroughly enjoyed looking at dinosaur bones, doing crafts and a few songs.  G was happy to wish his friend a happy birthday, meet some new people and check out some exhibits.  Then G saw the collection of presents.  His friends' mom had told me "no gifts" so I was unprepared for that and so was G.  If I had known ahead of time I might have been able to prepare him, but I didn't and he wasn't.  He insisted that he wanted the orange car he saw peeking out of a bag.  I explained we had plenty of cars at home and we would try to find an orange one when we got there.  It was a futile attempt.  He began crying and insisting it was his own birthday so he could also have presents.

We stayed a few minutes, trying to calm down and finally went outside to cry for another twenty minutes or so.  Finally he calmed down enough to go back and join the group, only to have well-meaning people try to talk to him and encourage him to be happy which sent him off into another bout of uncontrollable tears.  I got our bag and went downstairs.  He eventually calmed down.  We met the kids coming out and he said thank you and I said I'm sorry.  We walked down the hall and met G's dad and I dissolved into my own fit of tears.

It shouldn't be so hard, surprising or painful.  But sometimes, it just hits me head-on.  My boy doesn't know all the rules.  I try my best to teach him, but there are many many things he just can't grasp.  What's a yesterday, for example, and why on earth would I want to talk about it?  My birthday's in the summer... what does that mean, besides no presents now?  The word because... what's that all about?  There's so much more, mostly the abstract kind of things, like time.  It's really frustrating for G to live in a world where the rules don't make sense, or just seem plucked out of nowhere for the occasion.  It's also really frustrating for me to try to bridge the gaps, and when I fail, to try to scrape some sense of togetherness and understanding we can share so the world doesn't feel so harsh and cruel and random.

Today I was sad for G, that he couldn't enjoy the rest of the party and that he couldn't understand and make peace with his friend getting presents today.  I was worried about G causing stress or unhappiness for the other kids and parents at the party.  And, I was embarrassed.  And then guilty about feeling embarrassed.  I understand where things went wrong and I don't blame him, but sometimes I just want things to be easy, without the need to explain. I shouldn't be embarrassed.  What's wrong with me?!  I love this kid!  My buttons are bursting, I'm amazed by how much he's learned and how many steps he's taken toward the world most people inhabit.  And yet, an afternoon like today comes and I am the one who is unable to function because of communication barriers.  I am the one bawling in front of the ancient pottery shards while my now happy, curious boy wanders around drinking in natural history.  I need to remember I'm a work in progress as much as my boy is, and take a few minutes here and there to think about where I am, who I am, who I want to be.

We came home and talked about it.  G looked off to the side, obviously uncomfortable.  I don't think if we went to another party tomorrow it would be alright, but if we talk it through enough, tell stories about birthdays and friends and parties, we're bound to get there sometime.  I asked him to look at my eyes and listen while I told him I loved him.  Now I will have tiramisu and hugs and hope and prepare for a happier day.

the best pinecone

It's the last day of the school week and all the kids are tired.  G and his friend (I'll call him Joshua) are rolling down the hill after class lets out.  They find pinecones and roll those down.  After a long twenty minutes of happy playing and successful sharing, trading and taking turns, there is a moment when they both reach for the same pinecone.  It's a particularly nice one, very rich brown and intact compared with the other greyish, tattering pinecones.  Neither or them is practiced at sharing but they are both working on it.  Joshua grabs it first.  G looks upset.  Joshua looks equally grumpy.  Joshua haltingly holds out the pinecone in his hand for G to take but as soon as it's in G's hand Joshua starts wailing.  Joshua's dad and I try in vain to help prompt compromises and soothe overtired, overexerted 4 year old friends.  No other pinecones will do for either boy.    

In the end each of us carries a crying boy across the playground and down the sidewalk to the parking lot.  G begins to quiet a few times, but hears Joshua and starts again.  I ask if he wants to say goodbye to Joshua and he says no.  We arrive at the car and he calms down a bit, asking for a hug.  I pick him up and hug him and ask him if he's sad because Joshua was upset.  He tells me: G and Joshua sad.  (This is big!  He isn't usually able to talk about more than one person's feelings at a time)  I buckle him in his seat and he says: Show Daddy G and Joshua sad.  Sometimes G wants to show Daddy an art project or other preschool treasure when he gets home.  The idea of telling his dad about something important that happened to him, especially involving feelings... what a breakthrough!

I spend the entire car ride home fantasizing about G telling me stories of what he did at school today, how his friends feel about white and red striped race cars, how he came to be under a beanbag when a classmate sat on top of it (I heard that one from his teacher who thought it was funny and was concerned I might wonder how he got a scratch on  his forehead.)

We get home and G runs into the house, still intent on telling his important news to his dad.  I am thrilled.  G and Joshua sad.  Roll down hill, throw pinecones down hill.  I wait as he talks, then fill in the blanks.  Then I remark to my husband how lucky he is, to actually be hearing news about what happened at school from G, and that it's bigger news than just what flavor muffin they ate today.  We all beam at eachother for a moment before G starts begging to play computer games.

persevere. symptom? heroism?

Perseveration.

• the tendency for a memory or idea to persist or recur without any apparent stimulus for it
• the act of persisting or persevering; continuing or repeating behavior

   It's a new word to me.  I heard echolalia two years ago for the first time.  These words were both revealed to me in reference to my son G.  He started using echolalia (repeating the words he hears over and over) about the time we started going to speech/behavioral evaluations to try to help him build his verbal language skills.  I was completely unconcerned.  It was obvious to me (the person who is with him every single day of his life so far, watching him, holding him, listening to him, talking to him) he was working at building his language.  He was repeating everything in order to understand it, to learn how to use the words himself.  It wasn't too long before he was no longer using echolalia all day long.  The therapists, however, saw the echolalia as a problem.  "He's stuck."  "He doesn't understand."  "We should fix that."

I use my own experiences as a compass on this journey.  It's all I have.  They are usually not too far off the mark.  When I am working through something I perseverate.  I replay a conversation over and over in my head.  I change things, look at all the angles.  Remember what each moment felt like.  Imagine what the other person was feeling at each moment.  Think about changing things.  This is what I do when I feel helpless, when I feel lost, when I feel like angry.

My gut tells me this is what G is doing now when he perseverates.  He is working on things.  It may look, feel and be an enactment of being stuck.  But it means he is thinking and feeling and working.  This is good.  He is growing, even when he is also pushing hard and going nowhere.

I think it's fascinating how perseveration is a problem, but perseverance is one of those words you might find on an inspirational poster.  They are so close.  One is a heroic act, celebrated, the other a symptom.  I don't buy it.  I think they are two sides of the same coin.  One the one hand, G and I have these horridly upsetting conversations that go around in circles and don't resolve as he says the same phrase or question over and over.  On the other hand, as we are having the looping conversations I believe that we are both trying to find ways to slow down the momentum, to find safe passage to resolution.  I may not be able to "change the topic" as a therapist put it, but (in my mommy heart I believe) that's not what he needs now.  He needs to resolve the spinning so that he can change the topic.  He needs to understand, not just memorize the next step in the conversation.  And the way he will get there?  Endless repetition.  I'll be there with him.

Many horribly miserable conversations with G have been retold in positive and happy new ways since I have been able to understand him better.  Now I now that he has a hard time understanding "not", I can rephrase what I say so he can take it in.  Example:  In the car on the way to school he takes a toy airplane he loves.  Before I would say, "G, you can't take toys into your class, okay?"  He would scream and throw the plane in frustration.  He didn't understand the rules.  He needs (like we all do) to understand the rules to feel confident and comfortable, to trust.  Now I say, "G, when we get to school you leave the plane in the car, okay?"  He looks at me and puts the airplane happily into the pocket of his carseat.

The hardest conversations right now involve time.  "Not tonight."  "Maybe later."  "In a little while."  "Tomorrow."  He seems to sort these responses into two columns... yes and no.  He counts my facial expressions, my tone, my enthusiasm as part of the response because he doesn't understand most of those phrases up there.    He asks again.  I repeat myself.  He asks again, this time looking angry and sad.  I say "I'm sorry; we can't right now.  I know you're sad."  I put my arms out in an appeal.  He pushes me away.  I stay and bear witness to his misery.  He puts his arms up for me to pick him up.  I hold him and tell him I'm sorry.  He asks for me to wipe his eyes, wet from tears.  I say "Okay." and wipe the wetness from his face.  I desperately hope he knows I am there with him, even when the language barrier is too high to scale.

One of the things about G's otherness that scares me the most is this:  There are things about G that I believe he would like help to overcome.  There are other things about G which could be called other or strange that I believe are who he is and are beautiful and good.  I want him to keep these parts of himself safe.  I want him to treasure and revel in who he is, not water it down, hide it, make it fit into some other person's expectations.  It's sometimes hard to figure out which is which or stop and ponder if I am trying to "fix" something because it is causing harm to him or because other people don't understand it.

What I want most for G now and always, is that he will be happy, that he will understand himself and other people, that he will love himself, that he will let himself wholly be who he is.