Mia's preschool just started a program called Raising a Reader. It's neat. It's like the library coming to you. Every week the kids get a book bag with 4 books. They keep them for a week, take them back and exchange it for a new bag with new books. Great program.
For the past year or so, Mia has been getting extremely emotional with movies and stories, often with good reason. She cries when Mufasa dies in Lion King. She cries when Mr. Frederickson's house floats away in UP. She cries when Tinkerbell breaks the moonstone. At my mom's house a few days ago, she dropped a marble in the pool and was hysterical until her daddy fished it out with the pool net. Needless to say, she is becoming very sensitive.
Well this week's Raising a Reader bag should have a warning label, "CAUTION: MAY CAUSE UNCONTROLLABLE SOBBING!"
The first book, Giving Thanks: A Native American Good Morning Message was just fine.
The second one, My Lucky Day, was getting a little risky for tears. It's about a wolf trying to eat a pig. The end of the story was pretty cute but Mia was very concerned about the pig's welfare and was a little nervous throughout the story. (This is probably a good time to mention that her favorite toy is a stuffed pig)
The third book, The Snowman, was great until the very last page...where he melts! I should have seen that one coming. Poor Mia was fighting back tears as she asked, "he can build another one, right?" I assured her he could and quickly suggested moving on to the 4th book to get her mind off the sad story.
The last book, Mama, was the worst of all! It's a true story about a baby hippo named Owen who loses his mother in a Tsunami. He is rescued and taken to a wildlife sanctuary where he adopts a tortoise as his mother. Mia was beside herself. She cried and cried and was completely inconsolable. I looked up the real Owen on the internet so she could see pictures of him and see how happy he is with his turtle mama. She just kept crying and saying that she she would be so sad to lose me and she didn't want a new mama. I could not detach her from my side. She cried the rest of the evening and came and got into bed with me twice in the middle of the night!
I may need to preview the books from now on!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Miracle Worker
Have you ever had that moment when you realize that you are unconsciously acting out a movie scene?
A few weeks ago at dinner Maddox and I were having a battle of wills. Typically he does well at the table. The boy loves to eat. But every once in a while he will get this look of utter defiance on his face and begin throwing food in every direction. This particular day it was applesauce. He eats really well with spoon and fork, but this day he was determined to stick his fingers in the applesauce. Maddox is a sensory sensitive kid when it comes to weird textures. He hates to have stuff stick to his fingers, like applesauce. So when he does get something like that on them, he shakes them furiously in an attempt to get it off. It's like sticking applesauce in a fan. It goes everywhere. I'd had a long day at work and was not going to spend the rest of the evening wiping applesauce off the walls. So I took it away. Immediate screaming. I handed him his spoon and put the applesauce back in front of him. He puts the spoon down and reaches to stick his hand in it and I snatch it away. More screaming. Again I hand him the spoon and he throws it...as hard as he can. I pick it up and force his little fist open and force those amazingly strong fingers closed around it. I dip in in the applesauce and force the spoon to his mouth. Thinking I won, I let go. He spits out the applesauce and hurls the spoon across the room again. So we start over. At this point Jason and Mia quietly snuck out of the room. We did it over and over and he screamed and whined and after what seemed like hours, finally gave in and took a bite with his spoon. I was exhausted!
Suddenly the scene began to feel eerily familiar.
Does anyone remember that old movie about Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan, The Miracle Worker? (If not click on the link to see the scene I'm talking about). There is a scene where Anne is trying to teach Helen to eat at the table and the interaction gets quite violent. I promise there was no slapping in our scene!
Part of me found this comical and the other part of me was a little discouraged. Will it always be so hard to teach him things? Having had a neurotypical child first (yes, having a child with autism comes with it's own vocabulary), it seemed like Mia just learned things on her own. I never really felt like I was teaching her. She just picked it up.
As I began to dwell on that, I remembered the rest of the movie. The rest of Helen Keller's story. She learned to SPEAK. Despite disabilities, despite the hardship, she succeeded. She credited her success to Anne Sullivan, her miracle worker.
Well, guess what? I've got a Miracle Worker of my own.
Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." ~Matthew 19:26
A few weeks ago at dinner Maddox and I were having a battle of wills. Typically he does well at the table. The boy loves to eat. But every once in a while he will get this look of utter defiance on his face and begin throwing food in every direction. This particular day it was applesauce. He eats really well with spoon and fork, but this day he was determined to stick his fingers in the applesauce. Maddox is a sensory sensitive kid when it comes to weird textures. He hates to have stuff stick to his fingers, like applesauce. So when he does get something like that on them, he shakes them furiously in an attempt to get it off. It's like sticking applesauce in a fan. It goes everywhere. I'd had a long day at work and was not going to spend the rest of the evening wiping applesauce off the walls. So I took it away. Immediate screaming. I handed him his spoon and put the applesauce back in front of him. He puts the spoon down and reaches to stick his hand in it and I snatch it away. More screaming. Again I hand him the spoon and he throws it...as hard as he can. I pick it up and force his little fist open and force those amazingly strong fingers closed around it. I dip in in the applesauce and force the spoon to his mouth. Thinking I won, I let go. He spits out the applesauce and hurls the spoon across the room again. So we start over. At this point Jason and Mia quietly snuck out of the room. We did it over and over and he screamed and whined and after what seemed like hours, finally gave in and took a bite with his spoon. I was exhausted!
Suddenly the scene began to feel eerily familiar.
Does anyone remember that old movie about Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan, The Miracle Worker? (If not click on the link to see the scene I'm talking about). There is a scene where Anne is trying to teach Helen to eat at the table and the interaction gets quite violent. I promise there was no slapping in our scene!
Part of me found this comical and the other part of me was a little discouraged. Will it always be so hard to teach him things? Having had a neurotypical child first (yes, having a child with autism comes with it's own vocabulary), it seemed like Mia just learned things on her own. I never really felt like I was teaching her. She just picked it up.
As I began to dwell on that, I remembered the rest of the movie. The rest of Helen Keller's story. She learned to SPEAK. Despite disabilities, despite the hardship, she succeeded. She credited her success to Anne Sullivan, her miracle worker.
Well, guess what? I've got a Miracle Worker of my own.
Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." ~Matthew 19:26
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Conviction hurts
This past Sunday, the sermon was about hoarding wealth. It was a great message and I walked away feeling a little conviction about my personal wealth and spending habits. I say 'a little' because if you know me well, you may also know that I rarely spend money on myself. I don't shop much and would rather pay a bill or buy something practical for my children or husband. As my family climbed into our nice big truck and drove to our warm, comfortable home, I half-heartedly vowed to be a better steward of what God has blessed me with and went on with my day as usual. Little did I know how soon this vow would be tested. Little did I know how quickly I would fail.
Monday was a typical work day except that I decided to use my lunch hour to run some errands instead of heading home. I stopped at a local discount store to look for some things to complete my Halloween costume. As I'm walking up to the store, a young man timidly approached me and asked if I had any change. I gave him my usual scripted response: "sorry, I don't carry cash." This is usually true. I never have even a penny in my purse, but as he repeated my words and I walked away, I remembered that I did have cash in my purse.
*I need to interrupt this story to tell you an embarrassing fact about me*
I have a huge problem with giving money to people. It irritates me to see the same people day after day panhandling on the corner in front of stores. I go to the post office every day and the same guy is there day after day asking me for money. As I said earlier, I try to be practical with money. I hate to spend frivolously. I can't stand the thought that if I give someone my "hard earned" dollar, that they might spend it on alcohol or cigarettes instead of a necessity like food. I don't mind giving to the Salvation Army or some similar program where I feel that my money is wisely spent. We also sponsor a child in Kenya through Compassion International. But give some random person on the street a buck? No way! This has been an issue that God has been trying to convict me about for a long time. Our life group recently decided to befriend a homeless couple and learning a little more about them has made me a little more compassionate, but I have still been tightly holding on to every cent.
So back to my story.
As I shopped, I completely forgot about the guy outside the store. I didn't find the stuff I needed for my costume, but I did find an orange shirt for Mia to wear for "orange day" at preschool. So I get up to the register and start to pull out my debit card and I see the corner of a dollar bill peeking out of my wallet. I open it up and quickly count the bills. I had enough to pay cash. I whip out my cash and as the cashier is handing me the change, I glance at the next customer in line behind me. Yup, you guessed it. The guy from outside the store. He quickly lowered his head and I felt the flush of embarrassment and shame. As I practically ran from the store, I heard him counting out change to the cashier.
As I drove back to work with flaming cheeks, a scripture suddenly popped into my head.
Monday was a typical work day except that I decided to use my lunch hour to run some errands instead of heading home. I stopped at a local discount store to look for some things to complete my Halloween costume. As I'm walking up to the store, a young man timidly approached me and asked if I had any change. I gave him my usual scripted response: "sorry, I don't carry cash." This is usually true. I never have even a penny in my purse, but as he repeated my words and I walked away, I remembered that I did have cash in my purse.
*I need to interrupt this story to tell you an embarrassing fact about me*
I have a huge problem with giving money to people. It irritates me to see the same people day after day panhandling on the corner in front of stores. I go to the post office every day and the same guy is there day after day asking me for money. As I said earlier, I try to be practical with money. I hate to spend frivolously. I can't stand the thought that if I give someone my "hard earned" dollar, that they might spend it on alcohol or cigarettes instead of a necessity like food. I don't mind giving to the Salvation Army or some similar program where I feel that my money is wisely spent. We also sponsor a child in Kenya through Compassion International. But give some random person on the street a buck? No way! This has been an issue that God has been trying to convict me about for a long time. Our life group recently decided to befriend a homeless couple and learning a little more about them has made me a little more compassionate, but I have still been tightly holding on to every cent.
So back to my story.
As I shopped, I completely forgot about the guy outside the store. I didn't find the stuff I needed for my costume, but I did find an orange shirt for Mia to wear for "orange day" at preschool. So I get up to the register and start to pull out my debit card and I see the corner of a dollar bill peeking out of my wallet. I open it up and quickly count the bills. I had enough to pay cash. I whip out my cash and as the cashier is handing me the change, I glance at the next customer in line behind me. Yup, you guessed it. The guy from outside the store. He quickly lowered his head and I felt the flush of embarrassment and shame. As I practically ran from the store, I heard him counting out change to the cashier.
As I drove back to work with flaming cheeks, a scripture suddenly popped into my head.
The Sheep and the Goats (Matthew 25:31-46)
When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.
I felt sick, I wanted to cry, I wanted to pull over to the side of the road and fall on my knees, I wanted to race back to the store and find the guy, I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. I saw myself clearly for what I am: I am a selfish, greedy person. I may not hoard for myself, but I sure hoard for my family. I feel entitled to what I earn and am not willing to share it with those who have not 'earned' it for themselves. Who do I think I am? I sure don't look like a Christ-follower. I had FAILED and failed badly. I parked my truck and sat slumped in my seat. All I could do was cry out, "Oh God, that was YOU! I just said no to YOU!"
I have struggled with this all week. I am red with embarrassment now as I write this. Each time I think of it, I again cry out in my heart, "I'm so sorry."
So friends, please pray for me. I sure could use it.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
I'm how old?
"How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?"
~ Satchel Paige
This year, as I watched Mia count down with glee to her 4th birthday and ask nearly everyday when her 5th birthday will be, I remembered how when I was young, I couldn't wait to get older. While I still look forward to my birthday, I've lost my joy over attaining that extra year. I've never been one to deny my age. Maybe because I always look younger than I am. Today is my 34th birthday. 34...while I don't deny it, I can't believe it. I sure don't feel 34. I think my mind got stuck somewhere around 29. Old enough to be past the bad choices and stupidity of my early 20's and still not yet the dreaded 30. Maybe it's because my life finally came together at 29. Or maybe it's because that year was such a whirlwind of change that I haven't recovered yet! That was the year Jason and I got married and we were blessed with Mia. Life has been so crazy hectic since. I don't think my mind has caught up!
My body on the other hand, has decided that I am about 75. I don't have enough fingers to count all the ways my body is betraying me. Too many aches and pains! As I sat in the cardiologist's office yesterday with a room full of other patients easily 40 years older than me, I could feel all eyes on me as everyone (including myself) wondered what in the world I was doing there. Today as I woke up, my first sensation was being tangled up in the heart monitor I have to wear for the next several hours. What a way to wake up on my birthday, with a reminder of my ailments!
Gray hair is like a crown of glory: it is attained in the path of righteousness.
~ Proverbs 16:31
Really God? You're going to have to help me with this one because as I'm looking in the mirror, I just don't see those gray hairs as a blessing. And please forgive me because I have every intention of covering them up!
All in all, I embrace my 34 years and vow to make this year one of regaining health and growing in faith and wisdom.
"Do not regret growing older, it is a privilege denied to many."
~ unknown
Happy 34th birthday to me!!!
~ Satchel Paige
This year, as I watched Mia count down with glee to her 4th birthday and ask nearly everyday when her 5th birthday will be, I remembered how when I was young, I couldn't wait to get older. While I still look forward to my birthday, I've lost my joy over attaining that extra year. I've never been one to deny my age. Maybe because I always look younger than I am. Today is my 34th birthday. 34...while I don't deny it, I can't believe it. I sure don't feel 34. I think my mind got stuck somewhere around 29. Old enough to be past the bad choices and stupidity of my early 20's and still not yet the dreaded 30. Maybe it's because my life finally came together at 29. Or maybe it's because that year was such a whirlwind of change that I haven't recovered yet! That was the year Jason and I got married and we were blessed with Mia. Life has been so crazy hectic since. I don't think my mind has caught up!
My body on the other hand, has decided that I am about 75. I don't have enough fingers to count all the ways my body is betraying me. Too many aches and pains! As I sat in the cardiologist's office yesterday with a room full of other patients easily 40 years older than me, I could feel all eyes on me as everyone (including myself) wondered what in the world I was doing there. Today as I woke up, my first sensation was being tangled up in the heart monitor I have to wear for the next several hours. What a way to wake up on my birthday, with a reminder of my ailments!
Gray hair is like a crown of glory: it is attained in the path of righteousness.
~ Proverbs 16:31
Really God? You're going to have to help me with this one because as I'm looking in the mirror, I just don't see those gray hairs as a blessing. And please forgive me because I have every intention of covering them up!
All in all, I embrace my 34 years and vow to make this year one of regaining health and growing in faith and wisdom.
"Do not regret growing older, it is a privilege denied to many."
~ unknown
Happy 34th birthday to me!!!
Friday, September 23, 2011
Child of Mine?
Mia: "mine, child of mine"
Becoming a parent is interesting. While pregnant, I would often try to imagine how the tiny baby we created would look and act. Tried to understand how God takes two extremely different people's personalities and DNA and melds it into another human being. It's funny how we tend to be so wrong.
All along, I assumed I had the more dominant genes. I expected an olive skinned, tiny girl with my black hair and eyes. I imagined her a little bookworm with my calm demeanor. What I got was a light skinned, chestnut haired, amazon heighted fireball. Wow!
Mia is so her father's child. She not only looks like him, but she shares his active spirit, his sense of adventure. She is a child of perpetual motion. Always running, jumping, dancing. If she is still, she is sick or sleeping. Her hair is in constant disarray, her chewed up fingernails often caked with dirt. Legs covered in bruises and band aids. It is not uncommon to find her wearing a pink princess dress and crown, but with a pirate dagger concealed in her shoe. She is the daredevil I never was and tries my cautious nature as she keeps my heart in constant fear for her safety.
And yet, as each year passes, I find glimpses of myself in her from time to time. She is a lover of beauty and nature. She feels deeply. She is thoughtful and compassionate. She loves ice cream. She is headstrong and stubborn. She is a girly girl always clad in pink and glitter, with shoes, purses and jewelry to match. She loves nail polish (even if it only lasts a few hours). She is the bookworm I longed for and will beg for "just one more" book every night. She is my little helper always next to me gardening, cleaning and cooking.
Becoming a parent is interesting. While pregnant, I would often try to imagine how the tiny baby we created would look and act. Tried to understand how God takes two extremely different people's personalities and DNA and melds it into another human being. It's funny how we tend to be so wrong.
All along, I assumed I had the more dominant genes. I expected an olive skinned, tiny girl with my black hair and eyes. I imagined her a little bookworm with my calm demeanor. What I got was a light skinned, chestnut haired, amazon heighted fireball. Wow!
Mia is so her father's child. She not only looks like him, but she shares his active spirit, his sense of adventure. She is a child of perpetual motion. Always running, jumping, dancing. If she is still, she is sick or sleeping. Her hair is in constant disarray, her chewed up fingernails often caked with dirt. Legs covered in bruises and band aids. It is not uncommon to find her wearing a pink princess dress and crown, but with a pirate dagger concealed in her shoe. She is the daredevil I never was and tries my cautious nature as she keeps my heart in constant fear for her safety.
Full of contradictions.
A perfect blend of her parents opposite natures.
Mia: "child of ours"
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Life is...but a dream
Journal 9/9/11
I rarely remember dreams, so when I do, it's a big deal. Last night's dream has been haunting me all day. Most of it was creepy and weird (homeless guy trying to grope me after I gave him a quarter, me climbing a bookcase to win a contest) but the end was so real.
After all the strangeness, I suddenly found myself in an elevator with a few other people and Maddox was in my arms. He looked right up into my face and spoke. It was a full sentence. I can't remember the words now but it was something a child his age would be able to say. I was so shocked and happy! Then he said the word I've been longing to hear..."mama". I looked around at the people in the elevator wanting someone to share my excitement. They all just kept right on doing what they were doing, not getting the magnitude of what had just occurred. I was desperate to share the news with Jason. As I began frantically looking around for him I woke myself up. As I turned around I found myself staring at his empty pillow. My head began to clear, reality hit and my joy slowly faded away. I realized that I wasn't in an elevator, Jason had already left for work and worst of all... Maddox had not really spoken. Never has.
I was a little discouraged all day until I remembered 2 beautiful blog posts I read a few weeks ago. unspokens & come and listen. (Click on the links and read them, they are amazing) As I reread the powerful words of a fellow believing mama, the tightness in my chest began to relax... just a little. My baby may not speak in ways I can hear with my ears but I HEAR him.
This video reminded me where to find peace. I pray I will not allow myself to be robbed of it so easily again.
I rarely remember dreams, so when I do, it's a big deal. Last night's dream has been haunting me all day. Most of it was creepy and weird (homeless guy trying to grope me after I gave him a quarter, me climbing a bookcase to win a contest) but the end was so real.
After all the strangeness, I suddenly found myself in an elevator with a few other people and Maddox was in my arms. He looked right up into my face and spoke. It was a full sentence. I can't remember the words now but it was something a child his age would be able to say. I was so shocked and happy! Then he said the word I've been longing to hear..."mama". I looked around at the people in the elevator wanting someone to share my excitement. They all just kept right on doing what they were doing, not getting the magnitude of what had just occurred. I was desperate to share the news with Jason. As I began frantically looking around for him I woke myself up. As I turned around I found myself staring at his empty pillow. My head began to clear, reality hit and my joy slowly faded away. I realized that I wasn't in an elevator, Jason had already left for work and worst of all... Maddox had not really spoken. Never has.
I was a little discouraged all day until I remembered 2 beautiful blog posts I read a few weeks ago. unspokens & come and listen. (Click on the links and read them, they are amazing) As I reread the powerful words of a fellow believing mama, the tightness in my chest began to relax... just a little. My baby may not speak in ways I can hear with my ears but I HEAR him.
This video reminded me where to find peace. I pray I will not allow myself to be robbed of it so easily again.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God. ~Psalm 42:11
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Maddox
For the past year, we've been fighting a persistent battle against illness. All 4 of us are continually struggling with our health. Early this year we really began to hone in on what was going on with Maddox. We began to have larger concerns than just his constant runny nose.
About a month ago, I began keeping a sort of electronic journal so I would have somewhere to vent. This week I will be attempting to edit my disorderly thoughts into a somewhat readable condition. I think those heartfelt entries tell our story best.
August 1, 2011:
I don't think I can describe the first moment I knew.
There isn't a specific day or time that stands out in my mind.
There isn't even a specific sign or symptom that I can pinpoint as THE moment.
Call it mother's intuition or just a keen sense of observation.
All I know is that I've had that sinking feeling in my stomach for far too long.
Something is wrong.
It was about a month before Maddox's 1st birthday when I was finally honest enough with myself to start to let a few of the questions enter my mind....
Wasn't Mia talking at this age?
Didn't she know how to blow out a candle on her 1st birthday cake?
Shouldn't he understand more?
As much as I began to ponder and worry about these things I found ways to justify them.
Girls develop faster than boys, everyone knows that.
He's just being a little lazy.
He has a laid-back personality.
But I refused to pull out the books or check the baby websites for milestones. Afraid to discover my worries might be justified. Then I began to notice that the other moms who had kids Maddox's age were posting all these things on facebook about what their kids were doing. Dancing on coffee tables, climbing out of their cribs, dismantling household items... talking. My son wasn't doing any of those things. Finally, I watched a video one mom posted of her son only 3 weeks older who was singing and doing all the hand motions to the itsy bitsy spider. In another one he was answering yes and no questions and raising his hands in the air and saying hallelujah when asked how he praised Jesus. My heart began to ache a little that day. My son was nowhere near doing any of those things. From that day on I really began to watch the other kids his age and I could really see a dramatic difference.
It hurt my heart a little more each time someone would comment on how good or quiet he was. How nice that he entertains himself so well. Yes, on the outside those things look great. To me they confirmed my fears a little more. He shouldn't be so quiet or so content to just play alone. Shouldn't he be doing more?
Around 15 months of age we were at the doctor for yet another ear infection when the nurse practitioner began to ask me those questions I was afraid to answer.
Was he speaking yet? ...No
Does he point to things? ...No
Does he seem very tactile? ...Yes
Does he respond well to his name? ...Sometimes
What bothered me the most was her facial expression... a mix of concern and pity. I swallowed it down, again, latching on desperately to another excuse: Chronic ear infections, hearing problems. We were sent to a speech pathologist and for a hearing test. The hearing test went well. Not even a slight hearing loss. Cross that reason off the list. The speech pathologist vaguely mentioned autism but seemed to dismiss it. At the next appointment with the pediatrician, Dr. S pulled up a chair close to me and put her hand gently on my leg as she handed me a questionnaire to evaluate his development and explained that a developmental pediatrician would review it and give recommendations for further testing or treatment. I started to fill it out and just couldn't finish it when I had to answer "no" time after time. There was no more denying that we were facing something more than just a lack of speech. Then the speech pathologist gave me the number to the Central Valley Regional Center and suggested I call them right away for an evaluation. When I got home I googled CVRC and my heart sunk down to my toes as again I saw that "A" word looming on the screen.
Still, everyone one around me was trying to justify the problem. I got to the point where I could barely contain my temper when someone would tell me, "I know someone whose child didn't talk until they were 4 and they're just fine now." Who cares about someone else's kid? Or worse, yet, "Oh don't worry about it. He'll be fine. When he has something to say, he'll say it." I explained over and over that it was more that just not speaking. I felt like screaming at each well-meaning person: Stop it!!! This is MY child and I KNOW there's something wrong!!!! I finally lost it on my poor husband one day and just screamed at him to be real, to acknowledge and admit he sees what I see. I need at least one person who will say, Yes! I see it too! You're not going crazy! He might really have a problem!
So all of that led up to today. August 1, 2011. Our evaluation at CVRC. I wrestled all day with the struggle between hope that we would finally get some answers and fear at what those answers would be. It was strange to sit in a room with 6 strangers asking questions and watching Maddox's every move. Hard to sit still while I was dying to lean over and snatch a clipboard to see what they were furiously scribbling on their evaluation sheets. Finally, they were done playing with him. Time suddenly stood still as they explained that based on my answers and observing his behavior, that we qualified for assistance and he would be in the early intervention program for autism. I think I must have been turning blue because one woman actually told me to take a breath. How do you remember to breathe when your entire world just crashed down around your feet? I can't say I was surprised, but it's a hard dose of reality when you finally hear the words out loud and look around the room and see on each face that mixture of kindness and pity. I dropped off my mom and headed home to break the news to Jason. I heard myself tell him all about it and I even sounded positive and upbeat. Ready to take on the challenge and help my son beat this thing.
Then I did what a parent should never do: I started searching the internet.
I was fine until stumbling across a website that gave a poor prognosis for autistic adults to function well in society and to live unassisted. I had only been focused on the hurdle immediately ahead of us. Suddenly the next 10, 20, 30 years slapped me in the face all at once. What kind of life would my baby grow up to have? Would he ever be able to have all that I've dreamed for him? How will I provide for his future one day when I'm gone? Gone was my confidence, my hope. The floodgates exploded.
Today it's too much to handle.
Today it's too much to take in.
Today it's too much uncertainty.
Today it's too much to worry about.
Today it's too many questions.
Today it's not enough answers.
Tomorrow I will be back to myself, planning, learning and doing whatever it takes.
Tomorrow I will again be thankful for my sweet baby and I will again be able to count my blessings and remember that I have a healthy, beautiful son.
But today... I just need to let myself be a mama whose heart hurts for her child and have a good cry over it.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning
~Psalm 30:5~
About a month ago, I began keeping a sort of electronic journal so I would have somewhere to vent. This week I will be attempting to edit my disorderly thoughts into a somewhat readable condition. I think those heartfelt entries tell our story best.
August 1, 2011:
I don't think I can describe the first moment I knew.
There isn't a specific day or time that stands out in my mind.
There isn't even a specific sign or symptom that I can pinpoint as THE moment.
Call it mother's intuition or just a keen sense of observation.
All I know is that I've had that sinking feeling in my stomach for far too long.
Something is wrong.
It was about a month before Maddox's 1st birthday when I was finally honest enough with myself to start to let a few of the questions enter my mind....
Wasn't Mia talking at this age?
Didn't she know how to blow out a candle on her 1st birthday cake?
Shouldn't he understand more?
As much as I began to ponder and worry about these things I found ways to justify them.
Girls develop faster than boys, everyone knows that.
He's just being a little lazy.
He has a laid-back personality.
But I refused to pull out the books or check the baby websites for milestones. Afraid to discover my worries might be justified. Then I began to notice that the other moms who had kids Maddox's age were posting all these things on facebook about what their kids were doing. Dancing on coffee tables, climbing out of their cribs, dismantling household items... talking. My son wasn't doing any of those things. Finally, I watched a video one mom posted of her son only 3 weeks older who was singing and doing all the hand motions to the itsy bitsy spider. In another one he was answering yes and no questions and raising his hands in the air and saying hallelujah when asked how he praised Jesus. My heart began to ache a little that day. My son was nowhere near doing any of those things. From that day on I really began to watch the other kids his age and I could really see a dramatic difference.
It hurt my heart a little more each time someone would comment on how good or quiet he was. How nice that he entertains himself so well. Yes, on the outside those things look great. To me they confirmed my fears a little more. He shouldn't be so quiet or so content to just play alone. Shouldn't he be doing more?
Around 15 months of age we were at the doctor for yet another ear infection when the nurse practitioner began to ask me those questions I was afraid to answer.
Was he speaking yet? ...No
Does he point to things? ...No
Does he seem very tactile? ...Yes
Does he respond well to his name? ...Sometimes
What bothered me the most was her facial expression... a mix of concern and pity. I swallowed it down, again, latching on desperately to another excuse: Chronic ear infections, hearing problems. We were sent to a speech pathologist and for a hearing test. The hearing test went well. Not even a slight hearing loss. Cross that reason off the list. The speech pathologist vaguely mentioned autism but seemed to dismiss it. At the next appointment with the pediatrician, Dr. S pulled up a chair close to me and put her hand gently on my leg as she handed me a questionnaire to evaluate his development and explained that a developmental pediatrician would review it and give recommendations for further testing or treatment. I started to fill it out and just couldn't finish it when I had to answer "no" time after time. There was no more denying that we were facing something more than just a lack of speech. Then the speech pathologist gave me the number to the Central Valley Regional Center and suggested I call them right away for an evaluation. When I got home I googled CVRC and my heart sunk down to my toes as again I saw that "A" word looming on the screen.
Still, everyone one around me was trying to justify the problem. I got to the point where I could barely contain my temper when someone would tell me, "I know someone whose child didn't talk until they were 4 and they're just fine now." Who cares about someone else's kid? Or worse, yet, "Oh don't worry about it. He'll be fine. When he has something to say, he'll say it." I explained over and over that it was more that just not speaking. I felt like screaming at each well-meaning person: Stop it!!! This is MY child and I KNOW there's something wrong!!!! I finally lost it on my poor husband one day and just screamed at him to be real, to acknowledge and admit he sees what I see. I need at least one person who will say, Yes! I see it too! You're not going crazy! He might really have a problem!
So all of that led up to today. August 1, 2011. Our evaluation at CVRC. I wrestled all day with the struggle between hope that we would finally get some answers and fear at what those answers would be. It was strange to sit in a room with 6 strangers asking questions and watching Maddox's every move. Hard to sit still while I was dying to lean over and snatch a clipboard to see what they were furiously scribbling on their evaluation sheets. Finally, they were done playing with him. Time suddenly stood still as they explained that based on my answers and observing his behavior, that we qualified for assistance and he would be in the early intervention program for autism. I think I must have been turning blue because one woman actually told me to take a breath. How do you remember to breathe when your entire world just crashed down around your feet? I can't say I was surprised, but it's a hard dose of reality when you finally hear the words out loud and look around the room and see on each face that mixture of kindness and pity. I dropped off my mom and headed home to break the news to Jason. I heard myself tell him all about it and I even sounded positive and upbeat. Ready to take on the challenge and help my son beat this thing.
Then I did what a parent should never do: I started searching the internet.
I was fine until stumbling across a website that gave a poor prognosis for autistic adults to function well in society and to live unassisted. I had only been focused on the hurdle immediately ahead of us. Suddenly the next 10, 20, 30 years slapped me in the face all at once. What kind of life would my baby grow up to have? Would he ever be able to have all that I've dreamed for him? How will I provide for his future one day when I'm gone? Gone was my confidence, my hope. The floodgates exploded.
Today it's too much to handle.
Today it's too much to take in.
Today it's too much uncertainty.
Today it's too much to worry about.
Today it's too many questions.
Today it's not enough answers.
Tomorrow I will be back to myself, planning, learning and doing whatever it takes.
Tomorrow I will again be thankful for my sweet baby and I will again be able to count my blessings and remember that I have a healthy, beautiful son.
But today... I just need to let myself be a mama whose heart hurts for her child and have a good cry over it.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning
~Psalm 30:5~
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