I would really rather not give everyone the impression that I'm totally neurotic and frantic about my children leaving me at any moment. I kind of thought that I was over that stuff I wrote about in the last post. But then this morning I had a bad dream:
Tommy was leaving. Going somewhere on his own. I'm not clear on the exact circumstances- if Bill and I were divorced and the boy was going off to visit his dad, or maybe he was just going off on a trip by himself. But he was standing out on a street corner in his yellow crocs and blue spiderman t-shirt- not any older or bigger than he is now- waiting for a taxi to pick him up.
I was watching him through a window, trying to be cool, but then just lost it and ran out to him, crying, and begged him to come back home and stay with me for awhile. I was on my knees, hugging him and sobbing, and he was like "ummm, I don't know mommy. Actually, I think I'll go."
Is that messed up or what? I am getting all choked up again, just thinking about it.
It's going to be a long 14 more years for this kid, what with trying to live his life while his mom drags along behind him, holding on to his ankles.
Showing posts with label internal dialogues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label internal dialogues. Show all posts
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
extremely low
As I mentioned, Henry's IEP (Individual Education Plan) annual review meeting is scheduled for next week. In our district (state? county? I don't know who makes these rules) he is due for re-evaluation every three years. In yesterday's mail we received a draft copy of the MFE (MultiFactored Evaluation) team report for our review before the meeting.
The report did not hold many surprises. Henry tested "average" overall for his reading and writing abilities, "well below average" for his math abilities.
It appears that the school psychologist's classroom observation was on a 5-star day, as no behavioral problems were noted. Henry was observed while doing a spelling activity in the regular 2nd-grade class, and versions of the word "appropriate" were used several times in the summary. (It should be noted that Henry's aide was with him the entire time, as she always is).
One amusing bit of the report was the description of the psychologist's "assessment and interview" of Henry. It was generally quite positive-sounding:
His vocabulary was well developed, he could name all the animals in a book he brought, spoke about his favorite video, Aristocats, and about his interest in Paris, France and indicated that he would like to visit the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame Cathedral. He was quite curious about pictures in my office and wanted to know about them. He was interested in football and follows the OSU and LSU, along with professional teams, and was knowledgeable about the teams and the results of the super bowl...
This description makes Henry sound like quite the little Renaissance man. Like you could chat with him all day long about wildlife, foreign cities, and sports. In reality, if you chatted with him all day, you would hear the same few facts about Paris and how he would like to go there. Yes, he can tell you who won the Super Bowl, because they discussed that in class and we discussed it at home. But I wouldn't say he follows professional football. Oh, well- I'd rather read a positive spin on my son than a negative one!
The report also noted he also said he had an ear infection for which he was on medication. This is completely untrue. I can only imagine that the psychologist asked Henry how he was feeling, or maybe noted that his nose was runny, asked him about it, and Henry responded that he had an ear infection!
The part of the report that really got me, though, was the summary of the Adaptive Behavior Assessment questionnaires. Henry's teacher and I each completed one. Our evaluations of Henry's behavior are in 2 comparative columns. In only 2 of the 9 categories were we in agreement.
In every other category Henry's teacher gave him a higher score than I did. My evaluation came out to "extremely low" in 7 of the 9 areas. Mrs. C's evaluation came out to "average" in 4 areas, "extremely low" in only 1.
My immediate thought upon seeing this was "what the hell is wrong with me? What kind of mother am I that I "rate" my son lower functioning than his teacher does? I should have more confidence in him."
But the more I thought back to the questions on this assessment, I came to a different realization. The questions (I'm sure many of you have seen them before) were like this:
My child cleans up after himself:
(choose one) never/almost never/sometimes/almost always/always
If Henry's experience and ability vary so greatly between home and school, it's because the expectation is different at school. In this example, he may very well clean up after himself almost always at school, and almost never at home. Because his teachers make him do it and I do not.
My son is 8.5 years old, and 90% of the time I dress him and bathe him. He has never answered the phone or prepared himself something to eat.
His little brother is more independent than he is. But his little brother WANTS to be- that's the difference. Thomas has long been interested in picking out his own clothes. Henry is not, so I pick them out for him.
I need to start making some changes- for Henry's own good. But it's not going to be easy. Not only will Henry fight me every step of the way, but many of our day-to-day activities are going to take twice as long. I may not be able to stick with it all the time, in every instance, but I need to start trying.
It looks like we'll be snowed in this weekend, so this is as good a time as any. I'll pick up a new stepstool and stock up on orange juice and milk (in case of spills) and maybe Henry will get his own breakfast tomorrow morning.
Wish me luck!
The report did not hold many surprises. Henry tested "average" overall for his reading and writing abilities, "well below average" for his math abilities.
It appears that the school psychologist's classroom observation was on a 5-star day, as no behavioral problems were noted. Henry was observed while doing a spelling activity in the regular 2nd-grade class, and versions of the word "appropriate" were used several times in the summary. (It should be noted that Henry's aide was with him the entire time, as she always is).
One amusing bit of the report was the description of the psychologist's "assessment and interview" of Henry. It was generally quite positive-sounding:
His vocabulary was well developed, he could name all the animals in a book he brought, spoke about his favorite video, Aristocats, and about his interest in Paris, France and indicated that he would like to visit the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame Cathedral. He was quite curious about pictures in my office and wanted to know about them. He was interested in football and follows the OSU and LSU, along with professional teams, and was knowledgeable about the teams and the results of the super bowl...
This description makes Henry sound like quite the little Renaissance man. Like you could chat with him all day long about wildlife, foreign cities, and sports. In reality, if you chatted with him all day, you would hear the same few facts about Paris and how he would like to go there. Yes, he can tell you who won the Super Bowl, because they discussed that in class and we discussed it at home. But I wouldn't say he follows professional football. Oh, well- I'd rather read a positive spin on my son than a negative one!
The report also noted he also said he had an ear infection for which he was on medication. This is completely untrue. I can only imagine that the psychologist asked Henry how he was feeling, or maybe noted that his nose was runny, asked him about it, and Henry responded that he had an ear infection!
The part of the report that really got me, though, was the summary of the Adaptive Behavior Assessment questionnaires. Henry's teacher and I each completed one. Our evaluations of Henry's behavior are in 2 comparative columns. In only 2 of the 9 categories were we in agreement.
In every other category Henry's teacher gave him a higher score than I did. My evaluation came out to "extremely low" in 7 of the 9 areas. Mrs. C's evaluation came out to "average" in 4 areas, "extremely low" in only 1.
My immediate thought upon seeing this was "what the hell is wrong with me? What kind of mother am I that I "rate" my son lower functioning than his teacher does? I should have more confidence in him."
But the more I thought back to the questions on this assessment, I came to a different realization. The questions (I'm sure many of you have seen them before) were like this:
My child cleans up after himself:
(choose one) never/almost never/sometimes/almost always/always
If Henry's experience and ability vary so greatly between home and school, it's because the expectation is different at school. In this example, he may very well clean up after himself almost always at school, and almost never at home. Because his teachers make him do it and I do not.
My son is 8.5 years old, and 90% of the time I dress him and bathe him. He has never answered the phone or prepared himself something to eat.
His little brother is more independent than he is. But his little brother WANTS to be- that's the difference. Thomas has long been interested in picking out his own clothes. Henry is not, so I pick them out for him.
I need to start making some changes- for Henry's own good. But it's not going to be easy. Not only will Henry fight me every step of the way, but many of our day-to-day activities are going to take twice as long. I may not be able to stick with it all the time, in every instance, but I need to start trying.
It looks like we'll be snowed in this weekend, so this is as good a time as any. I'll pick up a new stepstool and stock up on orange juice and milk (in case of spills) and maybe Henry will get his own breakfast tomorrow morning.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
ruminations on bumper stickers and finding a passion
I was raised to hate bumper stickers. Or at least to disapprove of them. My father never hid his contempt for bumper stickers. (Or his contempt for mini vans. Or maybe it was more contempt for the drivers of mini vans.) I don't know, you just sort of absorb and interpret these things as a child, and maybe I've actually got it all wrong. I just know that I grew up thinking bumper stickers were kind of tacky and rude: the driver is assuming that we all really give a s*%t about his opinion; those of us who just happen to be stuck behind him in traffic.
I was thinking about this today as I merged into morning rush-hour traffic behind a minivan. Our state offers an "autism awareness" license plate. My car carries one and so did the vehicle in front of me. I smiled. Then I noticed this van had one of those black and white oval stickers in its rear window that read AUT. I spent some time (I was behind it for quite awhile, and listening to the High School Musical 2 soundtrack, the soon-to-be-4-year-old's current favorite) trying to decipher what was playing on the minivan's DVD player.*
I recognized Elmo, and smiled again. I wondered about the child in the minivan, and the parent. I felt a friendliness toward them without ever catching sight of their faces. And I wondered about a disorder that can create a relationship where there would never have been one otherwise.
I was amused by the thought that a bumper sticker could bring people together, and thought "well this is about something more important than your average bumper sticker."
But maybe that's the thing- as passionate as I feel about my son and the autism community- maybe that's how passionate some people feel about their football team, or their membership in the NRA, or their belief that the president is a dumba$$.
If I didn't have my Henry, what would help me feel a connection to a stranger? I'm glad I'll never have to find out.
*Is anyone else afraid they're going to get in an accident one day, trying to watch what is showing in another car on the highway? I find other cars' DVD players highly distracting.
I was thinking about this today as I merged into morning rush-hour traffic behind a minivan. Our state offers an "autism awareness" license plate. My car carries one and so did the vehicle in front of me. I smiled. Then I noticed this van had one of those black and white oval stickers in its rear window that read AUT. I spent some time (I was behind it for quite awhile, and listening to the High School Musical 2 soundtrack, the soon-to-be-4-year-old's current favorite) trying to decipher what was playing on the minivan's DVD player.*
I recognized Elmo, and smiled again. I wondered about the child in the minivan, and the parent. I felt a friendliness toward them without ever catching sight of their faces. And I wondered about a disorder that can create a relationship where there would never have been one otherwise.
I was amused by the thought that a bumper sticker could bring people together, and thought "well this is about something more important than your average bumper sticker."
But maybe that's the thing- as passionate as I feel about my son and the autism community- maybe that's how passionate some people feel about their football team, or their membership in the NRA, or their belief that the president is a dumba$$.
If I didn't have my Henry, what would help me feel a connection to a stranger? I'm glad I'll never have to find out.
*Is anyone else afraid they're going to get in an accident one day, trying to watch what is showing in another car on the highway? I find other cars' DVD players highly distracting.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
hop on board the roller coaster
Oh, it's just all up and down over here. I don't know which end is up from one minute to another.
First of all, I want to thank all of you who left comments on my couple previous posts. I am really bad about responding to comments, and I apologize. But I do so appreciate everyone's input. Keep it coming!
Today I wanted to share something exciting. Henry appeared in his first school performance! His teacher just told me the night before, in the communication notebook, that he would be singing a song with the second-graders on stage. At first I was just going to ask her to take a picture for me, but then I wondered "what am I thinking? My son has never before performed on a stage. I can't miss this." So I called in to work and said I'd be late, took Tommy to preschool, picked Bill up from work, and we went to watch the "Charity Newsies Assembly" at the elementary school.
Henry sat in the audience next to his aide and watched the first graders perform. Then he filed onstage with the second graders, seemingly unfazed by all the commotion. He went promptly to his designated spot: (The photos I took are ridiculously dark, but he's basically in the center of this one, wearing a dark green sweater with a white snowflake-pattern stripe across the chest)
I saw him looking around, and that mom instinct in me took hold and I started waving like an idiot. I hadn't told him I was coming, and neither had his teachers. I could, and should, have stayed out of sight, but my excitement and pride just possessed me.
He saw me and got really excited, and started calling for me to come over, and to come up on the stage. I was worried that I had screwed everything up by letting him know we were there!
But he ended up participating just fine. He was over at the edge of the group instead of right in the middle where he was supposed to be, but no one cared.
They sang America the Beautiful, with accompanying hand motions. Henry had learned the whole thing and did it right along with the rest of the group. (Normally this is definitely the kind of thing that would make me cry, but I was too excited to cry this time.) Then they recited a little poem about birds on Farmer Brown's farm. The kids were divided into 3 groups and each was supposed to be a different bird. Henry's group were Turkeys, who shouted "eat more chicken, eat more chicken, gobble gobble gobble, it's finger lickin'!"
Henry seemed excited and proud, and aside from some hopping up and down and covering his ears, he did everything just as he was supposed to, as far as I could tell.
When the second-graders were finished, they came back to their seats and Henry asked daddy and I to sit with him. Again, I was worried that this would mess everything up. I sat with him for a minute and then Bill did. (At this point the regular-ed second-grade teacher came over and introduced herself to me. She seemed very nice, and resembled Susan Senator, I thought. A good sign!)
I'm not sure what Bill said to Henry, but when he got up to leave, Henry didn't argue. Just waved and said "bye mommy, bye daddy."_______
So there are some good things at school- some very good stuff going on. Despite my rant the other day, I know that his teacher is just trying to work on the thing that is the biggest obstacle right now- the aggression. She replied to my e-mail and said that she knows the medication decision is a very hard one, but she feels that Henry is not able to control his actions at some times. He will continue to be observed by various people, but that's tricky because his behavior is so erratic. I believe that is the reason for the increased info in the communication book- to show us that the behavior is very random.
Drama Mama had a lovely post the other day about remembering how great our kids are. Obviously, it hit home to me with some of the negative things we've been hearing about Henry lately, and made me think about something that happened last weekend:
The boys had a make-up gymnastics class Saturday morning at 9. Because it was a make-up, it was different: different kids, different teachers, different routine, mom and dad both there, Tommy there... So Henry was a bit dysregulated. Kept loudly saying that he didn't want to go. Needed a little urging to participate, but ended up doing fine in the end.
After gymnastics, we decided to go to a nearby greasy spoon for breakfast. The place is small and was crowded (one of those places that was built like in the 50s and people were smaller then- I felt like a family of giants walking in there). Henry had brought in some of his papers and was talking loudly about them. The only seat was at the bar. Initially the boys sat between us, but then started messing with each other, so Henry and I switched places. Then a booth opened up and we moved over there.
Henry ordered (for himself) blueberry pancakes, sausage and bacon and orange juice. He proceeded to eat it all with his fingers. An old man walked past our table, to pay his bill. He stopped in front of us, smiled, and said "that's 2 good looking kids you've got there."
I smiled, said thank you, and then my eyes filled with tears. I didn't even realize, until that comment, all the baggage I was carrying around. How much I was worrying about whether Henry was bothering people, or what people might be thinking about an 8-year-old eating with his fingers. It's like a rucksack that I've been carrying for so long, I don't even notice it anymore.
With his one kind comment, that man made me realize that not everyone is judging me or my family. That not only do I think my kids are great, lots of other people do too.
Happy thanksgiving my friends and family, and thanks for reading. I'm more thankful for all of you every year!
First of all, I want to thank all of you who left comments on my couple previous posts. I am really bad about responding to comments, and I apologize. But I do so appreciate everyone's input. Keep it coming!
Today I wanted to share something exciting. Henry appeared in his first school performance! His teacher just told me the night before, in the communication notebook, that he would be singing a song with the second-graders on stage. At first I was just going to ask her to take a picture for me, but then I wondered "what am I thinking? My son has never before performed on a stage. I can't miss this." So I called in to work and said I'd be late, took Tommy to preschool, picked Bill up from work, and we went to watch the "Charity Newsies Assembly" at the elementary school.
Henry sat in the audience next to his aide and watched the first graders perform. Then he filed onstage with the second graders, seemingly unfazed by all the commotion. He went promptly to his designated spot: (The photos I took are ridiculously dark, but he's basically in the center of this one, wearing a dark green sweater with a white snowflake-pattern stripe across the chest)
I saw him looking around, and that mom instinct in me took hold and I started waving like an idiot. I hadn't told him I was coming, and neither had his teachers. I could, and should, have stayed out of sight, but my excitement and pride just possessed me.He saw me and got really excited, and started calling for me to come over, and to come up on the stage. I was worried that I had screwed everything up by letting him know we were there!
But he ended up participating just fine. He was over at the edge of the group instead of right in the middle where he was supposed to be, but no one cared.
They sang America the Beautiful, with accompanying hand motions. Henry had learned the whole thing and did it right along with the rest of the group. (Normally this is definitely the kind of thing that would make me cry, but I was too excited to cry this time.) Then they recited a little poem about birds on Farmer Brown's farm. The kids were divided into 3 groups and each was supposed to be a different bird. Henry's group were Turkeys, who shouted "eat more chicken, eat more chicken, gobble gobble gobble, it's finger lickin'!"
Henry seemed excited and proud, and aside from some hopping up and down and covering his ears, he did everything just as he was supposed to, as far as I could tell.
When the second-graders were finished, they came back to their seats and Henry asked daddy and I to sit with him. Again, I was worried that this would mess everything up. I sat with him for a minute and then Bill did. (At this point the regular-ed second-grade teacher came over and introduced herself to me. She seemed very nice, and resembled Susan Senator, I thought. A good sign!)
I'm not sure what Bill said to Henry, but when he got up to leave, Henry didn't argue. Just waved and said "bye mommy, bye daddy."_______
So there are some good things at school- some very good stuff going on. Despite my rant the other day, I know that his teacher is just trying to work on the thing that is the biggest obstacle right now- the aggression. She replied to my e-mail and said that she knows the medication decision is a very hard one, but she feels that Henry is not able to control his actions at some times. He will continue to be observed by various people, but that's tricky because his behavior is so erratic. I believe that is the reason for the increased info in the communication book- to show us that the behavior is very random.
Drama Mama had a lovely post the other day about remembering how great our kids are. Obviously, it hit home to me with some of the negative things we've been hearing about Henry lately, and made me think about something that happened last weekend:
The boys had a make-up gymnastics class Saturday morning at 9. Because it was a make-up, it was different: different kids, different teachers, different routine, mom and dad both there, Tommy there... So Henry was a bit dysregulated. Kept loudly saying that he didn't want to go. Needed a little urging to participate, but ended up doing fine in the end.
After gymnastics, we decided to go to a nearby greasy spoon for breakfast. The place is small and was crowded (one of those places that was built like in the 50s and people were smaller then- I felt like a family of giants walking in there). Henry had brought in some of his papers and was talking loudly about them. The only seat was at the bar. Initially the boys sat between us, but then started messing with each other, so Henry and I switched places. Then a booth opened up and we moved over there.
Henry ordered (for himself) blueberry pancakes, sausage and bacon and orange juice. He proceeded to eat it all with his fingers. An old man walked past our table, to pay his bill. He stopped in front of us, smiled, and said "that's 2 good looking kids you've got there."
I smiled, said thank you, and then my eyes filled with tears. I didn't even realize, until that comment, all the baggage I was carrying around. How much I was worrying about whether Henry was bothering people, or what people might be thinking about an 8-year-old eating with his fingers. It's like a rucksack that I've been carrying for so long, I don't even notice it anymore.
With his one kind comment, that man made me realize that not everyone is judging me or my family. That not only do I think my kids are great, lots of other people do too.
Happy thanksgiving my friends and family, and thanks for reading. I'm more thankful for all of you every year!
Monday, October 22, 2007
double standard
This photo is currently my computer desktop background- it's from our visit to the zoo last weekend. It says a lot about my sons: Thomas is wearing a Batman pajama shirt backwards on purpose and Henry is holding his Big Cats Zoobook.
My boss commented today on the picture and asked about Henry's magazine. As usual, I launched into a longer-than-necessary explanation.
You see, Big Cats is one of Henry's very favorite Zoobooks. Because he carries his very favorite things with him to school, the gym, the grocery store, L's house... sometimes the very favorite things get lost. Or they get ripped.
In the past few months, something happened to Big Cats. I can't be sure what it was, and it doesn't really matter. But Henry would ask for it and I would promise to look a couple places for it; in the cars, in the basement where I keep things that need to be repaired, I would ask L about it. When we went to the zoo he would look for it in the gift shop, and they would never have any copies.
As so often happens, I put Henry off and off and off until I finally focused my attention on the situation and thought ok, the Big Cats book is gone, let's figure out how to get a new one. So I ordered a new copy from the Zoobooks website. It arrived around Henry's birthday.
Then, last Sunday, as we browsed in the gift shop, Henry found what he wanted to get: Big Cats. (Sure, now they have it in stock!)
But we already have that one Henry. At home. I know because I ordered it special for you. Why don't you pick out a different Zoobook that we don't already have?
We do not have it at home!
Yes, we do. Remember, it came in the mail? I know we already have this one at home.
It did not come in the mail! We do not have it at home!
You can tell by the picture how this argument was resolved. We bought another copy of Big Cats. And it's not a huge defeat in the bigger scheme of things, I know. It cost like $3, made him really happy, and now we'll have a spare for the next time we lose one copy.
But the part that bothers me--and the part that my boss couldn't really understand, although he is well-intentioned--is... if it were Thomas wanting a duplicate of something he already has, I would not give in so easily. Of course, the flip-side of that is that Thomas probably wouldn't ask for something that he already has. He would decide that it made sense to pick out something different.
My boss was asking "what would happen if you just told him no and refused to get it for him?" Well, I would probably have to drag him out of the gift shop crying, and then we'd have to talk all day about the Big Cats magazine. And what it really comes down to is--and this goes along with what I wrote a couple posts back about spoiling my kids--I don't want to tell him no. I get how important it is to him to have his papers or his books or his magazines. I get how comfortable those things make him feel. And I'm happy to help my child feel comfortable. But I wonder sometimes if I'm doing the right thing.
No, strike that. I don't wonder if I'm doing the right thing. But I wonder why the "right thing" for one child can be different from the "right thing" for another child.
My mom told me recently about how she made my one brother take piano lessons. And not the other brother. Basically she knew that my middle brother would have flat-out refused to cooperate. The younger brother, he didn't like it, but he could be persuaded. So he took piano lessons.
Time Magazine's cover story this week is about birth order- the stereotypes and truths associated with being the first-born, baby, or somewhere in the middle. Although I don't feel that many of the issues apply to our family, it is still fascinating food for thought, and is making me examine my choices- will Tommy have it easier or harder because of his older brother and sister? Will I give in to him more or less? Will I celebrate each new skill he learns, or will it be old hat for this mom of three?
Maybe the thing I have learned from the other two that Thomas will benefit from is: to suggest the thing that seems logical (don't buy a magazine that you already have), but to be open to the idea that we don't always have to be logical.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Black eye, day 13. Just so you know that it's almost gone. Also, we got a cool new ninja turtle.
(More pictures from the beach vacation)
I am overdue for a post, and have started a couple different times, but can't seem to figure out what to say. I started one post that said "I have a general good feeling hanging over me right now" and then the next day I looked at it and thought "no I don't- what was I talking about?"
Things are good right now- nothing is wrong or anything. But I have this vague sense of unease. I don't usually remember my dreams, but I have been remembering them for the past couple of weeks, and they are all like this: I realize that I am supposed to be at the airport in half an hour, but it takes half an hour to get there and I still have to pack, and there is a lot of important stuff that I can't forget to pack, and why didn't I pack for this trip sooner? And even though there's no chance in hell that I'll make that plane, I still keep fumbling around in my dream, trying to pack.
Or: I'm babysitting someone's baby, and I don't remember how to pick a baby up, except that I've raised 2 of my own, but now I don't remember what to do, and I feel bad because I offered to babysit for this friend and now I'm going to drop her baby or something.
I suppose I must be anxious about school starting. But there's no reason to be worried about Henry. The transition this year should be smooth as silk (I know, famous last words). But he'll have the same main teacher, be in the same classroom, have the same bus driver, be on the same schedule. Just like last year.
I am also anxious, but in a good way, about Henry's birthday. It always falls on Labor Day weekend and it's so fun to plan a cookout or trip to the zoo. It's a bit disappointing that Henry doesn't want to have the usual 8-year-old party, but it's so fun to think of all the outings he would enjoy that the disappointment disappears before it even fully forms.
Hmmm, what happened last week...
Thursday night we visited the elementary/middle/high school complex, to pick up Kate's schedule and books and to buy Henry's school supplies. It's easier to feel like we are really part of the school community, now that he is attending school in our district. But we still don't quite fit. His teacher sent him a cute letter ("We will have 6 boys in our class this year. I will need your help to teach them the rules and show them around the school...") and included a supply list. I assumed it was the 2nd grade supply list, but I was wrong. I guess it is the STACK classroom supply list. The woman from the PTO who was helping me couldn't have been nicer- she scampered around gathering supplies, and was very apologetic that she had never seen this list before. "There are only 6 kids in his class," I explained, "and most of them don't live in the district, so they probably wouldn't come to the PTO school supply sale."
I bought Henry a t-shirt with the name of his school on it (now that we're at the same school for the second year, I am willing to commit.) Henry's classroom door was open, so he went in and looked around. It was great to see how excited he was to look at everything. He spotted a couple of the new boys' desks, and seemed very comforted to come across a picture schedule.
He had a great horseback riding lesson that night- another child was having a lesson also, so there were times when the instructor would be working with the other child, and Henry would just be hanging out, sitting on T, talking to T. T would kind of wander around a bit and Henry seemed very comfortable, just on his own with the horse, with no one else assisting. They even TROTTED for the first time! (The instructor was right there for that part!) Henry grinned from ear to ear.
His instructor encouraged the kids to give one another "feedback". So Henry shouted "good trotting Anna!" over and over. Very cute. Tommy got to ride briefly also. I had never intended to raise equestrian children, but it seems like Thomas might end up taking classes too.
It just goes to show, you never know what opportunities a "disability" might bring to the whole family.
Monday, August 07, 2006
emotional rescue (another song on dad's MP3)
I just finished a book that I can't get out of my head: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger (one of your suggestions for my vacation reading). I started the book on vacation, then lost interest partway through, then picked it up again over the weekend and finished it. It's a good book, with a clever premise, but there are some things I wish the author would have explored more- I wanted to know some more about the characters, and I guess I just like everything tied up in a neat little bow at the end.
The thing is, it wasn't my favorite book ever, but yet I still keep thinking about it. Maybe this is why I don't read more books- I get obsessive about them. Why can't I just read a good book in a casual way? It's like I have to get totally immersed in it- to the point where I'm bawling at the end when a certain thing happens that we already knew was going to happen.
(I could tell this thing was going to happen about halfway through, and that's part of why I stopped reading for a little while. It's kind of like when we watched rented Titanic years ago- I got mad halfway through and went to bed: "why am I even caring about these characters? We know the ship is going to sink and they're all going to die anyway!")
I was equally perseverative after reading the Harry Potter books. I started surfing all those goofy Harry Potter sites, and reading all the essays that the HP geeks post on their theories. Get a life, Gretchen. Finish the book, put it on your shelf, and move on!
Sometimes I wonder if I have an over-active emotion gene, which causes me to invest myself a little too much? Kristin wrote awhile back about being "too sensitive." I commented then that "I cry every time there's a baptism at church. I'd call that sensitive. Or 'in touch with my emotions'. I wish I could control it better sometimes, but it's who I am."
Here's another example: my boss' wife passed away from cancer almost 3 years ago. Her illness was quick, and our small office was privy to just about every detail, every emotion, that my boss was feeling. It was pretty awful, to say the least. This past spring, he got re-married. The last time I had seen most of the wedding guests had been at his first wife's funeral, and some of them had been very close friends of hers.
The wedding was lovely, but I felt completely drained by the end of the night. Bill and I talked about it the next day, and decided that maybe this event was especially emotionally draining for me, because I was thinking about so much other stuff: his first wife, her funeral, how her friends must be feeling, how I would be feeling if it were me, what my husband would do if I were to die... ugh. It was like I couldn't shift gears- the last time I saw these people was at a horribly sad event. Now, we're at a terrifically happy event! Screeech! I wish I could just turn my emotions down a click for awhile and enjoy the party.
Last week one of the DJs on the sunshine-y morning radio program had a baby. As I listened to the other DJs talk to her on the phone, I suddenly felt my lip start to quiver. "What the hell?!" I thought. People have babies EVERY DAY. Why does someone talking about having a baby (albeit at the same hospital where I had my sons) make me cry???
But, as she was talking, I think I was subconsciously picturing myself in that hospital bed, holding a tiny, wiggly, squeaky baby, feeling exhilarated and frightened and proud and stunned all at the same time.
I don't want to turn off my emotions- they are what make me feel alive, and make me appreciate all the beauty in my life. I just don't want to be a slave to them!
The thing is, it wasn't my favorite book ever, but yet I still keep thinking about it. Maybe this is why I don't read more books- I get obsessive about them. Why can't I just read a good book in a casual way? It's like I have to get totally immersed in it- to the point where I'm bawling at the end when a certain thing happens that we already knew was going to happen.
(I could tell this thing was going to happen about halfway through, and that's part of why I stopped reading for a little while. It's kind of like when we watched rented Titanic years ago- I got mad halfway through and went to bed: "why am I even caring about these characters? We know the ship is going to sink and they're all going to die anyway!")
I was equally perseverative after reading the Harry Potter books. I started surfing all those goofy Harry Potter sites, and reading all the essays that the HP geeks post on their theories. Get a life, Gretchen. Finish the book, put it on your shelf, and move on!
Sometimes I wonder if I have an over-active emotion gene, which causes me to invest myself a little too much? Kristin wrote awhile back about being "too sensitive." I commented then that "I cry every time there's a baptism at church. I'd call that sensitive. Or 'in touch with my emotions'. I wish I could control it better sometimes, but it's who I am."
Here's another example: my boss' wife passed away from cancer almost 3 years ago. Her illness was quick, and our small office was privy to just about every detail, every emotion, that my boss was feeling. It was pretty awful, to say the least. This past spring, he got re-married. The last time I had seen most of the wedding guests had been at his first wife's funeral, and some of them had been very close friends of hers.
The wedding was lovely, but I felt completely drained by the end of the night. Bill and I talked about it the next day, and decided that maybe this event was especially emotionally draining for me, because I was thinking about so much other stuff: his first wife, her funeral, how her friends must be feeling, how I would be feeling if it were me, what my husband would do if I were to die... ugh. It was like I couldn't shift gears- the last time I saw these people was at a horribly sad event. Now, we're at a terrifically happy event! Screeech! I wish I could just turn my emotions down a click for awhile and enjoy the party.
Last week one of the DJs on the sunshine-y morning radio program had a baby. As I listened to the other DJs talk to her on the phone, I suddenly felt my lip start to quiver. "What the hell?!" I thought. People have babies EVERY DAY. Why does someone talking about having a baby (albeit at the same hospital where I had my sons) make me cry???
But, as she was talking, I think I was subconsciously picturing myself in that hospital bed, holding a tiny, wiggly, squeaky baby, feeling exhilarated and frightened and proud and stunned all at the same time.
I don't want to turn off my emotions- they are what make me feel alive, and make me appreciate all the beauty in my life. I just don't want to be a slave to them!
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
anyone have time for some free psychotherapy?
I don't really like the 4th of July. Not 'cause I'm anti-American, or anything like that. It just comes up every year, and we make plans of things to do, and then once it gets here I'm like, "oh yeah, I never like this holiday."
So this year (the blogging has made me more introspective) I'm trying to figure out WHY. Let me give you a little background:
My family never made a big deal out of the 4th. Sometimes we went to see fireworks, but it wasn't a big thing we looked forward to all year or anything. My dad is a Viet Nam vet (air force), which you'd think might make us a big "rah rah 4th of July" kind of family. But dad didn't enjoy the noise and the crowds of those kinds of events. Most of us didn't, to be honest. Mom was often fighting a losing battle to be social (see my previous post, family matters, below).
In contrast, Bill's family was always very social. His mom was part of a bridge group and a tennis group, his dad had a poker group. They had standing dates with other families on the 4th, the day after Christmas, etc.
In general, summer's not really my favorite season. I don't do well with the sun or the heat- makes me really irritable. And 4th parties where people are playing with fireworks make me really afraid that someone's going to get hurt.
So every year we're invited to a former neighbor's house for a cookout and to watch the city fireworks. It's never been my favorite event, but now that we have 2 young kids, one of which is autistic, it has become easy to make excuses not to go. There aren't any kid-specific activities, and it feels like we're hanging around for hours, waiting for it to get dark so we can watch the fireworks.
The city fireworks were yesterday, and the suburbs all have theirs tonight. Yesterday I suggested we not go to the party, for all the reasons stated above. Bill was fine with it, and bought some stuff to cook out at home (one of his favorite ways to relax- drink a beer, listen to music, and cook on the grill). The thing is, today it's raining, so we are going to end up doing nothing special for the 4th. I feel guilty when my anti-social tendencies force my very-social husband to miss out on stuff.
I get weird around most holidays- I want them to be SO SPECIAL for my kids that I end up freaking out, which is not so special for my kids!
Bill and I were kind of half-joking that maybe I experienced some childhood trauma on the 4th of July which has scarred me for life. I don't think that's the case, but I'm just wondering: does anyone else "get weird" around holidays?
So this year (the blogging has made me more introspective) I'm trying to figure out WHY. Let me give you a little background:
My family never made a big deal out of the 4th. Sometimes we went to see fireworks, but it wasn't a big thing we looked forward to all year or anything. My dad is a Viet Nam vet (air force), which you'd think might make us a big "rah rah 4th of July" kind of family. But dad didn't enjoy the noise and the crowds of those kinds of events. Most of us didn't, to be honest. Mom was often fighting a losing battle to be social (see my previous post, family matters, below).
In contrast, Bill's family was always very social. His mom was part of a bridge group and a tennis group, his dad had a poker group. They had standing dates with other families on the 4th, the day after Christmas, etc.
In general, summer's not really my favorite season. I don't do well with the sun or the heat- makes me really irritable. And 4th parties where people are playing with fireworks make me really afraid that someone's going to get hurt.
So every year we're invited to a former neighbor's house for a cookout and to watch the city fireworks. It's never been my favorite event, but now that we have 2 young kids, one of which is autistic, it has become easy to make excuses not to go. There aren't any kid-specific activities, and it feels like we're hanging around for hours, waiting for it to get dark so we can watch the fireworks.
The city fireworks were yesterday, and the suburbs all have theirs tonight. Yesterday I suggested we not go to the party, for all the reasons stated above. Bill was fine with it, and bought some stuff to cook out at home (one of his favorite ways to relax- drink a beer, listen to music, and cook on the grill). The thing is, today it's raining, so we are going to end up doing nothing special for the 4th. I feel guilty when my anti-social tendencies force my very-social husband to miss out on stuff.
I get weird around most holidays- I want them to be SO SPECIAL for my kids that I end up freaking out, which is not so special for my kids!
Bill and I were kind of half-joking that maybe I experienced some childhood trauma on the 4th of July which has scarred me for life. I don't think that's the case, but I'm just wondering: does anyone else "get weird" around holidays?
Thursday, June 08, 2006
and now, back to your regular programming
My husband hopes that I don't hurt myself getting down off my soapbox. So I'll be very careful...
To update on the past couple posts:
-I decided to go with Barnes & Noble gift cards for the teachers, along with a little candle from the Bath & Body Works sale right next door. I was tempted to get gift certificates to a local ice cream place (mostly because that's what sounded really good to me) but decided B&N was safer- you can get not only books, but music or movies...
-Bill and I had a date Friday night, in honor of our anniversary. We walked to a neighborhood restaurant for a slightly fancy dinner and wine. Then we walked a few doors down to that ice cream place I just mentioned. Finally, we walked to the local little movie theater to see The DaVinci Code. What a fun night. I hope this doesn't sound terrible, but sometimes when we have a great time alone like that, it makes me extra irritated by our "real life" with kids. Maybe that was a reason for my mood Saturday?
Another reason I get frustrated with an issue like Henry going outside is that I wonder- "what is the best for my child?" It just seems like it's a mom's job to encourage her child to go outside. But it's a weekend, and the rest of us are doing things that bring us pleasure. Is it wrong to let Henry do what brings him pleasure? What is my obligation here as his mother? To force him to do something because it is "what kids are supposed to do"?
-I have not been "pissed off mom" ever since Saturday. I have still had my moments, but I have tried (as Kyra wisely suggested) to acknowledge when I'm being grumpy/irrational and apologize.
This morning I tried to get Henry to write his name on the gift tags for his teachers. Don't ask me why I go through that routine with him when I KNOW that he is going to refuse and get upset. The thing that makes it even worse is that his 2-year-old brother chimes in "yeah, Bubba. You write your name!" This makes Henry mad. Then, when I say "Tommy, you don't need to get involved with this. Just eat your breakfast" and Tommy starts crying, it makes everything worse. I ended up saying "you are both making me really mad" and throwing down the gift tags! Mature. But I didn't say what I wanted to say, which was "how damn hard is it to write your name on this gift for your teacher?!" I guess that's the thing- it is really damn hard for Henry.
As we walked out to the car for his ride to school, he told me that he doesn't want to go to the new school. I think he is really worried about that. And it's hard for me to comfort him, because I'm worried about it too. This year went so well. It's hard to start over.
Monday, April 17, 2006
bad weekend?
I'm having a kind of mind/emotion battle today, as I think about the weekend. My brain is trying to convince the rest of me that it wasn't a bad weekend. So why do I feel so grumpy today?
We were invited to a family birthday party on Saturday, and had all planned to travel with my mom and dad and stay in a hotel. I had everything ready to do Easter baskets in the hotel room.
Kate stayed home sick from school all week, but was feeling better on Friday (no school for Good Friday.) I had almost everything packed and ready to go Friday night, as the party was at 1 pm and we would have a 3-4 hour drive Saturday morning.
Then Henry woke up at 7:15 Saturday morning and said "I feel siiiiick. I'm feeling siiick, mommy." He felt very warm and his nose had run all over his sheets (ewww). So I made a quick decision. It seemed like the best thing to do was for Bill to stay home with Henry and take him to the doctor, while Thomas and I went on the trip with my parents.
Bill suggested that we could just give him some medicine and still try to go. But I thought of all the bad possibilities: he'd feel worse and worse and someone would have to stay back at the hotel with him so he wouldn't infect all the other party guests; he'd feel worse and worse and we'd have to miss school and work Monday to go to the doctor because we hadn't on Saturday (and Monday was another field trip day!)
So the family split up and the little one and I left town.
Henry spent the rest of the day feeling better and better. The doctor found nothing wrong.
And I spent the rest of the weekend feeling like I made the wrong call.
Now I know, in my brain, that I used good reasoning to come to my decision, and none of us are the worse for it. Henry had a nice weekend at home, while Thomas and I had a nice weekend visiting relatives.
But we stayed in a hotel, with a pool, and I know that would have been fun for Henry. And I think I'm even more disappointed at not getting to "show off" Henry. These were my aunts, uncles and cousins. They only see my kids once a year, at the most. They all know about Henry's diagnosis, and I kind of wanted to let them see the real Henry, not just the picture they might have in their mind, formed when he was 2 years old and screaming at some event...
My aunt had a little Easter egg hunt on her front yard that Thomas participated in. But the rest of the family didn't celebrate Easter at all. At first I thought we might do Easter baskets Sunday evening when I got home. But by the time I got home I thought that idea seemed even more lame than not doing them at all. The boys could really care less anyway, and the items I got for Kate's basket were things like a hand-held Boggle game that I thought she could do in the car. So now I'm being a huge baby and thinking about returning all the stuff I bought for Easter, the purchase of which was just a big waste of time.
Why do I insist on being so disappointed about this?
We were invited to a family birthday party on Saturday, and had all planned to travel with my mom and dad and stay in a hotel. I had everything ready to do Easter baskets in the hotel room.
Kate stayed home sick from school all week, but was feeling better on Friday (no school for Good Friday.) I had almost everything packed and ready to go Friday night, as the party was at 1 pm and we would have a 3-4 hour drive Saturday morning.
Then Henry woke up at 7:15 Saturday morning and said "I feel siiiiick. I'm feeling siiick, mommy." He felt very warm and his nose had run all over his sheets (ewww). So I made a quick decision. It seemed like the best thing to do was for Bill to stay home with Henry and take him to the doctor, while Thomas and I went on the trip with my parents.
Bill suggested that we could just give him some medicine and still try to go. But I thought of all the bad possibilities: he'd feel worse and worse and someone would have to stay back at the hotel with him so he wouldn't infect all the other party guests; he'd feel worse and worse and we'd have to miss school and work Monday to go to the doctor because we hadn't on Saturday (and Monday was another field trip day!)
So the family split up and the little one and I left town.
Henry spent the rest of the day feeling better and better. The doctor found nothing wrong.
And I spent the rest of the weekend feeling like I made the wrong call.
Now I know, in my brain, that I used good reasoning to come to my decision, and none of us are the worse for it. Henry had a nice weekend at home, while Thomas and I had a nice weekend visiting relatives.
But we stayed in a hotel, with a pool, and I know that would have been fun for Henry. And I think I'm even more disappointed at not getting to "show off" Henry. These were my aunts, uncles and cousins. They only see my kids once a year, at the most. They all know about Henry's diagnosis, and I kind of wanted to let them see the real Henry, not just the picture they might have in their mind, formed when he was 2 years old and screaming at some event...
My aunt had a little Easter egg hunt on her front yard that Thomas participated in. But the rest of the family didn't celebrate Easter at all. At first I thought we might do Easter baskets Sunday evening when I got home. But by the time I got home I thought that idea seemed even more lame than not doing them at all. The boys could really care less anyway, and the items I got for Kate's basket were things like a hand-held Boggle game that I thought she could do in the car. So now I'm being a huge baby and thinking about returning all the stuff I bought for Easter, the purchase of which was just a big waste of time.
Why do I insist on being so disappointed about this?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
the dream
I've only had 2 jobs since college. The first started as an internship and turned into a real full-time job with benefits. I loved all the people I worked with and thought it might turn into an interesting career. My first and second bosses liked me. But the third boss... she hated me. I don't want to re-hash 7-year-old history, but... (just a little bit, ok?) I will concede that I had developed some bad work habits- I talked a lot (I told you that I loved all my coworkers) and didn't see a lot of urgency in any of my work. This new boss, however, spent a lot of time instant messaging with her daughter and other friends. I know this because I could hear the beeps coming from her cubicle- why didn't she turn the sound down? And we spent one (supposed to be working) afternoon driving around town trying to find her an apartment. So she wasn't exactly the picture of a model employee herself. Anyway, after working together for about a year, maybe a year and a half, she asked me to find another job.
I was totally devastated. I was 29 years old and had worked at that job for 7 years total. I had no idea what I would do next. Most of all, I was used to everyone LIKING me, and thinking that I was pretty smart and a good person to have around. (Looking back, I see that I was naive- I can think of other folks in that office who probably didn't think I was Most Valuable Employee.) But anyway, I felt pretty worthless. I took it totally as a value of my personal worth. Silly.
Oh, and I found out I was pregnant with Henry the same week that I got fired. True story.
It goes without saying that I ended up finding a new job that was superior in every way, and have been blissfully happy with it ever since. I've never looked back. And I'm a stronger person and a better worker because of that experience.
But last night I had the dream again. I have it a few times a year. I dream that I have been offered a job at the old office, and have accepted. I show up for work the first day and kind of think "why did I take this job? Why did I want to come back here?" I don't know anyone there anymore- and that's true-to-life. The entire staff has turned over since I was there, except for one good friend with whom I keep in touch. (The boss who fired me has been through like 4 jobs since then. But I'm not bitter.)
These dreams just go on and on and are so vivid. They're not bad dreams at all- nothing unpleasant about them. It's just like I'm walking around from office to office, moving stuff into my desk, getting to know the new people I'm working with, etc. Mundane. But when I wake up I have this irritated feeling: "why did I waste a whole night dreaming about that stupid old office?"
Why do you think I have this dream? Am I trying to resolve something? Trying to make right a bad memory? I mean, I'm pretty damn lucky if losing that job has been the biggest trauma in my life, and my subconscious is trying to reconcile it!
I was totally devastated. I was 29 years old and had worked at that job for 7 years total. I had no idea what I would do next. Most of all, I was used to everyone LIKING me, and thinking that I was pretty smart and a good person to have around. (Looking back, I see that I was naive- I can think of other folks in that office who probably didn't think I was Most Valuable Employee.) But anyway, I felt pretty worthless. I took it totally as a value of my personal worth. Silly.
Oh, and I found out I was pregnant with Henry the same week that I got fired. True story.
It goes without saying that I ended up finding a new job that was superior in every way, and have been blissfully happy with it ever since. I've never looked back. And I'm a stronger person and a better worker because of that experience.
But last night I had the dream again. I have it a few times a year. I dream that I have been offered a job at the old office, and have accepted. I show up for work the first day and kind of think "why did I take this job? Why did I want to come back here?" I don't know anyone there anymore- and that's true-to-life. The entire staff has turned over since I was there, except for one good friend with whom I keep in touch. (The boss who fired me has been through like 4 jobs since then. But I'm not bitter.)
These dreams just go on and on and are so vivid. They're not bad dreams at all- nothing unpleasant about them. It's just like I'm walking around from office to office, moving stuff into my desk, getting to know the new people I'm working with, etc. Mundane. But when I wake up I have this irritated feeling: "why did I waste a whole night dreaming about that stupid old office?"
Why do you think I have this dream? Am I trying to resolve something? Trying to make right a bad memory? I mean, I'm pretty damn lucky if losing that job has been the biggest trauma in my life, and my subconscious is trying to reconcile it!
Friday, March 17, 2006
selfish post
March Madness is Bill's favorite holiday. Superior even to Christmas, I think. This year he took today off work and planned to eat chicken wings and watch basketball all day. I requested the day off too. Although I'm not so much into the basketball, I thought it would be really nice to have a Friday off together, sitting on the couch. I could read a magazine or something, and maybe have an uninterrupted conversation with my husband. (Although probably not unless it involved the bracket.)
Then we got this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for tickets to the tournament games in Dayton (about 1.5 hours away). At first I foolishly thought that he and I could go to the games together. But then reality set in:
A. Someone needs to meet Henry after school at 3. Although we could make arrangements for someone else to do that, there is the more important fact:
B. Kate and Bill would have a lot more fun together at this event than Bill and I would.
So father and daughter are having a little adventure today, while I just went in to work in the morning and shuttled my little boys around in the afternoon.
See, here's the selfish part. Even though I know this was the right way for things to work out, I am a little jealous/pouty/miffed that my lame plan for a day on the couch was nixed, in favor of a totally awesome day of watching 4 basketball games (including favorites OSU and UNC) for Bill and Kate. Kind of like "why do they get to have all the fun?"
And then I feel even worse when I think "well, this is a really special interest they share. If a really rare opportunity came along for something special I enjoy, I would get to do that." And then I start to wonder what that special thing might be, and then I get even more bummed out when I realize that I have no hobbies or interests. Some women are into scrapbooking, and might take a weekend scrapbooking getaway, for example. Or a golf vacation with girlfriends. Or a hiking trip, or some other crazy athletic thing...
I did get to talk to my brother in Sydney tonight (which was a special opportunity, and I'm glad I didn't miss it- see, I'm seeing the silver lining already). We talked about this issue and I realized that the one special thing I do, just for me, is keeping this blog and reading my ever-growing circle of friend blogs.
It's kind of a weird, solitary thing I do here in the basement. But maybe that's the most I can hope for at this point in my life: waiting 'til the kids are asleep and then sitting down in the cold basement "talking" to my cyber-friends.
So, thanks for being there guys. Until we can organize a yearly convention to spend a weekend together, this is my little getaway.
(I sure hope I don't sound like as much of a pitiful loser as I feel!)
Then we got this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for tickets to the tournament games in Dayton (about 1.5 hours away). At first I foolishly thought that he and I could go to the games together. But then reality set in:
A. Someone needs to meet Henry after school at 3. Although we could make arrangements for someone else to do that, there is the more important fact:
B. Kate and Bill would have a lot more fun together at this event than Bill and I would.
So father and daughter are having a little adventure today, while I just went in to work in the morning and shuttled my little boys around in the afternoon.
See, here's the selfish part. Even though I know this was the right way for things to work out, I am a little jealous/pouty/miffed that my lame plan for a day on the couch was nixed, in favor of a totally awesome day of watching 4 basketball games (including favorites OSU and UNC) for Bill and Kate. Kind of like "why do they get to have all the fun?"
And then I feel even worse when I think "well, this is a really special interest they share. If a really rare opportunity came along for something special I enjoy, I would get to do that." And then I start to wonder what that special thing might be, and then I get even more bummed out when I realize that I have no hobbies or interests. Some women are into scrapbooking, and might take a weekend scrapbooking getaway, for example. Or a golf vacation with girlfriends. Or a hiking trip, or some other crazy athletic thing...
I did get to talk to my brother in Sydney tonight (which was a special opportunity, and I'm glad I didn't miss it- see, I'm seeing the silver lining already). We talked about this issue and I realized that the one special thing I do, just for me, is keeping this blog and reading my ever-growing circle of friend blogs.
It's kind of a weird, solitary thing I do here in the basement. But maybe that's the most I can hope for at this point in my life: waiting 'til the kids are asleep and then sitting down in the cold basement "talking" to my cyber-friends.
So, thanks for being there guys. Until we can organize a yearly convention to spend a weekend together, this is my little getaway.
(I sure hope I don't sound like as much of a pitiful loser as I feel!)
Monday, February 27, 2006
church
We attend this church. Bill grew up attending here- I think his grandparents were even married here, as were his parents and his sister. We were not church-goers at the time we got married (and were married in a park shelter house on a rainy day), but started back to Trinity when Henry was an infant and Kate was 9 or 10.
Things went well when Henry was pre-school age. He would spend the first 2/3rds of the service in the nursery and then come down for communion, another prayer, song, and dismissal. But once he was old enough to go to Sunday school, our troubles began. Really I should say my troubles, because as I try to write about this I realize that some of this stuff is all in my head.
The Sunday school program is very small and I felt unsure about how Henry would do in the class. I didn't want to stay there with him, though, as I felt that would make Henry seem or feel more different, or make the other parents/teachers think he was un-managable or un-teachable. I should have just had a talk with the teacher. But at the time, Henry did not yet have a diagnosis of any kind, so it would have just been me saying "my child has speech delays and you have to say things to him in just the right way and sometimes he won't want to participate and will just want to do a puzzle in the corner. OK?"
He couldn't tolerate an entire church service, and I refuse to have him go to the nursery when he's clearly too old. So we just didn't go to church much. Which was a disappointing solution for all of us. This fall we decided to give it a try again. Unfortunately, the church was being remodeled at the time, so services were being held in the basement, in the coffee hour area, rather than the majestic high-ceilinged, stain-glass-windowed space Henry was used to. That was a disaster. He kept loudly proclaiming that he wanted to go back to the "red room" (the main front doors to the church are red.)
So for the past 5 months or so, Bill and I have been alternating Sundays- one of us takes Kate and Thomas to church, the other one stays home with Henry. It has worked ok. But yesterday Bill had a basketball tournament game, and I had been asked to watch the nursery. So Henry came along to church.
We were all excited to see the re-done sanctuary, which was just re-opening. They had a brass trio or quartet playing. I stopped to have the boys look at the beautiful church and listen to the music. Henry wanted to sit right down in a pew, but I had to force him to come upstairs to the nursery. While we were up there he kept asking to go back down to church, "say a prayer and sing a song." Almost the entire service is printed in the bulletin, so I started reading that to him. He sat and listened attentively, and when I had to get up to play with the kids, I saw him "reading" the bulletin on his own.
Then I tried to sing a song. The first one that came to mind was the Hallelujah chorus from "Messiah". I started singing that, and Henry said "No. We are marching in the light of God." That is a song that we sang months ago, possibly the last time Henry had attended church. And he remembered it. My heart was so touched, and I also felt a little twinge of guilt (don't we always?!)
He really enjoys going to church, and I should not keep him from it. Have any of you found ways to make church (or going to movies, or any other hour-plus need-to-be-quiet situation) work for your ASD kid?
Should we just muddle through Sunday school? Maybe it will go better now that Henry has established some good habits at school. And I might have better information to give the Sunday school teacher.
Things went well when Henry was pre-school age. He would spend the first 2/3rds of the service in the nursery and then come down for communion, another prayer, song, and dismissal. But once he was old enough to go to Sunday school, our troubles began. Really I should say my troubles, because as I try to write about this I realize that some of this stuff is all in my head.
The Sunday school program is very small and I felt unsure about how Henry would do in the class. I didn't want to stay there with him, though, as I felt that would make Henry seem or feel more different, or make the other parents/teachers think he was un-managable or un-teachable. I should have just had a talk with the teacher. But at the time, Henry did not yet have a diagnosis of any kind, so it would have just been me saying "my child has speech delays and you have to say things to him in just the right way and sometimes he won't want to participate and will just want to do a puzzle in the corner. OK?"
He couldn't tolerate an entire church service, and I refuse to have him go to the nursery when he's clearly too old. So we just didn't go to church much. Which was a disappointing solution for all of us. This fall we decided to give it a try again. Unfortunately, the church was being remodeled at the time, so services were being held in the basement, in the coffee hour area, rather than the majestic high-ceilinged, stain-glass-windowed space Henry was used to. That was a disaster. He kept loudly proclaiming that he wanted to go back to the "red room" (the main front doors to the church are red.)
So for the past 5 months or so, Bill and I have been alternating Sundays- one of us takes Kate and Thomas to church, the other one stays home with Henry. It has worked ok. But yesterday Bill had a basketball tournament game, and I had been asked to watch the nursery. So Henry came along to church.
We were all excited to see the re-done sanctuary, which was just re-opening. They had a brass trio or quartet playing. I stopped to have the boys look at the beautiful church and listen to the music. Henry wanted to sit right down in a pew, but I had to force him to come upstairs to the nursery. While we were up there he kept asking to go back down to church, "say a prayer and sing a song." Almost the entire service is printed in the bulletin, so I started reading that to him. He sat and listened attentively, and when I had to get up to play with the kids, I saw him "reading" the bulletin on his own.
Then I tried to sing a song. The first one that came to mind was the Hallelujah chorus from "Messiah". I started singing that, and Henry said "No. We are marching in the light of God." That is a song that we sang months ago, possibly the last time Henry had attended church. And he remembered it. My heart was so touched, and I also felt a little twinge of guilt (don't we always?!)
He really enjoys going to church, and I should not keep him from it. Have any of you found ways to make church (or going to movies, or any other hour-plus need-to-be-quiet situation) work for your ASD kid?
Should we just muddle through Sunday school? Maybe it will go better now that Henry has established some good habits at school. And I might have better information to give the Sunday school teacher.
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