Deep into the last leg of my daily drive time I found myself lost in thought, puzzling over the weightier problems in our lives and in the lives of those closest to our family. Stumped, as usual, for answers to most of these problems I started imaging various scenarios where I had a single magical wish and how I would use it. Several delightful scenarios later I started drifting back to reality and I was somewhat startled to realize that in none of these scenarios had I wished my son out of autism -- something that in the past I have spent plenty of time wishing for. On this day, though, when I weighed that idea my gut reaction was, and still is, rejection. The idea of changing who my Little Guy is seems positively revolting. I love this kid the way he is. I love the way his brain works and I wouldn't change what is so deeply a part of who he is. We will continue to work towards growth is specific areas but the only changes I would wish are for improvements in the world around him.
Showing posts with label EQ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label EQ. Show all posts
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
poof!
I spent most of the day struggling with a disappointment. It was one of those disappointments that is connected to a long chain of past disappointments. A minor thing all by itself but connected to that chain my sadness had became a weighty thing. Hubby did nice sweet things to cheer me up that made me smile but the feeling would not stay in my heart. Not yet. I was in a funk I could not get out of.
I was still wiping away stray tears when I went to pick up Little Guy from school. Then through his open classroom door I spotted Little Guy walking to me, a grin on his handsome little face. *POOF!* My heart lifted. Just the sight of him and his joy dispelled my gloom and made me okay again. He's a magical creature, my son. Both my sons.
I was still wiping away stray tears when I went to pick up Little Guy from school. Then through his open classroom door I spotted Little Guy walking to me, a grin on his handsome little face. *POOF!* My heart lifted. Just the sight of him and his joy dispelled my gloom and made me okay again. He's a magical creature, my son. Both my sons.
Friday, August 3, 2012
a mirror moment
I am truly thankful to be able to send
Little Guy to a school where he can be supported by specially trained professionals. Yes, we definitely
traded up when we replaced public school with Little Guy's school.
This trade is not without its costs, though, and I'm not just talking
about the finance-straining tuition. I am particularly aware of
those other trade offs as we head into the start of a new school
year. As children everywhere prepare for their first day of school,
as we head towards Little Guy's first day of kindergarten.
Do I even need to say that it is not
the first day of kinder I had planned for him? Let's be honest here –
this first day of school business is a bitter pill for me to swallow.
Not nearly as bitter as sending him virtually unsupported into public special education, don't get me wrong. Yet, all
around me I see other parents prepare to start their children off in
regular school and I know that that prototypical first day of school is not meant
to be for my family. Not this year anyways.
About a week ago I sat across from my
teenage niece. She is a beautiful young lady with many lovely
qualities, but as I sat across from her it was all I could do not to
slap her say less than kind things to her. Why? Well, it had to do with some of the less attractive
qualities that so often go hand in hand with teenagers. Words like
“spoiled” and “ungrateful” come to mind. You see, my darling niece was alternating
between being royally pissed off and being despondent because she couldn't
have x. My sister was off somewhere quietly weeping, overwhelmed with guilt and feeling like a terrible parent
because she simply could not provide my niece with the x she so badly
wanted.
So there I was, trying to talk my niece out of her pity party. I thought, “What an
ungrateful, spoiled brat you are. Your mother is doing everything,
everything, she can just to give you what you have. Do you
not see how hard she works? Do you not realize that she would
joyfully give you what you wanted if she could? How dare you cry
about how terrible your life is! You have a family that loves you, a
safe home to live in and food on the table. You don't live like a
Rockefellar, nor even like many of your friends, but you have so much
to be thankful for and yet to you it is nothing. Spoiled. Little.
Brat.”
I said none of that, of course. I spoke carefully chosen
words selected to persuade and not inflame.
Time passed. I cooled off and tried to remember that I liked my niece. I reminded myself that once, what feels like eons ago, I had been a teenage girl. A spoiled, ungrateful teenage girl who had taken her own turn making her mom cry. I could distantly remember that girls feelings of entitlement and bitter rage that life hadn't handed her more.
It felt startling familiar. I realized that I have not yet entirely stopped being that spoiled, entitled girl. It might not be over something as inconsequential as a dress or a cell phone, but I have been quietly and privately enjoying an ungrateful little pout – a pout that my son is autistic. I have a wonderful husband and two adorable sons that I could not love more. Our family has a roof over our heads and food on the table, but I have been pouting because others have something different. I will not say something more, because even in my worst pout I do not imagine my son as less. But something different, yes, and dare I say it --something easier. Poor me.
So what was that I said to my teenage
niece? Something about how plenty of others have it so much worse.
It is certainly true for my family. My son is high-functioning and
everyday at his school I see families with much greater struggles.
Beyond that, I am blessed to have children at all. I know couples
that were not able to conceive, that would have gladly taken any kind
of child God gave them. No, I would not trade my Little Guy for
anything or anyone. So really, what is a regular first day of school? Big
deal. I have the most two amazing boys in the world. It makes perfect
sense that ordinary doesn't suit them.
Thank you to my dear niece for reminding me how unbecoming self pity really is. I guess we all need help snapping out of it sometimes.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
It doesn't get easy
It's hard to believe it's been an entire year since Little Guy was diagnosed with autism. We have come so far and I'm so happy with our progress. Our efforts of aggressive intervention have paid off with encouraging growth in Little Guy's development.
Although it is barely spring, I have been preoccupied with Fall and the upcoming school year. Little Guy will be starting kindergarten and there are some decisions that must be made. He can continue at the specialized private school where he has made such wonderful progress, or he can attend public school and be in a more mainstreamed classroom with some special assistance. It is a murky issue, far from settled, and Little Guy's future depends on us choosing wisely. No pressure.
It is also a very emotional issue.
At some point every parent probably has to let go of what they thought their child's life would be. For some families it might be finding out their child hates sports although they are a passionately sporty family. Or maybe it's the boyfriend, girlfriend, college or career they choose later on. We love our kids, we want them to be happy and we can't help but create dreams about their future.
I had this dream, no this collections of dreams, about my Little Guy and his first days/years of school. Dreams that were lent rich detail from the time I spent teaching at elementary schools. Letting go of those dreams...difficult is not a strong enough word to describe it. I have to remind myself that there is joy to be found in different dreams. "Welcome to Holland" continues to provide perspective and solace.
My Little Guy is amazing as he is. We are blessed and lucky to have him. I know that. But I still struggle to accept him as autistic. I still wish I could change it. I still try to ignore it and resent reminders of it. I still have some work to do.
On a less self involved note, this has been a year full of crises and hardships for so many of our loved ones. The list really goes on and on. The moral, I guess, is "such is life". My sweet Little Guy has a future that isn't exactly what I had planned - oh, well! I just got to this moment as a parent a little earlier than most.
(c) mamaofthevalley 2005-2015
Although it is barely spring, I have been preoccupied with Fall and the upcoming school year. Little Guy will be starting kindergarten and there are some decisions that must be made. He can continue at the specialized private school where he has made such wonderful progress, or he can attend public school and be in a more mainstreamed classroom with some special assistance. It is a murky issue, far from settled, and Little Guy's future depends on us choosing wisely. No pressure.
It is also a very emotional issue.
At some point every parent probably has to let go of what they thought their child's life would be. For some families it might be finding out their child hates sports although they are a passionately sporty family. Or maybe it's the boyfriend, girlfriend, college or career they choose later on. We love our kids, we want them to be happy and we can't help but create dreams about their future.
I had this dream, no this collections of dreams, about my Little Guy and his first days/years of school. Dreams that were lent rich detail from the time I spent teaching at elementary schools. Letting go of those dreams...difficult is not a strong enough word to describe it. I have to remind myself that there is joy to be found in different dreams. "Welcome to Holland" continues to provide perspective and solace.
My Little Guy is amazing as he is. We are blessed and lucky to have him. I know that. But I still struggle to accept him as autistic. I still wish I could change it. I still try to ignore it and resent reminders of it. I still have some work to do.
On a less self involved note, this has been a year full of crises and hardships for so many of our loved ones. The list really goes on and on. The moral, I guess, is "such is life". My sweet Little Guy has a future that isn't exactly what I had planned - oh, well! I just got to this moment as a parent a little earlier than most.
(c) mamaofthevalley 2005-2015
Sunday, November 27, 2011
how a simple scarf becomes an emotional journey
My stepmom and I have not always had the best relationship. She has been in my family picture pretty much since always and was an active participant in the acrimony between my parents during childhood.
The thing is, and this is a big thing, at some point everybody grew up quite a bit. One day I looked at my stepmother and I could see she was not a stepmonster, not anymore, and perhaps never had been. I looked at her and I could see a lady who despite an often cool facade has a very kind heart.
Last Fall I began to learn knitting and was assigned the project of making a striped scarf. I decided, almost reluctantly, to give it to my stepmom. I could make it in my brother's football colors and she could wear it to his freezing cold games. At first I wasn't sure that I wanted her to have the first thing I ever knit, or if I should reserve that for my mom, a knitter herself. The more I thought about it, however, the more I liked the gesture of it - that it was a way to show something that I had not said.
So I worked on the scarf. And worked on it. And messed it up and unraveled it and started anew. And didn't like it so started anew again. And in between stuff happened and I really just did not have time to sit and knit. Still every single time I worked on it I thought of her, and I thought of her with love. I knew I was doing something good. Almost a year later I finally completed my project and it was something I could be proud of.
I drafted a letter to accompany it. Ultimately I took out all the "I forgive you for the past" stuff and left simple words of kindness: I treasured her and was so glad she was part of my family. I realized that in the decades that this woman has been my stepmother I had never said anything like that to her.
It's so easy to take for granted that others understand how you feel. I'm glad that I, for once, made it crystal clear. Did my stepmom deserve harsh words spoken in distant years past? Probably. But the stepmom I have today was long overdue to receive these kind words and I am so glad I gave them to her.
The thing is, and this is a big thing, at some point everybody grew up quite a bit. One day I looked at my stepmother and I could see she was not a stepmonster, not anymore, and perhaps never had been. I looked at her and I could see a lady who despite an often cool facade has a very kind heart.
Last Fall I began to learn knitting and was assigned the project of making a striped scarf. I decided, almost reluctantly, to give it to my stepmom. I could make it in my brother's football colors and she could wear it to his freezing cold games. At first I wasn't sure that I wanted her to have the first thing I ever knit, or if I should reserve that for my mom, a knitter herself. The more I thought about it, however, the more I liked the gesture of it - that it was a way to show something that I had not said.
So I worked on the scarf. And worked on it. And messed it up and unraveled it and started anew. And didn't like it so started anew again. And in between stuff happened and I really just did not have time to sit and knit. Still every single time I worked on it I thought of her, and I thought of her with love. I knew I was doing something good. Almost a year later I finally completed my project and it was something I could be proud of.
I drafted a letter to accompany it. Ultimately I took out all the "I forgive you for the past" stuff and left simple words of kindness: I treasured her and was so glad she was part of my family. I realized that in the decades that this woman has been my stepmother I had never said anything like that to her.
It's so easy to take for granted that others understand how you feel. I'm glad that I, for once, made it crystal clear. Did my stepmom deserve harsh words spoken in distant years past? Probably. But the stepmom I have today was long overdue to receive these kind words and I am so glad I gave them to her.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
the moving blues
Our California days are dwindling. There is so little time left here and so much left that we want and have to do.
The surveyor just left our house, and left me knowing that the days of this house being home are numbered. This house where Hubby made me dinner on one of our first dates. Where we brought our son home from the hospital to. Where we had bbqs and parties, and so many many happy memories.
And while I'm having this blue moment, let me mention that when I took my niece and nephew to the train station yesterday I was in such a hurry to get them boarded that I sent them off without even hugging them goodbye. L-A-M-E.
The surveyor just left our house, and left me knowing that the days of this house being home are numbered. This house where Hubby made me dinner on one of our first dates. Where we brought our son home from the hospital to. Where we had bbqs and parties, and so many many happy memories.
And while I'm having this blue moment, let me mention that when I took my niece and nephew to the train station yesterday I was in such a hurry to get them boarded that I sent them off without even hugging them goodbye. L-A-M-E.
Monday, June 2, 2008
goodbye^24
Friday was my last day at work and it was very emotional. I'm not sure at exactly what point in life I became one of those women who cry uncontrollably when they're very sad or angry (I think circa 2003) but it is extremely annoying.
I stayed busy late into the night Thursday with preparations for the last day of class, and I was doing very well. But I wanted one of my last day activities to be an art table where my students could make cards for their homeroom teachers, so I started searching for poems about teachers that I could have ready for their use.
I found this:
You're a very special person.
and you should know
How I loved to be your teacher,
how fast the time did go.
We did a lot of special things-
We learned, we laughed, we cared
I always will remember you
And all these times we shared.
I wish that you could visit me,
as through the grades you go.
Try hard to learn all you can,
there's just so much to know.
The one thing I hope you remember
to last your whole life through,
Is that you are special and you are cared for
Each and every one of you!
Sappy Poem + Me = Weepy Tearful Mess
So I cried most the rest of the night. I got up early and ran around, dropped Little Guy off at Grandma's and as soon as I walked into the teacher's lounge I started crying again. I got to my classroom and as I set it up for the last day -- more crying. The first students started trickling in and I finally calmed down, pulled it together and settled into business. Then at the end of class out came the evil crying poem...needless to say there was crying.
I never in a million years would have thought it would be this difficult to say goodbye to my students. But it is. I don't think I ever fathomed when I was in school just how much the teachers cared. How teachers come to think of students as *their* kids.
So tearful goodbyes...class is dismissed. Then I spent the next 4 hours putting my classroom away for the summer and filling out intervention reports. By then I was dusty and dirty and glad to say goodbye to the school, if not the students.
I hope my 24 kids have bright futures.
I hope they rise above their circumstances.
I hope they learn that it is not their fault when bad things happen to them.
I hope they make good choices.
I hope they have a great teacher next year, who cares about them even half as much as I do.
I stayed busy late into the night Thursday with preparations for the last day of class, and I was doing very well. But I wanted one of my last day activities to be an art table where my students could make cards for their homeroom teachers, so I started searching for poems about teachers that I could have ready for their use.
I found this:
You're a very special person.
and you should know
How I loved to be your teacher,
how fast the time did go.
We did a lot of special things-
We learned, we laughed, we cared
I always will remember you
And all these times we shared.
I wish that you could visit me,
as through the grades you go.
Try hard to learn all you can,
there's just so much to know.
The one thing I hope you remember
to last your whole life through,
Is that you are special and you are cared for
Each and every one of you!
Sappy Poem + Me = Weepy Tearful Mess
So I cried most the rest of the night. I got up early and ran around, dropped Little Guy off at Grandma's and as soon as I walked into the teacher's lounge I started crying again. I got to my classroom and as I set it up for the last day -- more crying. The first students started trickling in and I finally calmed down, pulled it together and settled into business. Then at the end of class out came the evil crying poem...needless to say there was crying.
I never in a million years would have thought it would be this difficult to say goodbye to my students. But it is. I don't think I ever fathomed when I was in school just how much the teachers cared. How teachers come to think of students as *their* kids.
So tearful goodbyes...class is dismissed. Then I spent the next 4 hours putting my classroom away for the summer and filling out intervention reports. By then I was dusty and dirty and glad to say goodbye to the school, if not the students.
I hope my 24 kids have bright futures.
I hope they rise above their circumstances.
I hope they learn that it is not their fault when bad things happen to them.
I hope they make good choices.
I hope they have a great teacher next year, who cares about them even half as much as I do.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
anger and sadness
Lately I have found myself angry and I'm not entirely sure why.
I'm sad about moving, but I understand it's the best thing for my family. and I am also excited about it.
I am very sad about leaving my job. I love my awesome, awesome job. It is such a perfect job for me at this point in my life -- the work itself, the hours, the pay. I am lucky on all 3 counts.
These days I look around my classroom and I wonder if I will ever have a classroom again. I look at my students, my kids, and I care about each and every one of them. I look at them and I think that I have probably learned as much this year from them as they have from me.
As we approach the end of the year I finally feel like I'm part of the team and now I get to tell them all that I am leaving.
It was a dream come true...but I will be moving on.
And there's the rub. Moving on to what? I have to remind myself sometimes that it's to a better life for my family--for my husband, for my son and yes, also for me.
So it is with a small voice here that I say the selfish thought that sometimes echoes shamefully in my head: What about *my* career?
My husband has offered me his full support in whatever I want to do. He is absolutely flawless in his support for me, and I do not mean to ever imply otherwise. We made the decision to leave California together, and I believe we made the right choice.
But I have been teaching w/o a credential here in California where a constant shortage of teachers makes it possible to do so. Unfortunately my research has shown that there is fat chance of finding such an opportunity in Oregon, where there seems to be not a shortage but a surplus of teachers. So I have good reason to believe there is little chance that I'll find something like what I have here.
On top of that, hubby has approached me about the possibility of staying home with the baby and not working at all for awhile...specifically until our little guy can speak more. Hubby's theory being that he doesn't want our son in daycare until he is capable of telling us if something is amiss.
There was a time when I would have loved to hear this. When the baby was 6 weeks old I wept bitterly about returning to work and putting the baby in daycare. Back then hubby had no real concerns about it himself. Things eventually fell into place -- my mother in law retired and offered to watch the baby. I found a wonderful part time job opportunity that paid almost as much as what I could expect for full time work. Everything turned peachy on my job front.
But no more. And now that I have been back to work for a year I don't think I can handle not working at all. It would be one thing if our baby was very new, and life was still consumed with feeding and trying to sleep. But our son is 18 months old now, and more of a handful every day. And I cherish having a few hours a day to be me like I used to be, before there was a baby. I'm a pretty crappy housewife (witness mountain of laundry, dishes, unfiled mail and a basically constant state of household disorder) so it feels especially good to go somewhere else and do something well.
But like my husband, I don't relish the idea of putting our son in the care of strangers. Others do and I know it works fine and there are great day cares out there. But we've never trusted anyone except a Grandma to watch our little guy and it's hard to think about having to.
So there you go -- damned if I don't work, damned if I do.
Well I guess all this clears up why I'm angry.
I'm sad about moving, but I understand it's the best thing for my family. and I am also excited about it.
I am very sad about leaving my job. I love my awesome, awesome job. It is such a perfect job for me at this point in my life -- the work itself, the hours, the pay. I am lucky on all 3 counts.
These days I look around my classroom and I wonder if I will ever have a classroom again. I look at my students, my kids, and I care about each and every one of them. I look at them and I think that I have probably learned as much this year from them as they have from me.
As we approach the end of the year I finally feel like I'm part of the team and now I get to tell them all that I am leaving.
It was a dream come true...but I will be moving on.
And there's the rub. Moving on to what? I have to remind myself sometimes that it's to a better life for my family--for my husband, for my son and yes, also for me.
So it is with a small voice here that I say the selfish thought that sometimes echoes shamefully in my head: What about *my* career?
My husband has offered me his full support in whatever I want to do. He is absolutely flawless in his support for me, and I do not mean to ever imply otherwise. We made the decision to leave California together, and I believe we made the right choice.
But I have been teaching w/o a credential here in California where a constant shortage of teachers makes it possible to do so. Unfortunately my research has shown that there is fat chance of finding such an opportunity in Oregon, where there seems to be not a shortage but a surplus of teachers. So I have good reason to believe there is little chance that I'll find something like what I have here.
On top of that, hubby has approached me about the possibility of staying home with the baby and not working at all for awhile...specifically until our little guy can speak more. Hubby's theory being that he doesn't want our son in daycare until he is capable of telling us if something is amiss.
There was a time when I would have loved to hear this. When the baby was 6 weeks old I wept bitterly about returning to work and putting the baby in daycare. Back then hubby had no real concerns about it himself. Things eventually fell into place -- my mother in law retired and offered to watch the baby. I found a wonderful part time job opportunity that paid almost as much as what I could expect for full time work. Everything turned peachy on my job front.
But no more. And now that I have been back to work for a year I don't think I can handle not working at all. It would be one thing if our baby was very new, and life was still consumed with feeding and trying to sleep. But our son is 18 months old now, and more of a handful every day. And I cherish having a few hours a day to be me like I used to be, before there was a baby. I'm a pretty crappy housewife (witness mountain of laundry, dishes, unfiled mail and a basically constant state of household disorder) so it feels especially good to go somewhere else and do something well.
But like my husband, I don't relish the idea of putting our son in the care of strangers. Others do and I know it works fine and there are great day cares out there. But we've never trusted anyone except a Grandma to watch our little guy and it's hard to think about having to.
So there you go -- damned if I don't work, damned if I do.
Well I guess all this clears up why I'm angry.
all apologies
I listened to myself the other day say the words "I'm sorry" about 10 times in the space of an hour. Each was for independent unrelated events.
I'm sorry I ran late. I'm sorry you had a bad week at work. I'm sorry the house is a mess. Sorry the laundry is not done. Sorry we have to drive up there. Sorry the baby isn't ready to go yet. Sorry sorry sorry. Sorry I keep saying sorry.
I'm sorry I ran late. I'm sorry you had a bad week at work. I'm sorry the house is a mess. Sorry the laundry is not done. Sorry we have to drive up there. Sorry the baby isn't ready to go yet. Sorry sorry sorry. Sorry I keep saying sorry.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
super powers
I've been surrounded my whole life by moms who make the gig look easy. These amazing woman worked, kept the house clean and the laundry fresh, put delicious dinners on the table and managed all household affairs all the while raising children. I, however, find this nearly impossible and I'm not even working full time. My house has not been top-to-bottom clean to my satisfaction since...ever. If my Grandma had her vision back and could actually see my home she would be appalled...I know she would! And laundry....I swear I did 8-10 loads of laundry last weekend, and no, I did not get it all done. And now there's fresh dirty stuff from this week. Dinners? Not very often. There is, however, a generous amount of take out consumed.
My only solace is a little poem given to me by my mother in law:
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait til tomorrow
for children grow up, I've learned to my sorrow
so quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep
It reminds me that although it sometimes seems intangible, I work my ass off from sunrise to sunset and frequently many hours in between. So maybe I'm just an ok housewife, but I am a good mother...and thats enough.
My only solace is a little poem given to me by my mother in law:
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait til tomorrow
for children grow up, I've learned to my sorrow
so quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep
It reminds me that although it sometimes seems intangible, I work my ass off from sunrise to sunset and frequently many hours in between. So maybe I'm just an ok housewife, but I am a good mother...and thats enough.
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