Brothers: A Story in Pictures

Maybe it's because I had a sister growing up, but I've always been fascinated by the relationship between my three sons.  Our family dynamic is different from most because two of our boys have autism.  And yet, I see how they turn to each other without thinking, how they play and laugh, and how the fight and make up.  This is the story of my boys in pictures.

First, there were two of them.

Daniel and Ben are 21 months apart.  Almost from the beginning, their personalities were night and day. One quiet, a bit standoffish, always choosing books over people; the other chatty, a people pleaser, and never wanting to be alone.

Gideon came along 17 months after Ben, proving emphatically that God does have a sense of humor. Three boys in three years.  Oh. Boy. Oh. Boy. Oh. Boy.  Gideon brought a new dynamic to our family.  As the third boy, he was also the third opposite.  (Some of you know exactly what I mean by when I say that).

By the time this picture was taken, Daniel had been diagnosed with autism.  The diagnosis made things different and not different all at the same time.  The brothers didn't know a thing about what autism meant.  To them, nothing changed at all.  They still fought and hugged, got on each other's nerves and giggled. 

These two are just 17 months apart and Ben has always looked out for Gideon.  Gideon isn't quite two in this picture (yes, I kept his hair long and flow-y until he was two) but I had begun to suspect he had autism by the time he was 18 month.

Ben has never been one to leave Daniel and Gideon to their own devices.  He was also talking to them, always, and encouraging them to play with him.  By this time, Gideon was just over two and we had started the evaluation process. He was officially diagnosed with autism two days before Christmas.

Gideon's autism became more pronounced as he got older.   Autism looks different in every person and that includes our two boys.  What worked for Daniel, didn't work for Gideon.  It's made for many challenges, both as parents but in finding therapies and treatments.  Still, the boys found ways to have fun together..

Of course, pictures of them all smiling and looking at the camera are rare, like unicorn rare.

Katherine came along four years after Gideon.  The boys seemed to take it in stride even when she insists on being in the middle of everything the boys do.  As you can see, her addition to family photographs did not make picture-taking any easier.

The boys have always shared a bedroom.  First out of necessity and then because they liked it that way.  When they were younger, I would find that Ben crawled into Gideon's crib to nap with him. As they got older, inevitably, each morning, I'd find a couple of them sharing a bed together.    A couple of years ago, we smashed their three beds together.  The boys rarely go to sleep right away but I don't bother them.  I like hearing them giggle and whisper to each other.  They often turn on the closet light and read books together.  It makes my heart so happy to know in these quiet, hidden moments, they are "being brothers" together.

Some days as a brother aren't so good. (Ben didn't like the seating arrangements).

Some days with brothers are full of fun and play . . .

and more than a few fights. (You can read more about this epic photo session HERE).

But the good times always seem to outweigh the bad for them. I'm not sure if it's because they are so close in age. Maybe it's because of the unique role autism plays in our family.  It could just be how their personalities have unfolded.  But I know this: these boys will always have each other.  I know that as they get older, in one way or another, they'll grow stronger as brothers.  They will always have someone to share whatever life throws at them and a shoulder to lean on.  I'm not sure what that will look like and I know it won't always be easy.  I pray they will always find ways to laugh and encourage one another.  Sometimes, as we've learned in our family, words aren't necessary. Sometimes, the most important thing is always being there.  And that's what I pray for these boys--that they will always be there for each other.

One final picture, one of my favorites.  All smiling, all looking at the camera.  All together.

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Three Things Autism Parents Need to Hear

Having a child diagnosed with autism can feel like your world has completely shifted.  I know this because it's happened twice to our family.  Two of our four children have autism spectrum disorder (ASD).  I remember when our oldest son was diagnosed, I was four months pregnant.  I curled up into a ball on our bed and cried for hours. When our third son was diagnosed, I was more prepared for the words and I only cried at night when no one else could see me. I cannot begin to explain to you how difficult those first few months were.  I was inundated with more information than I knew what do to with--ABA therapy, occupation therapy, sensory processing disorder, speech therapy., pediatric neurologists, biomedical treatments, special diets, the best way to deal with insurance companies. That's just to name a few.  It's a bewildering, confusing time and, looking back, I'm not sure how I survived it.

If you have a friend or family member who has just had a child diagnosed with autism, you may be feeling helpless yourself.  You want to be a friend but you don't know what to say or do.  Here are three things I needed (and still need) to hear:

1. "I'm here for you."

Having a child with autism affects all areas of my life, including my friendships.  At any given time, I can feel: exhausted, worried, scared, or angry  100% of my energy goes to helping my children and that means many other areas of my life fall to the wayside. So, the truth is sometimes I am a terrible friend.  It's not intentional or mean-spirited.  It's just what my life is like right now. More than any other time, I need to know that my friends haven't given up on me.  I need to hear, "I'm here for you" from my people.  Those simple words mean the world.  Sometimes that looks like a text message checking up on me.  Sometimes it's a quick note or email.  Sometimes it's kidnapping me for a break and a cup of coffee.  Just knowing I have friends to lean on now and then is so very important to me.

2.  "I love you and your family."

Our family will always be different.  Our children will always have struggles.  Sometimes those struggles are very public (think meltdown in the middle of a parking lot) or very private.  Either way, \autism has changed our family and, for some people, changed how they see our family.  What I need most in these times is to be surrounded by people who are on our side.  I need to hear, "I love you and I love your family," and I need you to mean it.  I need you to love and accept our family just the way it is, not matter what it looks like.

3.  "I support you."

After an autism diagnosis, autism parents get a lot of advice.  I mean, a lot.  From everyone.  "Oh, I read an article about autism.  This is what you should do."  "My neighbor's best friend's son's boy has autism. Have you thought about this?"  Your doctors will have advice.  Your family will have advice. You'll have so much advice, you can start writing a column for the local paper.  The thing is that there are a plethora of approaches for the treatment of autism--medical, psychological, therapeutic, holistic, biomedical--and each parent gets to decide what is best for their child.  As a friend, your job is to simply say, "I support you. I know you're doing what is best for your child.  I support you."  No judgement or extra advice (unless it's asked for), just support.

I know these three statement seem small and inconsequential.  It doesn't seem like you're doing much to help out, does it?  But you are.  During the months after an autism diagnosis, autism families need to be surrounded by people who love and support them more than ever.  Even now, seven years after our first diagnosis, it means everything to know I have friends and family that are walking this journey beside me, loving our family even when it's not easy, but always willing to remind me that we aren't alone.

The One Reason We are Homeschooling (and Yes, There's Only One)

For those of you who are new readers, I have four children.  Daniel, 10, Ben, 8, Gideon, 6, and Katherine, 2.  Both Daniel and Gideon have autism.  Ben is 8 going on 35 and Katherine is, well, she's two.
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Over the last month, my husband and I have reached a decision. It's a big one.  No, not what series we're going to watch next on Netflix.  (Although, suggestions are always appreciated there).  This decision is something we've thought long and hard about and here it is:  Next year, we will be homeschooling our two oldest boys, Daniel and Ben.

We didn't make this choice on a whim and I'd wager it was one the harder decisions I've made recently.   Am I nervous?  Yes.  Do I have a fear that I could possibly be screwing up our children?  Kind of.  Do I think I can handle it?  I have no idea. But the reason for homeschooling, and there's only one, is such a big, hairy one that I'm going to have to get over my issues and just do it.

First, though, let me clear up a few things up.

We are not homeschooling because we hate the public school system. I don't.  I believe if all parts are working properly, the public school system can be quite successful. Over our last three years at our local school, my boys have had wonderful experiences.  We have loved all of our teachers and aides (and I'm not just saying that because several of them might very well be reading this right now). School, for the most part, has been a very positive experience for us.

We are not homeschooling because we hate high stakes testing.  Although, let me clear, I do hate high stakes testing.  I don't particularly care for how the curriculum is tailored to passing the test.  It takes a great deal of control out of the teachers' hands.  The teachers, you know those people who are passionate about kids and learning and went to school to get to degrees to do their jobs and do them well, are often required to teach certain curriculum in a certain way.  As a former teacher, I know how frustrating that can be.  Also, just to be clear, I'm not wholly against standardized tests when those tests were used as they were intended to be use.  Their original intent was to be a tool for teacher, to see where students had gaps in knowledge and therefore tailor teaching appropriately.  Sadly, standardized tests have now become the end-all-be-all of education and, as an area superintendent once told me, kids aren't faces anymore, they're just "a social security number and a score."

We are not homeschooling because we are worried about the negative influence of other children and society at large.  Of course, we're careful about what we expose our kids to and, yes, they've discovered "new" things at school that we weren't thrilled about (ie. a certain underwater sponge I could have lived my life never hearing about).  But we talk to our children about these things and it's opened up good conversations.

We are not homeschooling because we feel school is unsafe or our children have been bullied. One of my biggest concern when we started school was that Daniel would be teased because of his autism but we've seen just the opposite happen.  The students have all rallied around him.  They don't seem to mind his idiosyncrasies and, in fact, Daniel has earned a reputation as class clown.  He makes the kids laugh; the kids look out of him.

Honestly, there's only one real reason for choosing to homeschool our two oldest boys and it's this:  It is the best thing for Daniel and Ben.

That's it.

This past school year, Ben has struggled and struggled in the areas of writing, reading, and language arts.  In October, his teacher called me in and expressed concern.  She suggested that Ben be evaluated for dyslexia.  As I read more about dyslexia and watched Ben and how he struggled, my gut told me this was a real concern.  After two evaluations, Ben's scores are "too high" for him to qualify for any additional help.  Ben's teacher and I were stunned by these results.  The second evaluation done by a third party doctor (as requested by me and paid for by the school district) diagnosed him with a learning disability in written expression.  We were told that a year from now, he would likely qualify to receive services; right now, he's able to compensate.  "Let him fail the state test," she said.  "Then they'll {the school} will pay attention." But we cannot sit back and watch him fail.  Ben is a smart, sensitive guy and we have watched his self-confidence take a nose-dive this year.  He sees himself failing and he doesn't know how to fix it.  He's literally the kid falling between the cracks in our public school system and, sadly, he's not the only one.

The teachers, diagnosticians, and administrators have worked with us all year.  We've tried to come up with a good solution but their hands are tied.  Our state education agency creates the requirements for receiving special education services and school districts are bound by it.  Our state is one the most difficult to receive special education services in.  So, Ben and kids like him don't get the help they need and they fall further behind until they do qualify or just stop trying.

Our family cannot afford private school or private tutoring or specialized readings programs (some of which cost up to $2000 a week).  But I can provide him with one-on-one instruction at home.  We can go back to "the beginning" and we can work towards mastery.  This next year at home will be about building Ben's self-confidence as well as his reading and language arts skills.  This next year will be about giving him a solid footing and, I pray, a chance to reboot and love learning again.

Daniel, on the other hand, has had a more challenging year this year than ever before.  When I had my last parent-teacher conference this year, his teacher wrote: "Daniel is very smart, but he learns better one-on-one."  And he does, folks.  He really does.  Daniel could care less about tests (standardized or otherwise).  He doesn't give a flying fig about grades.  He is capable of doing the work but there are areas he's lagging in.  He does have in class support but not every second of his day and not just for him.  Daniel's autism gets in the way of school sometimes.  He will only work as hard as he's pushed and, sometimes, in a classroom full of kids, there's not time to push him as hard as he needs to be.  I hope with more time and one-on-one attention, we can see him blossom.

Incidentally, Gideon will be starting public school because we feel like this is the best option for him. Katherine, hopefully, will start a two day a week preschool program. One thing that has been pounded into me this last year is that each child is different.  Each of their stories, their struggles, and their strengths are different.  The solution is not one size fits all (just to make life less boring and more complicated).

I don't expect this to be easy.  I'm not under the delusion that I'll stock up on school supplies and a few math books and we'll be smiling and giggling all the days.   That's not going to happen.  This will be hard work because hard work is needed.  We have to unlearn how they've been taught to "do school" and learn how school will work in our house.  We will have challenges.  But for now, right at this moment, I am confident this is the best thing for Daniel and Ben and, in the end, that's what matters most.

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Mommy/Kid Photo Challenge, Days 6-12

Here's my weekly round up of pictures from the photo challenge. Some of the pictures are terrible quality but I've had so much fun taking pictures with the kids this week.  We've made so many great memories!

If you want to read more about the challenge and why I challenged myself, click here: Memories and Photographs

Day 6: My children think clothing is optional most days.

Day 7:  Almost forgot. Reading bedtime stories. I can't take a selfie to save my life so I really, really, really don't want to post this one.

Day 8: Oh. My. Gosh. We finally got a family portrait that rocks!!!! I promise everyone is smiling, you just can't tell! I also had to make it black and white because all of our feet are disgusting dirty. But we had a little family fun bouncing around on the trampoline together before I snapped this picture. I love it!

Day 9: Two of the three people in this picture are really comfortable. It's pretty common for Mom or Dad to be treated like a mattress in our house.

(Sorry if it's a little blurry. Amateur photographers in the house).

Day 10:
Katherine, pointing to my tongue: What's that?
Me: My tongue.
Katherine: I lick you.
{And then she does}.
Me: How did that taste?
Katherine: Delicious!

My children are weird.

Day 11: Daniel let me snuggle with him in bed before we read our story. I can't believe how grown up he's getting! This guy (who turned 10 last month) just went up to a size 9 men's shoe and is over five feet tall. Even when he' bigger than me, he'll still always be my baby. :)

Day 12: This is again my sad attempt at a selfie (us-ie?). I have about 23 different attempts at this picture and this one is still the best. Lol. BUT we laughed so hard trying to take it so it's worth it. 

A Site, an App, An Activity: 3 Practical Things that Help my Children with Autism Deal with Anxiety

I'm not an autism expert (well . . . kind of) but having two children with autism has taught me a few things.  One of the areas that my children struggle with the most is anxiety and that's very common in people with autism.  This looks different in either of my boys--one laughs uncontrollably and gets fidgety, the other gets loud and vocal and, lately, quite angry. When we are at new places, meeting new people, re-visiting places of high stress (think doctors' offices) or switching up our routine, I see an uptick in their anxiety.

Here are three practical ways I've found to help ease their anxiety:

A Site: One of your best tools is always preparing your child ahead of time.  I try to give my boys as much information as possible before we head into a potential anxiety-inducing situation and I've come to rely on YouTube to help me. I know you and your child are familiar with YouTube.  You've probably watched more surprise eggs videos that you can count or heard the theme song to "Thomas the Tank Engine" replayed over and over again. 9200 times. In one day. But it was actually my son Daniel that showed me how helpful YouTube could be.

About four years ago when he was six, Daniel had to get his first filling at the dentist.  I explain that we'd be going to the dentist to get his tooth fixed and he wouldn't be able to eat until after the dentist fixed his tooth.  He didn't say much but he did ask to get on the computer.  Thirty minutes later as I scrambled to get everyone out of the house, I heard a strange, high-pitched whirling noise coming ftom the direction of the computer.  Upon investigation, I found the noise to be a dental drill. It seems Daniel had gotten onto YouTube, typed in "trips to the dentist," and had been watching short videos. While most of us would like to do pretty much anything other than watch patients get fillings, for Daniel, it was exactly what he needed. 

I asked him about it on the way to the dental office and listened while he rattled off things that happen when we got to the dentist.  It helped him tremendously to know what was going to happen before it happened.  I've since learned that YouTube has a video on pretty much any experience you can think of.and, with a little planning, it can be a great visual tool to help ease anxiety before it's even started.  

An App: A couple of years ago, I discovered an app called, "Kid in Story" (Enuma). This is a paid app ($6.99, iOS only for now) but if you keep watching, they will occasionally make it free for the day (that's how I got it). The Kid in Story app allows you put your child in a book. You can use pre-made story boards or create your own.  You add the words.  You can even record yourself or your child reading the story.  

The applications are endless but I've found using it to create your own social stories starring, you guessed it, your own kiddo is one of my favorite.  What is a social story?  It's a story that describes a new situation, skill or concept and helps by explaining what the socially acceptable responses might be. Done correctly, social stories can help alleviate anxiety and stress because your child already has an idea of what to expect and how to act in a new situation.   

For example, say you're starting a new school year.  What a perfect time now to start putting your story together.  Get a picture of the school, the new classroom door, even the teacher, and start a story with your kid in it.  Social stories can be a great tool by themselves but think of how much more powerful they are when it stars your child.  I find Kid in Story to be very user-friendly and every child in our house benefits from it in some way--whether it's a social story or creative play. 

Here's a video of what Kid in Story looks like: Kid in Story App Demo

An Activity: Sometimes we as parents aren't quite sure what will cause anxiety until it happens (and even then, it is sometimes a mystery) but one activity that helped us when our boys are already in an anxious state is heavy work.  

What is heavy work?  It's exactly what it sounds like.  One thing we've learned through working with an occupational therapy with a focus on sensory integration is that children with autism often have underdeveloped proprioceptive systems.  That's a big word to mean how our body moves and how aware we are of it.  We work our proprioceptive systems through our joints and muscles by pushing and pulling or squeezing. Heavy work are ways to help give the proprioceptive system a work out.  

I'm not an occupational therapist so definitely consult with yours for duration, weight, and other instructions but we have found activities like these help our boys become more aware of their bodies.

• pulling a heavy wagon (perhaps with a sibling in it to make it a little more fun)
• wearing a backpack full of books
• using a weighted blanket or vest
• deep squeezes and hugs
• jumping on the bed, a trampoline
• rough housing or wrestling

These all have the added benefit of calming our boys down.  Plus, it can be fun! Each child is different so it will take some trial and error to find what is not stimulating enough or too stimulating. One of my boys hates to be squeezed, another would happily live in a hug all day.

This is a great read on heavy work right here from Mama OT: 40 Heavy Work Activities for Kids

We've also used a weight vest for the past three years in school with our oldest child.  (Again, consult with your OT about weight, duration, and additional instructions).  This has helped him during quiet independent work time in the classroom to stay calm and focused.  Some children also do well with weighted blankets to help with sleep or calming down.  

We got our weighted vest through a non-profit called Vests for Visionaries.  She is an autism mama herself who takes donated military uniforms and makes vests out of them (so they look super cool) and gives them away for free (you pay the cost of shipping).  She does accept donations--money, fabric, buttons, etc. 

To get on a waiting list for a free weighted blanket, you can check out Sharing the Weight

These are three things that have helped us in our family.  Anxiety is difficult enough when you have all the tools to express yourself and react appropriately but when autism limits your language and picking up on social cues is not your thing, finding ways to reduce anxiety is a good idea for everyone.

Have you found practical ways to reduce anxiety and stress in your child?  I'd love to hear about it.

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Disclaimer: None of these links are affiliate links.  I have not been paid or asked to say anything nice about anyone or any product.  All the nice stuff was said purely of my own volition.

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Attitude Adjustment: How I Learned Not to be Embarrassed by My Boys' Autism

The pastor asked us to pray together.  I half closed my eyes or rather I closed one but kept the one closest to Gideon wide open.  Last time I closed both eyes he made it half way down the main aisle. He seemed settled enough, which was a good sign. We'd been late to church . . . again.  (Surprise, surprise).  We slunk in a few minutes after the service started and sat down quietly (quiet being a relative word) in our regular sitting pattern.  Daniel sat in the row across from us because he's too cool for the likes of us.  Then my husband, Ben, Gideon and me at the end of the aisle.  Katherine flitted back and forth between us, appropriating a lap as she saw fit.

Thus far things were going well.  It was always a bit touch and go when we were running late and sometimes made for bad moods and badder behavior.  Maybe because it was Father's Day, but all our little people seemed to decide to toe the line. And then we prayed . . . .

Everyone's heads bowed, most eyes closed (except for the one I kept open) and the pastor prayed aloud. It was then I heard a little, high pitched voice say quietly, "Up pup. Pup is up."

I waited, hoping that would be the end of it.  It wasn't.

"Hop pop.  We like to hop."  The voice was a little louder now, the words crystal clear.  

"Gideon," I whispered.  "Quiet mouth."

He blinked his eyes and looked somewhere over my head.  Gideon hears every word I say every time I say it.  Whether or not he chooses to listen is an entirely different story. I stared him down, as best I could without making direct eye contact, waited a few beats and then settled back into my seat when it seemed he was done.  He wasn't.

Roughly 3.4 seconds later, I heard, "We like to hop on Pop!"  (Have you guessed Gideon's current favorite book yet)?

"Gideon!" I whisper-yelled.  "Quiet mouth." He gave a little giggle and bounced in his chair for a minute.  I waited . . . . longer this time and Gideon didn't make another sound. Now, he was done.  I was certain I was right.  I wasn't.  

You see, a few seconds later when it seemed to be completely silent in the church, Gideon yelled out, "STOP!"  Not quietly in his little voice, people.  Yelled.  Someone giggled.  My husband caught my eye, a little half grin on his face.  

"Gideon!" I said in his ear.  

"STOP! You must not hop on Pop!" He continued, not quietly, and glanced at me, making eye contact briefly, but smiling broadly.  

I grimaced.  I did not want to take him out of church.  If I took him out of church, I would have to stay in the foyer until it was time for children's church and, okay, a part of me feels like he wins when I let him get his way.  And make no mistake, Gideon knew exactly what he was doing. So, I stuck it out.  A head or two turned our way, with a smile, but most people seemed to not hear him at all.  Then again, us parents always think our children are the loudest.

The prayer ended, thank you Jesus and amen, and soon Gideon went off to worship training for the little ones. I sat down and took a deep breath, relaxing a bit into my chair and replayed what I shall now call The "Hop on Pop" Incident.  Seven year ago, when we were just starting to wade through autism waters with Daniel, my reaction to a similar situation would have been 1) immediately removing the child, 2) extreme embarrassment which would have lead to 3) profusely apologizing to anyone that would stand still for five seconds.

I've always been one of those people that apologize constantly.  Once a friend told me that because I grew up as a "parentalized child" so I felt responsible for everyone and everything.  "Don't tell me you're sorry," she said.  "I can take care of myself."  This gave me pause and I've thought about it often since then because she is right.  (Also, secondary lesson learned here: if you are friends with a licensed counselor, be ready to hear some truths about yourself). 

I also realized that I'd started a terrible habit: apologizing for my children's autism. 

At first, it was just natural. "I'm so sorry.  He has autism."  "Please excuse how loud he is.  It's the autism."  "I'm so sorry he broke that.  He's autistic."  I said these words or a variation of these words all day long.  At the grocery store,  At the doctor's office.  At restaurants.  At church.  The worst part though was, accompanying all these many, many, many apologies was my embarrassment.  I was embarrassed by my children.

When one of them made a scene or broke something or had a meltdown, I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.  The sorry's would tumble out of my mouth as I scrambled to right whatever wrong they'd done.  My cheeks would flame bright red and I'd feel tears burn the back of my eyes.

After it was all said and done, there was the guilt because of my embarrassment.  My children have autism.  This effects their behavior and communication.  In fact, their behavior is communication.  99% of the time these behaviors are expressions of curiosity, anger, happiness, excitement.  All emotions they feel deeply but have no other way of expressing them.  They are not an embarrassment; this is part of who they are.

Slowly, consciously, I began to shift the way I thought.  I would not be embarrassed about who my children are.  Sometimes I need to be embarrassed for them.  There's a difference.  The boys don't understand social norms and they do not understand when people are laughing at them.  Once, one of the boys came out of the rest room with his shorts around his knees.  At a public pool.  I refused to overreact.  There were some gasps and more than a few giggles. I calmly pulled him back in the restroom, fixed his shorts, and explained why we don't walk around naked.

I worked hard to change my words to other people.  Instead of saying, "I'm sorry he's so loud.  He has autism," I try to say, "I'm sorry if the noise bothered you."  The words I choose are subtlety different but the meaning behind them mean the world to me.

See, I am not going to apologize for my children having autism.  The autism is a part of them but not all of them.  As much as I'd like things to be easier for them, this is our reality right now.  So, I'll let waitstaff or a new friend know our boys have autism but I will not say I'm sorry for what that autism looks like right now.  They will change and grow and learn and mature.  I will be changing and growing and learning and, yes, maturing right along side them.

Yesterday in church, I realized how far I have come, how much my attitude has changed.  And no, I didn't apologize, not one time, for Gideon's autism.  Gideon's flaws are obvious; ours might not be. Yet each of us was knit together exactly as we should be and I will hold on to this truth.  This is who Gideon is, take him or leave him, but know he's made just a beautifully and wonderfully as each of us.

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Three Things I Learned Being Raised by a Single Mother

I've never really had a father to celebrate Father's Day with.

The last time I heard from my biological father was a phone call and a card when I was five.  Then just about two years ago, a social worker in Florida contacted me on Facebook, of all places.  On my daughter's first birthday, of all days.  My father, now 60 years old, was in the late stages of Parkinson's Disease and I was his only child. He was looking for me.

I had long ago grieved for, given up on, and move on from him.  My feelings were just . . . neutral.  I felt no anger towards him.  I felt no love either.  He was just a person I didn't know who didn't know me and now he wanted to.  And I was ambivalent towards him.  The relationship was . . . unnecessary for me.  That makes me sound terrible, right?  Here is a man close to the end of his life.  But the thing is that I just could not handle one more needy person in my life.  Having four young children, having two with autism, takes up most of me.  There's not a lot left over for my father.

We kept up weekly FaceTime conversations for over a year. They were awkward.  He is non-ambulatory and, although he can speak, it's difficult to understand him.  His wife did most of the talking.  But it was 30 minutes of what the weather was life, how the kids were doing, and more about the weather.  I dreaded these calls.

We haven't spoken much in the last six months.  My iPad is broken and his wife is having a lot of health problems.  The thing is I'm not willing to make the extra effort but then, neither, is seems was he. I know this makes him sad but his dream of me showing up in his room at the nursing home are just that, dreams.

I haven't sent him a Father's Day card this year.  I guess after 30+ years, I'm just not in the habit.

My stepfather, Vince, was around more often and, when the drugs weren't gripping him, he wasn't a bad father.  But he was absent physically quite a bit--prison, off getting into the trouble that put him prison, etc,--and even when he was there, he wasn't really there.  As you might imagine, his influence on my life had the exact opposite effect that most dads have on their children.  I didn't want to be a thing like him.  The good moments with him did not outweigh the bad moments, the struggle, and the heartache he put our family through. He passed away over eight years ago.

The person I'll be celebrating this Father's Day is my mom.  For the most part, she raised my sister and I on her own.  Although it wasn't easy for her.  Money was always tight.  There was always something breaking down or an added expense, but she made sure our little family survived and thrived. As I look back, I can see that she taught me so much just by her actions.

1) There's always work to be done.  My mom was never idle.  She worked a full-time job, often picked up a part time job or two.  At one point, she was working three jobs at once.  When she was home, she was cleaning, doing laundry, figuring out how to pay the bills, taking care of my sister and I and trying to pretend that everything would be okay even though I know there were days she didn't think that was true. Through this, she taught me that hard work and work ethic are important.

2)  Put other people first. My mom has spent most of her life taking care of other people. She helped out at home growing up, learning early to cook and clean.  She chose a career in the nursing field where her sole purpose was to help and take care of her patients.  And she took care of my sister and I.  I know there were times she went without so them so that my sister and I could have what we needed.  I also watched her take care of her friends and our neighbors.  She didn't have a lot to give in any capacity but she found a way to do it anyway.  She instilled in me that people are important, not stuff.  We take care of each other first before we worry about a nice car or a fancy house.  Stuff is just stuff; people are important.

3) Strength is continuing even when it's hard. I watched my mom struggle and struggle and struggle.  She had no family to help her.  She worked as a nurse's aide but the income wasn't much.  There were days when she was tired, from lack of sleep and from life.  She told me once she thought briefly about putting my sister and I in foster care because she didn't know how to do it. But she did not stop. She got up every morning when she didn't want to.  She figured out how to pay for food and gas and rent when the numbers just didn't work.  Mom never had a credit card or a checking account when I was a kid.  She used cash and when there was anymore cash, that was it.  The point is that she never gave up and, I think through it, she discovered her own strength.  I know I saw it and I learned that I wanted to be like that.

Single mamas, you may not realize it.  You may not have time to think about it too much but know that your children are watching and they are learning so much from you--the hard stuff and the good stuff.  They understand this is hard for you and that you might not be able to spend all the time and money that other moms spend on their kids. But they also understand that everything you do is for them. 

To these moms and to my mom, I say: Happy Father's Day and Happy Second Mother's Day and Happy Everything Day. 

Thank you.

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Mommy/Kid Photo Challenge, Days 1-5

I know there are a few of you out there that aren't on Facebook (that's kind of weird but okay, I still love you).  All week, I've been posting a photo for the photo challenge I gave myself earlier. The goal is to take a photo with at least one of my children every day for a month.  If you want to read more about the challenge and why I challenged myself, click here: Memories and Photographs

I thought I would put them all in a post about once a week so you can keep me honest.  I have to say that I have surprised myself by how much fun it's been to take more pictures with my kiddos.  I'm still not thrilled with the way I look in them but I am thrilled that I get to capture a moment with my children.  

Day 1:  Minnie Doctor (Katherine, age 2) is checking my "heart beep" and making sure my heart isn't broken. Never fear, all is well with my heart. 

Day 2: This morning Gideon crawled up on my lap for a cuddle and a squeeze. Sensory processing disorder (SPD) often goes hand in hand with an autism diagnosis. SPD looks different for each child. For instance, Daniel is overly sensitive to touch (I have to ask permission to touch his face) and, while he like hugs, he'd rather be the one to initiate it so I have to take them when I can get them. Gideon, on the other hand, craves deep pressure. He LOVES getting squeezes and happily spend all day getting them. He also seeks a lot of sensory play--mud, shaving cream, play dough. If it's goopy or messy, he loves it.

SPD is also the culprit behind noise sensitivity. Some people with SPD have trouble with bright lights, textures (like socks and tags in their clothing), and food issues (texture, taste, even color).

So this morning, Gideon climbed in my lap for a squeeze and Daniel snapped this picture for me (it was his first time taking a picture but he did a pretty good job--except for his finger in the picture). And no, Gideon is not picking his nose.

Day 3: Ben, age 8, and I made banana bread this morning. He loves to cook/bake and I get him to read a recipe and follow it (kind of the perfect way to check reading comprehension).

Today Ben is going for an evaluation with an occupational therapist. In April, he was diagnosed with a learning disability in written expression. His teacher brought concerns to us in October and we've spent almost the whole school year getting him evaluated through the school district and then by a third party doctor (paid by the school district). We are told he "tests too high" to receive services but everyone, especially his teacher and I, can see him struggling. For instance, his last spelling test this year? Even having studies, he got one out of ten correct. His teacher, who is amazing, pulled him aside and tested him orally and he got them ALL right.

The doctor we saw is sure in a year that he would test "low enough" and, in her words, "Let him fail the state assessment next year and then they'll pay attention." We suspect dyslexia and/or digraphia. (Incidentally, having an autistic sibling (or two) puts a kid at a 25% higher chance of having a learning disability, dyslexia being the most common.)

The very, very heartbreaking part about this is that Ben is a smart guy who has used his smarts to compensate for his struggles but his self-esteem has plummeted this year. He seems himself struggle and doesn't know how to fix it. The staff at his school have been wonderful but their hands are tied by state special education regulations. Ben is literally the kid falling between the cracks. And sadly, I know he's not the only one.

Next year, I'll be homeschooling Ben and Daniel. Insurance does not cover learning disabilities and specialized reading programs charge as much as $2000 a week (that is not a typo). So, we're taking a step back and working on what Ben needs to work on. It will be a challenge but I refuse to let him try so hard just to fail over and over again.

PHOTO CRED: Daniel, who will be an expert photographer when this is over with.

Day 4--At the end of the school year, Daniel brought home a print out with all the words his classmates used to describe him. The words? Funny. Happy. Friendly. Silly. Shy. Quiet. Humorous. Peaceful.

I love this picture of Daniel because it is TOTALLY Daniel. He always has a grin and a giggle. Always. His autism has never slowed him down. It's definitely a part of him but it's not all of him. 

Day 5: Because sometimes playing with your food is okay.

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30 Second Story: Monsters and Prayer

What's a 30 Second Story?  One that takes you 30 seconds or less to read.  Some will make you smile, some will make you think but I hope you'll enjoy them all.

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12:45am: Ben (age 8) appears beside my bed.

Ben: Mommy, I think there are monsters in our house. I'm scared. 

Me: Did you have a dream about monsters?

Ben: No, I can't fall asleep. I keep hearing things and thinking it's a monster. 

Me: There aren't any monsters, Ben. 

Ben: I know but I'm still kind of scared. Will you pray with me?

So, we prayed and then he gave me a hug and went to bed. I love that his first thought at being scared and worried was to find someone to pray with him.

I could learn a lot from my kids.

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Dear Minecraft, This is NOT a Love Letter

Dear Minecraft,

This is not a love letter.  This is a not hate letter.  This is a "if I have to listen to one more story about Minecraft from my eight year old, I am going to lose my ever-lovin' mind" letter.  I do hope you understand.

You see, here's how my day goes.  Let's say it's a school day.  I get everyone up and fed and dressed. There are four of them so I feel pretty accomplished by the time we tumble into the minivan.  The very second the car is in motion, it begins. See, my son is a smart kid and he knows he has a captive audience.  I can't do anything else while I'm driving except listen.

So, Minecraft peeps, I listen.

And I listen.

And I listen.

Here's what it sounds like:

"Mom, something-stuff-something-Creeper-other stuff-and still more.  Right?"

"Um . . . ."  That's me. I'm normally able to make words and sentences but at the moment, I can't.  You know why?  I understand none of his words.  Not one.

He continues, not at all concerned about my confused expression. "Then, more stuff--blah-blah--Steve--more words--still more and more stuff and more stuff.  I'm in survival mode."

"Me too, kid.  Me too," I reply back.

And from the peanut gallery, my two year old daughter pipes in with, "It's Minecrap.  It's Minecrap."  Her words.  Not mine, I swear.

I won't bore you with the rest of the conversation.  Mostly because I can't put it into words.

I see the educational value in Minecraft.  It's like virtual Legos. Players can build dwellings and grow plants and spawn spiders.  This virtual world is all theirs, right down to the names they give the items in their world. It helps them to stretch their math and engineering skills as well as their creativity.

It's good stuff.  It's great stuff.  It's just that I can't hear about it one more time.

A year and a half ago, when my son discovered Minecraft, he was initially frustrated.  He started coming to me and asking me to help him.  To me!  So, I had a decision to make.  Do I learn how to "do Minecraft" or not?  Did I really want to become the "do it for me" Minecraft person in our house?

Please hear my loud and resounding "NO!"

When his father and I couldn't much help, he turned to the only place he knew could--YouTube.  And that's where we met the Minecraft YouTube guy.  I don't know his name but I do know his voice.  I hear it in my dreams.  He's yelling at me a lot.  He always seems to be yelling.  But I will say this, over the last year, my son has become quite competent in Minecraft.  He struggled and got annoyed and frustrated but, and maybe this makes me sound like the big meanie mom I am often called, I liked that.  He figured out how to do it on his own and that gave him a sense of ownership and pride. That's pretty sweet.

It's just that if I hear one more play by play (or should I say block by block?) I am literally going to lose my mind.  My mind is already in limited supply.  Remember, four kids.

So, Minecraft developers, on your next update, please consider the rest of us who suffer through agonizing daily Minecraft reports.  Please consider those of us who make appropriate encouraging noises at appropriate times and still have no idea what's being said.  Please consider us.  

Thank you so much for your time and consideration.  May I leave you with a small suggestion? Perhaps you should consider creating a Minecraft version for adults in which the blocks are made of chocolate and the person that builds the biggest wine bottle reigns supreme?  Now, that's a version of Minecraft I could get behind.

Sincerely and neither fully in love or hate, but a little bit of both,

That-Kid-Who-Plays-Mindcraft's Mom

Memories and Photographs (and a Challenge)

Recently, Katherine, age two going on 16, has become very interested in taking pictures.  We have an old digital camera that doesn't work (not that that stops her).  She carts that camera around everywhere.

"Mommy.  Mommy," she says.  "Say cheese."  Then she holds up the camera to her eye (usually upside down), waits for you to say "cheese," and pretends to snap a photo.

"Got it," she shouts, grinning.  She passes the camera to you immediately and it's your turn to take a photo of her.  She hams it up, her face splitting into a smile that all squinty-eyed and toothy. Even at two, she's realized how important photographs are, a little slice of a moment that's captured permanently.  (Plus, she just likes to be in front of the camera).

The terrible tragedy this weekend has me thinking, as I'm sure it does a lot of us.  It makes me think about life and how short and fragile it is.  When we die, we don't leave much behind that really matters.  Maybe some words, if we were writers.  A piece of art or two.  A text message or a voicemail. Memories and photographs. The thing is that if I were to die tomorrow, there would be approximately 15 photographs of my children and I.  That's it.  Four of those are from each of their births and the other eleven are because I was in the background and accidentally got in the picture.  

Of course, I hate to be photographed.  I don't see a "good side," or a great angle or a pretty face when I see pictures of myself.  I only see what I want to change.   I've always struggled with my self-image and my weight.  I rarely (read: never) find a picture of myself that I feel comfortable sharing with others.  In light of the digital age of photography, guess what happens when I don't like a picture?  It gets deleted that very second. 

This phenomenon is not mine exclusively.  I hear other women complain about not liking themselves in pictures constantly.  So, we do what women everywhere do--we avoid the camera.  This past Mother's Day, I searched (and searched and searched) for a picture of my mom and I together.  The most recent one I could find was almost three years old.  Before that, five years ago.  Before that?  I have no idea.  My wedding?  15 years ago. 

It's sad and it seems . . . selfish in a way.  Those pictures aren't just for me or about me.  They are about the moment I shared with my child or my husband or a friend.  I think about losing the people I love.  I would be desperate to have pictures of them, to look at and remember.  I wouldn't care what they looked like,as long as that picture was something I could hold in my hand and see the face of the person I loved.

Most of us get out of being in the picture by taking the pictures.  I'm the memory keeper in this house.  My phone is full of pictures of the kids.  Full to crammed with birthdays, Christmas, life in general, but not a one is of me with them being apart of the memory.  If I stranger saw them, they'd have no idea I even existed. 

What would my children have if I were to pass away suddenly?  A picture of where I am a blurred blob in the background?  One photograph of the day he or she was born?  Maybe the yearly Christmas picture (and you all have seen how those turn out)? I also have two children with autism who are very visual.  Gideon would most likely forget about me the next week if I wasn't in front of him.  A sad, scary thought but, I fear, highly accurate. 

You what else? I have a daughter now and I never want her to have this sad lack of self-confidence I have.  I want her to be confident in who she is and that she is beautiful because what is inside her shines through. I don't ever want her to look in a picture of herself and see only imperfections.

So, I'm challenging myself.  For the next month, I will intentionally take a picture every day with at least one of my children.  Furthermore, I will post this picture on Facebook so that I can be held accountable.  I will not hide my face, try to disappear into the background, or "forget," on purpose.  I will not stress out about my hair, lack of make up, evidence of stains, or my fat.  

I will just be me.  

I will just be my kids' mom. 

I'm doing this for my children, so they will have pictures to look back on one day. But I'm doing this for myself too.  I've heard over the last few months that my writing can be "transparent" and "raw" (which may just be another way to say I'm oversharing) but the writing is not hard for me.  Yes, it's a piece of me but it's one a feel confident in. It's one I can re-read and revise until I get it just the way I want it.  Pictures of me?  That's transparency to me and it's terrifying.  But I'm up for this challenge because this challenge is important. 

So, please pardon the excessive amount of photographs coming soon.  Excuse the bags under my eyes.  Ignore the messy hair.  But I hope you'll see past all that anyway and enjoy the memories I'm making instead. 

I'm even going to boldly say that I challenge you to do the same thing. 

Day One (June 13, 2016)

Memory:  Katherine, age two, loves playing doctor.  Today, she
was Minnie Doctor (check out the outfit she had to wear) and
listened to make sure my heart wasn't broken.
Thankfully, all is well with my heart. 

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