ZOO! Our Latest Trip and My Five Tips to Make the Zoo a Great Experience

Each year for Daniel's birthday in May, we renew our yearly family zoo pass.  The price seems a bit much all at one time but, after doing the math, it pays for itself in about two trips.  Our children love the zoo.  It's probably their most requested "thing to do" so that family pass comes in handy.  But, look, with two kids with autism, crowded, busy, public places are kind of. .  . well, a nightmare.  It can be sensory overload times a thousand on a sunny Saturday at the zoo.

But, you all, I've discovered a secret.  This is how we make trips to the zoo manageable and fun for everyone.  Here is is: we plan our trips for the last two hours of the day.  You will not find us lining up at the gate when the zoo opens.  Instead, we'll be there for the last two hours before it closes.

"But, that's only two hours of zoo time.  You can't see everything in two hours."  I know and that's okay.  We see what we can see in two hours and then we save the rest for another day. Before we even get there, we ask each of the kids what they'd like to see that day and we make sure we get to those exhibits.  We also get zoo maps for the older two and let them "navigate our course."  This is fun for them, great for me (my sense of direction is broken and my map skills are questionable.  You do not want to be lost in the forest with me.  We will die), and, although the kids don't know this, it's educational too. Two hours is also the perfect amount of time.  When we got to the zoo, they kids were excited and ready to explore, but around the two hour mark, they start to look like this:

Two hours seems to be about everyone's (parents included) threshold for zoo fun.

But wait, there's more (yup, I totally sound like an infomercial). The last two hours of the day are the best two hours of the day.  Seriously.  First, living in the Houston area in July means temperatures in the 90's and humidity of 150% (you think that's not possible but come here in July and you'll see I'm not making that up).  In the evening, things start to cool down a bit or at least become slightly less inferno-like. Parking is also much more readily available in the late afternoon. This also means the zoo itself is noticeably less crowded.  There aren't hordes of people to contend with and that immediately makes the trip smoother for us. Less crowds and noise means more fun for our family!

Now, 5 p.m. might be close to dinner time for most of us.  Make sure to bring snacks and water, lots of water.  Our zoo recently installed water bottle fill up stations, which makes refills a snap. As for snacks, pack things that are individually wrapped and easy to eat while walking.  It never fails that five minutes after we've arrived (anywhere, it seems), someone is hungry.  Throw a granola bar at them and proceed to the bears.

Speaking of bears and lions and cougars and giraffes, you'll get to see all of these at the zoo.  Even better, guess what happens at the end of the day?  Feeding time!  But also, the nocturnal animals that always seem to be sleeping when you're at the zoo?  They're awake!  The animals showed up in a big way this trip.

In just two hours, we saw bears play-fighting:

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Cougars stalking our children:

A giraffe that would have licked Daniel if there wasn't that pesky glass:

An ostrich giving my husband the stink eye:

And we took mildly inappropriate pictures of the kids pretending to touch animals' bottoms.(We are that family).

We only had one escaping child (not anywhere close to the gorillas) but he only made it as far as the carousel (which we got to ride for free because it was late in the day, there wasn't a line, and the attendants were awesome).  By an hour or less until closing, all the food establishments are closed and the zookeepers have completed all their talks.  But the lack of crowds far outweighs those things for us.  I can see it in our chldren too.  They are calmer. They have more time to see the animals they'd like to see. They are enjoying themselves more.  Gideon, in particular, seemed to have a wonderful time.  He was fascinated with the animals and engaged and mindful of what was going on around him.

Gideon, checking out some ducks and turtles

Going on outings, for our family, can be very challenging so it's important for us to find ways to make it easier.  We go on these excursions knowing there will be mishaps.  We go, as parents, knowing that it will probably not be fun for us at all.  But we go because these experiences are important to the kids.  Why not try to make them as fun and enjoyable as possible?  Just making a few simple changes to our schedule or remembering to pack an extra snack can make all the difference for us.

Here's what I've found to be my top five tips for the zoo:

1. If you can swing it, get a year family zoo pass.  If you plan on going to the zoo at least twice in a year, it's paid for itself.  We try to go at least once a month.  Your zoo pass also gets you discounts on food and at stores in the zoo.  Plus, many zoos participate in a nationwide reciprocity program.  My zoo pass also allows me entrance into over 150 other zoos for free or at half price.  How cool is that!?
2. Take your trip to the zoo the last two hours of the day.  Check your zoo hours and also makes sure to check the cut off time for allowing visitors in.  (For our zoo, it's an hour before closing). I promise there's better parking and less crowds.  We find a noticeably less busy zoo on any day of the week but Monday thru Thursday seem to be even less crowded.
3. Take snacks and water.  Hydrated kids with full bellies are way happier and more fun. Not many food establishments/snack shacks/etc will be open that late in the day so make sure you're covered.
4. Give your kiddo a map of the zoo and have them plan out your course. Maps seem to be something my oldest son with autism is drawn to so this helps to keep him involved and interested. Plus, if you can sneak some good skills practice in there, all the better.
5. Have each child choose the one animal they need to see and make sure you get to see them that day. Then relax and enjoy yourself.  Don't kill yourself trying to see everything at once. Your trip will be rushed and less fun for everyone.

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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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The Picture in the Church Directory

A few months ago, a very sweet woman at our church found me after the service one Sunday. "Sharon, we're putting together a new church directory for the spring."

I winced on the inside.  The church directory is a pictorial directory.  You know, like with pictures.  Like with pictures of your whole family smiling at the same time and looking at the camera at the same time.  For our family, that's like seeing a unicorn, flying pigs, and a purple squirrel at the same time.  Impossible.

A few years ago, our church went with a photography company to take the photos and compile the directory.  For some reason, the photographer was determined to get good pictures of our family.  He must have heard about our two kiddos with autism because he was prepared (um, kind of?).  He may have been a bit too optimistic about his skills as a photographer.  I think our family broke him. Gideon spilled water down the front of him. Daniel refused to cooperate, and instead, he lay down on the ground and activated his "spaghetti arms" when we tried to get him back up. I had to stop twice to feed a very tiny Katherine. At least one boy escaped three different times, plus the torture of individual pictures of each child. We spent more than 45 minutes taking some pretty terrible photos.

The best photo the whole bunch?  Only one kid was actually looking at the camera, two were smiling, and, the best worst part, one of the boys was clearly scratching his crotch at the time.

The photographer tried to sell us this picture.  "You'll laugh at this ten years from now."

Hmmm? And in the ensuing ten years, before it's funny, I can hang this 16x20 portrait on the wall in my living room and stare at my son scratching his crotch every minute of my life? Sounds great.

You can probably see why "It's time for a new church directory" aren't my favorite words.

"Don't worry," the sweet lady at church said.  "You can provide your own picture this time."

That's not so bad, I thought.

"In fact," she went on.  "I have this one I found on Facebook.  Will this work?"  I'm certain she showed me the photo and I'm sure I cringed.  "If you have another one, just get it to me soon."

I probably agree wholeheartedly and added "Find new family photo for church directory" to my mental to-do list and then ten seconds later forgot about directories and family photos and to-do lists because I live on caffeine and three brain cells and prayer.

Friends, the new church directories are here. The same church directory that each family in our church will receive, the same church directory given to new members.  Here's our entry:

 I'll pause for a moment to give you some time to really take it in.

Go ahead, laugh. I know you want to.  In fact, here's a better picture of that picture so you can really get the full effect.

As hilariously bad this photo is, it's the perfect representation of our family.  First, there's me.  I am clearly in the act of doing something "mom-like," most likely whisper-yelling at a kid to "Look at the camera!"  I have Gideon in a headlock so he can't run off and he's not looking at the camera because, well, why would he?  Daniel is front and center, holding Gideon's hand and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Anywhere.  Carl is smiling (probably because he's only wrestling one child and I'm wrestling three.  Hmmmm?).  He does have a two-handed death grip on Katherine, who is also not looking at the camera and gnawing on a finger.

And Ben?  Where's Ben?

There he is.  You might have missed him since he's squished behind Gideon and Daniel and only one eye and half his face is showing. Miracle of miracles, he's smiling and looking at the camera . . . sort of.

This, folks, this, right here, is my family.

I kind of love that this picture in our church directory.  I kind of love that every time someone looks us up, they'll know immediately who we are.  I kind of love that most of the people in our family can't fake a smile and that means, when you get a smile, it's real and it means something.

And I really love that every time I see that picture in our church directory, I have to laugh.  These are my people, for better or for worse, smiles or no smiles, warts and all.

I think that's pretty awesome.

Dear Ben: For a Boy Who has Two Brothers with Autism

Background:  For those of you that don't know, we have four children.  Our three boys are very close in age.  Daniel is almost 10, Ben is 8, and Gideon is 6.5.  Katherine is 2. Daniel and Gideon both have autism.  Ben does not.  Ben has the attitude of a middle child with the responsibility of a first born.   

 Dear Ben,

In the past year, you've been asking a lot of questions. A few months ago, we sat around the dinner table and you quietly leaned over and asked, "Is Katherine okay, Mommy?  She doesn't have autism, right?"  Your sweet face was so hopeful . . . and scared.  You were afraid of the answer.

It broke my heart a little.

"No, honey," I explained.  "She's not showing any signs of autism.  You have a perfectly normally developing, bossy, chatterbox little sister who will annoy you for years to come."

"Good," you said, smiling and your little shoulders seem to lift just a bit, like a weight had been taken off.

A few weeks later, you were talking to me about big vacation plans you have.  "When Gideon doesn't have the autism stuff anymore," you began.  "We can go to camping or maybe to Disneyland."

I sighed and, yes, my heart broke a little more.

"Ben," I said.  "Gideon and Daniel will always have autism.  It doesn't go away."

You stared at me for a minute with those big brown eyes.  "But Daniel used to be like Gideon and now he's better."

"Daniel has done very well in therapy but Gideon is a different person.  I can't tell you if Gideon will be different in a few years, Ben."  I don't want to say these next words out loud to you or to anyone because I am so scared they are true.  "Gideon may always be exactly like he is today."

Your whole body seems to droop.  My sweet boy, I think you carry the whole world on your shoulders sometimes.  I hate that you feel that way.  "So he might not talk too much?"

I shook my head, too afraid I might start crying if I said it.

"Will he always have to wear pull-ups?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Is he always going to put weird stuff in his mouth?"

"Maybe."  I felt helpless because I can't give you the answers you want.

I'm a mom.  I'm supposed to make you and your brothers and your sister better.  I'm supposed to kiss boo-boos and apply band-aids and dole out popsicles and everything will be just fine.  But, Ben, the truth is I can't fix everything; I can't fix this.

I know you're sad because your brothers have autism.  I know you want someone to play with you and ride bikes and kick the soccer ball around.  Some of those things your brothers can do but, I know, a lot they can't.  I know that sometimes our family can't go places because it's too overwhelming for your brothers and so you miss out on rodeos and rice festivals and amusement parks.  I know that sometimes we can't go on big vacations or even to a movie as a family because it's hard for your brothers or too expensive.  A lot of our family's money goes to pay for therapy.

I know it makes you mad too.  You want to yell and throw things sometimes.  You slam the door when you go outside because you feel like we don't pay enough attention to you or you feel slighted. You just want your brothers to be like other kids.

I can't make that better for you.

But I want you to know that your dad and I do notice you and we are so proud of you.  God could not have made a better brother for Daniel and Gideon.  He gave you something that many of us don't have a lot of; He gave you compassion.  I mean, real, true compassion.  Every one your teachers has pointed it out to me.  "He's the most compassionate six year old I think I've ever seen," one of your teachers told me.  Do you know how big my heart was that day?

"Everyone is my friend, mom," you've told me before and it's true. I watched you once, when you were at your kindergarten Christmas party, see a little boy with special needs sitting by himself.  You sat next to him and helped him open the present in front of him and read it with him.  No one told you do to it.  You just did because that's who you are.  I know that you would never let anyone who people think are different get picked on.  You would stand up and defend someone who couldn't defend themselves. You understand that sometimes people are different.  Maybe that's part of because of your brothers and maybe that's just part of you.

Don't ever lose this.  Don't ever forget that everyone deserves kindness and compassion.

Sometimes being in our family isn't easy but we have fun too.  We laugh a lot and your brothers never seem to mind if you pick the movie we watch.  You whisper to each other at night in the bedroom you all share together or sneak the light on and read books (Yes, I know about that!). You love jumping on the trampoline together or running through the sprinkler in your underwear or chasing each other around the house.  You all love to annoy me together!

I know our family is different from most of the people we know.  I know we ask a lot of you sometimes.  I know sometimes you will be angry and frustrated and sad.  (Mommy and Daddy are too sometimes).  I know you'll wish things were different some days.

But I want you to know that we are so proud of the young man you are becoming.  Keep being who God made you to be in the family God put you in.

I love you so much,
Mom

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