I have been thinking a lot about flowers recently. The rose is my favorite, and I have a couple climbing rose bushes beside my brick mailbox. Just today I checked the mail and there were still 5 roses on the bush that have just bloomed and 3 more that are still buds. My favorite one is the one called Joseph's coat. It's a combination of two roses that have been graphed together to make a different flower with delightfully pale yellow and peach petals that have a deliciously fragrant aroma. It is the middle of December in Georgia, and my roses are still blooming. I guess nobody told them their season to flower officially ended around October.
The last few weeks have been interesting. I have been put on hold in reference to caring for others, for the most part, until my neck heals. Anita has been wonderful with both the children and the house, going far above and beyond the call of duty in helping me, as I am not even allowed to pick up a jug of milk, let alone take a laundry basket of clothes upstairs or vacuum the carpets. Some days are more painful than others, and the kids aren't always cooperative.
Nathaniel takes turns being the perfect little helper and shutting down completely. Nyssa wavers between being the sweet daughter and the night cyclone that doesn't sleep but rather gets into everything while I am out cold. Benjamin for the first time is refusing to help clean and Gabriela doesn't understand why I don't pick her up in my lap to rock her for her nap. I must admit that my attitude isn't always the best right now either.
It's the season of Christmas! I admit to feeling a little sorry for myself. I love participating in the Christmas musical and I had to bow out this year. Because I have been grounded from driving until my neck gets more mobile, I have yet to get Richard's Christmas present. And because my body refuses to be flexible, I still have to wrap the kids' gifts. Decorating will go no further than the wreath on the front door as I can't climb in the attic to get the decorations let alone actually move enough to put the appearance of holiday cheer. For the first time in years, we may not have a tree as it usually takes both of us to set it up. All of these things put together at times work together to put me in a depressed state.
But here's the twist: learning to be thankful for my weariness and my worries. I mean, what in all of these things are life ending prospects? So my autistic children don't behave right now all the time. Neither do my other children; if I were to be perfectly honest, no child in the history in the world behaved 100% of the time. Okay, so there was that one. I am not allowed to drive for a few weeks, but at least I have a car when I am cleared! I am having difficulty wrapping presents for the children, but at least we could afford to buy them. I may not be able to decorate my house, but Christmas has never been about the tree and the garland and the stockings anyway. The true meaning lies in the heart, in the sacrificial giving because of a love that was given to me.
I am being forced to sit back and do next to nothing; in fact I have not been able to sit long enough to type for over a week. The house is even messier than usual and there is almost nothing I can do about it. All I can do is sit back and tell the others what needs to be done. I am being forced into a state of letting everything go. If something gets done, then I shout, "YES!" If it stays a mess for a few days, then so be it.
It isn't my typical Christmas, I realize. But I am really starting to realize that it is truly better to give than to receive, in a different way than ever before. It is so much easier to let go of the weariness and of the worries than to hold on to it. It becomes a burdensome load on my shoulders. Giving it all away lightens the burden and takes away the additional pain of worrying about how it will all work out. I am more weary than ever before, but instead of trying to hold on to it and cradle it, I am learning to give it away. I am learning how to do a simple task that I often try to complicate. I am learning how to rest. When I grow weary, I just stop for a while and give it away. What's most amazing is that after I have the opportunity to give away the weariness, I am able to give more of myself later because I am no longer bogged down. And I feel freedom.
I have a confession to make. Almost every time I sit down to write, it's after an especially frustrating day. Some of those times I am still fuming at the fingertips when I begin typing at the computer. Most of the time I have no idea what is going to come of the session until it unfolds before me. Somewhere along the line, I begin to see not only the circumstances that have changed, but myself as well, if I permit it to happen. I still have a long way to go, but as I allow it, the unfolding begins.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
I Want to be Just Like You
I love the movie Babe, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I watch it with my children at least once every couple of months. If you have never seen it, it is worth watching at least once. Spoiler alert: don't read the rest of this paragraph or the last sentence of the next to the last paragraph of this post if you don't want to know the ending. The movie is about a piglet who is won by a farmer at a country fair. He grows up on that farm with a set of sheepdogs and is taken in by their mother who he lovingly calls Mom. Eventually, he grows up to be just like her. It's amazing what the young can pick up when surrounded by a certain kind of stimulus in their environment.
We received some wonderful news this week. We had been awaiting the results of Benjamin's test results from the Marcus Institute. He had exhibited the same language and behavior as Nyssa and Nathaniel, along with some obsessive compulsive quirks of his own, so we had him go through the Autism Spectrum testing. We had noticed significant strides since he had started Pre-Kindergarten and were very pleased with his progress.
During the testing I noticed similar behaviors in him that I saw in the others. In fact, I already knew what to look for during the tests, especially during the interactive phases where they had me sit in the room with him. Of course, he didn't know about the window glass when I wasn't in the same room as he. Then again, he's a smart little boy; he just may have. At any rate, I observed as the examiner brought up subjects which were chances for him to interact in which he completely ignored her comments. I observed the lack of interest in toys. I observed the inappropriate playing with toys. I observed the copycat manner in which he used her same example to play with the items given to him to make up a story.
Both the examiner and I had to control our faces when she subtly moved his centipede out of the line and he looked at her and put it back. Again, we had to keep straight faces when she tilted his horse on its side and he looked and picked it up, setting it on the opposite end of the line. Finally, we almost lost it at his reaction when she turned the jelly fish up on end. He stopped playing, moved the jellyfish, and clearly put his elbow and forearm between the toys and her hand. There was no way to interpret that except the non-verbal "You leave my toys alone."
With all this information, I left that day, three weeks ago, almost certain of the outcome we would receive this Monday. Since I had hurt my back, my husband went with me to hear the expected news. We sat down with the psychologist who told us that Benjamin was a delightful little boy and a lot of fun. She said he had some real strengths and some weaknesses. She said she'd get right to the point and then take us step by step through the process.
She said based on Benjamin's performance, he showed absolutely no signs of Autism Spectrum. We were floored...pleasantly, I might add, but completely caught off guard. The doctor said she could understand why we thought he may be on the spectrum, given both his behavior and his siblings' history, but Benjamin himself tested off the spectrum in every way.
Benjamin had learned every bit of these behaviors from Nyssa and Nathaniel, who are ASD. They are all he knew on a regular, daily basis. He saw how they interacted and so he took that behavior and mimicked it. The teachers at school have said that he has the typical meltdowns of a child his age, and a couple atypical troubles, but that when shown that the other children his age didn't act that way, he quickly coped and changed.
Now, he definitely has a lot of trouble when it comes to disorder, uncleanliness, and coloring out of the lines, but they are a totally different category. He likes it clean, in his order, without dirt or bugs; he likes the picture to look exactly the same as the example, same colors in the lines and all that jazz. That is obsessive compulsive, and hopefully will be able to adjust and cope with these rigid aspects. It is, however, not Autism Spectrum. This means I have to change the back of my book, My Own Little Palace, but it is something I am very happy to do. He would not let me get away with it anyway with that perfectionistic streak.
It is so amazing how the doctors can so brilliantly make these tests that can not only reveal the marked behaviors, which were evident in Benjamin even to the examiners, but also reveal whether they are natural or simply copied, where the child can step out of the behavior if pulled in a specific direction. Because Benjamin is so close in age to the other two, he picked up their behaviors quickly and adjusted his own to fit theirs. He learned their quirks as the "normal" thing to do. He learned that, even though not socially correct, these characteristics were in a way, because his siblings have been the majority of his social network. Now that he is in school, he is seeing that the majority of children do act differently. He has actually mentioned it a few times recently. He is also adjusting his own behavior to match those of his peers, copying what he sees is the acceptable behavior in non-ASD children.
Gabriela has shown all along a difference between herself and the others. She is also 3 years younger than Benjamin. She does not have their behavior demonstrated to her all day every day. She shows by leaps and bounds the difference between a typical toddler and an ASD child. She is more engaging, more interested in others, joins their world and brings them into her own. She waits to see my response and reacts to my expressions.
Benjamin followed the example of his brother and sister, and may in some ways have missed out in some things. But I think he also learned some valuable tools to use as he grows older in how to deal with ASD kids in ways that "normal" children without these special siblings may never have, as Gabriela will develop as well. He learned how to adapt. That is a great strength, especially with someone that's obsessive compulsive! It is perhaps that ability to adapt to his siblings that just may help him cope with his own quirks and come to overcome their difficulties.
He's very bright. We learned through the testing all about his strengths, too. This is valuable information to have for his teachers as well. If he wants, he will be able to be a super engineer some day. For now, though, he is content with his greatest desire in life. When he grows up, he wants to be a fireman. If he puts his mind to it, I have no doubt that he can do it. After all, that pig made a great sheepdog by picking up the great example he had before him.
Of course, having a son who is excellent at mimicry, I'll need to be extra careful. He's watching me. He's watching his father. He comments that he wants to be just like Daddy when he grows up and recently announced that he wants to marry me some day. What kind of woman do I want him to marry? I need to take a long, hard look at myself. I need to make sure that what I exemplify is worthy of the kind of woman I want him to choose one day. I am blessed, though. Richard doesn't have to change a thing about his character. If his little physical clone grows up to be his character clone, my little Benjamin will grow up to be just fine. He already paces in the chess knight fashion just like his Daddy.
We received some wonderful news this week. We had been awaiting the results of Benjamin's test results from the Marcus Institute. He had exhibited the same language and behavior as Nyssa and Nathaniel, along with some obsessive compulsive quirks of his own, so we had him go through the Autism Spectrum testing. We had noticed significant strides since he had started Pre-Kindergarten and were very pleased with his progress.
During the testing I noticed similar behaviors in him that I saw in the others. In fact, I already knew what to look for during the tests, especially during the interactive phases where they had me sit in the room with him. Of course, he didn't know about the window glass when I wasn't in the same room as he. Then again, he's a smart little boy; he just may have. At any rate, I observed as the examiner brought up subjects which were chances for him to interact in which he completely ignored her comments. I observed the lack of interest in toys. I observed the inappropriate playing with toys. I observed the copycat manner in which he used her same example to play with the items given to him to make up a story.
Both the examiner and I had to control our faces when she subtly moved his centipede out of the line and he looked at her and put it back. Again, we had to keep straight faces when she tilted his horse on its side and he looked and picked it up, setting it on the opposite end of the line. Finally, we almost lost it at his reaction when she turned the jelly fish up on end. He stopped playing, moved the jellyfish, and clearly put his elbow and forearm between the toys and her hand. There was no way to interpret that except the non-verbal "You leave my toys alone."
With all this information, I left that day, three weeks ago, almost certain of the outcome we would receive this Monday. Since I had hurt my back, my husband went with me to hear the expected news. We sat down with the psychologist who told us that Benjamin was a delightful little boy and a lot of fun. She said he had some real strengths and some weaknesses. She said she'd get right to the point and then take us step by step through the process.
She said based on Benjamin's performance, he showed absolutely no signs of Autism Spectrum. We were floored...pleasantly, I might add, but completely caught off guard. The doctor said she could understand why we thought he may be on the spectrum, given both his behavior and his siblings' history, but Benjamin himself tested off the spectrum in every way.
Benjamin had learned every bit of these behaviors from Nyssa and Nathaniel, who are ASD. They are all he knew on a regular, daily basis. He saw how they interacted and so he took that behavior and mimicked it. The teachers at school have said that he has the typical meltdowns of a child his age, and a couple atypical troubles, but that when shown that the other children his age didn't act that way, he quickly coped and changed.
Now, he definitely has a lot of trouble when it comes to disorder, uncleanliness, and coloring out of the lines, but they are a totally different category. He likes it clean, in his order, without dirt or bugs; he likes the picture to look exactly the same as the example, same colors in the lines and all that jazz. That is obsessive compulsive, and hopefully will be able to adjust and cope with these rigid aspects. It is, however, not Autism Spectrum. This means I have to change the back of my book, My Own Little Palace, but it is something I am very happy to do. He would not let me get away with it anyway with that perfectionistic streak.
It is so amazing how the doctors can so brilliantly make these tests that can not only reveal the marked behaviors, which were evident in Benjamin even to the examiners, but also reveal whether they are natural or simply copied, where the child can step out of the behavior if pulled in a specific direction. Because Benjamin is so close in age to the other two, he picked up their behaviors quickly and adjusted his own to fit theirs. He learned their quirks as the "normal" thing to do. He learned that, even though not socially correct, these characteristics were in a way, because his siblings have been the majority of his social network. Now that he is in school, he is seeing that the majority of children do act differently. He has actually mentioned it a few times recently. He is also adjusting his own behavior to match those of his peers, copying what he sees is the acceptable behavior in non-ASD children.
Gabriela has shown all along a difference between herself and the others. She is also 3 years younger than Benjamin. She does not have their behavior demonstrated to her all day every day. She shows by leaps and bounds the difference between a typical toddler and an ASD child. She is more engaging, more interested in others, joins their world and brings them into her own. She waits to see my response and reacts to my expressions.
Benjamin followed the example of his brother and sister, and may in some ways have missed out in some things. But I think he also learned some valuable tools to use as he grows older in how to deal with ASD kids in ways that "normal" children without these special siblings may never have, as Gabriela will develop as well. He learned how to adapt. That is a great strength, especially with someone that's obsessive compulsive! It is perhaps that ability to adapt to his siblings that just may help him cope with his own quirks and come to overcome their difficulties.
He's very bright. We learned through the testing all about his strengths, too. This is valuable information to have for his teachers as well. If he wants, he will be able to be a super engineer some day. For now, though, he is content with his greatest desire in life. When he grows up, he wants to be a fireman. If he puts his mind to it, I have no doubt that he can do it. After all, that pig made a great sheepdog by picking up the great example he had before him.
Of course, having a son who is excellent at mimicry, I'll need to be extra careful. He's watching me. He's watching his father. He comments that he wants to be just like Daddy when he grows up and recently announced that he wants to marry me some day. What kind of woman do I want him to marry? I need to take a long, hard look at myself. I need to make sure that what I exemplify is worthy of the kind of woman I want him to choose one day. I am blessed, though. Richard doesn't have to change a thing about his character. If his little physical clone grows up to be his character clone, my little Benjamin will grow up to be just fine. He already paces in the chess knight fashion just like his Daddy.
Monday, December 5, 2011
A Real Pain in the Neck
One thing I can say about life is that it is certainly not predictable. It is constantly in motion, ever changing with subtle, smooth movements or lightning paced activity. More often than not, one event makes the framework for the next. If you don't pay attention to those moments, or if you respond incorrectly, you can find yourself having lost complete control. Then, even when you do finally can be quite difficult to live with for a time. When you don't pay attention, it
One such event occurred to me on November 11 of this year. It was a seemingly harmless common incident that turned my world upside down. My to N & N's were finishing their gymnastics class. Nathaniel had a rough time, but he was trying to get himself back under control. The class ended with the children taking turns swinging on a rope into a 5-ft deep foam pit.
As I mentioned just moments ago, Nathaniel had a rough time. He took his turn and let go of the rope. He was supposed to make his way back to the edge of the pit to get ready to go home. He decided he was having so much fun that he did not want to leave. I had no choice but to go in after him.
I jumped in close to where he was happily playing and finally got hold of his arms. He was not very happy with those circumstances, so he decided to change them by fighting the pull of my arms. When he did, the lower part of my body didn't move due to the foam. My neck, however, went with him. At that moment, I felt an uncomfortable tinge, but I ignored it for the moment, as the urgent business at hand required getting him out of the gymnasium.
Since it was a Friday, I waited until Monday to have anything checked out. I figured I just popped my neck out of joint and a chiropractor's hand was all it would take. Well, one day lead to another and another; I was busily preparing for a trip to Texas for Thanksgiving. To make a long story short, I waited perhaps too long to get myself checked.
The chiropractor took one feel and said she was not going to do anything until we had an MRI of my neck and back, along with some x-rays. A steroid shot and a Vicodin later so I could stand lying still enough for the lab work, I found myself inside the magnetic chamber, realizing that I probably should have gone in earlier.
Thankfully nothing was broken. But even I could see where the x-ray showed a thoracic vertebra off kilter. It was right in between my shoulder blades, where the knife pain was. I can't translate MRI's, but according to the report, I had a bulge in between my C5 and C6, and between my C6 and C7...translated, that was two herniated disks in my neck. My back and neck were in constant spasms, even causing my arms to be partially numb. The other diagnosis was a sprained neck and possibly sprained back. I'm out of commission for anywhere from 6 to 12 weeks if I behave like a good little girl.
I was told to not lift anything more than 4 pounds, and absolutely no picking up a child. I initially nervously laughed it off, saying that I'd do the best I could but, well, you know how it is with kids. Sometimes you just got to do what you've got to do. I don't think my chiropractor has ever shot daggers at me before. She told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD comply, that I would NOT pick up my two year old, and that I WOULD behave or else. She loves me, she really does care.
So, the next item on the agenda was whether I would be able to participate in the Christmas production the choir puts on every year. It's so festive and I adore the songs. I decided to try. I hit all my notes, so I'd like to say that rehearsal went well. That is, if you want to consider the fact that I was wearing a neck brace, it hurt like the dickens to sing the high notes, I rocked back and forth, and I was almost in tears by time it was over. And I still had an hour left before I could take more pain medications. It was evidently clear, but I tried to be stubborn.
Yes, I tried to be as stubborn as that pack mule I envision every time I hear how Mary and Joseph took that trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem, or the donkey who stopped in his tracks when the angel appeared before it while she carried Balaam. I talked to my doctor once again and she gave me the look that said, "Why are you even asking me about this?" So, with a heavy heart, because I love singing so much and didn't want to let the choir down, I told our wonderful director this morning that I was going to have to sit it out. I hope to be able to sit and watch it from the crowd, but even that is up in the air at this time.
I thought I was going to cry when she told me she already knew and to not worry about the production. I don't think I've ever been so happy to not have a solo in my life. Sometimes life can be a pain in the neck, but it can be those very times in which life shows the sweet, tender side as well. As for me, I am seeing the best in people while I sit by the sidelines.
Did I mention that I love my church? The choir is full of amazing people! I received nothing but encouragement this morning. Anita is coming every weekday to help with Gabriela, the house, driving me to appointments, and cooking a meal or two ahead of time so all Richard or the kids have to do is pop it in the oven or microwave to reheat. I've already received phone calls and sweet visits from friends.
The magical season for giving has revealed itself earlier this year to me, as all these loved ones are giving of their time and concern. I will also reiterate here how my beloved Richard is taking Benjamin to school in the mornings and helping take charge of the children, giving up a lot of his cave time to help when he gets off work. Even Benjamin's preschool is going out of its way to help. The administration is allowing him to be picked up early until I'm allowed to drive again.
Yes, I am currently experiencing quite a pain in my neck...and my shoulders, and my back. But I am also receiving so much love from all angles that the gratefulness all but overshadows the pain. To be quite honest, the muscle relaxers and Vicodin help me to relax and make the pain distant for an hour or two, but it is the love I am given at this time that gives me visions of bliss and causes me to sleep in Heavenly peace.
One such event occurred to me on November 11 of this year. It was a seemingly harmless common incident that turned my world upside down. My to N & N's were finishing their gymnastics class. Nathaniel had a rough time, but he was trying to get himself back under control. The class ended with the children taking turns swinging on a rope into a 5-ft deep foam pit.
As I mentioned just moments ago, Nathaniel had a rough time. He took his turn and let go of the rope. He was supposed to make his way back to the edge of the pit to get ready to go home. He decided he was having so much fun that he did not want to leave. I had no choice but to go in after him.
I jumped in close to where he was happily playing and finally got hold of his arms. He was not very happy with those circumstances, so he decided to change them by fighting the pull of my arms. When he did, the lower part of my body didn't move due to the foam. My neck, however, went with him. At that moment, I felt an uncomfortable tinge, but I ignored it for the moment, as the urgent business at hand required getting him out of the gymnasium.
Since it was a Friday, I waited until Monday to have anything checked out. I figured I just popped my neck out of joint and a chiropractor's hand was all it would take. Well, one day lead to another and another; I was busily preparing for a trip to Texas for Thanksgiving. To make a long story short, I waited perhaps too long to get myself checked.
The chiropractor took one feel and said she was not going to do anything until we had an MRI of my neck and back, along with some x-rays. A steroid shot and a Vicodin later so I could stand lying still enough for the lab work, I found myself inside the magnetic chamber, realizing that I probably should have gone in earlier.
Thankfully nothing was broken. But even I could see where the x-ray showed a thoracic vertebra off kilter. It was right in between my shoulder blades, where the knife pain was. I can't translate MRI's, but according to the report, I had a bulge in between my C5 and C6, and between my C6 and C7...translated, that was two herniated disks in my neck. My back and neck were in constant spasms, even causing my arms to be partially numb. The other diagnosis was a sprained neck and possibly sprained back. I'm out of commission for anywhere from 6 to 12 weeks if I behave like a good little girl.
I was told to not lift anything more than 4 pounds, and absolutely no picking up a child. I initially nervously laughed it off, saying that I'd do the best I could but, well, you know how it is with kids. Sometimes you just got to do what you've got to do. I don't think my chiropractor has ever shot daggers at me before. She told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD comply, that I would NOT pick up my two year old, and that I WOULD behave or else. She loves me, she really does care.
So, the next item on the agenda was whether I would be able to participate in the Christmas production the choir puts on every year. It's so festive and I adore the songs. I decided to try. I hit all my notes, so I'd like to say that rehearsal went well. That is, if you want to consider the fact that I was wearing a neck brace, it hurt like the dickens to sing the high notes, I rocked back and forth, and I was almost in tears by time it was over. And I still had an hour left before I could take more pain medications. It was evidently clear, but I tried to be stubborn.
Yes, I tried to be as stubborn as that pack mule I envision every time I hear how Mary and Joseph took that trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem, or the donkey who stopped in his tracks when the angel appeared before it while she carried Balaam. I talked to my doctor once again and she gave me the look that said, "Why are you even asking me about this?" So, with a heavy heart, because I love singing so much and didn't want to let the choir down, I told our wonderful director this morning that I was going to have to sit it out. I hope to be able to sit and watch it from the crowd, but even that is up in the air at this time.
I thought I was going to cry when she told me she already knew and to not worry about the production. I don't think I've ever been so happy to not have a solo in my life. Sometimes life can be a pain in the neck, but it can be those very times in which life shows the sweet, tender side as well. As for me, I am seeing the best in people while I sit by the sidelines.
Did I mention that I love my church? The choir is full of amazing people! I received nothing but encouragement this morning. Anita is coming every weekday to help with Gabriela, the house, driving me to appointments, and cooking a meal or two ahead of time so all Richard or the kids have to do is pop it in the oven or microwave to reheat. I've already received phone calls and sweet visits from friends.
The magical season for giving has revealed itself earlier this year to me, as all these loved ones are giving of their time and concern. I will also reiterate here how my beloved Richard is taking Benjamin to school in the mornings and helping take charge of the children, giving up a lot of his cave time to help when he gets off work. Even Benjamin's preschool is going out of its way to help. The administration is allowing him to be picked up early until I'm allowed to drive again.
Yes, I am currently experiencing quite a pain in my neck...and my shoulders, and my back. But I am also receiving so much love from all angles that the gratefulness all but overshadows the pain. To be quite honest, the muscle relaxers and Vicodin help me to relax and make the pain distant for an hour or two, but it is the love I am given at this time that gives me visions of bliss and causes me to sleep in Heavenly peace.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Ode to a Chiropractor
If anyone out there has ever had a back or neck injury and has gone to a good chiropractor, you will know what I mean when I say, "God bless them!" As a kid, I was very wary of them. I don't really know why except to say that I had visions of procedures at the thought of going to one. I would imagine seeing myself lying down on the table and the chiropractor coming up to adjust my neck and pop, a rolling my head would go. Now I know this sounds crazy, but please do remember I was a theater major in college, and I come by the imagination quite honestly.
So how did I come so far from being afraid of accidental decapitation to focusing an entire piece on chiropractor? I shall tell you. Of course, it will be in a story, though I cannot promise that it will be a short one. I do get rather winded at times. It's those dramatic genes, you see. It all began with a fall in February. The year was 2002.
I was a bride's maid in a friend's wedding and I was exiting the Gwinnett Place mall after trying on my dress. It was raining quite profusely. As I walked out into the parking lot, I slipped in a puddle. It was a puddle of rainwater....mixed with some oil, the really pretty rainbow puddles that you see in parking lots on occasion. The next thing I knew, I was going heel over head. I landed head first, back second, and elbow third on the pavement. Dazed, confused, and hurting, it took me a couple minutes to get up. Someone came along and helped me up and brought me inside. I think it was a security guard.
Fast forward the ER visit and the 10 weeks of physical therapy, losing a job because I was not getting any better, and moving back to Texas at the end of June. It was in the lone star state that a dear friend introduced me to her chiropractor. Now, mind you, I was wary, but I was also getting worse, not improving, so I was willing to try anything. 4 sessions with that doctor, some electric stimulation, some popping here and there, and ice and heat and I felt almost as good as new.
Again fast forward. In December of 2004, I was pregnant with Nathaniel and had headaches that were so bad they incapacitated me. I was dizzy, sick, couldn't care for my 6 month old, and was downright miserable. My obstetrician suggested a chiropractor who knew how to treat pregnant women. I was so pleased I looked forward to my weekly visits. The headaches stopped, my ligaments which were weakened from the pregnancies kept getting put back into place and my lower back was feeling good. I had some residual trouble from the previous fall, but we were working on getting my neck back to where it needed to be. I had managed to get those vertebrae going the wrong direction. I did well, saw them for a couple years, and then felt good. Insurance companies changed and he was no longer in network. I stopped going.
There's a lot of fast forwarding here...When I was pregnant with Gabriela, I started having some troubles again with my hips going out of joint and some headaches so I found another chiropractor. I'm keeping her. Gabriela is now 2 years old and I love getting my back straightened out. Why live with joints always out of whack when I have a licensed, trained doctor who can put me back together again?
I recently injured my neck again (this will be told in a story in a day or so), and who else would I go to for care? That's right. I appreciate that she wanted to see MRI's and x-rays before touching me so we would know exactly what kind of injury we are dealing with here. She is the absolute best and we're working to get my body back to where it needs to be. So for this reason, I dedicate this Opus to Dr. Ann Kosa
Dr. Kosa, I know that at times I can be
A rather large pain in the neck
Well maybe not me, but my neck is you see
And my spine seems to be a real wreck
You do pop my back and shoulders and hips
With preciseness and gentleness too
The tens unit I love, I thank you for it
Helps my muscles relax and renew
It feels great to be able to walk normal again
I attend to the words you have said
Most important of all, why I still come in
Is 'cause you didn't pop off my head
Seriously though I'm thankful for you
You do absolute wonders for me
The kindness you show in all that you do
I respect and admire you greatly.
THE END
So how did I come so far from being afraid of accidental decapitation to focusing an entire piece on chiropractor? I shall tell you. Of course, it will be in a story, though I cannot promise that it will be a short one. I do get rather winded at times. It's those dramatic genes, you see. It all began with a fall in February. The year was 2002.
I was a bride's maid in a friend's wedding and I was exiting the Gwinnett Place mall after trying on my dress. It was raining quite profusely. As I walked out into the parking lot, I slipped in a puddle. It was a puddle of rainwater....mixed with some oil, the really pretty rainbow puddles that you see in parking lots on occasion. The next thing I knew, I was going heel over head. I landed head first, back second, and elbow third on the pavement. Dazed, confused, and hurting, it took me a couple minutes to get up. Someone came along and helped me up and brought me inside. I think it was a security guard.
Fast forward the ER visit and the 10 weeks of physical therapy, losing a job because I was not getting any better, and moving back to Texas at the end of June. It was in the lone star state that a dear friend introduced me to her chiropractor. Now, mind you, I was wary, but I was also getting worse, not improving, so I was willing to try anything. 4 sessions with that doctor, some electric stimulation, some popping here and there, and ice and heat and I felt almost as good as new.
Again fast forward. In December of 2004, I was pregnant with Nathaniel and had headaches that were so bad they incapacitated me. I was dizzy, sick, couldn't care for my 6 month old, and was downright miserable. My obstetrician suggested a chiropractor who knew how to treat pregnant women. I was so pleased I looked forward to my weekly visits. The headaches stopped, my ligaments which were weakened from the pregnancies kept getting put back into place and my lower back was feeling good. I had some residual trouble from the previous fall, but we were working on getting my neck back to where it needed to be. I had managed to get those vertebrae going the wrong direction. I did well, saw them for a couple years, and then felt good. Insurance companies changed and he was no longer in network. I stopped going.
There's a lot of fast forwarding here...When I was pregnant with Gabriela, I started having some troubles again with my hips going out of joint and some headaches so I found another chiropractor. I'm keeping her. Gabriela is now 2 years old and I love getting my back straightened out. Why live with joints always out of whack when I have a licensed, trained doctor who can put me back together again?
I recently injured my neck again (this will be told in a story in a day or so), and who else would I go to for care? That's right. I appreciate that she wanted to see MRI's and x-rays before touching me so we would know exactly what kind of injury we are dealing with here. She is the absolute best and we're working to get my body back to where it needs to be. So for this reason, I dedicate this Opus to Dr. Ann Kosa
Dr. Kosa, I know that at times I can be
A rather large pain in the neck
Well maybe not me, but my neck is you see
And my spine seems to be a real wreck
You do pop my back and shoulders and hips
With preciseness and gentleness too
The tens unit I love, I thank you for it
Helps my muscles relax and renew
It feels great to be able to walk normal again
I attend to the words you have said
Most important of all, why I still come in
Is 'cause you didn't pop off my head
Seriously though I'm thankful for you
You do absolute wonders for me
The kindness you show in all that you do
I respect and admire you greatly.
THE END
Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back
Que sera' sera'. Depending on the context with which the phrase is given, it can be either light-hearted and flippant or a sad sign of resignation. But what does it mean? Translated from Spanish, it means literally, "whatever will be will be."
I have four children. Growing up I always thought I would have 5. Maybe I will, maybe I won't, but this is the lot I have in life at present. If I have more, I have more. But right now, I focus on the little ones currently placed in my charge. As a mother, I take every day as it comes and face the challenges therein head on, whether I feel I am prepared for them or not. Sometimes I feel as if I have succeeded in overcoming the obstacles standing in the way of my children's growth and potential. Far too often, I feel that I have lost the battle in my struggles to help them become all they can be.
Nathaniel has had many struggles this year. He has mentioned countless times that he wishes he could start his life all over again. He has said that he wished he were dead or wanted to go back to last night, rewind, and start the day again. He is heartbroken when he cannot. He wishes that he didn't have the obstacles that stand in his way. He is realizing that he is different from most children and doesn't know how to take it. So what does he do?
He runs. If he gets frustrated with a situation, he runs. He just may make a great track athlete some day because he is fast. He runs to get away from the noise. He runs to get away from the perceived ridicule from his classmates. He runs to try to escape the pain he receives when he stubs his toe or smashes his finger. He runs to get away from his own anger and hurt. But the hardest part of all is that what he is running from most is the little boy that he is, trapped, as he sees it, because he knows he doesn't understand the world around him and realizes even more that the world around him does not understand him either. He doesn't fit the mold. So he wants to escape everyone and everything and just go into nature and hide in the wilderness or the forest.
He is too young for us to allow him to run there. It's not safe. We have to catch him and restrain him. We have to try to help calm him when he is struggling against us, trying to get away, his little heart beating faster than the rhythm of a cat's purr, not nearly so calming, and rather alarming. It breaks my heart when I see the anguish he goes through, the inability to get people to understand him, the inability to comprehend why he can't be normal.
But as I tell Nathaniel and Nyssa, they will never be normal. They are not the typical children that are raised by the manuals. They have Autism Spectrum. They see the world differently. But that's not a bad thing. It is a tremendous, horrifyingly beautiful aspect of who they are. Sometimes I think I would benefit by seeing the world through their eyes. The perspective they have is so pure, so complex and yet so simple. They have this ability to come at matters from an entirely different point of view. They see things as black and white. There is no grey. It is or it is not, and it always will be. If it changes then something is just out of sorts and needs to be fixed. How much simpler would life be if, as an adult, I still saw some things as black and white as I did as a child?
Treat one another respectfully. Be polite. Always say please and thank you. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Be honest. If you don't understand, ask why without being ashamed that you don't know the answer. Tell someone when they hurt your feelings. Say "I'm sorry" when you realize you hurt theirs.
That last component is vital to humanity as a whole. Up until recently, Nathaniel did not realize how his actions affect others. He didn't understand cause and effect in any way shape or form. He did not connect that hitting his sister just may earn him a hit in return and would be devastatingly crushed when she would strike back.
Nathaniel is a very picky eater, not only about textures, but also about color and whether his food touches another type of food on his plate. If I notice it quickly enough, I will move the food over so the components are completely separated one from another. About a month ago, I failed to catch it. He had a fit at the dinner table because broccoli was touching his rice and he did not like it. He ran upstairs, fuming, ranting and raving, to his room. I let him go so every one else could eat and planned to go check on him after the other children were finished. I was amazed and shock at what happened less than five minutes later.
He came downstairs, completely calm and composed. Nathaniel walked up to me and did something he had never done before. He took my hand and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I was wrong. I should not have run away. I should not have been mean to you." I was completely flabbergasted and nearly flooded the kitchen floor with tears that threatened to flow. He gave me a hug, which I delightfully returned and said, "I forgive you, honey." That was the moment.
For the first time in his six years, he fully understood that his actions were his responsibility, and that they were wrongly expressed. For the first time, he apologized for something he had done with absolutely no prompting from any other person. He felt it in his heart and he got it, really, truly, got it. He sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat with the rest of us. He then looked at me and said, "I don't wish I had died anymore either, Mommy. I'm ok."
Several times since then he has realized the effects his actions have had on us and has given heartfelt apologies for them, not just repeating what we tell him to say, but coming to us of his own accord in repentance for his doings. It's clicking, and he's going to be okay. He's making the connections with this vital step in communication with the world around him, with relationships with those who love him dearly. He has taken the step that we had prayed for, which is the basis for all interaction he has with others that will come and go throughout his life. It has taken a long time to get there, but he is on the right track.
In spite of all my aspirations of growing up and becoming the perfect wife and mother who was the ultimate encourager, cheerleader, and overall image of Donna Reed to my husband and little prodigies, the time came when I would come face to face with reality. Eventually realizing that television is expertly scripted by an assortment of writers who have days to come up with a problem, the characters' reactions and the inevitable solution helped free me from the illusion that everything turns out rosy at the end of the day. Real life is raw, and we choose the script as we live, and we don't always have the luxury of debating how we will respond, because our true character will make itself known as we live and breathe. But what further freed me was the discovery that I can wake up the next morning and feel as Nina Simone sang, "It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me and I'm feeling good."
There may be a great amount of heartache in the day, there may be sorrow that lasts for some long, lonely nights that must be persevered. But when you least expect it, something wonderful happens: joy! Joy comes in the morning, and when the light shines brighter and brighter, breaking through the clouds to the noonday sun, it is overwhelming, unfathomable, joy unspeakable.
I have four children. Growing up I always thought I would have 5. Maybe I will, maybe I won't, but this is the lot I have in life at present. If I have more, I have more. But right now, I focus on the little ones currently placed in my charge. As a mother, I take every day as it comes and face the challenges therein head on, whether I feel I am prepared for them or not. Sometimes I feel as if I have succeeded in overcoming the obstacles standing in the way of my children's growth and potential. Far too often, I feel that I have lost the battle in my struggles to help them become all they can be.
Nathaniel has had many struggles this year. He has mentioned countless times that he wishes he could start his life all over again. He has said that he wished he were dead or wanted to go back to last night, rewind, and start the day again. He is heartbroken when he cannot. He wishes that he didn't have the obstacles that stand in his way. He is realizing that he is different from most children and doesn't know how to take it. So what does he do?
He runs. If he gets frustrated with a situation, he runs. He just may make a great track athlete some day because he is fast. He runs to get away from the noise. He runs to get away from the perceived ridicule from his classmates. He runs to try to escape the pain he receives when he stubs his toe or smashes his finger. He runs to get away from his own anger and hurt. But the hardest part of all is that what he is running from most is the little boy that he is, trapped, as he sees it, because he knows he doesn't understand the world around him and realizes even more that the world around him does not understand him either. He doesn't fit the mold. So he wants to escape everyone and everything and just go into nature and hide in the wilderness or the forest.
He is too young for us to allow him to run there. It's not safe. We have to catch him and restrain him. We have to try to help calm him when he is struggling against us, trying to get away, his little heart beating faster than the rhythm of a cat's purr, not nearly so calming, and rather alarming. It breaks my heart when I see the anguish he goes through, the inability to get people to understand him, the inability to comprehend why he can't be normal.
But as I tell Nathaniel and Nyssa, they will never be normal. They are not the typical children that are raised by the manuals. They have Autism Spectrum. They see the world differently. But that's not a bad thing. It is a tremendous, horrifyingly beautiful aspect of who they are. Sometimes I think I would benefit by seeing the world through their eyes. The perspective they have is so pure, so complex and yet so simple. They have this ability to come at matters from an entirely different point of view. They see things as black and white. There is no grey. It is or it is not, and it always will be. If it changes then something is just out of sorts and needs to be fixed. How much simpler would life be if, as an adult, I still saw some things as black and white as I did as a child?
Treat one another respectfully. Be polite. Always say please and thank you. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Be honest. If you don't understand, ask why without being ashamed that you don't know the answer. Tell someone when they hurt your feelings. Say "I'm sorry" when you realize you hurt theirs.
That last component is vital to humanity as a whole. Up until recently, Nathaniel did not realize how his actions affect others. He didn't understand cause and effect in any way shape or form. He did not connect that hitting his sister just may earn him a hit in return and would be devastatingly crushed when she would strike back.
Nathaniel is a very picky eater, not only about textures, but also about color and whether his food touches another type of food on his plate. If I notice it quickly enough, I will move the food over so the components are completely separated one from another. About a month ago, I failed to catch it. He had a fit at the dinner table because broccoli was touching his rice and he did not like it. He ran upstairs, fuming, ranting and raving, to his room. I let him go so every one else could eat and planned to go check on him after the other children were finished. I was amazed and shock at what happened less than five minutes later.
He came downstairs, completely calm and composed. Nathaniel walked up to me and did something he had never done before. He took my hand and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I was wrong. I should not have run away. I should not have been mean to you." I was completely flabbergasted and nearly flooded the kitchen floor with tears that threatened to flow. He gave me a hug, which I delightfully returned and said, "I forgive you, honey." That was the moment.
For the first time in his six years, he fully understood that his actions were his responsibility, and that they were wrongly expressed. For the first time, he apologized for something he had done with absolutely no prompting from any other person. He felt it in his heart and he got it, really, truly, got it. He sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat with the rest of us. He then looked at me and said, "I don't wish I had died anymore either, Mommy. I'm ok."
Several times since then he has realized the effects his actions have had on us and has given heartfelt apologies for them, not just repeating what we tell him to say, but coming to us of his own accord in repentance for his doings. It's clicking, and he's going to be okay. He's making the connections with this vital step in communication with the world around him, with relationships with those who love him dearly. He has taken the step that we had prayed for, which is the basis for all interaction he has with others that will come and go throughout his life. It has taken a long time to get there, but he is on the right track.
In spite of all my aspirations of growing up and becoming the perfect wife and mother who was the ultimate encourager, cheerleader, and overall image of Donna Reed to my husband and little prodigies, the time came when I would come face to face with reality. Eventually realizing that television is expertly scripted by an assortment of writers who have days to come up with a problem, the characters' reactions and the inevitable solution helped free me from the illusion that everything turns out rosy at the end of the day. Real life is raw, and we choose the script as we live, and we don't always have the luxury of debating how we will respond, because our true character will make itself known as we live and breathe. But what further freed me was the discovery that I can wake up the next morning and feel as Nina Simone sang, "It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me and I'm feeling good."
There may be a great amount of heartache in the day, there may be sorrow that lasts for some long, lonely nights that must be persevered. But when you least expect it, something wonderful happens: joy! Joy comes in the morning, and when the light shines brighter and brighter, breaking through the clouds to the noonday sun, it is overwhelming, unfathomable, joy unspeakable.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Making Strides
Have you ever had that feeling like you had been contending with the same thing over and over again with no apparent change in sight when all of a sudden, victory shows up right in front of you? Live can have these times that seem to have more downs than up, but light really is on the way. It will show up, in the least expected times. The most amazing part about it is that the ray of sunshine always comes when you're at your most weary, when you just give up on the fight and take your hands off the steering wheel of total control.
The last couple of weeks have been absolutely amazing! Multiple things have happened. Of all of them, though, the greatest news is that Nathaniel has only tried to run away 3 times. Yes, you read that correctly. He went from 2-3 times a day to less than a fortnight. How did this happen? Did I follow some formula in a book I read? Did I take some special fight or flight classes to teach me how to stop his running? Well, I'll tell you. Aside from going in to Marcus Autism Center and setting up a preliminary observation regarding his behavior, I can't say that I have done anything out of the routine.
All the kudos go to my wonderfully gifted, specially neurologically wired 6 year old himself. He has truly shown attempts at controlling his frustrations and has made some great strides. He is finally learning the art of self control, and I couldn't be prouder!
Just last week, he was on the computer playing an educational game when the program went haywire. At first he got upset, but instead of tearing apart the mouse, throwing out the batteries and tossing the mouse itself across the room, he just set it down on the desk and got up from the chair. That in itself was a vast improvement. And if that weren't enough, he just stomped around for a couple minutes, fussing at the computer calling it a liar. By the way, when something doesn't act fairly to his standards, he calls it a lie...we're working on his syntax. But, he did not dart for the back door, per his usual routine.
Instead, he stomped around, punched a pillow a couple times, and then paused in the middle of the family room. He stood up straight, clenched his arms and drew his hands into tight little fists and took a couple of deep breaths. He closed his eyes and to my amazement, he did something else he had never accomplished in such a strenuous situation. He opened his eyes, threw his hands up, as in small surrender, and said, "That's ok. That's ok."
Now for anyone who may have children on the Autism Spectrum, you know this was enough to make me tear up in wonder, relief, and joy. But it didn't stop there. It has happened several times since then. He faced what he deemed an unfair situation and instead of trying to run, he stepped back, expressed frustration, and then took control of his emotions and relinquished the right to be angry or fearful concerning the circumstances.
Yes! The light is shining! He is beginning to grasp the concept! I am overjoyed, over the moon, ecstatic, filled beyond reason with the hope that he will be able to learn how to cope with this world that he does not understand.
But what is even more amazing is that he is teaching me more about myself through this experience. How often can I say that I truly am willing to give up my right to be angry over circumstances beyond my control? How many times in the last month alone have I failed to have self-control? How often, and how should, I, like him, be willing to be okay with acknowledging my emotions and yet still let go of the anger?
Then it got me to thinking something else. How often is my frustration and anger caused because I have so little self control that I want to have control over other things instead? How much easier would it be if I just let go and not worry about situations that I can't control, that I shouldn't have to control? Yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel for Nathaniel. But there is also light there for me as well. We are on this road together. I am learning to take control over the things I should while at the same time lift my hands in surrender to the circumstances that are not mine to control. It is not always my job to control what happens; it is, however, my responsibility to respond. In order to be a good example for my children, I must learn to respond not with a manner of running away or wrestling with the situation, but with dignity and grace in a manner that I would be happy for my children to emulate 10 years or 10 days from now. Sigh. Deep breath. It is all going to work out just fine.
The last couple of weeks have been absolutely amazing! Multiple things have happened. Of all of them, though, the greatest news is that Nathaniel has only tried to run away 3 times. Yes, you read that correctly. He went from 2-3 times a day to less than a fortnight. How did this happen? Did I follow some formula in a book I read? Did I take some special fight or flight classes to teach me how to stop his running? Well, I'll tell you. Aside from going in to Marcus Autism Center and setting up a preliminary observation regarding his behavior, I can't say that I have done anything out of the routine.
All the kudos go to my wonderfully gifted, specially neurologically wired 6 year old himself. He has truly shown attempts at controlling his frustrations and has made some great strides. He is finally learning the art of self control, and I couldn't be prouder!
Just last week, he was on the computer playing an educational game when the program went haywire. At first he got upset, but instead of tearing apart the mouse, throwing out the batteries and tossing the mouse itself across the room, he just set it down on the desk and got up from the chair. That in itself was a vast improvement. And if that weren't enough, he just stomped around for a couple minutes, fussing at the computer calling it a liar. By the way, when something doesn't act fairly to his standards, he calls it a lie...we're working on his syntax. But, he did not dart for the back door, per his usual routine.
Instead, he stomped around, punched a pillow a couple times, and then paused in the middle of the family room. He stood up straight, clenched his arms and drew his hands into tight little fists and took a couple of deep breaths. He closed his eyes and to my amazement, he did something else he had never accomplished in such a strenuous situation. He opened his eyes, threw his hands up, as in small surrender, and said, "That's ok. That's ok."
Now for anyone who may have children on the Autism Spectrum, you know this was enough to make me tear up in wonder, relief, and joy. But it didn't stop there. It has happened several times since then. He faced what he deemed an unfair situation and instead of trying to run, he stepped back, expressed frustration, and then took control of his emotions and relinquished the right to be angry or fearful concerning the circumstances.
Yes! The light is shining! He is beginning to grasp the concept! I am overjoyed, over the moon, ecstatic, filled beyond reason with the hope that he will be able to learn how to cope with this world that he does not understand.
But what is even more amazing is that he is teaching me more about myself through this experience. How often can I say that I truly am willing to give up my right to be angry over circumstances beyond my control? How many times in the last month alone have I failed to have self-control? How often, and how should, I, like him, be willing to be okay with acknowledging my emotions and yet still let go of the anger?
Then it got me to thinking something else. How often is my frustration and anger caused because I have so little self control that I want to have control over other things instead? How much easier would it be if I just let go and not worry about situations that I can't control, that I shouldn't have to control? Yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel for Nathaniel. But there is also light there for me as well. We are on this road together. I am learning to take control over the things I should while at the same time lift my hands in surrender to the circumstances that are not mine to control. It is not always my job to control what happens; it is, however, my responsibility to respond. In order to be a good example for my children, I must learn to respond not with a manner of running away or wrestling with the situation, but with dignity and grace in a manner that I would be happy for my children to emulate 10 years or 10 days from now. Sigh. Deep breath. It is all going to work out just fine.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
My Little Runaway
Everyone has his own way of coping with adversity. Some people stay and duke it out while others try to reason their way through it. Still others just turn tail and run when the situation gets rough. Of course, there are those who cannot seem to decide whether they want to stay and fight or flee.
Nathaniel has been having a really rough time in first grade. We're still trying to figure out if he is just too overwhelmed by the number of children or if there are other circumstances that are affecting his behavior. We want to be able to help him learn how to cope with the world in which he lives.
It appears that every phase has its ups and downs, just as with any typical child. Add in the Autism spectrum and more hurdles are set in place for the race. At first it was the sheer ability to communicate effectively with him. With hard work and two years of speech therapy, that has drastically improved. Now, he is having to learn how to deal with the information he does process from others, and it isn't always easy.
This year he has been put in a larger classroom for part of the day. Up to this point, he has been in the secluded class with 5 to 7 other students and two teachers. He had difficulties in those classes that he has slowly but surely learned to address, though not perfectly. Because of his great strides with communication, he is now in a partially integrated class. This is a good thing, we were told, a way to ease him into the regular classes eventually.
Every time he goes into a larger class, something happens and he explodes in one way or another. One of the most difficult times for him seems to be physical education. For some reason, the activities in that class really tend to bring out the fight and then flight tendency in Nathaniel. I'm not completely certain if it is because the teachers do not truly comprehend the fact that certain triggers are more forceful than others or if they just want to make Nathaniel face them.
Either way, I think it would be much more beneficial to introduce Nathaniel to some games slowly. Take flag football, for instance. Pardon me for saying this, but for a child who truly needs his own space and who feels violently upset about having his personal space invaded, flag football is not something to just thrust upon him with a couple sentences of instructions, at least not in a full size p.e. class. I have no qualms about Nathaniel learning to play this game, but because it involves taking something away from him, I personally believe it would be better to introduce him to the game with a small group of 4 to 6 children, describing in detail that the game does mean that someone is going to take a flag away from him. Once he gets accustomed to the game with a few people, then go ahead and let him play it on a larger scale. If I had known beforehand what game they would have him play, I could have told them to prepare for the kicking, the hitting, the fussing, and, eventually, the running past the teachers, into the hall, and out the exit door away from school.
Unfortunately, there have been numerous times this year in which my oldest son has attempted to run away from school. It's not the first time he's run away from home, either, nor from church. In fact, just about two weeks ago, he gave us another scare. Only this time, it wasn't just to us. I'm not glad it happened, but in a sense I am not sorry he ran. It allowed some of our acquaintances and close friends to understand the depth to which we mean when we say we have to keep an eye our children at all times. His actions that night also caused a greater support system in the sense that others are now aware of some dangers that arise with ASD children.
It was Wednesday evening and he had had a rough day at school. One of the boys in his math class was consistently touching him, invading his space, and he was having a hard time all around. His senses were in overload so I was not at all surprised when he was sent to sit with me in the choir for a little while to calm down . The second time seemed to do the trick, as he was able to gather control and go back to his classroom. I walked him down and he seemed to enjoy himself before I slipped back out to the music room.
When church was over, I went to pick up the kids to take them home. There was only one problem. Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. He had managed to slip past the adults and out the door. I went to the car, but no Nathaniel. I went to the playground and called him, but did not find him. I walked over to the gym and nobody had seen him. Playground, sanctuary, woods nearby, children's wing, gym: all were void of my missing child. By this time, several adults were helping me look for my son and I was trying not to let panic set into my heart.
A good fifteen minutes later at least, I had the gut feeling to return to the playground. It was a last ditch effort, hoping beyond hope that maybe we missed him. By this time the lights were off and it was pitch black. I called out to him twice to no avail. I walked around the small fenced enclosure and called some more, making my eyes see what was near impossible. I had already been praying in my head, but at this point I spoke into the darkness, "God, please! Help me find him."
I called one more time and heard a catch of breath that did not belong to me. I stopped and called again. "Go away. Leave me alone," at last I had found him! "I want to stay here," then he hissed angrily at me and fought to get away as I felt out and reached his arm. Nathaniel continued to protest loudly as I held him and told him how much I missed him and that I felt bad when I couldn't find him. I led him from the playground toward the car as he initially attempted to escape my grasp and run back to the swings.
I called out to let the pastor and the choir director know that I had found him. They were, as was I, greatly relieved that I had recovered my son. As dark as it was and with as much time that had passed since the last time anyone had seen him, the situation could have ended much, much worse.
This particular incident served as a wake up call, not necessarily for myself, but for those around me. For my readers who also have children on the Autism Spectrum, you have gone through things similar to this on a regular basis as well. Perhaps you have friends and acquaintances who may technically be aware of things you go through with your children, but they don't feel the insistent, ever present eagle-eyed necessity that you know can be the difference between life and death for your children. It took my son disappearing, quite quickly, for a good while, for some in my circle to understand the vigil we constantly keep.
I suppose I have my moments of flight as well. Those days when my husband comes home and I am just tired of the vigilance probably happen more often than the typical mom. I am grateful for the respite he gives me occasionally to get away from the commotion so I can gather my wits about me, renew my strength, and stand ready to fight the next fight for the sake of my children.
I guess the real key is in striking the balance between fight or flight. That Wednesday, when Nathaniel struggled with me, I had to hold firmly. It was not easy to stand firm with him. He may be only 6 years old, but he's less than a foot shorter than I am. My foot will, albeit uncomfortably, fit in his shoe now. He is getting stronger as well. But if I had just let him run off, he could have gotten hit by a car, kidnapped, or been hurt by numerous other imaginable things. So I held, firmly but lovingly, until my son was ready to come of his own accord. I hope for the day when he no longer feels the need to run away but to be able to run towards us, toward safety, when he feels threatened beyond his ability to cope.
Nathaniel has been having a really rough time in first grade. We're still trying to figure out if he is just too overwhelmed by the number of children or if there are other circumstances that are affecting his behavior. We want to be able to help him learn how to cope with the world in which he lives.
It appears that every phase has its ups and downs, just as with any typical child. Add in the Autism spectrum and more hurdles are set in place for the race. At first it was the sheer ability to communicate effectively with him. With hard work and two years of speech therapy, that has drastically improved. Now, he is having to learn how to deal with the information he does process from others, and it isn't always easy.
This year he has been put in a larger classroom for part of the day. Up to this point, he has been in the secluded class with 5 to 7 other students and two teachers. He had difficulties in those classes that he has slowly but surely learned to address, though not perfectly. Because of his great strides with communication, he is now in a partially integrated class. This is a good thing, we were told, a way to ease him into the regular classes eventually.
Every time he goes into a larger class, something happens and he explodes in one way or another. One of the most difficult times for him seems to be physical education. For some reason, the activities in that class really tend to bring out the fight and then flight tendency in Nathaniel. I'm not completely certain if it is because the teachers do not truly comprehend the fact that certain triggers are more forceful than others or if they just want to make Nathaniel face them.
Either way, I think it would be much more beneficial to introduce Nathaniel to some games slowly. Take flag football, for instance. Pardon me for saying this, but for a child who truly needs his own space and who feels violently upset about having his personal space invaded, flag football is not something to just thrust upon him with a couple sentences of instructions, at least not in a full size p.e. class. I have no qualms about Nathaniel learning to play this game, but because it involves taking something away from him, I personally believe it would be better to introduce him to the game with a small group of 4 to 6 children, describing in detail that the game does mean that someone is going to take a flag away from him. Once he gets accustomed to the game with a few people, then go ahead and let him play it on a larger scale. If I had known beforehand what game they would have him play, I could have told them to prepare for the kicking, the hitting, the fussing, and, eventually, the running past the teachers, into the hall, and out the exit door away from school.
Unfortunately, there have been numerous times this year in which my oldest son has attempted to run away from school. It's not the first time he's run away from home, either, nor from church. In fact, just about two weeks ago, he gave us another scare. Only this time, it wasn't just to us. I'm not glad it happened, but in a sense I am not sorry he ran. It allowed some of our acquaintances and close friends to understand the depth to which we mean when we say we have to keep an eye our children at all times. His actions that night also caused a greater support system in the sense that others are now aware of some dangers that arise with ASD children.
It was Wednesday evening and he had had a rough day at school. One of the boys in his math class was consistently touching him, invading his space, and he was having a hard time all around. His senses were in overload so I was not at all surprised when he was sent to sit with me in the choir for a little while to calm down . The second time seemed to do the trick, as he was able to gather control and go back to his classroom. I walked him down and he seemed to enjoy himself before I slipped back out to the music room.
When church was over, I went to pick up the kids to take them home. There was only one problem. Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. He had managed to slip past the adults and out the door. I went to the car, but no Nathaniel. I went to the playground and called him, but did not find him. I walked over to the gym and nobody had seen him. Playground, sanctuary, woods nearby, children's wing, gym: all were void of my missing child. By this time, several adults were helping me look for my son and I was trying not to let panic set into my heart.
A good fifteen minutes later at least, I had the gut feeling to return to the playground. It was a last ditch effort, hoping beyond hope that maybe we missed him. By this time the lights were off and it was pitch black. I called out to him twice to no avail. I walked around the small fenced enclosure and called some more, making my eyes see what was near impossible. I had already been praying in my head, but at this point I spoke into the darkness, "God, please! Help me find him."
I called one more time and heard a catch of breath that did not belong to me. I stopped and called again. "Go away. Leave me alone," at last I had found him! "I want to stay here," then he hissed angrily at me and fought to get away as I felt out and reached his arm. Nathaniel continued to protest loudly as I held him and told him how much I missed him and that I felt bad when I couldn't find him. I led him from the playground toward the car as he initially attempted to escape my grasp and run back to the swings.
I called out to let the pastor and the choir director know that I had found him. They were, as was I, greatly relieved that I had recovered my son. As dark as it was and with as much time that had passed since the last time anyone had seen him, the situation could have ended much, much worse.
This particular incident served as a wake up call, not necessarily for myself, but for those around me. For my readers who also have children on the Autism Spectrum, you have gone through things similar to this on a regular basis as well. Perhaps you have friends and acquaintances who may technically be aware of things you go through with your children, but they don't feel the insistent, ever present eagle-eyed necessity that you know can be the difference between life and death for your children. It took my son disappearing, quite quickly, for a good while, for some in my circle to understand the vigil we constantly keep.
I suppose I have my moments of flight as well. Those days when my husband comes home and I am just tired of the vigilance probably happen more often than the typical mom. I am grateful for the respite he gives me occasionally to get away from the commotion so I can gather my wits about me, renew my strength, and stand ready to fight the next fight for the sake of my children.
I guess the real key is in striking the balance between fight or flight. That Wednesday, when Nathaniel struggled with me, I had to hold firmly. It was not easy to stand firm with him. He may be only 6 years old, but he's less than a foot shorter than I am. My foot will, albeit uncomfortably, fit in his shoe now. He is getting stronger as well. But if I had just let him run off, he could have gotten hit by a car, kidnapped, or been hurt by numerous other imaginable things. So I held, firmly but lovingly, until my son was ready to come of his own accord. I hope for the day when he no longer feels the need to run away but to be able to run towards us, toward safety, when he feels threatened beyond his ability to cope.
Monday, September 12, 2011
It Smells Inky in Here
I have come to realize that the storms in this life are the norm. Life is an uphill mountain range, filled with a whole lot of climbing with occasional bouts of refreshing and rest. When it seems almost insurmountable, we are pushed to what we think is our limit and then just a little more. Then we are given a bit of release. we are granted just enough to be able to take the next climb and to be able to choose whether to be joyful or not.
Last week, I had terrible vertigo for several days. I had to go to the emergency room on Sunday. That made for an interesting week. My chiropractor worked wonders on Wednesday and the vertigo was completely gone by Friday morning.
I slept better last night than I have in over a week. This is very good, because I would need that respite and calm for the storm that was heading my way. I had been awakened a couple times by the children in the middle of the night, but overall it was peaceful.
"Let me out!" I awoke to the sounds of Nathaniel's screams and to banging on a door. Getting up quicker than Spiderman can scale a wall, I went into the hall to see his door open but Nyssa's door closed. The sound emanated from that direction. It was also locked. This was definitely the source of my rude awakening, as well as the unnerving sound of squeals of devilish delight.
I unlocked the door to find a frightened Nathaniel holding his hands to his ears and stripped completely naked. he looked like a Native American Indian covered in warpaint. Backtrack. Stop the film. What? Yes. He was covered in...not paint, but ink! So was the carpet, Nyssa's bed, and Gabriela's sheet. Benjamin (the squealing one) was gleefully coloring the wall. Nyssa was initially giggling, but gave me an opened gasp and said, "Oh!" At that point, her mouth clamped shut tightly, her eyes opend wide, and she attempted to stifle the laughter.
All of my precious inks for drawing and writing were emptied from their wells. Nyssa's carpeted floor had become their newest canvas. Carpet, curtain, sheets, beds, children, clothes, and books were all revealing the artwork of the likes of Jackson Pollack. Spatterings of black, navy, indigo, magenta, and yellow were covering a background of golden beige short shag carpet. Silver lined the top of my daughter's greying head where Nyssa had poured my silver ink over herself. Browns and greens canvassed the girls' sheets and pillows.
I would love to say that I was very rational, calm, cool, and collected when I saw the paintings. BUt there was no still life around me. The scribbling on the wall continued as I told Benjamin to stop. I would love to say that I slowly gathered myself together as I rustled them into the bathtub. It would be so wonderful to say that I kept my voice gentle, yet firm. But I cannot say so. I simply said, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
"RICHARD!" I shouted down the stairs, knowing my husband would hear me and bound up momentarily to the certain inflection in my voice, "Children, this is mommy's stuff! How did you get it? Who got into it?"
Sure enough, as I stared at the children in wonder and shook my head in disbelief, I heard the clomp of my beloved coming up the stairs on his white steed. Ok, so there was no horse, but he did round them up faster than a cowboy herding a steer back to its corral. He set them in the bathtub while I attempted to so something with the mess.
I gathered the items and separated the painted from the untouched and wiped as much off as I could from the wooden beds, the wall, and the books. I shoved the ruined clothes to the corner and stared at the floor. Richard, on the other hand, sat in the bathroom giving the kids the third degree and reading them the riot act. The blame game began.
Fortunately, we already knew we could rule out Nathaniel because he was absolutely horrified at what was going on. Gabriela was playing in it, of course, but she was not capable of getting the ink from its location. That left two children still in the frying pan. Eventually, Nyssa confessed that it was her initiation, though Benjamin gladly jumped on the bandwagon as soon as the can of worms was opened.
Furious, I started to rip questions at Nyssa when I realized it was no use. The questions I really wanted answered could not be solved by my little mischievous pixie fairy. No, I had to stop and walk away, because yelling at her and demanding some logical, rational explanation was foolhardy. There are some things we can do. We can get righteously angry over injustices, but cannot tear our children apart verbally in the process.
I simply stopped and looked at Richard. We got the kids cleaned off and dressed. He told me to go on and go to my Weight Watchers meeting and try to cool down. I nodded my head in assent. I walked to the girls' room and locked their door, both at the doorknob and at the chain lock up high, so nobody would go back into that mess. I then got my wallet and my keys and exited the house with Gabriela in tow as she was very reluctant to leave my sight. We drove away in the white 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan that we're renting because our Toyota Sienna's engine had been burnt to a crisp on Thursday.
It was a respite from the battlefield of Nyssa's room. It was encouraging news of me being 3 pounds lighter. It was an escape from the two current partners in crime who can't seem to get it through their thick skulls that they don't get into other people's things and destroy them. It was a breath of fresh air.
When I got back home, I was feeling much better, ready to tackle the room once again. Richard took Nathaniel with him on his errand run after we explained that Nyssa and Benjamin would have no videos and no computer for the next couple of weeks because of what they did. I first tackled the kitchen and the lunch dishes. Then I made my way upstairs for round one of carpet cleaning detail.
Three carpet shampoo sessions later, the floor is still covered in ink. It's there to stay, at least half of it. We're getting more out, but it's a slow process. The children are now all tucked into the boys' room, with closet locked, and all the other rooms locked up to avoid them getting into them.
I did it again. I lost my temper and yelled at them. I'm not proud of it. I could have handled it better, but that's the truth of the matter. I didn't think I could handle any more of it when my husband gave me a way out, a way to escape the temptation to keep berating them. I was given an escape route when I was about at my worst.
That happens in life. We think we can't handle it any longer. We are pushed to the limit, and then our child says something that pushes us further. But then something happens, an escape trip to Weight Watchers, a smile with the words, "I love you," from the little rugrat, or the sight of a little chipmunk scurrying across your lawn. And something breaks inside of us, the anger and frustration melts. We are frozen in time, sucked away, for an hour, or even just a few moments, and we have regrouped and are ready once again to face the smelly, inky mess in the carpet floor.
I have a challenge for all of us. Next time, why don't we try thinking of that little chipmunk, replay the vision in our mind, next time we feel we are about to go over the edge. Let's see if that helps us keep the temper at bay. I'll try it if you will. After all, if I cut loose, my life will look and smell just like that carpet, and believe me, it is a pill to clean up afterwards. It takes layers of shampoo and scalding water, several times, and sometimes the stain never completely comes out without a diligent cleansing scrub over, and over, and over again.
Last week, I had terrible vertigo for several days. I had to go to the emergency room on Sunday. That made for an interesting week. My chiropractor worked wonders on Wednesday and the vertigo was completely gone by Friday morning.
I slept better last night than I have in over a week. This is very good, because I would need that respite and calm for the storm that was heading my way. I had been awakened a couple times by the children in the middle of the night, but overall it was peaceful.
"Let me out!" I awoke to the sounds of Nathaniel's screams and to banging on a door. Getting up quicker than Spiderman can scale a wall, I went into the hall to see his door open but Nyssa's door closed. The sound emanated from that direction. It was also locked. This was definitely the source of my rude awakening, as well as the unnerving sound of squeals of devilish delight.
I unlocked the door to find a frightened Nathaniel holding his hands to his ears and stripped completely naked. he looked like a Native American Indian covered in warpaint. Backtrack. Stop the film. What? Yes. He was covered in...not paint, but ink! So was the carpet, Nyssa's bed, and Gabriela's sheet. Benjamin (the squealing one) was gleefully coloring the wall. Nyssa was initially giggling, but gave me an opened gasp and said, "Oh!" At that point, her mouth clamped shut tightly, her eyes opend wide, and she attempted to stifle the laughter.
All of my precious inks for drawing and writing were emptied from their wells. Nyssa's carpeted floor had become their newest canvas. Carpet, curtain, sheets, beds, children, clothes, and books were all revealing the artwork of the likes of Jackson Pollack. Spatterings of black, navy, indigo, magenta, and yellow were covering a background of golden beige short shag carpet. Silver lined the top of my daughter's greying head where Nyssa had poured my silver ink over herself. Browns and greens canvassed the girls' sheets and pillows.
I would love to say that I was very rational, calm, cool, and collected when I saw the paintings. BUt there was no still life around me. The scribbling on the wall continued as I told Benjamin to stop. I would love to say that I slowly gathered myself together as I rustled them into the bathtub. It would be so wonderful to say that I kept my voice gentle, yet firm. But I cannot say so. I simply said, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
"RICHARD!" I shouted down the stairs, knowing my husband would hear me and bound up momentarily to the certain inflection in my voice, "Children, this is mommy's stuff! How did you get it? Who got into it?"
Sure enough, as I stared at the children in wonder and shook my head in disbelief, I heard the clomp of my beloved coming up the stairs on his white steed. Ok, so there was no horse, but he did round them up faster than a cowboy herding a steer back to its corral. He set them in the bathtub while I attempted to so something with the mess.
I gathered the items and separated the painted from the untouched and wiped as much off as I could from the wooden beds, the wall, and the books. I shoved the ruined clothes to the corner and stared at the floor. Richard, on the other hand, sat in the bathroom giving the kids the third degree and reading them the riot act. The blame game began.
Fortunately, we already knew we could rule out Nathaniel because he was absolutely horrified at what was going on. Gabriela was playing in it, of course, but she was not capable of getting the ink from its location. That left two children still in the frying pan. Eventually, Nyssa confessed that it was her initiation, though Benjamin gladly jumped on the bandwagon as soon as the can of worms was opened.
Furious, I started to rip questions at Nyssa when I realized it was no use. The questions I really wanted answered could not be solved by my little mischievous pixie fairy. No, I had to stop and walk away, because yelling at her and demanding some logical, rational explanation was foolhardy. There are some things we can do. We can get righteously angry over injustices, but cannot tear our children apart verbally in the process.
I simply stopped and looked at Richard. We got the kids cleaned off and dressed. He told me to go on and go to my Weight Watchers meeting and try to cool down. I nodded my head in assent. I walked to the girls' room and locked their door, both at the doorknob and at the chain lock up high, so nobody would go back into that mess. I then got my wallet and my keys and exited the house with Gabriela in tow as she was very reluctant to leave my sight. We drove away in the white 2012 Dodge Grand Caravan that we're renting because our Toyota Sienna's engine had been burnt to a crisp on Thursday.
It was a respite from the battlefield of Nyssa's room. It was encouraging news of me being 3 pounds lighter. It was an escape from the two current partners in crime who can't seem to get it through their thick skulls that they don't get into other people's things and destroy them. It was a breath of fresh air.
When I got back home, I was feeling much better, ready to tackle the room once again. Richard took Nathaniel with him on his errand run after we explained that Nyssa and Benjamin would have no videos and no computer for the next couple of weeks because of what they did. I first tackled the kitchen and the lunch dishes. Then I made my way upstairs for round one of carpet cleaning detail.
Three carpet shampoo sessions later, the floor is still covered in ink. It's there to stay, at least half of it. We're getting more out, but it's a slow process. The children are now all tucked into the boys' room, with closet locked, and all the other rooms locked up to avoid them getting into them.
I did it again. I lost my temper and yelled at them. I'm not proud of it. I could have handled it better, but that's the truth of the matter. I didn't think I could handle any more of it when my husband gave me a way out, a way to escape the temptation to keep berating them. I was given an escape route when I was about at my worst.
That happens in life. We think we can't handle it any longer. We are pushed to the limit, and then our child says something that pushes us further. But then something happens, an escape trip to Weight Watchers, a smile with the words, "I love you," from the little rugrat, or the sight of a little chipmunk scurrying across your lawn. And something breaks inside of us, the anger and frustration melts. We are frozen in time, sucked away, for an hour, or even just a few moments, and we have regrouped and are ready once again to face the smelly, inky mess in the carpet floor.
I have a challenge for all of us. Next time, why don't we try thinking of that little chipmunk, replay the vision in our mind, next time we feel we are about to go over the edge. Let's see if that helps us keep the temper at bay. I'll try it if you will. After all, if I cut loose, my life will look and smell just like that carpet, and believe me, it is a pill to clean up afterwards. It takes layers of shampoo and scalding water, several times, and sometimes the stain never completely comes out without a diligent cleansing scrub over, and over, and over again.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Fighting the Fire
In a life surrounded by Autism Spectrum children, you never know what fires you will have to put out from day to day. All you can do is read up on the subject, prepare for emergencies, and hope you never have to put that practice to the test in the truest sense. In many ways, you are always alert, at the ready, with the proverbial fire hose in hand.
Thursday was so very peaceful. Anita had helped me clean up after my natural disasters while two of them, the boys, were at school. Gabriela followed her around while Nyssa and I went to Marcus for her checkup. All around, quite a bit was accomplished. I had been sick earlier in the week with a bad bout of vertigo and still hadn't fully recovered, but by 2 pm Thursday afternoon, it no longer showed in the house. Anita said her good-byes to the girls and I. We readied ourselves to get Benjamin from Pre-K.
Little did I know what havoc was about to incinerate most of the rest of our day. The girls were buckled up. Nyssa was in the back, in Nathaniel's booster seat. I considered telling Nyssa to get into her own car seat, but we were going to get her a booster seat this weekend anyway. Gabriela was buckled directly behind me in her car seat. I strapped myself in, closed the door, and put the key into the ignition. The car started and I heard the click of all the doors automatically lock as I put it into gear. The engine stalled. I tried again, thinking maybe the battery had drained again, but the minivan started normally. I put it in reverse, looked in the rear view mirror, released the break, stepped on the gas, and I fully expected to back out of the driveway. No dice.
I checked the lights, but no warning appeared. Once again, I turned the key to the off position. Puzzled, I put the vehicle back into park, turned on the ignition yet again, and checked the display panel on the dashboard. Everything looked and sounded fine. It was running. I put it in reverse for the third time and the minivan instantly died. This time, however, there was a remarkable difference.
I don't know if I smelled it or saw it first. The engine was smoking. Through the front window, I saw smoke rising above the hood and flames dancing underneath it. From this point, everything happened quickly and in slow motion at the same time.
I was grateful Nyssa was in Nathaniel's seat because she could unbuckle that on her own. She always has trouble with the bottom release on her own car seat. I instructed Nyssa in my "Mommy" voice to unbuckle quickly and get out of the car. She had already taken off her shoes and was confused. I told her the care was on fire and we had to get out.
She tried to open her door at the same time I climbed out and attempted to open Gabriela's door. Neither one budged. They wouldn't unlock because of the automatic override. They were both on child safety mode and could not be unlocked without turning on the car. The automatic functions were cut off due to the fire. I pushed my seat forward, climbed back, and unbuckled Gabriela. Nyssa climbed to the front into my seat and got out through my door. After getting Gabriela out of the car, I carried her and led Nyssa to the house.
I told them to stay put as I went back to assess the situation, telephone in hand. I momentarily considered opening the hood. I quickly dismissed that half-brained idea when I saw how big the flames were getting. At the same time, I dialed 9-1-1. While I was on the phone, Nyssa suddenly remembered her shoes.
"What is your address?" asked the dispatcher after I alerted her to the fire.
"My shoes!" Nyssa wailed.
I gave the dispatcher our address.
"I have to get them!"
"I'm sending the fire department to your house now."
"Nyssa, stay here."
"But they'll be gone forEver!"
I held my daughter's arm. Fortunately, she didn't put up a fight. "Thank you very much," I said to the dispatcher.
"Has the fire spread to the rest of the vehicle? How close is it to your house?"
"But they're my favorite high heels!"
"No, it's still contained in the engine compartment. It's about 7 feet from the house. Nyssa, if they go up in flames, I'll get yuou another pair."
Nyssa relented.
"A girl's priorities," the woman on the other end of the line couldn't refrain from saying.
"Tell me about it."
"My car," Gabriela added to the conversation.
"Make sure you stay far away from the car; and if the fire spreads, it could hit the house," the operator warned me.
"I need to move away from the house as well, then," I stated more than questioned.
"That would be a good idea."
"I hear the fire engine now," I stated as I heard the familiar siren.
"Ok. Good luck."
We said good-bye as I sat the girls on the little child-sized iron and wooden bench in the front yard. I called Richard's work and left a message for him. He was at a conference downtown but they would be able to contact him. Gabriela chattered off the names of the African animals embedded in the iron work on the back of her bench. I instructed Nyssa to keep Gabriela busy there while the firemen did their job.
We spoke for a moment as they got out the needed masks and necessary hose and started working on the fire. Nathaniel's bus drove up. The driver stopped behind the fire engine and I received Nathaniel, explaining the situation to the bewildered driver. At this point, as if on cue, the police officer pulled up next to the curb in front of our yard and parked his black and white.
Amy from Richard's work called and said she sent him an e-mail; she then asked what she could do, saying she could come right over. Thankfully, she was willing to assist in getting Benjamin from his school. I got off the phone with her and turned off the water hose Nathaniel held in his hands as he attempted to help the firemen. I had to explain to the officer that Nathaniel is on the spectrum and may not completely understand the danger, so we were both keeping an eye on him. Richard called back and said he was leaving right then as soon as I filled him in on the situation.
I saw big chunks of something from the car fall down onto the pavement below, burning away in flames. The police officer said I was lucky the fire didn't start late at night. He reiterated the dispatcher's assessment, stating himself that it could have burned down the house and the yard if the fire department hadn't been able to respond so quickly.
The firemen had to tear at the hood to open it in order to completely eradicate the flames. A safety measure under the hood caused the cable to burn so nobody could open it and get engulfed by the fire. The general consensus by the firemen and policeman was that some electrical wiring caused the mishap. The engine compartment did a great job at containing the fire. It did not spread to the rest of the minivan. They were able to move it back after putting out the fire and spray the burning plastic underneath on the driveway.
Everything behind the battery was melted or gone. The air filter was gone. Off to the left, a quarter of the engine casing had melted away. I always supposed it was metal. Not this one, I guess. The burnt plastic sent its odor wafting around us.
Amy drove up as I turned off Nathaniel's hose again. Amy was an absolute sweetheart! She let me borrow the car to get Benjamin while she watched the others. The police officer and the firemen left just before I did. As I was leaving, I saw Gabriela playing in the toy car in front.
"Fire in the car," she played excitedly, giggling.
Nyssa was glad her shoes did not burn away, Nathaniel contented himself with playing on the slide out back, and Richard arrived home shortly thereafter. Once she made sure we were all okay, Amy took her leave. I got on the horn with insurance and the rental car service.
You never know what your response will be in a specific situation until it confronts you. You never want to be caught in an inflamed vehicle with children who are strapped in and with doors that will not open. When life throws fireballs at you, you may not be able to put out the fire without assistance. Sometimes professionals are available to help, such as the firefighters, police officer, and Nyssa's doctors at Marcus.
We can, however, consider the options of what we can control. We can help the helpless who are also caught. We can let them use our door as a manner of escape. Sometimes the door we have is their only hope of escape. We can try to help them put the situation in correct perspective. I'm sorry, Fashionistas of this world, but no pair of shoes, not even Manolo Blancos or whatever his name is, are worth risking going back to that fire.
Our lives and the lies of others are what matter most, above all this fluff of materialism that surrounds us. Besides, when you do respond responsibly (see the word correlation there?), you may find in the end that everything is taken care of after all, like Nyssa's precious lack patent low heel shoes with the bows in front. But even if they had become ashes, they were just....shoes.
The minivan, yes, it is totaled. But we are all fine. So getting another vehicle, though it may not be easy financially, is not the worst thing that could happen. I'm just glad that fire got put out before it spread to the rest of the minivan, caused an explosion, and took out the yard and the house. Fortunately, we had some guardian angels watching over us, perhaps one even whispering to Nyssa, "Climb in Nathaniel's seat."
As for those things we can prepare for, Nyssa knows when I use a certain voice to obey without question. She may still want to move, but she does listen when I can give her distinct, one step directions. It payed off this week. As for practical, concrete preparations, I went out yesterday and picked up booster seats for Nyssa and Benjamin. They are both big enough, and they can unbuckle their own seat belts now. You never know when those precious seconds count.
Thursday was so very peaceful. Anita had helped me clean up after my natural disasters while two of them, the boys, were at school. Gabriela followed her around while Nyssa and I went to Marcus for her checkup. All around, quite a bit was accomplished. I had been sick earlier in the week with a bad bout of vertigo and still hadn't fully recovered, but by 2 pm Thursday afternoon, it no longer showed in the house. Anita said her good-byes to the girls and I. We readied ourselves to get Benjamin from Pre-K.
Little did I know what havoc was about to incinerate most of the rest of our day. The girls were buckled up. Nyssa was in the back, in Nathaniel's booster seat. I considered telling Nyssa to get into her own car seat, but we were going to get her a booster seat this weekend anyway. Gabriela was buckled directly behind me in her car seat. I strapped myself in, closed the door, and put the key into the ignition. The car started and I heard the click of all the doors automatically lock as I put it into gear. The engine stalled. I tried again, thinking maybe the battery had drained again, but the minivan started normally. I put it in reverse, looked in the rear view mirror, released the break, stepped on the gas, and I fully expected to back out of the driveway. No dice.
I checked the lights, but no warning appeared. Once again, I turned the key to the off position. Puzzled, I put the vehicle back into park, turned on the ignition yet again, and checked the display panel on the dashboard. Everything looked and sounded fine. It was running. I put it in reverse for the third time and the minivan instantly died. This time, however, there was a remarkable difference.
I don't know if I smelled it or saw it first. The engine was smoking. Through the front window, I saw smoke rising above the hood and flames dancing underneath it. From this point, everything happened quickly and in slow motion at the same time.
I was grateful Nyssa was in Nathaniel's seat because she could unbuckle that on her own. She always has trouble with the bottom release on her own car seat. I instructed Nyssa in my "Mommy" voice to unbuckle quickly and get out of the car. She had already taken off her shoes and was confused. I told her the care was on fire and we had to get out.
She tried to open her door at the same time I climbed out and attempted to open Gabriela's door. Neither one budged. They wouldn't unlock because of the automatic override. They were both on child safety mode and could not be unlocked without turning on the car. The automatic functions were cut off due to the fire. I pushed my seat forward, climbed back, and unbuckled Gabriela. Nyssa climbed to the front into my seat and got out through my door. After getting Gabriela out of the car, I carried her and led Nyssa to the house.
I told them to stay put as I went back to assess the situation, telephone in hand. I momentarily considered opening the hood. I quickly dismissed that half-brained idea when I saw how big the flames were getting. At the same time, I dialed 9-1-1. While I was on the phone, Nyssa suddenly remembered her shoes.
"What is your address?" asked the dispatcher after I alerted her to the fire.
"My shoes!" Nyssa wailed.
I gave the dispatcher our address.
"I have to get them!"
"I'm sending the fire department to your house now."
"Nyssa, stay here."
"But they'll be gone forEver!"
I held my daughter's arm. Fortunately, she didn't put up a fight. "Thank you very much," I said to the dispatcher.
"Has the fire spread to the rest of the vehicle? How close is it to your house?"
"But they're my favorite high heels!"
"No, it's still contained in the engine compartment. It's about 7 feet from the house. Nyssa, if they go up in flames, I'll get yuou another pair."
Nyssa relented.
"A girl's priorities," the woman on the other end of the line couldn't refrain from saying.
"Tell me about it."
"My car," Gabriela added to the conversation.
"Make sure you stay far away from the car; and if the fire spreads, it could hit the house," the operator warned me.
"I need to move away from the house as well, then," I stated more than questioned.
"That would be a good idea."
"I hear the fire engine now," I stated as I heard the familiar siren.
"Ok. Good luck."
We said good-bye as I sat the girls on the little child-sized iron and wooden bench in the front yard. I called Richard's work and left a message for him. He was at a conference downtown but they would be able to contact him. Gabriela chattered off the names of the African animals embedded in the iron work on the back of her bench. I instructed Nyssa to keep Gabriela busy there while the firemen did their job.
We spoke for a moment as they got out the needed masks and necessary hose and started working on the fire. Nathaniel's bus drove up. The driver stopped behind the fire engine and I received Nathaniel, explaining the situation to the bewildered driver. At this point, as if on cue, the police officer pulled up next to the curb in front of our yard and parked his black and white.
Amy from Richard's work called and said she sent him an e-mail; she then asked what she could do, saying she could come right over. Thankfully, she was willing to assist in getting Benjamin from his school. I got off the phone with her and turned off the water hose Nathaniel held in his hands as he attempted to help the firemen. I had to explain to the officer that Nathaniel is on the spectrum and may not completely understand the danger, so we were both keeping an eye on him. Richard called back and said he was leaving right then as soon as I filled him in on the situation.
I saw big chunks of something from the car fall down onto the pavement below, burning away in flames. The police officer said I was lucky the fire didn't start late at night. He reiterated the dispatcher's assessment, stating himself that it could have burned down the house and the yard if the fire department hadn't been able to respond so quickly.
The firemen had to tear at the hood to open it in order to completely eradicate the flames. A safety measure under the hood caused the cable to burn so nobody could open it and get engulfed by the fire. The general consensus by the firemen and policeman was that some electrical wiring caused the mishap. The engine compartment did a great job at containing the fire. It did not spread to the rest of the minivan. They were able to move it back after putting out the fire and spray the burning plastic underneath on the driveway.
Everything behind the battery was melted or gone. The air filter was gone. Off to the left, a quarter of the engine casing had melted away. I always supposed it was metal. Not this one, I guess. The burnt plastic sent its odor wafting around us.
Amy drove up as I turned off Nathaniel's hose again. Amy was an absolute sweetheart! She let me borrow the car to get Benjamin while she watched the others. The police officer and the firemen left just before I did. As I was leaving, I saw Gabriela playing in the toy car in front.
"Fire in the car," she played excitedly, giggling.
Nyssa was glad her shoes did not burn away, Nathaniel contented himself with playing on the slide out back, and Richard arrived home shortly thereafter. Once she made sure we were all okay, Amy took her leave. I got on the horn with insurance and the rental car service.
You never know what your response will be in a specific situation until it confronts you. You never want to be caught in an inflamed vehicle with children who are strapped in and with doors that will not open. When life throws fireballs at you, you may not be able to put out the fire without assistance. Sometimes professionals are available to help, such as the firefighters, police officer, and Nyssa's doctors at Marcus.
We can, however, consider the options of what we can control. We can help the helpless who are also caught. We can let them use our door as a manner of escape. Sometimes the door we have is their only hope of escape. We can try to help them put the situation in correct perspective. I'm sorry, Fashionistas of this world, but no pair of shoes, not even Manolo Blancos or whatever his name is, are worth risking going back to that fire.
Our lives and the lies of others are what matter most, above all this fluff of materialism that surrounds us. Besides, when you do respond responsibly (see the word correlation there?), you may find in the end that everything is taken care of after all, like Nyssa's precious lack patent low heel shoes with the bows in front. But even if they had become ashes, they were just....shoes.
The minivan, yes, it is totaled. But we are all fine. So getting another vehicle, though it may not be easy financially, is not the worst thing that could happen. I'm just glad that fire got put out before it spread to the rest of the minivan, caused an explosion, and took out the yard and the house. Fortunately, we had some guardian angels watching over us, perhaps one even whispering to Nyssa, "Climb in Nathaniel's seat."
As for those things we can prepare for, Nyssa knows when I use a certain voice to obey without question. She may still want to move, but she does listen when I can give her distinct, one step directions. It payed off this week. As for practical, concrete preparations, I went out yesterday and picked up booster seats for Nyssa and Benjamin. They are both big enough, and they can unbuckle their own seat belts now. You never know when those precious seconds count.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Waiting Game
Patience is a virtue. Patience is a good virtue that is handy to have in your arsenal. Patience is a necessity when you have children and can be most rewarding when you let patience have its way in trying times. Patience is something I used to think I possessed in great quantity but have realized in recent years that I lack often. I'm working on it.
Last Tuesday, exactly one week ago, I had the privilege of discovering how much patience I had on that given day. It should have been simple: wake the children, take the boys to school, take Nyssa to the doctor, come home, clean, get the boys from school, play with the kids, make dinner, clean up, go to bed. Of course, if it had turned out as outlined above, it would not have made an interesting story, and therefore I would not have written about it except to say how refreshing it would have been to have a "normal" day. It was not the easiest of days as within minutes of my waking, the trials began.
It was Nathaniel's second day to ride the car to school, and he remembered that he had been banned from the regular school bus. This was not particular pleasant information for him to recall, so he got frustrated. After a small meltdown, he changed tactics and tried to beg his way on the bus. Once he realized the bus had already passed by our street, he was fit to be tied for the next 30 minutes.
Since it was obvious Nathaniel was having trouble, my husband and I decided it was best to drop Benjamin off to school first and then take Nathaniel. The only problem was that by time we got Nathaniel belted into his seat, it was already after 9 am and Nyssa had a doctor's appointment at 9:30. After dropping off Benjamin, Nathaniel was still borderline but had not eaten breakfast yet. I figured the best thing to do was to pick up some food for Nyssa, Nathaniel, and Gabriela, and take him with us to the appointment.
After the urologist examined Nyssa and took a couple ultrasounds of her bladder, kidneys, and bowels, she declared Nyssa had a healthy, though rather stopped up system. She gave us some medication to help move it along as well as some instructions on how to help Nyssa stay dry and train her brain to work with her muscles. Around 11:30, she sent us on our way, along with a specimen for the local Children's Healthcare of Atlanta satellite facility.
Since we had to get the urine sample to the lab within a limited amount of time, we had to go straight to the center. Due to this, I recognized the fact that Nathaniel would not be attending school that day. He continued to have some difficulty, but for the most part was more relaxed than I had seen him since before the weekend. We were told it would be about a 30 minute wait, not quite long enough for me to grab some lunch for the kids, before lab work time.
The lab technician in charge of drawing Nyssa's blood had some difficulty with the orders, as they did not seem to make sense. Fortunately, I was prepared for this possibility. The doctor had already told me that they would probably call her to ask why she was ordering some of the tests, so I was not to be alarmed if they were uncertain. Unfortunately, that turned the 30 minute wait into an hour and a half.
The children were losing their patience. They couldn't run or jump. They couldn't make any loud noises. They were all used to eating before noon. They had long since eaten the snacks I had brought. Gabriela was rubbing her eyes something fierce and begging to be held while complaining of hunger. The others were restless, whiny and hungry as well. The intake nurse had compassion and pulled out some goldfish and apple juice while we waited. That seemed to help their dispositions.
When they finally called her name, Nyssa was ready to get her blood drawn and get out of there. She was an absolute trooper! Of course, it really helped that the nurse put some numbing solution at the puncture site and a vibrating bee machine above the site for fun effect. She was done with nary a fuss within 10 minutes!
The rest of the crew did well, also. Gabriela sat in my lap while I read a book. Nathaniel, though it was rough on him also, did very well. He hates when any of his siblings get a shot or stuck with a needle because he literally feels the pain with them. For this reason, he sat in a corner facing the wall, eyes shut tight and hands over his ears until I touched him on the shoulder.
We were done! It was 2:00 and I had 30 minutes to grab them something to eat and pick up Benjamin from Kids R Kids. We drove through McDonald's and picked up some grub, got Benjamin, and headed home. Once there, I allowed the kids to run free for a while while I decompressed.
It's amazing how taxing just waiting can be at times. We waited to see the doctor. We waited for the results. We waited and waited and waited for the lab work. We weren't allowed to really do anything during that time except watch the cartoons, study the fish, talk, or read a book. And we had to do it all on our best behavior, with no excessive movement.
When life does that to me, I have to fight the compulsion to get up and move. I like the action, doing something engaging, feeling productive. Sometimes I'm not allowed to do that and I have to just wait. It's not always comfortable for me to do, but sometimes it is not only the best thing, but the one thing that I can do.
Nathaniel has taught me that. When he has a meltdown, I can comfort him, soothe him, talk to him, and give him positive affirmation until I'm blue in the face, but sometimes the best thing to do is to just wait patiently until he gives a sign that he is ready to deal with the world around him again.
I don't always necessarily gain any great physical accomplishment from being patient. More than once I have discovered that if not for a delayed appointment I would have ended up on a pile up on the highway. Sometimes I get nothing but just know that I had to wait. But I do learn from time to time how far I have come and how far I have yet to go. It's also interesting for me to note that just when it seems I can last no longer, something happens to give me the opportunity for respite. I am given a chance for a slight refreshing, such as when the nurse brought me some snacks for the kids when they started going bonkers. It was just the amount of lift I needed to be able to hold on, to wait.
Last Tuesday, exactly one week ago, I had the privilege of discovering how much patience I had on that given day. It should have been simple: wake the children, take the boys to school, take Nyssa to the doctor, come home, clean, get the boys from school, play with the kids, make dinner, clean up, go to bed. Of course, if it had turned out as outlined above, it would not have made an interesting story, and therefore I would not have written about it except to say how refreshing it would have been to have a "normal" day. It was not the easiest of days as within minutes of my waking, the trials began.
It was Nathaniel's second day to ride the car to school, and he remembered that he had been banned from the regular school bus. This was not particular pleasant information for him to recall, so he got frustrated. After a small meltdown, he changed tactics and tried to beg his way on the bus. Once he realized the bus had already passed by our street, he was fit to be tied for the next 30 minutes.
Since it was obvious Nathaniel was having trouble, my husband and I decided it was best to drop Benjamin off to school first and then take Nathaniel. The only problem was that by time we got Nathaniel belted into his seat, it was already after 9 am and Nyssa had a doctor's appointment at 9:30. After dropping off Benjamin, Nathaniel was still borderline but had not eaten breakfast yet. I figured the best thing to do was to pick up some food for Nyssa, Nathaniel, and Gabriela, and take him with us to the appointment.
After the urologist examined Nyssa and took a couple ultrasounds of her bladder, kidneys, and bowels, she declared Nyssa had a healthy, though rather stopped up system. She gave us some medication to help move it along as well as some instructions on how to help Nyssa stay dry and train her brain to work with her muscles. Around 11:30, she sent us on our way, along with a specimen for the local Children's Healthcare of Atlanta satellite facility.
Since we had to get the urine sample to the lab within a limited amount of time, we had to go straight to the center. Due to this, I recognized the fact that Nathaniel would not be attending school that day. He continued to have some difficulty, but for the most part was more relaxed than I had seen him since before the weekend. We were told it would be about a 30 minute wait, not quite long enough for me to grab some lunch for the kids, before lab work time.
The lab technician in charge of drawing Nyssa's blood had some difficulty with the orders, as they did not seem to make sense. Fortunately, I was prepared for this possibility. The doctor had already told me that they would probably call her to ask why she was ordering some of the tests, so I was not to be alarmed if they were uncertain. Unfortunately, that turned the 30 minute wait into an hour and a half.
The children were losing their patience. They couldn't run or jump. They couldn't make any loud noises. They were all used to eating before noon. They had long since eaten the snacks I had brought. Gabriela was rubbing her eyes something fierce and begging to be held while complaining of hunger. The others were restless, whiny and hungry as well. The intake nurse had compassion and pulled out some goldfish and apple juice while we waited. That seemed to help their dispositions.
When they finally called her name, Nyssa was ready to get her blood drawn and get out of there. She was an absolute trooper! Of course, it really helped that the nurse put some numbing solution at the puncture site and a vibrating bee machine above the site for fun effect. She was done with nary a fuss within 10 minutes!
The rest of the crew did well, also. Gabriela sat in my lap while I read a book. Nathaniel, though it was rough on him also, did very well. He hates when any of his siblings get a shot or stuck with a needle because he literally feels the pain with them. For this reason, he sat in a corner facing the wall, eyes shut tight and hands over his ears until I touched him on the shoulder.
We were done! It was 2:00 and I had 30 minutes to grab them something to eat and pick up Benjamin from Kids R Kids. We drove through McDonald's and picked up some grub, got Benjamin, and headed home. Once there, I allowed the kids to run free for a while while I decompressed.
It's amazing how taxing just waiting can be at times. We waited to see the doctor. We waited for the results. We waited and waited and waited for the lab work. We weren't allowed to really do anything during that time except watch the cartoons, study the fish, talk, or read a book. And we had to do it all on our best behavior, with no excessive movement.
When life does that to me, I have to fight the compulsion to get up and move. I like the action, doing something engaging, feeling productive. Sometimes I'm not allowed to do that and I have to just wait. It's not always comfortable for me to do, but sometimes it is not only the best thing, but the one thing that I can do.
Nathaniel has taught me that. When he has a meltdown, I can comfort him, soothe him, talk to him, and give him positive affirmation until I'm blue in the face, but sometimes the best thing to do is to just wait patiently until he gives a sign that he is ready to deal with the world around him again.
I don't always necessarily gain any great physical accomplishment from being patient. More than once I have discovered that if not for a delayed appointment I would have ended up on a pile up on the highway. Sometimes I get nothing but just know that I had to wait. But I do learn from time to time how far I have come and how far I have yet to go. It's also interesting for me to note that just when it seems I can last no longer, something happens to give me the opportunity for respite. I am given a chance for a slight refreshing, such as when the nurse brought me some snacks for the kids when they started going bonkers. It was just the amount of lift I needed to be able to hold on, to wait.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Quick update more later
Ok gang, so I am so terribly excited! I turned my blog into a BOOK!!! It's why I've been a little random the last few days. But most of the stories in my blog and a few new ones are in my book now on sale online, including the most recent one, Duck, Duck, Goose!
My Own Little Palace is on sale in the following manners if you would like to purchase it:
Paperback at http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/my-own-little-palace/16671581
Kindle download at http://www.amazon.com/My-Own-Little-Palace-ebook/dp/B005IMQ7JS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1314127628&sr=1-1
You can use my search engine on the right to find my book at Amazon. I hope to have it available in paperback at Amazon.com by the beginning of September and in the istore and other readers by then as well, though it depends on how long it takes met to figure out this EPUB format. It seems that every publisher and e-reader use different formats, fonts, and files, though I know it's not quite that insane.
Thank you to all who have suggested it to me, for it is something that I have only dreamed about doing in the past, and you have given me the courage to go through with it. The last few months have been and now continues to be a wild ride for me!
When I lay Gabriela down for her nap, I'll return to type my latest stories. Coming next is an adventure from Tuesday as well as another posting on yesterday's new discoveries revealing my blunders and a greater understanding of my children.
Love and peace!
My Own Little Palace is on sale in the following manners if you would like to purchase it:
Paperback at http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/my-own-little-palace/16671581
Kindle download at http://www.amazon.com/My-Own-Little-Palace-ebook/dp/B005IMQ7JS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1314127628&sr=1-1
You can use my search engine on the right to find my book at Amazon. I hope to have it available in paperback at Amazon.com by the beginning of September and in the istore and other readers by then as well, though it depends on how long it takes met to figure out this EPUB format. It seems that every publisher and e-reader use different formats, fonts, and files, though I know it's not quite that insane.
Thank you to all who have suggested it to me, for it is something that I have only dreamed about doing in the past, and you have given me the courage to go through with it. The last few months have been and now continues to be a wild ride for me!
When I lay Gabriela down for her nap, I'll return to type my latest stories. Coming next is an adventure from Tuesday as well as another posting on yesterday's new discoveries revealing my blunders and a greater understanding of my children.
Love and peace!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Duck, Duck, Goose!
Some days are completely exhausting. These are the days we can't wait to get home, eat, and crawl into bed until morning. We are just too tired to deal with anything more. But those may be the very days we need to endure to the end in order to received a fulfilling reward.
All the kids had a good day. Nobody received a check mark (the symbol for some needed character adjustment), and the homework was completed before we arrived back at the house. Last week, the only difficulty we had was Nathaniel's sensory issues on the bus, and class time went well for them all then as well. I was trying to come up with a good reward for them when Nyssa thought of it for me.
"Mom, since I did all my homework, can we take a walk to the pond and feed the ducks?"
What a splendid idea, I thought, but the baby had just fallen asleep.
"I'll tell you what. When Gabriela wakes up from her nap, we'll all go down there and maybe have a picnic for dinner."
The kids all hoorayed and everyone was set for a fun time. Nyssa helped me pack sandwiches, napkins, and cups while I got the milk and the fruit. I had called Richard at work to give him a heads up, but he had already left the office. So we bid our time awaiting him. The children played with the Lite-Brite and traipsed in and out of the house while I worked on my book, looking every couple of minutes to check on them.
When Richard first came in the door, I momentarily considered calling off our outing because he looked so worn. having given them my word, however, I started to suggest we drive instead of walk or that I take them and let him rest. Beat though he was, my love was a real trooper and said we could all walk down together.
We had a blast! The ducks and the geese were literally eating out of our hands. Gabriela's right pinkie was once mistaken for a piece of bread by a Canadian Goose, but even that bite was a gentle nibble. She did say, "Top!" But when the goose started to walk away, Gabriela protested, "Come back!" She proceeded to feed it more.
The children ate their sandwiches and drank their milk. Richard tossed the remaining bread into the pond. We watched as the fish, turtles, and water fowl fought for tidbits. Finally, it was time to go back home. On the way, Benjamin summed it up for us.
"That was a great adventure!"
He was right; it was a fun experience for the family as a whole. Richard could have refused to go or accepted my invitation to drive to the pond. It was well within his rights as tired as he was. But he chose to go with us on the little walking expedition, allowing the family some quality memory making time. That is the kind of man he is.
He was the perfect example of one who does not give up in well-doing. He was weary but he persevered. In doing so, Richard brought joy to his children and reiterated to me one of the many reasons I love him. He put the desires of his family before his own. The children will remember him for this day and will one day realize the immediate sacrifice he made for a better bonding experience with the family. As he proved, when we do not weary of doing good things, even when we are exhausted,to the bones, we will receive the abundant harvest.
All the kids had a good day. Nobody received a check mark (the symbol for some needed character adjustment), and the homework was completed before we arrived back at the house. Last week, the only difficulty we had was Nathaniel's sensory issues on the bus, and class time went well for them all then as well. I was trying to come up with a good reward for them when Nyssa thought of it for me.
"Mom, since I did all my homework, can we take a walk to the pond and feed the ducks?"
What a splendid idea, I thought, but the baby had just fallen asleep.
"I'll tell you what. When Gabriela wakes up from her nap, we'll all go down there and maybe have a picnic for dinner."
The kids all hoorayed and everyone was set for a fun time. Nyssa helped me pack sandwiches, napkins, and cups while I got the milk and the fruit. I had called Richard at work to give him a heads up, but he had already left the office. So we bid our time awaiting him. The children played with the Lite-Brite and traipsed in and out of the house while I worked on my book, looking every couple of minutes to check on them.
When Richard first came in the door, I momentarily considered calling off our outing because he looked so worn. having given them my word, however, I started to suggest we drive instead of walk or that I take them and let him rest. Beat though he was, my love was a real trooper and said we could all walk down together.
We had a blast! The ducks and the geese were literally eating out of our hands. Gabriela's right pinkie was once mistaken for a piece of bread by a Canadian Goose, but even that bite was a gentle nibble. She did say, "Top!" But when the goose started to walk away, Gabriela protested, "Come back!" She proceeded to feed it more.
The children ate their sandwiches and drank their milk. Richard tossed the remaining bread into the pond. We watched as the fish, turtles, and water fowl fought for tidbits. Finally, it was time to go back home. On the way, Benjamin summed it up for us.
"That was a great adventure!"
He was right; it was a fun experience for the family as a whole. Richard could have refused to go or accepted my invitation to drive to the pond. It was well within his rights as tired as he was. But he chose to go with us on the little walking expedition, allowing the family some quality memory making time. That is the kind of man he is.
He was the perfect example of one who does not give up in well-doing. He was weary but he persevered. In doing so, Richard brought joy to his children and reiterated to me one of the many reasons I love him. He put the desires of his family before his own. The children will remember him for this day and will one day realize the immediate sacrifice he made for a better bonding experience with the family. As he proved, when we do not weary of doing good things, even when we are exhausted,to the bones, we will receive the abundant harvest.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Action. Consequence.
I think I may have mentioned before that I am a sucker for science fiction and other shows previewed at Comic-Con type conventions. One problem with that aspect of my personality is that I tend to like shows that get cancelled due to low ratings. Observe the following:
The Cape, Life, Now and Again (no, NOT starring Sela Ward; that is Once and Again), My Own Worst Enemy, Journeyman, and Undercovers: Do any of these ring a bell? If yes, then yea! If not, why did you help get these shows cancelled? They all have great messages behind them. One of the best life messages I have gleaned from such television shows came from Day Break.
The premise of Daybreak is that a character, played by the very talented Taye Diggs, wakes up the same morning repeatedly. For those of you familiar with Groundhog Day, it is similar, yet very different from that movie. Day Break is a police action drama, a mental show, one that does require deep thought. At one point, the character is told by an enemy, "Every action has a consequence. Action. Consequence." Any wound he received is still there the next time he wakes up, though any bodily harm done to others is undone. His actions, however, on one day affect those around him the next day, even they have no recollection of having lived it already. Something he does subconsciously affects the way his girlfriend sees him the next time around. Action, Consequence.
My family has been dealing with that over the last couple of days. I was on the phone yesterday, dealing with the consequences of some of Nathaniel's actions. We are having to rearrange our morning and afternoon schedules. Action. Consequence.
We knew riding the regular bus to school would be a challenge to Nathaniel. Dozens of children, loud voices, no seat belt to give him a sense of security; each of these individually was a situation that could encourage him to lose control. However, the school authorities as well as us, his parents, mutually decided to give Nathaniel the opportunity to experience the regular bus as a manner of integrating him into the normal school system. He did very well for three days.
We dont' know what set him off the first time, but we do know that biting his tongue was the final straw. Thursday afternoon, he jumped out of his seat and refused to sit back down. Instead, he crawled along the floor of the bus and screamed, "Leave me alone" repeatedly in spite of the bus driver's attempts to talk him back into his seat. Obviously, this was unacceptable. Action. He was written up for disorderly conduct. Consequence.
Friday morning, he refused to get off the bus. He thought I had forgotten his snack, which I had already sent to school with him for the week, but he did not remember. Again, he had a fit; he screamed and yelled, and the bus driver had to call for assistance. It took two teachers 10 minutes to get him off the bus. Action. The bus driver was late for the next run and had to write him up again and he and I had a lengthy discussion. Consequence.
Friday afternoon I received both reports. Of course I understood the driver's point of view as well as my son's. I called the transportation department. Once she realized I was clearly on their side regarding Nathaniel's behavior, the official positively spoke with me regarding alternatives. We are working together to see if we can get a special bus to pick up Nathaniel, as had been done for the previous two years.
During the interim, I will take him to school in the mornings and pick up all three children in the afternoons. Unfortunately, Nyssa also has to live with the consequences of her brother's actions since I cannot pick up three children from three different locations during car pool times within 15 minutes of each other with an adamant time set smack dab in the middle of them for the bus. Ironically enough, it may end up being the solution to that after school timing issue period. For now, however, his actions on the bus had consequences. His ride on the 350 has been cancelled, just like Day Break.
Fortunately, I have the entire 13-episode series on DVD. Fortunately I was able to see a positive end to the original story arch although not everyone escaped unscathed. I also saw the start of a new season's worth of plot line unfold in the last episode which I will never see resolved.
Fortunately, we will find a good solution to Nathaniel's transportation problem. Fortunately, we have thus far been able to come through all the trials with Nathaniel's Autism. We see new ones surfacing, but we have the opportunity to daily take part in writing aspects of the script and to watch our son's world unfold in the journey of life. We have the ability to work with him to reinforce positive actions that will result in rewarding consequences.
The Cape, Life, Now and Again (no, NOT starring Sela Ward; that is Once and Again), My Own Worst Enemy, Journeyman, and Undercovers: Do any of these ring a bell? If yes, then yea! If not, why did you help get these shows cancelled? They all have great messages behind them. One of the best life messages I have gleaned from such television shows came from Day Break.
The premise of Daybreak is that a character, played by the very talented Taye Diggs, wakes up the same morning repeatedly. For those of you familiar with Groundhog Day, it is similar, yet very different from that movie. Day Break is a police action drama, a mental show, one that does require deep thought. At one point, the character is told by an enemy, "Every action has a consequence. Action. Consequence." Any wound he received is still there the next time he wakes up, though any bodily harm done to others is undone. His actions, however, on one day affect those around him the next day, even they have no recollection of having lived it already. Something he does subconsciously affects the way his girlfriend sees him the next time around. Action, Consequence.
My family has been dealing with that over the last couple of days. I was on the phone yesterday, dealing with the consequences of some of Nathaniel's actions. We are having to rearrange our morning and afternoon schedules. Action. Consequence.
We knew riding the regular bus to school would be a challenge to Nathaniel. Dozens of children, loud voices, no seat belt to give him a sense of security; each of these individually was a situation that could encourage him to lose control. However, the school authorities as well as us, his parents, mutually decided to give Nathaniel the opportunity to experience the regular bus as a manner of integrating him into the normal school system. He did very well for three days.
We dont' know what set him off the first time, but we do know that biting his tongue was the final straw. Thursday afternoon, he jumped out of his seat and refused to sit back down. Instead, he crawled along the floor of the bus and screamed, "Leave me alone" repeatedly in spite of the bus driver's attempts to talk him back into his seat. Obviously, this was unacceptable. Action. He was written up for disorderly conduct. Consequence.
Friday morning, he refused to get off the bus. He thought I had forgotten his snack, which I had already sent to school with him for the week, but he did not remember. Again, he had a fit; he screamed and yelled, and the bus driver had to call for assistance. It took two teachers 10 minutes to get him off the bus. Action. The bus driver was late for the next run and had to write him up again and he and I had a lengthy discussion. Consequence.
Friday afternoon I received both reports. Of course I understood the driver's point of view as well as my son's. I called the transportation department. Once she realized I was clearly on their side regarding Nathaniel's behavior, the official positively spoke with me regarding alternatives. We are working together to see if we can get a special bus to pick up Nathaniel, as had been done for the previous two years.
During the interim, I will take him to school in the mornings and pick up all three children in the afternoons. Unfortunately, Nyssa also has to live with the consequences of her brother's actions since I cannot pick up three children from three different locations during car pool times within 15 minutes of each other with an adamant time set smack dab in the middle of them for the bus. Ironically enough, it may end up being the solution to that after school timing issue period. For now, however, his actions on the bus had consequences. His ride on the 350 has been cancelled, just like Day Break.
Fortunately, I have the entire 13-episode series on DVD. Fortunately I was able to see a positive end to the original story arch although not everyone escaped unscathed. I also saw the start of a new season's worth of plot line unfold in the last episode which I will never see resolved.
Fortunately, we will find a good solution to Nathaniel's transportation problem. Fortunately, we have thus far been able to come through all the trials with Nathaniel's Autism. We see new ones surfacing, but we have the opportunity to daily take part in writing aspects of the script and to watch our son's world unfold in the journey of life. We have the ability to work with him to reinforce positive actions that will result in rewarding consequences.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
No Bus
Ever since last Christmas, Benjamin has been begging to go to school. I worked with him at home, but he wanted to go to class like his big brother and sister. We thought he might have been able to go this past spring, but things didn't quite work out. So, impatiently, he had to wait until this school year.
Excitingly for our family, this year Nathaniel and Nyssa are finally able to attend the same school, riding the same bus. Benjamin, however, just going into Pre-Kindergarten, is attending a child development center that houses a Georgia Lottery funded program. Since his birthday is in October, he is one of the oldest in his class, and he is ready to do everything big brother and sister will be doing.
All summer I have tried to prepare him for school. I have told him of circle time and recess, class reading and snack time. It's done wonders for his potty training! But there is one thing missing from his school that the other children have. He has been longing to ride the bus like them, but I have tried to prepare him for the fact that there will be no bus for him this year. I will be taking him to school. O course, he was focused on all the fun and heard what he wanted to hear.
Sure enough, the time came this past Monday morning. It was the first day of school! N & N put on their backpacks, so he put on his a swell. He knew he was going to a different school than they, so he was content to walk to the bus stop with the three of us and let them climb aboard the school bus without him. He waved good-bye and walked back to the house with me.
He was content as I went into the house to grab my keys and my purse, but when I moved toward the minivan, he turned into a different child. Jr. Mr. Hyde took over my dear little Benjamin.
"What are you doing?" he yelled, horrified.
"I'm unlocking the door to take you to school."
"But I want to ride the bus."
"Benjamin," I began calmly, " There is no bus for you, Honey. Remember?"
"But I don't want to ride the minivan. I want to ride in the bus!"
At this point, he went into full temper tantrum mode. He flailed his arms and kicked and started whining even more. " I. I. I want to ride on the bus. I want the bus, not the car, the bus!"
Now, this boy is getting too old for this, so I wasn't about to put up with this lack of control, though I did understand his frustration. So I took a breath, kept my voice low, and rubbed his shoulders gently for just a moment.
"Benjamin, there is no bus coming for you. If you don't get into the minivan, I guess you can't go to school."
Faced with that possible inevitability, my son immediately straightened up and decided he could ride in the minivan after all. I was very proud of the way that he managed to gather his control and climb sweetly in the vehicle. We had a nice conversation about a good way to treat others and how to be willing to handle new situations. We talked about how much fun the day would go and, indeed, he had a wonderful first day of school.
Sometimes when we embark on a new journey, we have certain expectations. When we come to situations where things aren't going the way we expect, we have to choose how we will respond. We can kick and scream, throwing our tantrums, or we can just sit and enjoy the unexpected. Sometimes the journey itself is as meaningful as the destination...and once we get there, we can smile, because we will have composed ourselves with dignity and integrity along the ride.
Excitingly for our family, this year Nathaniel and Nyssa are finally able to attend the same school, riding the same bus. Benjamin, however, just going into Pre-Kindergarten, is attending a child development center that houses a Georgia Lottery funded program. Since his birthday is in October, he is one of the oldest in his class, and he is ready to do everything big brother and sister will be doing.
All summer I have tried to prepare him for school. I have told him of circle time and recess, class reading and snack time. It's done wonders for his potty training! But there is one thing missing from his school that the other children have. He has been longing to ride the bus like them, but I have tried to prepare him for the fact that there will be no bus for him this year. I will be taking him to school. O course, he was focused on all the fun and heard what he wanted to hear.
Sure enough, the time came this past Monday morning. It was the first day of school! N & N put on their backpacks, so he put on his a swell. He knew he was going to a different school than they, so he was content to walk to the bus stop with the three of us and let them climb aboard the school bus without him. He waved good-bye and walked back to the house with me.
He was content as I went into the house to grab my keys and my purse, but when I moved toward the minivan, he turned into a different child. Jr. Mr. Hyde took over my dear little Benjamin.
"What are you doing?" he yelled, horrified.
"I'm unlocking the door to take you to school."
"But I want to ride the bus."
"Benjamin," I began calmly, " There is no bus for you, Honey. Remember?"
"But I don't want to ride the minivan. I want to ride in the bus!"
At this point, he went into full temper tantrum mode. He flailed his arms and kicked and started whining even more. " I. I. I want to ride on the bus. I want the bus, not the car, the bus!"
Now, this boy is getting too old for this, so I wasn't about to put up with this lack of control, though I did understand his frustration. So I took a breath, kept my voice low, and rubbed his shoulders gently for just a moment.
"Benjamin, there is no bus coming for you. If you don't get into the minivan, I guess you can't go to school."
Faced with that possible inevitability, my son immediately straightened up and decided he could ride in the minivan after all. I was very proud of the way that he managed to gather his control and climb sweetly in the vehicle. We had a nice conversation about a good way to treat others and how to be willing to handle new situations. We talked about how much fun the day would go and, indeed, he had a wonderful first day of school.
Sometimes when we embark on a new journey, we have certain expectations. When we come to situations where things aren't going the way we expect, we have to choose how we will respond. We can kick and scream, throwing our tantrums, or we can just sit and enjoy the unexpected. Sometimes the journey itself is as meaningful as the destination...and once we get there, we can smile, because we will have composed ourselves with dignity and integrity along the ride.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Resounding Choir
I love how things come together beautifully sometimes, especially when I feel that what I have done feels more like clean up duty rather than a wonderful piece of music or a Monet masterpiece. Those moments when the different aspects of my life blend into one another in such a magical way inspire me to be greater than I am. They help me keep my corner of the world in perspective, not only in thinking of myself as more than I am, but also in not selling myself short.
I simply love music! I have been playing the flute since I was 12 years old and I love to sing. When I am at my lowest points, I tend to feel better by turning on a favorite CD and belting along with the music until my mood is lifted. It's very therapeutic for me, and there is nothing like the right songs to put a pep back in my step.
I'm involved in choir at my church and thoroughly enjoy learning all the music that we sing. Since I am a second soprano, I often enjoy being a part of the melody of the songs. It's easy to keep in step with the soundtrack because usually I just have to listen for that melody in order to memorize the songs. We have a rule: listen to the music 3 times and sing along with it once. In other words, just listen in order to get the parts down correctly.
Right now, we are working on our Christmas music. And, as is customary, a few of the songs are simpler for me to learn. There are, however, currently a few songs that we are working on in which my part has a harmonic background. Those songs do make for interesting rehearsals for me, and they give me a sense of how some of the other parts may feel sometimes.
As those with a musical background may know, the notes to a harmony don't always sound right when done alone. In fact, they may sound downright awkward and flat or sharp. It can sound almost like fingernails on a chalkboard and discordant to the ears, quite unpleasant. But when blended with the other harmonies and with the main melody, a wonderful choral sound is achieved. That sound cannot come to pass unless some voices are willing to lend themselves to a part that seems less appealing than others.
The same is true in life itself. Music is a wonderful example of how beautiful diversity can be when everyone works together to make a work of art. For there is no greater work of art than life itself. But life itself would be boring, less fulfilling, if everyone did the same thing. We need that diversity in order not only to have beauty, but also to survive.
Think about it. If everyone was a doctor and focused on the human body, then we would have trash piling up to our ears. We need the sanitation workers. We need the janitors and the coaches and the teachers. We need the computer programmers and the farmers, the waiters and the busboys and the cooks, the window washers, the secretaries and the water conditioning plant workers. We need the police officers and the firefighters, the bailiffs, the attorneys, and the judges.
Some of these professions are looked at with envy. Some are seen as a blight in the eye of the upper crust. But they are all, as are many others, necessary for the environment in which we live here. We all give something to society. We must not take each other for granted or look down on another because their musical part doesn't sound as appealing as ours. Nor should we see ourselves as less important because we are nannies, housewives, or dog walkers, an apparently minor voice in the world. For I guarantee you, that it may be that very profession, that very voice, who gives the song of everyday life that special sound that causes the cacophony of this world to suddenly sing like a host of angels.
I simply love music! I have been playing the flute since I was 12 years old and I love to sing. When I am at my lowest points, I tend to feel better by turning on a favorite CD and belting along with the music until my mood is lifted. It's very therapeutic for me, and there is nothing like the right songs to put a pep back in my step.
I'm involved in choir at my church and thoroughly enjoy learning all the music that we sing. Since I am a second soprano, I often enjoy being a part of the melody of the songs. It's easy to keep in step with the soundtrack because usually I just have to listen for that melody in order to memorize the songs. We have a rule: listen to the music 3 times and sing along with it once. In other words, just listen in order to get the parts down correctly.
Right now, we are working on our Christmas music. And, as is customary, a few of the songs are simpler for me to learn. There are, however, currently a few songs that we are working on in which my part has a harmonic background. Those songs do make for interesting rehearsals for me, and they give me a sense of how some of the other parts may feel sometimes.
As those with a musical background may know, the notes to a harmony don't always sound right when done alone. In fact, they may sound downright awkward and flat or sharp. It can sound almost like fingernails on a chalkboard and discordant to the ears, quite unpleasant. But when blended with the other harmonies and with the main melody, a wonderful choral sound is achieved. That sound cannot come to pass unless some voices are willing to lend themselves to a part that seems less appealing than others.
The same is true in life itself. Music is a wonderful example of how beautiful diversity can be when everyone works together to make a work of art. For there is no greater work of art than life itself. But life itself would be boring, less fulfilling, if everyone did the same thing. We need that diversity in order not only to have beauty, but also to survive.
Think about it. If everyone was a doctor and focused on the human body, then we would have trash piling up to our ears. We need the sanitation workers. We need the janitors and the coaches and the teachers. We need the computer programmers and the farmers, the waiters and the busboys and the cooks, the window washers, the secretaries and the water conditioning plant workers. We need the police officers and the firefighters, the bailiffs, the attorneys, and the judges.
Some of these professions are looked at with envy. Some are seen as a blight in the eye of the upper crust. But they are all, as are many others, necessary for the environment in which we live here. We all give something to society. We must not take each other for granted or look down on another because their musical part doesn't sound as appealing as ours. Nor should we see ourselves as less important because we are nannies, housewives, or dog walkers, an apparently minor voice in the world. For I guarantee you, that it may be that very profession, that very voice, who gives the song of everyday life that special sound that causes the cacophony of this world to suddenly sing like a host of angels.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Out of the Mouths of Babes
I am constantly amazed by the things my children say. Whether little cute sayings or profound words of wisdom, I am moved beyond compare at what comes out of their mouths. In order to be fair, though, I will not just say this is limited to my own children, at least not just to children who I birthed. There have been others before and since, especially one group of 24 children as a whole.
During my second year in Jerusalem, my 2nd grade students decided to play matchmaker between myself and another teacher who the elementary school had delightfully dubbed "Dr. Smiley." No, he was not their dentist. He was their art teacher. It got so ridiculous that they started bringing it up a s a prayer request in the morning. They were so determined that even the kids who usually had no requests started writing it down on their little pieces of paper; "I pray that Miss Gina and Dr. Smiley will get married and have many, a thousand babies."
I tried to explain at first that you pray for God's will, not your own, to be done, and that other people had wills too. But that only fueled the fire. New notes came in; "I want that God would make them marry because they should." I gave up and let them just slowly realize that sometimes God says no...or to allow them to get the joking mentality out of their system.
Four years later I walked into their 6th grade classroom to speak with them. I had a praise report. I told them that something they had all prayed for had come to pass, that God had heard their prayers and said, "Yes." Even after the passing of time, they all remembered. Several of them instantly said, "You are going to marry Dr. Richard!" They were awed by the fact that God had answered their prayers in the affirmative.
Looking back I have to smile, both in loving remembrance of the grins on their faces at the time of the requests and in wonder. I have never questioned the power of prayer since first realizing it, but this was something new to me. Did they really have the insight at the same age my Nyssa is now, to realize a real match made in Heaven when they saw one? Or was God feeding that to them so that years later they would know that He cares enough about a class full of 7-year old children to answer their prayers? I'm not completely sure. I will tell you of one thing I am certain, though. Now when my children pray, I lend a more sensitive ear, because I never know what profound kernel of truth will proceed from the mouths of my babes.
During my second year in Jerusalem, my 2nd grade students decided to play matchmaker between myself and another teacher who the elementary school had delightfully dubbed "Dr. Smiley." No, he was not their dentist. He was their art teacher. It got so ridiculous that they started bringing it up a s a prayer request in the morning. They were so determined that even the kids who usually had no requests started writing it down on their little pieces of paper; "I pray that Miss Gina and Dr. Smiley will get married and have many, a thousand babies."
I tried to explain at first that you pray for God's will, not your own, to be done, and that other people had wills too. But that only fueled the fire. New notes came in; "I want that God would make them marry because they should." I gave up and let them just slowly realize that sometimes God says no...or to allow them to get the joking mentality out of their system.
Four years later I walked into their 6th grade classroom to speak with them. I had a praise report. I told them that something they had all prayed for had come to pass, that God had heard their prayers and said, "Yes." Even after the passing of time, they all remembered. Several of them instantly said, "You are going to marry Dr. Richard!" They were awed by the fact that God had answered their prayers in the affirmative.
Looking back I have to smile, both in loving remembrance of the grins on their faces at the time of the requests and in wonder. I have never questioned the power of prayer since first realizing it, but this was something new to me. Did they really have the insight at the same age my Nyssa is now, to realize a real match made in Heaven when they saw one? Or was God feeding that to them so that years later they would know that He cares enough about a class full of 7-year old children to answer their prayers? I'm not completely sure. I will tell you of one thing I am certain, though. Now when my children pray, I lend a more sensitive ear, because I never know what profound kernel of truth will proceed from the mouths of my babes.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Bye Bye Little Abscessed Tooth
A few years ago, before Gabriela was on the way, Nyssa and Nathaniel were playing in the family room while Benjamin was taking a nap. of course I had warned them once already to stop running around, but as children do, they soon returned to their hyper antics. Nathaniel ended up pushing Nyssa.
This action in and of itself was of no great concern; they have always enjoyed roughhousing. But the direction in which she was pushed combined with the force, multiplied by the fact that they were right next to a coffee table, quickly changed the seriousness of the situation. Nyssa landed face first into the corner of the square oak coffee table. For a few moments, I think my heart stopped beating and all of my thoracic organs dropped 3 inches. Nyssa lifted her head and I saw the blood flowing from her mouth.
At the immediate care center, we discovered that she had not only bitten the table, but she had ripped the frenulum in her mouth. We also learned that the frenulum which tore is the piece of skin in the middle of the upper lip connected to the gums. We were strongly advised to take her to the pediatric dentist for care, which we did after leaving the urgent care.
The dentist told me that the impact shoved her tooth a little off course. It appeared to be okay other than that, although it may get infected at some future point. Until then, she would be fine. It could be a month or it could be a couple of years.
Four years later, she got an abscessed tooth, the one which had initially been injured. Nyssa was placed on amoxocillin for a few days to help with the infection and was scheduled to have the tooth wiggled. So here we sat this morning, at the dentist's office after a week of antibiotics. From her complaining over the week, I guessed that the one next to it was getting infected too, so I asked about it. Sure enough, the infection had spread. Thankfully, her grown up teeth had already begun pushing on these baby teeth. It was a simple procedure to wiggle the teeth loose while she was under nitrous oxide, otherwise known as laughing gas.
Though it was no laughing matter, Nyssa was bubbly at the expectation of getting 2 surprises under her pillow tonight rather than just one. She chose to see the positive side of the matter. Since she trusted myself and her doctor, everything did, indeed, turn out just fine, with no worry on her part.
Sometimes a situation may affect us. Initially we feel the pain, but the outward injuries heal quickly. We have no understanding that we may have received even deeper wounding, invisible to the casual observer. We live our lives for months or possibly hears with seemingly no ill-effect. But the poison of the impact slowly works its way until, eventually, it is right there on the surface, like a big sore spot filled with stinky, infectious ooze.
It has to be treated so it does not extend further to poison more of our life. The root of the problem has to be removed or it will just return to fester and spread more damage. If we trust the One who is able to remove the source of the problem, we will heal quickly and never have to worry about that old injury again. We may have to chew softly for a day or so, but soon we will be restored to full health...and we won't ever have to worry about the pain sprouting in and out ever again. If only we can all trust the great physician in the way that Nyssa trusted her dentist today. We wouldn't be so afraid to say goodbye to the hurt.
This action in and of itself was of no great concern; they have always enjoyed roughhousing. But the direction in which she was pushed combined with the force, multiplied by the fact that they were right next to a coffee table, quickly changed the seriousness of the situation. Nyssa landed face first into the corner of the square oak coffee table. For a few moments, I think my heart stopped beating and all of my thoracic organs dropped 3 inches. Nyssa lifted her head and I saw the blood flowing from her mouth.
At the immediate care center, we discovered that she had not only bitten the table, but she had ripped the frenulum in her mouth. We also learned that the frenulum which tore is the piece of skin in the middle of the upper lip connected to the gums. We were strongly advised to take her to the pediatric dentist for care, which we did after leaving the urgent care.
The dentist told me that the impact shoved her tooth a little off course. It appeared to be okay other than that, although it may get infected at some future point. Until then, she would be fine. It could be a month or it could be a couple of years.
Four years later, she got an abscessed tooth, the one which had initially been injured. Nyssa was placed on amoxocillin for a few days to help with the infection and was scheduled to have the tooth wiggled. So here we sat this morning, at the dentist's office after a week of antibiotics. From her complaining over the week, I guessed that the one next to it was getting infected too, so I asked about it. Sure enough, the infection had spread. Thankfully, her grown up teeth had already begun pushing on these baby teeth. It was a simple procedure to wiggle the teeth loose while she was under nitrous oxide, otherwise known as laughing gas.
Though it was no laughing matter, Nyssa was bubbly at the expectation of getting 2 surprises under her pillow tonight rather than just one. She chose to see the positive side of the matter. Since she trusted myself and her doctor, everything did, indeed, turn out just fine, with no worry on her part.
Sometimes a situation may affect us. Initially we feel the pain, but the outward injuries heal quickly. We have no understanding that we may have received even deeper wounding, invisible to the casual observer. We live our lives for months or possibly hears with seemingly no ill-effect. But the poison of the impact slowly works its way until, eventually, it is right there on the surface, like a big sore spot filled with stinky, infectious ooze.
It has to be treated so it does not extend further to poison more of our life. The root of the problem has to be removed or it will just return to fester and spread more damage. If we trust the One who is able to remove the source of the problem, we will heal quickly and never have to worry about that old injury again. We may have to chew softly for a day or so, but soon we will be restored to full health...and we won't ever have to worry about the pain sprouting in and out ever again. If only we can all trust the great physician in the way that Nyssa trusted her dentist today. We wouldn't be so afraid to say goodbye to the hurt.
Friday, August 5, 2011
No Use Crying over It
Nathaniel is my little man. Mr. Man outgrows his britches faster than I get a chance to find them on sale. He is the most pensive of all my children. He senses when someone is unhappy though he doesn't always understand why, even if he is the cause. He is also very sensitive himself and gets hurt emotionally on a turn of a dime. The littlest things affect him deeply.
When he feels himself out of control emotionally, Nathaniel tries to find a solitary place. That usually gives him the opportunity to get himself in check before he transforms into the Hulk. That is, however, if he senses it coming. Just like David Banner, though, a situation can arise with little to no warning like hitting his head or stubbing his toe, that immediately unleashes that green monster.
This morning, the kids and I were playing while I was trying to straighten up. Nathaniel had worked up a thirst, so he decided to go to the kitchen and quench it. Knowing his growing independence, I let him go in there by himself.
All went well until I heard an, "Oh no," and then a "grrr," from the aforementioned kitchen. Not hearing any loud banging or clanging, I resisted the urge to go check on him and to give him the chance to see for himself if he really needed my help. Nathaniel's ability to ask for help is something we are working on right now.
A couple minutes later, he came back to the family room and gave a "Harrumph!" as he sat in my husband's recliner. I asked if he got his water. Unhappily, he stood up and walked over to me. "No," he replied, "I spilled the milk on the floor. On purpose. I did it on purpose."
Now, when I was his age, I remember occasionally getting confused with the terms "accidentally" and "on purpose," so I decided to see what he meant. Was it "uh oh, I didn't mean to do that", or was it "I wanted to spill the milk?"
He stood tall and erect, straightened his arms to his side and clenched his fist and screamed, "NO! I..did it... on (deep breath) PUUUURPOSE!" Okay then, there was no misunderstanding him this time. Speaking calmly, I asked him why he spilled it. He informed me that when he first poured it in his cup, it spilled. He got angry...that was the Oh no I heard, and proceeded to dump all the milk onto the floor.
This was a fresh gallon of milk. I had opened it just this morning, and had only used one cup from it. It was a lot of milk. After some persuasion and with my help, Nathaniel reluctantly agreed to clean up his spill. Nyssa joined in, as did Gabriela. My poor Benjamin just stood there, fussing that he was getting milk all over himself. In spite of the disaster, it only took us about 5 minutes to clean it all up, mopping excluded.
I had a choice when I saw the white liquid all over that kitchen floor. I could either react as my son had and thrown a little tantrum, or I could choose to gather my wits, act calmly, and take care of it with as minimal damage as possible. I was very thankful for the peaceful patience that came over me at that moment. I realized that yelling and clenching my fist wasn't going to do anyone any good and might just scare the children. So I took the few moments I had as the children watched for my reaction, breathed, and batted away the frustration that was trying to tempt me into a hissy fit.
Later this evening, as we sat at the dinner table, we recounted the day's events to Richard. When we got to the Milk Event, I reenacted Nathaniel's outburst for my husband. Even Nathaniel laughed at my impression. Richard looked at him and said, "Now doesn't that look silly?" Nathaniel ducked his head with a sly smile and agreed. In that moment, with the words that followed, I realized that Nathaniel had discovered the same thing I had. There was no question. There is just no use crying over spilled milk.
When he feels himself out of control emotionally, Nathaniel tries to find a solitary place. That usually gives him the opportunity to get himself in check before he transforms into the Hulk. That is, however, if he senses it coming. Just like David Banner, though, a situation can arise with little to no warning like hitting his head or stubbing his toe, that immediately unleashes that green monster.
This morning, the kids and I were playing while I was trying to straighten up. Nathaniel had worked up a thirst, so he decided to go to the kitchen and quench it. Knowing his growing independence, I let him go in there by himself.
All went well until I heard an, "Oh no," and then a "grrr," from the aforementioned kitchen. Not hearing any loud banging or clanging, I resisted the urge to go check on him and to give him the chance to see for himself if he really needed my help. Nathaniel's ability to ask for help is something we are working on right now.
A couple minutes later, he came back to the family room and gave a "Harrumph!" as he sat in my husband's recliner. I asked if he got his water. Unhappily, he stood up and walked over to me. "No," he replied, "I spilled the milk on the floor. On purpose. I did it on purpose."
Now, when I was his age, I remember occasionally getting confused with the terms "accidentally" and "on purpose," so I decided to see what he meant. Was it "uh oh, I didn't mean to do that", or was it "I wanted to spill the milk?"
He stood tall and erect, straightened his arms to his side and clenched his fist and screamed, "NO! I..did it... on (deep breath) PUUUURPOSE!" Okay then, there was no misunderstanding him this time. Speaking calmly, I asked him why he spilled it. He informed me that when he first poured it in his cup, it spilled. He got angry...that was the Oh no I heard, and proceeded to dump all the milk onto the floor.
This was a fresh gallon of milk. I had opened it just this morning, and had only used one cup from it. It was a lot of milk. After some persuasion and with my help, Nathaniel reluctantly agreed to clean up his spill. Nyssa joined in, as did Gabriela. My poor Benjamin just stood there, fussing that he was getting milk all over himself. In spite of the disaster, it only took us about 5 minutes to clean it all up, mopping excluded.
I had a choice when I saw the white liquid all over that kitchen floor. I could either react as my son had and thrown a little tantrum, or I could choose to gather my wits, act calmly, and take care of it with as minimal damage as possible. I was very thankful for the peaceful patience that came over me at that moment. I realized that yelling and clenching my fist wasn't going to do anyone any good and might just scare the children. So I took the few moments I had as the children watched for my reaction, breathed, and batted away the frustration that was trying to tempt me into a hissy fit.
Later this evening, as we sat at the dinner table, we recounted the day's events to Richard. When we got to the Milk Event, I reenacted Nathaniel's outburst for my husband. Even Nathaniel laughed at my impression. Richard looked at him and said, "Now doesn't that look silly?" Nathaniel ducked his head with a sly smile and agreed. In that moment, with the words that followed, I realized that Nathaniel had discovered the same thing I had. There was no question. There is just no use crying over spilled milk.
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