"I want to hold Mickey's hand and watch the stars!" There is just no way to convey how compelling those words were when uttered by Maggie when she was about 3 years old and Disney was running ads about dreams coming true for the millennium and a child is holding Mickey Mouse's hand and watching the fireworks. Maybe if you'd seen her wide brown eyes begging from under bangs that had needed trimming for about two months as she clasped one hand into the other in illustration of holding Mickey's you'd get it. But you weren't there and it wasn't your heart being squeezed in between those hands. I actually burst into tears and promised I would someday take her.
I looked into it, was going to take out a 401k loan to take her, but decided to use the money to move to Albuquerque that year instead. Sorry Maggie.
About a year and a half later, though......Spring Break Kindergarten for Maggie, my BFF Melissa and her son Dakota, (7 months older than Maggie) flew into Albuquerque for the 13 hour drive to LA--destination DisneyLand. It was truly a magical kingdom and fun. I had the most fun, followed by the 5 and 6 year olds, followed by the only adult in the group, Melissa. Yeah, I admit it. I acted like a giddy child. I'd never been, Melissa had been countless times, and, well, youth is wasted on the young...so I had the most fun. (I remember it all. Maggie has vague memories augmented by the 20+ rolls of film I acquired of our experiences over 5 days. 3 days in the park, 1 cold rainy-ish day at the ocean, 1 afternoon at the top of the precipice of the Grand Canyon, and then two or three days of travel, which barely count.)
At the time of the trip of a lifetime, Maggie was obsessed with Little Mermaid. I say obsessed only because it's true and she got it from me. I went to it when it first came out in theaters about 9 times. First on our agenda was to go to see Ariel. (If you've never been to Disney theme parks, the characters are live, life size (or larger) and all over! You can stand in line and see them and get photos and autographs and I'm getting excited all over again just TYPING about it!) *Deep breath--inhale slowly, exhale slowly.....* Ok, I can continue. Maggie had been working on coloring pictures to give to her idol. The photos I have from that experience are priceless. She was so excited about the experience that before falling asleep in her bed that night, she colored about 10 more pictures for Ariel. Day 2 was an opening repeat of Day 1. Ariel first. Maggie was giddy.
So because of her love of Ariel, and she was going to need a new backpack ANYHOW, I found one with Ariel on it when I was Christmas shopping. And since I had already spoiled her rotten with items from me, I thought it would be cute to give her the backpack and sign the card "Ariel". (And if anyone gets their underpants in a wad about it, there better be nothing under YOUR tree from Santa Claus.) Oh, the look of joy on her face that her friend Ariel remembered her! It was the best face ever. Too bad nobody but me got to see it. Eh, stinks to be you guys. Sorry, I was actually IN the moment rather than viewing it from behind the camera. You'll get over it. Of course, you'll never see that face again because of what happened a few years later.
She found out the truth. It took a couple of years. I don't remember when exactly she realized it. But she yells at me constantly about it. "YOU RUINED MY LIFE!" Yes, sometimes she means this because I "lied" to her about Ariel giving her that backpack. She was more upset about THIS than when she figured out Santa=me in our house too. (I wonder if she would rather think she'd been on the naughty list all of those years.)
So, in one year, I made her dreams come true and shattered them. (The shattering actually came a few years after, but hey, it doesn't sound as cool.) And I'm sure that since she just turned 15, she will utter those words again for various reasons. But I would do it again given the chance.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Wheels on the Bus Go Round & Round....like my brain!
I don't know why Colby decided at the beginning of ESY classes that he couldn't handle riding on the bus. He did just fine for two years before that, minus the week or so that he was on the bus too long and his behavior changed and then we changed everything about the bus pick up time. At that point, he adapted and was again just fine on the bus. Mr. Mark and the assistants were great. I had no reason to believe that his ONE trip to school on the bus with the new driver would be any different. But he absolutely would not get on the bus after class that day. And thus began our ritual of going to and from school with Mom (me).
Beginning of school year this year and Mr. Ed and Ms. Carolyn came by to start the ritual of bus riding to school again. He got on and I could hear his screaming through the closed doors. I've learned to sometimes close my ears to the sound. Tatiana and I were in the yard playing around and once again it crossed my mind that I wished I could get on the bus and help them get him in his seat. I was sure he was scared and scaring the other children on the bus. But given all of the press about parents on buses that have abounded as of late (yelling at other kids, trying to help their child in the middle of a seizure, etc--all parents facing criminal charges...even the one assisting her child in the middle of a seizure...what is WRONG with THAT picture people. If she hadn't assisted that child NOT on the bus, she'd be facing neglect/abuse charges...maybe that ought to be another blog post.) I was almost ready to go back into the house. At this point, Mr. Ed (not a horse at all, a nice man) came off the bus and asked for my assistance. A couple of very sweaty, muscle cramping moments later, I told him we should just try again tomorrow and that I would take Colby to school. After taking him to school, I copied the instructions for the $115+ harness I purchased since APS department of transportation had not yet seen fit to get one as requested (and required) and gave them to Mr. Ed when I went to pick Colby up.
Next morning, tried to get his harness on Colby. He got out. Seriously started thinking that perhaps somewhere in my child's ancestry is someone named HOUDINI. We tried ONCE to get Colby in the seat without the harness. Yeah, shorter version of the day before. Ed then said his bus company had a harness and we'd try it. Yeah, that didn't work either. Ed then came up with the idea that perhaps I could ride with Colby and he would just bus me home afterwards. Yeah, that one didn't fly with his bus company bosses. At this point, Colby has just been being "bussed" to school via our personal vehicles. It's worked out ok. (Since now I'm unemployed, I have PLENTY of time to take him to and fro school.)
So, imagine my delight when his class was going to go to the pool at the University--by bus. I was happier hearing they were going to go on the city bus. I was still going to go just to help out...but then plans changed and OH JOY we were going to go on a big yellow bus. As predicted, as soon as Colby figured out that we were headed for the bus, he went berserk. Mr. Jay and I managed to manhandle him to the point where Ms. Michelle could assist. We got him kicking and screaming on the bus. As soon as I sat in the seat next to him, he stopped screaming. He did wrap his little arm around my arm and clung on for dear life. I leaned away from him to assist another student with his seatbelt and Colby started thinking I was leaving and his grip started cutting off circulation. He held onto me all the way to the pool. He wasn't very talkative and loooked pensively out the window.
An hour or so at the pool having a delightful time later we started towards the bus for the ride home. Colby held my hand and just walked right on the bus as if it were his private limousine. Maybe after a few trips he will be ready to do it without Mom. Maybe. And maybe Mom will be ready.
The next day,
Beginning of school year this year and Mr. Ed and Ms. Carolyn came by to start the ritual of bus riding to school again. He got on and I could hear his screaming through the closed doors. I've learned to sometimes close my ears to the sound. Tatiana and I were in the yard playing around and once again it crossed my mind that I wished I could get on the bus and help them get him in his seat. I was sure he was scared and scaring the other children on the bus. But given all of the press about parents on buses that have abounded as of late (yelling at other kids, trying to help their child in the middle of a seizure, etc--all parents facing criminal charges...even the one assisting her child in the middle of a seizure...what is WRONG with THAT picture people. If she hadn't assisted that child NOT on the bus, she'd be facing neglect/abuse charges...maybe that ought to be another blog post.) I was almost ready to go back into the house. At this point, Mr. Ed (not a horse at all, a nice man) came off the bus and asked for my assistance. A couple of very sweaty, muscle cramping moments later, I told him we should just try again tomorrow and that I would take Colby to school. After taking him to school, I copied the instructions for the $115+ harness I purchased since APS department of transportation had not yet seen fit to get one as requested (and required) and gave them to Mr. Ed when I went to pick Colby up.
Next morning, tried to get his harness on Colby. He got out. Seriously started thinking that perhaps somewhere in my child's ancestry is someone named HOUDINI. We tried ONCE to get Colby in the seat without the harness. Yeah, shorter version of the day before. Ed then said his bus company had a harness and we'd try it. Yeah, that didn't work either. Ed then came up with the idea that perhaps I could ride with Colby and he would just bus me home afterwards. Yeah, that one didn't fly with his bus company bosses. At this point, Colby has just been being "bussed" to school via our personal vehicles. It's worked out ok. (Since now I'm unemployed, I have PLENTY of time to take him to and fro school.)
So, imagine my delight when his class was going to go to the pool at the University--by bus. I was happier hearing they were going to go on the city bus. I was still going to go just to help out...but then plans changed and OH JOY we were going to go on a big yellow bus. As predicted, as soon as Colby figured out that we were headed for the bus, he went berserk. Mr. Jay and I managed to manhandle him to the point where Ms. Michelle could assist. We got him kicking and screaming on the bus. As soon as I sat in the seat next to him, he stopped screaming. He did wrap his little arm around my arm and clung on for dear life. I leaned away from him to assist another student with his seatbelt and Colby started thinking I was leaving and his grip started cutting off circulation. He held onto me all the way to the pool. He wasn't very talkative and loooked pensively out the window.
An hour or so at the pool having a delightful time later we started towards the bus for the ride home. Colby held my hand and just walked right on the bus as if it were his private limousine. Maybe after a few trips he will be ready to do it without Mom. Maybe. And maybe Mom will be ready.
The next day,
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
I got nothin'
I may have to resort to a little writing prompts game a friend of mine and I used to do when we were in college....pulling a word from the dictionary and writing about it. If I don't get the creative juices flowing again--)a YEAR since my last posting!?!?!), I might just explode.
It's lame and embarrassing. And I may need to do it and quickly so I don't just write about how difficult things are right now.
It's lame and embarrassing. And I may need to do it and quickly so I don't just write about how difficult things are right now.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Some days I'm not so strong
When you start out your day and you want to drown yourself in margaritas (or at least drink them until you might drown in your own drool when you pass out) at 10 a.m., it's not going to be a stellar day.
So, it starts off last night. Kids fall asleep in a configuration on my bed around which I cannot comfortably get in and rest. I grabbed a quilt and a pillow and off to the couch with me. About my beautiful couch--it needs a good shampooing. Not sure if it's cat, dog or toddler urine that I smell...or if it's the smell wafting in from outside, but it's not pleasant. But I was tired, and I didn't have toddler toes in my ribs, so I was good. And I overslept. And I had a lot of work that needed done today.
So, rushing toddlers is never fun. Add to that little equation the autism of one of them and you have a formula for disaster. Perhaps it was just self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever. But it just degraded from there. Colby's routine was pretty out of whack already. Get to daycare and he runs into his room and up to "his" loft. He does this daily. Then he's up there for awhile and then he goes to breakfast in the cafeteria with his "buddies". I've never heard this was a horrible struggle so I assume it isn't a daily issue. Well, today he didn't get his loft time. He wasn't happy about having his shoes put back on him and being taken to the cafeteria. He threw himself onto the floor while I got his chair. There were three tables in the room. One was full of children; one had two children; and one was completely empty. I took the chair to the table with two children. One of the children said, "He needs to sit over there," gesturing to the empty table. "By himself?" I questioned. [In case you aren't aware, children with autism often segregate themselves. Those typical people that love them attempt to limit the segregation.] "Yes, he is bad. He does mean things. He needs to sit over there." I kept saying in my head, "Remember, he is just a child. He is just a child." I, already still pretty tired, almost start crying for the unintentionally cruel words about the light of my life. At this point, the other child at the table says to me, "Tatiana's Mommy? Colby can sit by me." And so I did cry a little because it was so sweet of her to say so. I will also add, the other child is larger physically than Colby--no easy feat. The one willing to have this "bad acting" child sit next to her, substantially SMALLER.
At this point, Colby had decided that he didn't want to sit OR eat. Other children had decided that I needed to hear about what a horrid child Colby is. Again, "Remember, they are just children. They are just children," played through my head. I just tried to tell the children that Colby doesn't mean to act in the way that they believe is cruel and bad, he is just frustrated that he cannot say the words. And, being children, they don't understand.
Luckily, breakfast was over and they got to go outside to play. Colby loves the scooter and on it, he is happy and his laugh and his smile brighten my world better than the sun. As I left and reflected upon the morning, the cloud came over me. This type of lack of understanding is not only his present, it might very well be his future. It makes me sad. Will he have friends around him that take the time to understand him and forgive his moments of frustration? Will he be able to better communicate before the frustration sets in? If I am not there to protect him, will he still be surrounded by love to protect his gentle soul? Yes, this little bear sized boy is nothing but a gentle teddy bear with hugs that heal hurts. But it can't take away the hurts of his autism. And it makes me sad.
So, it starts off last night. Kids fall asleep in a configuration on my bed around which I cannot comfortably get in and rest. I grabbed a quilt and a pillow and off to the couch with me. About my beautiful couch--it needs a good shampooing. Not sure if it's cat, dog or toddler urine that I smell...or if it's the smell wafting in from outside, but it's not pleasant. But I was tired, and I didn't have toddler toes in my ribs, so I was good. And I overslept. And I had a lot of work that needed done today.
So, rushing toddlers is never fun. Add to that little equation the autism of one of them and you have a formula for disaster. Perhaps it was just self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever. But it just degraded from there. Colby's routine was pretty out of whack already. Get to daycare and he runs into his room and up to "his" loft. He does this daily. Then he's up there for awhile and then he goes to breakfast in the cafeteria with his "buddies". I've never heard this was a horrible struggle so I assume it isn't a daily issue. Well, today he didn't get his loft time. He wasn't happy about having his shoes put back on him and being taken to the cafeteria. He threw himself onto the floor while I got his chair. There were three tables in the room. One was full of children; one had two children; and one was completely empty. I took the chair to the table with two children. One of the children said, "He needs to sit over there," gesturing to the empty table. "By himself?" I questioned. [In case you aren't aware, children with autism often segregate themselves. Those typical people that love them attempt to limit the segregation.] "Yes, he is bad. He does mean things. He needs to sit over there." I kept saying in my head, "Remember, he is just a child. He is just a child." I, already still pretty tired, almost start crying for the unintentionally cruel words about the light of my life. At this point, the other child at the table says to me, "Tatiana's Mommy? Colby can sit by me." And so I did cry a little because it was so sweet of her to say so. I will also add, the other child is larger physically than Colby--no easy feat. The one willing to have this "bad acting" child sit next to her, substantially SMALLER.
At this point, Colby had decided that he didn't want to sit OR eat. Other children had decided that I needed to hear about what a horrid child Colby is. Again, "Remember, they are just children. They are just children," played through my head. I just tried to tell the children that Colby doesn't mean to act in the way that they believe is cruel and bad, he is just frustrated that he cannot say the words. And, being children, they don't understand.
Luckily, breakfast was over and they got to go outside to play. Colby loves the scooter and on it, he is happy and his laugh and his smile brighten my world better than the sun. As I left and reflected upon the morning, the cloud came over me. This type of lack of understanding is not only his present, it might very well be his future. It makes me sad. Will he have friends around him that take the time to understand him and forgive his moments of frustration? Will he be able to better communicate before the frustration sets in? If I am not there to protect him, will he still be surrounded by love to protect his gentle soul? Yes, this little bear sized boy is nothing but a gentle teddy bear with hugs that heal hurts. But it can't take away the hurts of his autism. And it makes me sad.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Apology
I seriously doubt that those to whom I am "apologizing" to will read this. Too bad. It counts.
Here goes.
To those people having their "private" party at the pool when our swim team was having their fundraiser: I'm sorry that my four year old autistic son's enjoyment of the water during your party took so much away from you. He waded in the water, walked until he was waist high, walked out, around the edge, jumped off, later-rinse-repeat for 10 minutes. I realize that the four feet of water that he occupied--never, ever walking near ANYONE from your party was a big hassle. However, had you come up to me and said, "hey, this is a private party" at a PUBLIC pool that usually had swim hours open during that time, I'd probably have explained his autism and his immense LOVE of water. I'm sure that since everyone could hear him scream at first because he was not allowed in the water, you thought he was simply a brat. Because your children are perfect angels. I am sure that you are perfect parents. I could tell. The gang tattoos spelled it out. (Yeah, I have tatoos too, but they don't identify me as a gang members as yours did.) Ok, there I go, being judgemental, but had YOU come up to me rather than sending a life guard over to say something, eh, I hope that you feel better. Oh, forgot to add, that had YOU come up to me yourself, I'd probably offered you money to let my son not bother you. Because there were 5 kids in the pool that can hold over 100. And he wasn't bothering you. Maybe I'm wrong. But trying to make sure that the noise level of his screaming was absent wasn't wrong. He's not a brat. He loves water.
Here goes.
To those people having their "private" party at the pool when our swim team was having their fundraiser: I'm sorry that my four year old autistic son's enjoyment of the water during your party took so much away from you. He waded in the water, walked until he was waist high, walked out, around the edge, jumped off, later-rinse-repeat for 10 minutes. I realize that the four feet of water that he occupied--never, ever walking near ANYONE from your party was a big hassle. However, had you come up to me and said, "hey, this is a private party" at a PUBLIC pool that usually had swim hours open during that time, I'd probably have explained his autism and his immense LOVE of water. I'm sure that since everyone could hear him scream at first because he was not allowed in the water, you thought he was simply a brat. Because your children are perfect angels. I am sure that you are perfect parents. I could tell. The gang tattoos spelled it out. (Yeah, I have tatoos too, but they don't identify me as a gang members as yours did.) Ok, there I go, being judgemental, but had YOU come up to me rather than sending a life guard over to say something, eh, I hope that you feel better. Oh, forgot to add, that had YOU come up to me yourself, I'd probably offered you money to let my son not bother you. Because there were 5 kids in the pool that can hold over 100. And he wasn't bothering you. Maybe I'm wrong. But trying to make sure that the noise level of his screaming was absent wasn't wrong. He's not a brat. He loves water.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Superiority complexes. Not mine.
Why is it that the superiority complex that some have causes them to continuously degrade those over whom they feel they are superior?
I have a slight complex on that my own. There are some people that I think that I am better than. But, unless they are my children, I don't think that a lecture is the best way about it. But let me get one thing clear,I don't think I am better than my children. In fact, probably the other way around, but I'm obligated as a mother to lecture them. Seriously, it's in the manual I got when I gave birth. That manual is why I'm such a great mother. You didn't get one? Then, well, let me lecture you. Yeah. Right. Ask my teenager if I'm the best mom. If she thinks I'm going to hear the answer, she'll say yes. If she thinks she can remain anonymous, she'll be honest and say that I'm not the best mom, but I'm her mom.
But there are others that think that they are better than just about every one on the planet. However, the main person of whom I write (rather passively agressively, I admit) has never offered suggestions on how to improve the state of being of the situations of which he complains. The reason I take this passive aggressive stance is because I want to unload all of this anger over the idiocy and be done with it. I confront directly and I'm sucked into his endless loop of his posturing. I figure, if there's any sucking going on, it's going to be me. On a lemon. Something I enjoy. (Actually, I do enjoy eating lemons. Could explain the status of my teeth!)
I have a slight complex on that my own. There are some people that I think that I am better than. But, unless they are my children, I don't think that a lecture is the best way about it. But let me get one thing clear,I don't think I am better than my children. In fact, probably the other way around, but I'm obligated as a mother to lecture them. Seriously, it's in the manual I got when I gave birth. That manual is why I'm such a great mother. You didn't get one? Then, well, let me lecture you. Yeah. Right. Ask my teenager if I'm the best mom. If she thinks I'm going to hear the answer, she'll say yes. If she thinks she can remain anonymous, she'll be honest and say that I'm not the best mom, but I'm her mom.
But there are others that think that they are better than just about every one on the planet. However, the main person of whom I write (rather passively agressively, I admit) has never offered suggestions on how to improve the state of being of the situations of which he complains. The reason I take this passive aggressive stance is because I want to unload all of this anger over the idiocy and be done with it. I confront directly and I'm sucked into his endless loop of his posturing. I figure, if there's any sucking going on, it's going to be me. On a lemon. Something I enjoy. (Actually, I do enjoy eating lemons. Could explain the status of my teeth!)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I caved.
After posting about not sprucing, I spruced. Decided I was decidedly annoyed with and tired of an old blanket covering my bedroom window. Bought a "curtain rod" (and not one I had to do much work for. Went with one of those "pressure" shower bars. No hardware, no drilling, no looky-fancy. But it works. Couldn't find any curtains that matched the blankets we have nor could I find one that would inspire me to change the bedding color scheme. Couldn't find material to make curtains either. Decided, then a flat sheet will have to do. Found one in the color scheme--got ribbon that complimented the color scheme--it was so polite when it said, "Hello, you gorgeous sheet. I shall be what holds onto the rod and turns you from sheet to fancy curtain!"
Came home. HAND sewed the ribbon onto the sheet and voila! A curtain that matches my bedding. Doesn't look tacky either. I hope. And thus far, Colby has not felt the need to pull on it or tear it up. This equals success.
I spruced. Now, if I could only get inspired to clean.
Came home. HAND sewed the ribbon onto the sheet and voila! A curtain that matches my bedding. Doesn't look tacky either. I hope. And thus far, Colby has not felt the need to pull on it or tear it up. This equals success.
I spruced. Now, if I could only get inspired to clean.
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