I got to sleep in a black-out curtained hotel room for two nights. All alone. If I woke up early, I either consulted the clock and promptly turned over, or caught a delightful early 2000s RomCom on TBS. I got up and showered, put on makeup (like, really put it on, in front of a well lit mirror, not in my car, while barking that everyone stay inside the vehicle until I had on lipstick and didn't scare anyone), got dressed, and curled my hair. And sauntered down to eat a prepared breakfast.
It was glorious. I abandoned any far flung ideas like "swimming in the pool," or "writing" or "reading a book," in lieu of napping. Oh, the napping. It was strenuous, but I powered through. With those heavy duvets, the air cranked down, and the aforementioned curtains? There is no relaxation method that can touch it.
Basically, I had a fabulous weekend. I flew out to Lexington Friday morning to see my sister Natalie's husband graduate with his PhD in Marketing from the University of Kentucky. We sat patiently for 2 1/2 hours to see James hooded and his name on the big screen. Natalie is, deservedly, incredibly proud of all he has accomplished, and they will be starting their new life around Houston, Texas in August as James takes his first position as a professor at University of Houston-Clearwater. Natalie was my chauffeur for the weekend, so my responsibility level was at an all time low. We ate out at several restaurants, and as both fathers were present to celebrate (and pick up the tab), I was basically a kid again.
I got to spend the weekend with my sister and parents and see my own family greet me when I touched down on Sunday. It was great. Nat and I had lots of girl time, talking about everything and nothing, even seeing a totally mindless chick-flick: Hot Pursuit-- completely formulaic, but with lots of silliness as we don't ask for much in Reese Witherspoon vehicles. Basically, the plot was a Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous reboot. I smell Oscar.
Alex, however, had both girls get sick in the car and his mom check in briefly to the hospital with stomach pains. The kids came home with new toys from the Five Below store (apparently a thing in "big cities" that have stores like Costco, not that I'm bitter) and lots of candy. The plan was to visit the grandparents for Mother's Day, but poor Alex was definitely Mr. Mom this weekend, cleaning car vomit TWICE (ugh), fetching take-out for the family, and generally rising to the challenge.
I've kinda gotten over the "let's see if he gets this right or not on Mother's Day" thing, and so I really didn't come into the day with a whole lot of expectations, especially since most of the day would be travel time, but he really did a nice job. He had the kids make little notes and got me a beautiful watch. He's a keeper. I even got to eat breakfast on Mother's Day with my own Mom and Dad with Nat and James and the ambience of Waffle House to set the mood. No joke: I love Waffle House.
I'm back in the pjs at the start of another Monday: dishes to wash, floors to clean, kids to shuttle, appointments to keep. And that's more than okay.
Insert picture of my family here -->
My mom got a pic of us together on her phone, so I'll update when she shares it :)
I hope you had a wonderful Mother's Day celebrating the special ladies in your life! Women who nurture (basically women in general), you are special every day, not just the ones the designated on the calendar.
Y'all. First, thank you. Your kind words and "I enjoyed this" are more than diamonds or gold. Words are my love language (shocker) and I'm all filled up.
Next, The BIG DEAL IEP MEETING. It was so good! I was not rushed, talked over, or made to feel anything less than an equal member of that group. Each person was well informed about J and had lots to say and add. I think the Assistive Technology person and I are well on our way to becoming besties, and I'm sure that'll be fine with her when I tell her. (I'm not a weirdo. No, really.)
It was so empowering to bring to bear all that we've learned through our experiences and exposures, all our successes and failures to speak intelligently for our son. Not only were all my concerns addressed, we wrote even better, more applicable goals. Bottom line--reading and math? Yes, I want those things. But we want Jeremiah to have his own voice in every sense of the word. Making his needs and wants known, standing up for himself. And as I told Alex leaving that meeting, "I knew we needed to be doing this (implementing the LAMP program at home). I just needed a professional to tell me."
I have been learning over and over this year about God's providence through studies of Ruth and Esther and I see it so clearly right now. Sometimes the bad and the hard and the never-wanna-go-there-again is the very thing that leads us to our--big thing here-- destiny. My teaching background seemed useless and out of place with a child that has trouble communicating in a way that I understand. How can I share a love of knowledge with a child who couldn't even tell me he loves me? (He can now.) I want to share all those things with Jeremiah, and I plan to, even if it looks differently than the way I imagined. My love of language, of knowledge, of seeking to understand and be understood? God flipped that script and made me a champion for one amazing boy and two firecracker girls. He's good like that.
We have been retrained to communicate with Jeremiah and now, can find a middle ground with him, to teach him in a way that matters to him. We are still very new to this path and have a long way to go, but keep on, little steam engine. You'll get there.
So anyway, we go in the meeting, wired and fired, prepared and prayed, and our teacher shares with us, a bit shakily, that she is being transferred to another school. It's fresh to her, and I don't want to pry, but for a moment I think, "This all was predicated on you being his teacher! Now what? It is all for naught!" *puts hand to brow, sighing with urgency*
But as the meeting went on and plans were made, I could admit to myself: Change is good. Life is always changing, and that's one of the things we need to expose him to-- how to adapt to change. He's taken to new teachers quickly before, and I know he will again.
Again, God's good like that. I could easily make J's teacher the bar with which I judge all other teachers. I have to depend on Him and be open to the new people he brings into our lives. And she will still be in J's life through Sunday School. You see? Providence.
Thus concludes today's lesson. Come back tomorrow where I will exegete Revelation. You don't want to miss it.
(Insert sarcasm here.)
I'll end with a link to my Sonshine Singers choir, featuring my own Sarah. I could list a 100, but this is one of the reasons I love the Church. A little child will lead them, and these little ones sure did just that Sunday night.
"Autism is not the common cold," I said to a group of family members gathered around a cozy living room after a delicious meal. I had never thought about it that way before, but the phrase has been rolling around in my head for the last several weeks.
We had not seen my husband's brother and girlfriend in several months and they inquired about Jeremiah and his progress, and I, in typical fashion, I had a lot to say. I can't remember the specifics now, but I shared his interests and his victories and how he amazes me every day. How I can't believe how much he's grown since his diagnosis three years ago.
Here's the thing that got me thinking: we discussed Jeremiah's potential in his future, and how far the doctors and I thought he could go.
My answer? I walk the line of hope and reality.
I know that, based on where J is "at" developmentally at age (almost) 7, I should assume an alternative diploma track and vocational training will be the most appropriate path for him.
And then again, I think: HE'S NOT EVEN SEVEN. Let today be today, and appreciate its gifts.
Autism is not linear, and neither is the growth of the individuals affected by it. Like many on this path, we enter in thinking we can boil it down to a formula. Take these prescribed therapies and those preferred intervention strategies and volia, off the spectrum! Even for the most "high functioning" individuals on the spectrum, who "pass" as typically developing in society, it's just not that simple.
And as a mama, I want to make it easy to understand for those involved in our lives. Spin our own narrative. "We are kicking autism's butt and taking names!" Rah, rah, rah!
It's just not that simple.
And I'm starting to appreciate it.
We started at point A: diagnosis. We went to point B: early intervention. We arrived at C: pulling out of B and homeschooling to focus on relationship building. We moved to D: re-entry of traditional school to enter a self-contained autism class, which we would have never entertained and dreaded just a few years ago.
Now, point E: informed advocacy. After a year of re-entry, we find ourselves at the end of an academic year and are taking stock. J has benefited from the routine of the classroom and the multiple interactions with teachers and adults. His teacher is a DREAM, an angel among us. I would blather on and on about her, but she's awesome. So gifted. You know she loves those students and advocates for them and teaches the other faculty about their potential. J will most likely be in her class again next year as she teaches two grade levels and we're pleased.
But we don't stop trying, reaching, searching for what's the very best for our son and how that affects the whole family. I'm actually walking into an IEP meeting next week informed and prepared. I have sat down and carefully analyzed my concerns and shared them with the team. I have requested several stakeholders present at the meeting. Not because I'm displeased or hostile. Not at all. That was a risk for me. Everyone has been so accommodating that I didn't want to rock the boat or raise a stink. Hello, I'm a peacemaker. And a woman. And a southern one at that.
But it's my right and my duty. I'm my child's best advocate, and I want to make him his best advocate as he grows.
Our little family was out to dinner a few weeks ago, and I was sharing with my husband about all that I had been researching and learning about IEPs and educational opportunities in the future for J. I patted myself on the back for taking small steps of bravery: making calls, asking questions. I expressed fear over those things not being well received. I worried about challenging the status quo.
My husband's answer? The reply that made me tell him, "And THAT'S why I married you. That right there."?
That's what we do. We. Us. Our family.
We do whatever it takes for our children. Whatever we can do. We do it.
We are, as the great character Atticus Finch told his daughter Scout, common folk. We follow the rules, tow the line. We live in an average (a very beautiful and more than enough, but ordinary in terms of American socioeconomics) home and neighborhood. We drive well-broken-in-vehicles. Our children wear only the finest play-clothes from Target, and the girls and I have come to appreciate the thrill of the hunt at Goodwill. We are educated, but not pedigreed. We are not "special" and do not view our children as "precious snowflakes" that are better than any other child.
It's not what we have. It's who we are.
These children are ours, and as such, we will do everything in our power to secure for them the most appropriate and beneficial methods to aid in their development.
We don't know exactly what that looks like, but we are committed to searching it out.
Even as we know there is no one answer, no magic pill.
The searching, the banding together, the being-a-family is.
Autism is not the common cold. It is not linear. Nothing is.
And that, despite the hard times, is the beauty of it all.
A photo posted by Melissa Young (@thejaybirdblog) on
I decided it was time to chuck out this wee little dish rag that has faithfully served me lo, these many years, or since the early 2000s. If you know me at all, it should come as no surprise that this silly picture screams METAPHOR for MARRIED LIFE.
I'll try not to belabor the point, but isn't that the way we start out? We forge into coupledom armed with good intentions and a registry wand, carefully debating the color schemes for our wedding, and in extension the beautiful life we will be building. Linens, china, and my own personal Waterloo, dye-able bridesmaid shoes.
Say no to the dyeable.
(A word to young brides of the '10s: before there was chalkboard art and turquoise pumps, there were dye-ables. Pink dye-ables, in my case. Don't sweat the Pinterest board. The dye-ables didn't break me; don't let the choreographed first dance break you.)
It is fine and good to having a pretty wedding and heavens knows I love a good one. But as my dish rag will attest, the rubber meets the road soon enough. The good china gets knicked, the towels get caught and rip in the dryer; the waistlines stretch, the hair recedes, the shiny and new becomes old and familiar. The wispy dreams become ordinary reality, and you sometimes don't recognize that girl you used to be.
That girl had lots and lots of optimism. Pages and pages of earnest prayers. Years and years of Sunday school lessons and youth trips and singles retreats.
She had hour upon hour of free time, dollar upon dollar of disposable income, outfit upon outfit in a single digit dress size.
This, well, grown-up woman, has lunch upon lunch to pack, basket upon basket of laundry to run, event upon event to schedule.
Face upon face to kiss, hug upon hug to steal, laugh upon laugh to share.
So, yeah. I enjoyed the fresh kitchen linen years.
But the holey, faded, rag-tag ones are sacred. Because they are more real.
It's been too quiet here, and I've always got ideas rolling around in my head, so I'm taking advantage of this quiet moment (Rachel is napping; Sarah walked into her room of her own accord and starting playing dolls--- I crept backward slowly as not to startle her in natural habitat-- and the fact that she didn't ask me to stay with her or make some deal or ask to watch TV really needs to be documented).
What's shakin' here in this corner of the world:
1. We survived Spring Break
We had several appointments to keep, our regular speech and OT appointments, and a day trip to Atlanta to knock our every-several-months check-in with the Marcus Autism Center. We've learned through trial-and-error that the best way to attack this appointment is for me to take Jay solo and Alex to stay home with the girls. Every other configuration-- making it a long weekend or taking the girls wears us and and defeats the purpose of getting 1:1 time with a specialist. I instragrammed (is that in Merriam Webster yet?) a shot of us leaving, and the last two visits have been nothing short of easy, and surprisingly, encouraging. I have a whole 'nother post about this to write, but with autism, and with visits like this to the specialist, it's a quick snaphot of my child and it can feel defeating-- a stranger rattling off tasks and prompts for him to complete when said child has a processing delay as well as a whole host of "static" jamming his channels like sensory needs and idiosyncratic speech. Maybe it was the quiet car ride, or the familiarity, or the calm atmosphere (the waiting room was almost empty and we went right in), but J owned the vital stats portion and even seeing the NP instead of the doctor, attended and worked with her and she was great. Having a child with special needs can make the parent feel like every interaction with a professional is a test to be passed. In case you weren't aware, that doesn't make for a healthy frame of mind. Bottom line: My child is growing, as all children grow, at his own pace and in his own time, but he is growing, and that's such an affirming thing. I ran into our pastor this weekend out and about, and through tears ('cause when someone really cares and it's about my boy, I can't help it) I said, "There's not enough good things I can say about Jeremiah." He's a silly, beautiful, happy boy who loves and knows he's loved and I'm privileged to have a front row seat.
2. Swim lessons!
I've put these off because I wanted to wait until J had the maturity level to make the attempt worth it. The girls started last week, it is was a hoot. I told them, "She'll just show you how to blow bubbles today," but no ma'am, it was catch and release, sink or swim, go grab that wall. There was much screaming, and "I want Mommy" and "I want to be done" in the short 10 minute lesson each girl took. Can I tell you I giggled the whole time? Because I knew it was just about control and the girls were safe and could do it? And maybe even secretly thought it was a great thing to see my big girl taken to task with a bit of tough love? Need help disciplining? Swim lessons. It's worth the investment. The second lesson there was a bit of sniffling, but much more learning, and Rachel declares she will "swim like a mermaid" and I don't mind telling you she is the brightest toddler in existence. It's simple fact. She talks like she's years older but has that little-bitty voice, and the chubbiest face and limbs and satisfies my need to baby a little person. She's delicious.
A photo posted by Melissa Young (@thejaybirdblog) on
3. We had two date nights last week: Praise You, Lord.
It seems like whenever we get to go out that Alex and I just pick up on the conversation we left hanging two weeks prior. I got to use words like "myopic" and "drivel" in context which affirmed in me my gift of language. Some beat their bodies into submission, and I, well, throw around my 9th grade vocabulary list into everyday conversation. Use it or lose it. We got to support our local pregnancy center and eat at the Rookery with all manner of hip individuals and talk about the continuity of the Bible and how I want to save our kids from wrong thinking about God, but that's inevitable, because, duh, GOD, and his ways are beyond tracing out and sometimes you have to learn things for yourself. I could only imagine what our server and fellow patrons thought about us as they drank their Jimmy Carter shakes (banana, peanut butter, and bacon-- we resisted) and ate their locally sourced beef topped with pimento cheese and bread and butter pickles (yes, please). We had a simpler date night this weekend, me scrapbooking and Alex working on the computer at our Panera. It was rather glamorous. But really refreshing.
4. Sugar Detox (you read that correctly)
Friends. This is me being pretty vulnerable with you. I have some weight concerns. Some issues you might say. It's taken a long while (oh, maybe 7 years) but in the last few days, it keeps coming up that change is making up your mind little bit by little bit, reprogramming your brain. In spiritual terms, it's obedience, and that's not a once-and-done decision.
I love to eat. I love all things cheesy and pasta-y and chocolate-y. I know all the things one should know about eating right, but I've not been able to sustain it, and haven't wanted to. Basically, I was hoping that I could somehow keep the same habits I've had all my life even though my metabolism and lifestyle is very different from what it was before children.
Well, the combination of poor choices (a sickening amount of Easter candy) and a few more gentle reminders that sugar is addictive, even though it's associated with fun and celebrations and won't harm you in the moment to moment; it has long-term effects that slowly erode your health.
So, despite my inclination to think we can get a bit too precious and picky about our eating as a first-world culture, I can't deny that it's a problem for me.
So I googled "sugar detox," read a Dr. Oz article (cliched, much?) and woke up determined to eat slow proteins, real food, and no sugars or sweeteners for three days. I was de-cruding the kitchen all morning and short-order-cooking for the kids, so I just popped some Swiss cheese in my mouth and chased it with dark coffee. In food desperation, I pulled out the 2 year old bag of split peas that have languished on the shelf and made soup and attacked it for an early lunch. One glass of water and aspirin later, and I'm surprisingly okay. Maybe I've been so run down for so long it's not big deal. Or maybe I'll feel worse tomorrow due to "toxic hunger" as the Dr. Oz article suggested.
Anyway, I'm making a baby step and trying to change my behavior and some of our family food routines which is hard, but that's my job.
5. Encouragement
Finally, I've read or listened to some great things this week that I wanted to pass along.
