Sorry I made you wait for the rest of this. I keep thinking I'm going to have more time, and every time I think that something comes up. When will I learn? The bad news is my best friend is sick tonight so what I was hoping I'd be doing isn't going to happen. But the good news is I have the rest of the day (and I mean until like 1:00 tomorrow morning) to get the stuff done I need to do today. So here I am.
If you're wondering about part 1, click here. Now that we're all on the same page...
So after I left bible study, I reminded myself at times audibly that God is in control. There's always a reason. Always. Even when we don't know what it is, there's a reason. I went home, changed the littles' diapers and stuff, got what we needed and went to the school to get Ryan. I was almost sure that since his aid wasn't with him, I'd have to get the kids out and go in and get him, since I pick him up in the middle of the school day. Imagine my surprise to see his teacher bringing him out. When he got to the van, it went something like this:
Me: So how'd he do?
L: We're good.
Me: We're good? Oh, he had a good day?
L: No, we're GOOD.
Me: Um... you mean we don't need to hire someone else good?
L: I'd like to try it.
That last comment and the look on L's face I will remember for eternity.
She went on to describe how well he'd done since lunch the day before, when his aid had resigned. Not one meltdown. Little fits, but no meltdowns. Being the mommy I am, I had to make sure he was safe. Satisfied with her answer, I put my official mommy-seal on the deal and we agreed.
RYAN IS IN KINDERGARTEN WITHOUT AN AID!
Full inclusion. All day. Only someone to help with music and p.e.
After searching the van for and reattaching my chin, we headed to therapy. Soon as I was out of the school zone I called Eric. We both teared up. I think we both said "FOR REAL?!?!" about ten times. The only other thing that we could manage to utter was Praise God.
It has now been a week and a half. If Ryan's folder was still here, I'd show you the happy faces and "Great Day" markings on his behavior chart. I am still in utter disbelief.
I'm in disbelief that he's doing this! We are so proud of him! We are so proud of his teacher! We are so proud to be in a school district that makes the paperwork fit the kid instead of the kid fit the paperwork! I mean, he still needs some support. But when you're in a place where all the teachers actually really do care about the kids... all of the kids, not just the easy ones... kids like Ryan get a shot. They get a real shot. And when they fall, others pick them up, dust them off, and give them another shot. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for God's providence in all this. For the teachers, administration, the special programs department, his teacher form the last three years who still checks in on him, the aid who knew for whatever reason it was time to go... all of this, we are so grateful.
I don't know why God chose to give us all He's given us. I could begin listing it all, but don't think blogger would allow me the storage capacity. Just looking around in our family, just seeing our three kids smiling at us, is more than enough. We're healthy, my husband and I love each other, we still have my mother, his parents, and his Nana, we have our sisters and their husbands and families, and we have extended family. We have a fabulous church, wonderful friends, and a roof over our heads.
As King David said in 2 Samuel 7:18, "Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far?"
Who am I, Lord? Who are we, that you have brought us this far?!
Thanks and much praise be to God!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Heavenly Leveling
Back again... finally. We had a great week last week, full of things to do, full of opportunities. it was a wonderful week. The funny thing is it was so great I can't just spill it all in one post. So I'll start from the beginning... I hear it's a very good place to start.
We began our journey to San Antonio for the Texas Bandmasters' Association convention, held every summer. For the past couple of years something has come up and we've been forced to stay home. This time, we were kinda determined to go. We learned of a place called Morgan's Wonderland and decided that our family would love that.
We were so right!
We started to play pretty much immediately when we walked in. All the paths on all the playground equipment- which in itself is amazing- are more than wide enough for a wheelchair, and each play area is accessible. Even the slides are friendly... they are rollers instead of just a solid surface, so even without the ability to propel yourself you can slide right down. There are regular slides, too. Everything is sturdy enough for adults, too. I'm not a "little girl" and I was able to slide, run around and play just like Ryan. Well, something like that anyway... I lack his energy!
There are so many neat sensory things, like the water play area, that kids with or without a sensory "thing" can enjoy. All our kids thought the whole park was cool... but a close second to the trains was the water play area. I cannot begin to describe how cool it was. Just glance a little further north on the page and check out Ryan gettin' his stim on!
Then there are the rides. Oh, the sweet people who work there! The only place I've been where the help is such a part of the experience is Disney World. Not kidding. All the staff were welcoming and warm, some with a special need themselves in some way or another. On the train that goes around the park, we rode three times the first time, and two or three more at the end of the day. Again, the train is even wheelchair accesible. This doesn't apply to us, but there are so many who need it. On the carousel (again, wheelchair friendly) we rode twice around... only stopped at two because mommy doesn't do round and round. As we got off, one of the staff members needed to go inside the carousel to do something. Before I could grab him, Ryan followed him!!! The man left outside the carousel just laughed and said in a voice loud enough to hear, "You've got one behind you" like it happens all the time. No big deal. No "hey lady, control your kid." Just a little warning so he didn't back over my boy. After a high five from Ryan, we left the carousel and continued our stay.
I have to say, any time I encounter something done for special needs kids, or just autism, or it's just so obvious that people get it, I choke up. Random tears of relieved joy rolled down my face for at least the first hour I watched Ryan, Richie, and Maelynn run around and lead the way. Even ground. No "you and you, but not you". The biggest thing that got me... Morgan, who the park was inspired by... is pictured at the front of the park. Below her picture is all about her. Things she likes to do, eat, see, and what she enjoys, what kiind of person she is. Never once does it mention what her "special need" is. Never once are you confronted with a label. The only label that exists is simply "hi, I'm Crystal, and I like...."
For three glorious hours, I didn't have to say the word "autism". No explaining, no apologizing, and even during a meltdown (the only one at the park), no stares or comments. Just the five of us, playing and being together.
The boys were boys...
We began our journey to San Antonio for the Texas Bandmasters' Association convention, held every summer. For the past couple of years something has come up and we've been forced to stay home. This time, we were kinda determined to go. We learned of a place called Morgan's Wonderland and decided that our family would love that.
We were so right!
 |
| This is at the base of the statue (below). I immediately knew this was going to be a very good day. |
There are so many neat sensory things, like the water play area, that kids with or without a sensory "thing" can enjoy. All our kids thought the whole park was cool... but a close second to the trains was the water play area. I cannot begin to describe how cool it was. Just glance a little further north on the page and check out Ryan gettin' his stim on!
 |
| Goin' around again on the train! |
I have to say, any time I encounter something done for special needs kids, or just autism, or it's just so obvious that people get it, I choke up. Random tears of relieved joy rolled down my face for at least the first hour I watched Ryan, Richie, and Maelynn run around and lead the way. Even ground. No "you and you, but not you". The biggest thing that got me... Morgan, who the park was inspired by... is pictured at the front of the park. Below her picture is all about her. Things she likes to do, eat, see, and what she enjoys, what kiind of person she is. Never once does it mention what her "special need" is. Never once are you confronted with a label. The only label that exists is simply "hi, I'm Crystal, and I like...."
For three glorious hours, I didn't have to say the word "autism". No explaining, no apologizing, and even during a meltdown (the only one at the park), no stares or comments. Just the five of us, playing and being together.
The boys were boys...
Mae was Mae... ever the busy girl.
As we poured ourselves into the front seats of the van after cajoling, buckling, issuing water and snacks, diapey changes and explanations of what's next, we looked at each other and agreed we'll be back. Not sure when, but we'll be back. After all, how can you stay away from a place that lets kids, whose bodies have robbed them of so many of the joys of physical child's play, swing and slide? Other than our own experience, one that will stay in my heart is the image of a mother sliding with her teenage son. He needed her assistance, and she was more than elated to oblige. As they slid down the roller-slide, laughing and smiling with an unadulterated joy I cannot explain, I made up my mind that I had to do all I could to share this place. This fabulous, amazing, yet so simple... level ground. Absolutely heavenly.
Taking Flight(on the plaque below the statue)
"Taking Flight" dramatically symbolizes what Morgan's Wonderland stands for- to inspire those with special needs to soar beyond their physical or cognitive challenges and reach heights thought to be unattainable. Just as a butterfly magically emerges from its cocoon, unfurls its wings and takes flight, this unique park is dedicated to encouraging each individual to dare to reach beyond their limitations and reach the heights of their dreams.
We are so thankful to the founders, dreamers, for Morgan, for her wonderland. But we're even more thankful to be blessed with the three most amazing children I've ever met... Ryan, Richie, and Maelynn... and all their dreams, hopes, and challenges.
Thanks be to God, the giver of all!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Question...
Ever have one of those days? One of those days where you feel like your limbs are moving through peanut butter? One of those times when the things you do manage to do seem to be amazingly messed up? The worst part is I have little excuse. Okay, I have a little excuse, but it's not anything huge.
On these days the funny thing is, I don't realize how different our lives really are. I get tired and start to beat up on myself a bit for the dishes in the sink, the cans of paint by the door, the border that needs to come down in the kitchen. Then I hear a random scream and realize, "oh yeah..." and it all comes together. Thankfully, I have a husband who is willing to learn this aspect of loving his wife. I won't lie. He does make mistakes. We both do. We are, at times, insensitive to each other, selfish, and just plain grumpy. But that's where grace and mercy come in, and oh do we ever need that.
Yesterday was a fun day, and looking back, it was rather busy. A friend needed an interview with a special needs mom, so I got to do that and really enjoyed it. For one, I got to spend time in my home with someone who gets it. That's always valuable. Equally valuable is long phone conversations with good friends just to catch up... friends who trust that you're doing the best you can with what you have... yeah, that's amazing too.
Anyway, the questions were interesting. The ones that stick out the most are something about how your child's special need has challenged your relationships (family, friends, marriage, etc.). Wow. Talk about shoving Niagara Falls through a drinking straw. As I struggled to answer without giving her writer's cramp (yes, she used this low-tech papery blog thing called a "notebook" and this magical stick called a "pen"), I knew that there was too much. Did my best, though. But not all of it would fit. It's too huge.
What has Autism done to challenge us?
Autism has made us more aware and thankful than we could ever have imagined for every milestone in all our kids. Once you've had a child who didn't reach them, they are celebrated with the fervor of, say, winning the "Piston Cup" or making it to "P Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney". For those non-Pixar watchers, with winning the Stanley Cup or the Super Bowl. We get excited.
Autism has made us hurt more than we wanted to. The pain of realizing your child has challenges that you cannot immediately change... it's not a scrape on the knee, a cold, or a stomach bug that will pass. It's in your face and demanding all the time. It does not take time off because you've been doing so great. It alters your thinking about everything. It forces you to plan EVERYTHING down to the letter. A family trip to the mall? To church? To the park? Every last blasted step must be thought out. We are picture-scheduled and social-storied, this-then-that-ed to the nth degree. It stings you in places you didn't know anything could reach, and even in places you didn't know you had. There are days and times when it brings you to your knees in ways you never thought possible.
Autism magnifies the meanness and kindness of people. We have seen people go out of their way to connect with Ryan, and we see all the time people go out of their way to avoid him and us. The most glaring example is the difference between going out with just the two littles and with Ryan. Go out with just Mae and Richie, and you get "oh, are they twins?" and "oh, what beautiful children!" and "oh, you have your hands full". I usually add "you should see me when I have their six year old brother, too." Go out with Ryan? Few people look us in the eye. Fewer still speak. I've even heard comments like, when I told someone I was pregnant with Maelynn, "oh, I thought surely you'd had your tubes tied!" From afraid to speak to unwanted advice to angry comments at his behavior, there is a marked difference in how we're treated. Funny thing is, I feel guilty when it feels normal. Almost like I'm lying, you know?
Autism searches your marriage for weak spots and exploits them. If you're not good, effective communicators, if you haven't learned to forgive (and that forgiveness means you give up your right to punish the person who hurt you), if you're not playing as a team... all those things are magnified. They were problems before, but they'll really be problems now. Having children period does this, but having special needs children will go a few steps further. Our time together is sacred. Once the kids go to bed, once we have our chores done, we have big kid time. Ice cream and a non-animated show, video games, air hockey on the iPad, or a movie, something that is light and fun at least once a week if we can swing it. Kids are in bed, we know they're safe, and we chill and take time to be Eric and Crystal, those people who only dated a week and a half before they got engaged, and not Daddy and Mommy. But I'd lie if I said we never argue, never get mad and cranky and say things we wish we hadn't. Pressure is too much at times, and we're fallen humans.
Autism drives you to or from your faith. If you are angry at God for the special need your child has, tell Him. He can take it... He's GOD for cryin' out loud. He hears and knows your thoughts anyway, so you might as well spill it. Work through it. For me, there's no way to deal without knowing someone else is in charge. I still do my best, I still advocate for my son, but at the end of a day of screaming meltdowns and utter frustration, it's nice to know you can let go of the rope, because you know He's there to catch you. It's also nice to know there's a purpose and plan for this (Jeremiah 29:11). Obviously (I hope), autism has driven us to seek the Lord more fervently than ever.
Autism makes you let go of things that don't... and really never did... matter. My house is not uber-tidy. The floor of my van is covered in an odd assortment of old french fries, cracker crumbs, and cheerios, there are picture schedule icons everywhere, there are toys all over the place, but I do my best. The sheets are clean, the diapers are clean, the kids are fed. On the days when I can't even say that, oh well. See above. Today I needed to be painting, making a packing list, mopping, or doing any number of things, but I like to think that the time I spent in the floor with the "bears" (bear counters), books, and watching T-O-Y three (Ryan's name for Toy Story 3) are going to be more remembered by the kids. Yes, I do clean house, but neat freak? Oh no. And it's certainly not a showplace... but it is happy and comfortable.
Autism forces you to let go of some dreams you didn't even realize were dreams to make room for your child's safety and well-being. And yours. Situations you used to enjoy are just too frustrating. Small talk is almost unbearable (can't lie... I was never good at that anyway). Things you once took for granted are now in the "yeah right" dream category.
Autism makes you grateful for so many things you never thought about before. It makes you angry about things you never knew existed. It brings words like segregation, integration, inclusion, separation, isolation, and frustration to new levels of understanding. It makes you more sensitive and tougher at the same time. It brings to light so many ways people need to be loved, and the fact that almost none of them are exactly the same. It makes the everyday so flustering, but at the same time, on the rare occasions something goes completely smoothly, it's so much sweeter.
It has taught us that standing in the midst of a time when you have no idea what is going to happen next, where the patience for the rest of the fit will come from, or what in the world you're going to do... when you stand there, tears pouring, heart-sick, worn, weary, meltdown-weathered and exhausted and say with the shred of energy you have left that there is a reason... He is in charge, He has not left us, His mercies are new every morning, and we will rise to greet tomorrow with joy, for it is a day He has made... when you reach through the pain and extend a hand and heart to others in the same situation... when we just get up and do it all again and again... that is worship. We want to live it, not just survive it.
We are there right now. A major time of transition. No idea how it will go. We have a pretty good idea of how to prepare, and that consists of making sure the picture schedule has been in play, he's used to getting up at the hour he needs to go to school, we've worked on sight words, counting, sorting, waiting, sharing, asking for what we want, going to the bathroom without following a timer, everything we can think of, and now we have to stay the course, and trust. There are moments when I think he's gonna blow the top off of all the changes, and there are moments I think we've lost our minds. One minute he's counting, reading out loud, and hugging his brother and the next minute, he's screaming, hitting himself, and shoving his sister off the couch. Just when we think something's gonna go one way it goes flyin' the other.
So how has Autism challenged our family? How has it changed us?
I hate to admit it, but when all's said and done, we're closer to each other and closer to God. We've been forced to sort through the chaff, cut through the fluff, and get to the heart of it. All of it. So as much as I hate that anyone deals with any of the ASD spectrum, and as much as I want to see all the problems of all these families go away, at the end of the day I have to say that in the same way boot camp makes a soldier, the autism battle makes we warrior mamas and daddies and brothers and sisters of autism tougher, leaner, and better. A little more edgy? Yes. More stressed? Certainly. But less likely to assume. More likely to be truly thankful than we were before. In the end are we thankful for autism? NO. We are thankful for Ryan, we are thankful for what we have learned, for each other, and for the God who gives us every good thing.
How has autism challenged us, you ask?
It's challenged us to live.
Thanks be to God!!!
On these days the funny thing is, I don't realize how different our lives really are. I get tired and start to beat up on myself a bit for the dishes in the sink, the cans of paint by the door, the border that needs to come down in the kitchen. Then I hear a random scream and realize, "oh yeah..." and it all comes together. Thankfully, I have a husband who is willing to learn this aspect of loving his wife. I won't lie. He does make mistakes. We both do. We are, at times, insensitive to each other, selfish, and just plain grumpy. But that's where grace and mercy come in, and oh do we ever need that.
Yesterday was a fun day, and looking back, it was rather busy. A friend needed an interview with a special needs mom, so I got to do that and really enjoyed it. For one, I got to spend time in my home with someone who gets it. That's always valuable. Equally valuable is long phone conversations with good friends just to catch up... friends who trust that you're doing the best you can with what you have... yeah, that's amazing too.
Anyway, the questions were interesting. The ones that stick out the most are something about how your child's special need has challenged your relationships (family, friends, marriage, etc.). Wow. Talk about shoving Niagara Falls through a drinking straw. As I struggled to answer without giving her writer's cramp (yes, she used this low-tech papery blog thing called a "notebook" and this magical stick called a "pen"), I knew that there was too much. Did my best, though. But not all of it would fit. It's too huge.
What has Autism done to challenge us?
Autism has made us more aware and thankful than we could ever have imagined for every milestone in all our kids. Once you've had a child who didn't reach them, they are celebrated with the fervor of, say, winning the "Piston Cup" or making it to "P Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney". For those non-Pixar watchers, with winning the Stanley Cup or the Super Bowl. We get excited.
Autism has made us hurt more than we wanted to. The pain of realizing your child has challenges that you cannot immediately change... it's not a scrape on the knee, a cold, or a stomach bug that will pass. It's in your face and demanding all the time. It does not take time off because you've been doing so great. It alters your thinking about everything. It forces you to plan EVERYTHING down to the letter. A family trip to the mall? To church? To the park? Every last blasted step must be thought out. We are picture-scheduled and social-storied, this-then-that-ed to the nth degree. It stings you in places you didn't know anything could reach, and even in places you didn't know you had. There are days and times when it brings you to your knees in ways you never thought possible.
Autism magnifies the meanness and kindness of people. We have seen people go out of their way to connect with Ryan, and we see all the time people go out of their way to avoid him and us. The most glaring example is the difference between going out with just the two littles and with Ryan. Go out with just Mae and Richie, and you get "oh, are they twins?" and "oh, what beautiful children!" and "oh, you have your hands full". I usually add "you should see me when I have their six year old brother, too." Go out with Ryan? Few people look us in the eye. Fewer still speak. I've even heard comments like, when I told someone I was pregnant with Maelynn, "oh, I thought surely you'd had your tubes tied!" From afraid to speak to unwanted advice to angry comments at his behavior, there is a marked difference in how we're treated. Funny thing is, I feel guilty when it feels normal. Almost like I'm lying, you know?
Autism searches your marriage for weak spots and exploits them. If you're not good, effective communicators, if you haven't learned to forgive (and that forgiveness means you give up your right to punish the person who hurt you), if you're not playing as a team... all those things are magnified. They were problems before, but they'll really be problems now. Having children period does this, but having special needs children will go a few steps further. Our time together is sacred. Once the kids go to bed, once we have our chores done, we have big kid time. Ice cream and a non-animated show, video games, air hockey on the iPad, or a movie, something that is light and fun at least once a week if we can swing it. Kids are in bed, we know they're safe, and we chill and take time to be Eric and Crystal, those people who only dated a week and a half before they got engaged, and not Daddy and Mommy. But I'd lie if I said we never argue, never get mad and cranky and say things we wish we hadn't. Pressure is too much at times, and we're fallen humans.
Autism drives you to or from your faith. If you are angry at God for the special need your child has, tell Him. He can take it... He's GOD for cryin' out loud. He hears and knows your thoughts anyway, so you might as well spill it. Work through it. For me, there's no way to deal without knowing someone else is in charge. I still do my best, I still advocate for my son, but at the end of a day of screaming meltdowns and utter frustration, it's nice to know you can let go of the rope, because you know He's there to catch you. It's also nice to know there's a purpose and plan for this (Jeremiah 29:11). Obviously (I hope), autism has driven us to seek the Lord more fervently than ever.
Autism makes you let go of things that don't... and really never did... matter. My house is not uber-tidy. The floor of my van is covered in an odd assortment of old french fries, cracker crumbs, and cheerios, there are picture schedule icons everywhere, there are toys all over the place, but I do my best. The sheets are clean, the diapers are clean, the kids are fed. On the days when I can't even say that, oh well. See above. Today I needed to be painting, making a packing list, mopping, or doing any number of things, but I like to think that the time I spent in the floor with the "bears" (bear counters), books, and watching T-O-Y three (Ryan's name for Toy Story 3) are going to be more remembered by the kids. Yes, I do clean house, but neat freak? Oh no. And it's certainly not a showplace... but it is happy and comfortable.
Autism forces you to let go of some dreams you didn't even realize were dreams to make room for your child's safety and well-being. And yours. Situations you used to enjoy are just too frustrating. Small talk is almost unbearable (can't lie... I was never good at that anyway). Things you once took for granted are now in the "yeah right" dream category.
Autism makes you grateful for so many things you never thought about before. It makes you angry about things you never knew existed. It brings words like segregation, integration, inclusion, separation, isolation, and frustration to new levels of understanding. It makes you more sensitive and tougher at the same time. It brings to light so many ways people need to be loved, and the fact that almost none of them are exactly the same. It makes the everyday so flustering, but at the same time, on the rare occasions something goes completely smoothly, it's so much sweeter.
It has taught us that standing in the midst of a time when you have no idea what is going to happen next, where the patience for the rest of the fit will come from, or what in the world you're going to do... when you stand there, tears pouring, heart-sick, worn, weary, meltdown-weathered and exhausted and say with the shred of energy you have left that there is a reason... He is in charge, He has not left us, His mercies are new every morning, and we will rise to greet tomorrow with joy, for it is a day He has made... when you reach through the pain and extend a hand and heart to others in the same situation... when we just get up and do it all again and again... that is worship. We want to live it, not just survive it.
We are there right now. A major time of transition. No idea how it will go. We have a pretty good idea of how to prepare, and that consists of making sure the picture schedule has been in play, he's used to getting up at the hour he needs to go to school, we've worked on sight words, counting, sorting, waiting, sharing, asking for what we want, going to the bathroom without following a timer, everything we can think of, and now we have to stay the course, and trust. There are moments when I think he's gonna blow the top off of all the changes, and there are moments I think we've lost our minds. One minute he's counting, reading out loud, and hugging his brother and the next minute, he's screaming, hitting himself, and shoving his sister off the couch. Just when we think something's gonna go one way it goes flyin' the other.
So how has Autism challenged our family? How has it changed us?
I hate to admit it, but when all's said and done, we're closer to each other and closer to God. We've been forced to sort through the chaff, cut through the fluff, and get to the heart of it. All of it. So as much as I hate that anyone deals with any of the ASD spectrum, and as much as I want to see all the problems of all these families go away, at the end of the day I have to say that in the same way boot camp makes a soldier, the autism battle makes we warrior mamas and daddies and brothers and sisters of autism tougher, leaner, and better. A little more edgy? Yes. More stressed? Certainly. But less likely to assume. More likely to be truly thankful than we were before. In the end are we thankful for autism? NO. We are thankful for Ryan, we are thankful for what we have learned, for each other, and for the God who gives us every good thing.
How has autism challenged us, you ask?
It's challenged us to live.
Thanks be to God!!!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Travel Mercies
Time off from work and school, for us, means travel. It means family, catching up, reminiscing, and generally being together. It means hours in the van, water, ice cream, cold drinks, laughs, snapset pools, rickety lawn chairs, bubbles, living out of suitcases, and being a bit nomadic for the purpose of retaining our kids' and our relationships with family, especially mine. Since I'm from eastern Oklahoma and we live in central Texas, we can't just spend the weekend at my Mom's. Once we get here, we're here for a little while, usually.
Did I mention my mother is a very patient person?
My Mom's house... Granny's house, to the kids... is someplace we all love to be. It's not quiet, especially not when we're here. It's not huge. It's not fancy, although we've worked to restore it. There are four small dogs who live here, and they take their positions as the alarm system seriously. Not a leaf blows in the yard that we don't hear about! And since Mom lives on the corner across a small street from the schools in town, you can imagine how exciting it can be. Not that she intended to have four dogs... one is inherited from Nanny, and one is my sister's dog. They're good dogs, but you add our 40 pound Australian shepherd to the mix, and it's exciting. The house isn't large, but it isn't tiny. It is old, and there are always challenges with an old house, especially when you suddently add five people to the mix.
Take that and add the issue of figuring out where Grandad is going to live and how to deal with and even find out what his issues are, traveling for my sister's wedding (which was wonderful), and just he ins and outs of every day life with three adults, three small kids and five dogs, and it's very exciting.
There is something to be said for love. The love and desire that conquers these challenges, issues, and excitements. There is something to be said for the inner pull that brings us together. All I wanted as a child was to be with my mother's family. Not because they're perfect. Not because everything is easy, or because of anything other than the fact that I love them. You know my mother is important to me, to say the least. My great-aunts are right up there with them. Technically Nanny's half-sisters, they're the first people I remember (other than Mother and Nanny) who I remember going out of their way to make me feel special. They're funny, sweet, caring, and loving. They love to look at old pictures and share their memories with me. They are treasures, Gladys Mae and Dixie. And now that Nanny's gone, they're ever so much more important.
To this point, I'm not certain, but I think our family has never dealt with a person in our midst with special needs. Especially not a hidden special need. We've had friends with issues, friends of friends with issues, but never one of our own afflicted, unless you count Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia. So take this family who thrives around a kitchen table with drinks, yummy food, old stories and laughter, and add someone with a social disorder.
Makes you feel every laugh, hear every word, and savor every moment with a gratitude I cannot explain.
I like to think our family is a true American family. Bring us your tired, your weary, your worn... we'll feed you and make you laugh. The funny thing is, I had no idea I was going to be more on the receiving end of that mercy and grace than I ever realized.
This weekend was my sister's wedding in Eufaula. I'm so proud of her. She was the most beautiful bride I could have imagined. She married a sweet, wonderful young man who has a great name (his name is Eric... or "too") and she had a beautiful wedding. Our Richie was the ring bearer. He was so stinkin' cute in his little tuxedo that matched Bree's Eric! But he would not stand still. No amount of "pomatoes" made him stand still. He wandered up to Bree and Eric at one point, wandered around the stage and into the choir loft. My daughter, during the procession, wandered up and started helping the pianist, who was most thankfully my dear mother in law! Ryan, ironically enough, did swimmingly. I was so proud of him. But this time, I was more proud of my sister. Through all my kids' antics, she smiled and laughed. She was happy and pleased as punch just to have them there. Not a bridezilla bone in her body. That's our girl!
What happened before the wedding, while I was at the church trying to help with last-minute details, I didn't find out until later. Eric, Mother, my great-aunts, Mae and Ryan were back at the hotel, trying to get dressed and ready for the wedding. Apparently, Ryan gave them a run for their money. Ryan loves doors. If you don't stay on top of him, those doors will be banged as he flaps and hums excitedly, stimming with all he's worth. Someone literally turned their back for a second and Ryan flung open a tall, mirrored closet door. Ryan survived, the door did not.
There was no anger, no backlash from my Mom or great-aunts. They simply called the front desk, had someone clean up the mess, and while they did tell me what happened, it wasn't in a "you really ought to teach that kid some manners" kind of way. I must add, the Best Western Eufaula Inn was ADORABLE about the whole ordeal. Later, when the kids began eating their promised Happy Meals from that place with the crazy clown, Ryan didn't have ranch. I asked, they didn't give it to us. We were in Mom, G'mae and Dixie's room for this meltdown. Eric scrambled for ranch or catsup, I dealt with the meltdown. They didn't ask us to leave, or ask why we "didn't just do" so and so to help him. They didn't understand. They didn't know what to do or say. But they did let us stay, treat us like they always have, and encourage us to keep going and know that they think we do a great job.
Yesterday, when Mom and I took Mae and Ryan to get groceries, I wanted to stop at a specialty type of store (the Chicken Store... it's pretty cool) that only has frozen meat, mostly chicken, to fill out some of the holes in our menu. Picture a room with a tile floor, smaller than a convenience store, with nothing but open-top refrigerated coolers lining the room. Ryan wanted to run around the whole time. Run, stimmy-yell, beat his chest... oh my word, the whole nine yards. Then, miracle of miracles, he ASKED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM! I was so excited. But I still had to get what I needed, and he was still melting down. So with the help of Mother, I managed to get a couple of things and shuttle him, screaming, to the van. We tried another place next door, but both stores had posted a "no public restroom" policy, and being myself, I didn't want to buck that. We made it to a convenience store where Ryan finally got to potty. One neat thing about that experience? Ryan was quiet enough as I was checking out that I was able to explain a little of his behavior and why to the lady behind the counter, who was a young mother herself. She was visibly uncomfortable, but smiled at Ryan and told him she liked his glasses. She was sweet and calm, even thanking us for coming in. And Mother? Encouraging to me, never suggesting that I try this and that, or that it would have gone much differently if I had just done it this way or that.
These are not earth-shattering experiences... or are they? These seemingly simple acts of grace and mercy are, whether we know it or not, Christlike in themselves. It's in these times, when faced with and emotional situation, when we are forced to choose in a split second between a reaction or a thoughful response. Not everyone can always avoid reacting to the panic/anger/fear based feeling that assaults our hearts in these times. But we can choose to make it our self-tradition to respond in love and thoughtful Christlikeness rather than reacting out of annoyance or unfairness. The chain-reactions that occur in these situations determine our legacy. They determine for what we will mostly be remembered. The lady behind the counter may or may not have known that I was doing my best to respond to Ryan, not react. My Mother, when I was a child, may or may not have realized I was watching as she extended grace and mercy to others, but I was. She was, when her mother did, and her mother was, when her mother did. And I'm still paying attention when she extends grace and mercy to my autism-meltdown roasted, weary self. I am so grateful to belong to a family with a heritage such as this... a legacy of acceptance and love. Of caring and overlooking. Of sticking together, of toughing it out and figuring out a way to laugh through the pain. And that Christlike love of each other is a legacy I hope I will keep. Autism, Alzheimer's cancer, death, times of less and times of frustration and unfairness and through our differences... we're still family, we're still friends. More than any thing my family could give, this is what I treasure, and all the more as I age, not just as a mother, wife, mother of a special needs child, but as a sinner saved by grace. I am imperfect, our children are messy and noisy, but Eric's family and mine still love having us around. And I am so grateful.
Legacy- Nicole Nordeman
I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who
blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
Did I mention my mother is a very patient person?
My Mom's house... Granny's house, to the kids... is someplace we all love to be. It's not quiet, especially not when we're here. It's not huge. It's not fancy, although we've worked to restore it. There are four small dogs who live here, and they take their positions as the alarm system seriously. Not a leaf blows in the yard that we don't hear about! And since Mom lives on the corner across a small street from the schools in town, you can imagine how exciting it can be. Not that she intended to have four dogs... one is inherited from Nanny, and one is my sister's dog. They're good dogs, but you add our 40 pound Australian shepherd to the mix, and it's exciting. The house isn't large, but it isn't tiny. It is old, and there are always challenges with an old house, especially when you suddently add five people to the mix.
Take that and add the issue of figuring out where Grandad is going to live and how to deal with and even find out what his issues are, traveling for my sister's wedding (which was wonderful), and just he ins and outs of every day life with three adults, three small kids and five dogs, and it's very exciting.
There is something to be said for love. The love and desire that conquers these challenges, issues, and excitements. There is something to be said for the inner pull that brings us together. All I wanted as a child was to be with my mother's family. Not because they're perfect. Not because everything is easy, or because of anything other than the fact that I love them. You know my mother is important to me, to say the least. My great-aunts are right up there with them. Technically Nanny's half-sisters, they're the first people I remember (other than Mother and Nanny) who I remember going out of their way to make me feel special. They're funny, sweet, caring, and loving. They love to look at old pictures and share their memories with me. They are treasures, Gladys Mae and Dixie. And now that Nanny's gone, they're ever so much more important.
To this point, I'm not certain, but I think our family has never dealt with a person in our midst with special needs. Especially not a hidden special need. We've had friends with issues, friends of friends with issues, but never one of our own afflicted, unless you count Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia. So take this family who thrives around a kitchen table with drinks, yummy food, old stories and laughter, and add someone with a social disorder.
Makes you feel every laugh, hear every word, and savor every moment with a gratitude I cannot explain.
I like to think our family is a true American family. Bring us your tired, your weary, your worn... we'll feed you and make you laugh. The funny thing is, I had no idea I was going to be more on the receiving end of that mercy and grace than I ever realized.
This weekend was my sister's wedding in Eufaula. I'm so proud of her. She was the most beautiful bride I could have imagined. She married a sweet, wonderful young man who has a great name (his name is Eric... or "too") and she had a beautiful wedding. Our Richie was the ring bearer. He was so stinkin' cute in his little tuxedo that matched Bree's Eric! But he would not stand still. No amount of "pomatoes" made him stand still. He wandered up to Bree and Eric at one point, wandered around the stage and into the choir loft. My daughter, during the procession, wandered up and started helping the pianist, who was most thankfully my dear mother in law! Ryan, ironically enough, did swimmingly. I was so proud of him. But this time, I was more proud of my sister. Through all my kids' antics, she smiled and laughed. She was happy and pleased as punch just to have them there. Not a bridezilla bone in her body. That's our girl!
What happened before the wedding, while I was at the church trying to help with last-minute details, I didn't find out until later. Eric, Mother, my great-aunts, Mae and Ryan were back at the hotel, trying to get dressed and ready for the wedding. Apparently, Ryan gave them a run for their money. Ryan loves doors. If you don't stay on top of him, those doors will be banged as he flaps and hums excitedly, stimming with all he's worth. Someone literally turned their back for a second and Ryan flung open a tall, mirrored closet door. Ryan survived, the door did not.
There was no anger, no backlash from my Mom or great-aunts. They simply called the front desk, had someone clean up the mess, and while they did tell me what happened, it wasn't in a "you really ought to teach that kid some manners" kind of way. I must add, the Best Western Eufaula Inn was ADORABLE about the whole ordeal. Later, when the kids began eating their promised Happy Meals from that place with the crazy clown, Ryan didn't have ranch. I asked, they didn't give it to us. We were in Mom, G'mae and Dixie's room for this meltdown. Eric scrambled for ranch or catsup, I dealt with the meltdown. They didn't ask us to leave, or ask why we "didn't just do" so and so to help him. They didn't understand. They didn't know what to do or say. But they did let us stay, treat us like they always have, and encourage us to keep going and know that they think we do a great job.
Yesterday, when Mom and I took Mae and Ryan to get groceries, I wanted to stop at a specialty type of store (the Chicken Store... it's pretty cool) that only has frozen meat, mostly chicken, to fill out some of the holes in our menu. Picture a room with a tile floor, smaller than a convenience store, with nothing but open-top refrigerated coolers lining the room. Ryan wanted to run around the whole time. Run, stimmy-yell, beat his chest... oh my word, the whole nine yards. Then, miracle of miracles, he ASKED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM! I was so excited. But I still had to get what I needed, and he was still melting down. So with the help of Mother, I managed to get a couple of things and shuttle him, screaming, to the van. We tried another place next door, but both stores had posted a "no public restroom" policy, and being myself, I didn't want to buck that. We made it to a convenience store where Ryan finally got to potty. One neat thing about that experience? Ryan was quiet enough as I was checking out that I was able to explain a little of his behavior and why to the lady behind the counter, who was a young mother herself. She was visibly uncomfortable, but smiled at Ryan and told him she liked his glasses. She was sweet and calm, even thanking us for coming in. And Mother? Encouraging to me, never suggesting that I try this and that, or that it would have gone much differently if I had just done it this way or that.
These are not earth-shattering experiences... or are they? These seemingly simple acts of grace and mercy are, whether we know it or not, Christlike in themselves. It's in these times, when faced with and emotional situation, when we are forced to choose in a split second between a reaction or a thoughful response. Not everyone can always avoid reacting to the panic/anger/fear based feeling that assaults our hearts in these times. But we can choose to make it our self-tradition to respond in love and thoughtful Christlikeness rather than reacting out of annoyance or unfairness. The chain-reactions that occur in these situations determine our legacy. They determine for what we will mostly be remembered. The lady behind the counter may or may not have known that I was doing my best to respond to Ryan, not react. My Mother, when I was a child, may or may not have realized I was watching as she extended grace and mercy to others, but I was. She was, when her mother did, and her mother was, when her mother did. And I'm still paying attention when she extends grace and mercy to my autism-meltdown roasted, weary self. I am so grateful to belong to a family with a heritage such as this... a legacy of acceptance and love. Of caring and overlooking. Of sticking together, of toughing it out and figuring out a way to laugh through the pain. And that Christlike love of each other is a legacy I hope I will keep. Autism, Alzheimer's cancer, death, times of less and times of frustration and unfairness and through our differences... we're still family, we're still friends. More than any thing my family could give, this is what I treasure, and all the more as I age, not just as a mother, wife, mother of a special needs child, but as a sinner saved by grace. I am imperfect, our children are messy and noisy, but Eric's family and mine still love having us around. And I am so grateful.
Legacy- Nicole Nordeman
I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who
blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
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