Our daddy is a soldier, and he’s gone to a faraway place called Afghanistan.
He’s teaching people how to farm,
And helping them get clean water,
So they can take care of their sick babies..
We are proud of our daddy for doing soldier work.
We pray each day to Jesus that he will be safe from the mean people
And we count the days until he comes home.
Mommy does her best to take care of us, but we miss a lot of things about daddy.
Like we don't have perfect Saturday morning pancakes.
Or grilled pork chops.
Or homemade bread or biscuits.
(Frankly, daddy’s just a better cook all around).
Daddy is much stronger.
We can’t ride on mommy’s shoulders,
Or swing like monkeys from her arms,
Or hang upside down by our feet while she carries us around the room.
We have ALL kinds of questions
Like why the sky is blue
Or if a snail is actually a bug
Or how they make Cheetos.
Mommy just doesn’t know the answers because she’s not good at those kinds of things.
(But we know daddy will tell us when he gets home.)
We miss rubbing his furry arms
And his fuzzy hair, especially after its freshly cut.
And he’s a very good tickler. (Mommy, not so much.)
Daddy is really smart.
He knows how to make all kinds of things,
And he knows how to fix all kinds of things.
Too bad he’s not here because our refrigerator is broken.
(And he’d let us help him fix it.)
Daddy knows how to speak German
And Arabic
And Pashtu.
Ethan loves this. Abby could care less.
(Mommy can only speak English, but she is a better speller.)
We miss helping him shoot arrows in the backyard.
And throwing footballs in the tall bushes, then shaking the limbs to get them down.
He’s better at throwing a Frisbee as high as the trees
And he’s not afraid to climb on the roof if the frisbee happens to land on top.
We miss it when he prays at mealtime. And says "gesundheit" when we sneeze.
We miss the way he gives baths, and reads us books, and tucks us in at night.
We miss it when he accidentally falls asleep next to us, then snores so loud that mommy can hear him across the house.
We miss you daddy.
We love you!
Happy Father's Day!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
A good walk (almost) spoiled
Last night, Ethan’s grandpa (a.k.a. my dad) told Ethan over the phone that he would take him to play golf today…if it was not raining. Naturally, Ethan’s selective hearing somehow did not process that last part. So when he woke up to sprinkles, it did not matter. Grandpa had said he’d take him. Period.
“It’s ok. It won’t be raining this afternoon,” assured my little optimist.
When I spoke to my dad this morning, he informed that even if it wasn’t raining, they might not be able to play because Ethan wanted to ride in a cart and the golf course often would not allow carts after a rain. “Ugh.” I cringed, thinking, “Please, please, pleeeeeeeeez don’t do this to me.”
So, of course, I hung up the phone then tried to relay my dad’s message to Ethan, adding that if they couldn’t go today, they would go tomorrow. To a logical adult, this made sense. To an impatient 6-year-old with autism, I might as well have been relaying the message to him in Martian.
They were supposed to go play golf today. Grandpa said so last night. End of story.
Then came the mini meltdown, complete with a few little hits (his hits and kicks are usually minor these days compared to when he was a wee lad) and a lot of angry climbing on my lap and sulking and hitting the desk. So I pulled this one out: “Ethan, if you can’t behave, I’ll tell grandpa not to come at all.”
Like that really worked.
During the mini-meltdown, he kicked a portable CD player off the table and it crashed to the floor. Ethan found that ridiculously funny and started giggling, snapping him back to reality.
Suddenly – and it really was suddenly – a light broke forth and the sun peeked through the clouds. The rain had ended. A new day -- albeit it a hot and humid day --- had dawned.
Part of me was relieved; part of me feared that if dad backed out now, I’d never survive the day with no rain to blame.
At noon, I picked up the phone to the most wonderful question: “What time should I pick Ethan up this afternoon?”
Happy sigh.
I'm learning that with children, you don't tell them you'll do something unless you are able to carry through. I've had to back out of plans with Abby before, and although she takes it hard, she usually bounces back fairly quickly. For Ethan, however, it's a different story. Children with autism do not easily handle change in routine or changes in plans.
I will say, however, that my little man is growing up. He had a major disappointment yesterday when he learned that the Dollar Tree no longer carries Junior Caramels, his favorite candy (which I could only find at Dollar Tree). But after a few tears, he said he wanted to try one more Dollar Tree. If they didn't carry the candy, he'd "be ok" and choose something else. "I like a lot of kinds of candies." So he settled for peanut butter cups instead.
Fortunately, today worked out all around. He and grandpa had a wonderful time sharing their favorite pastime together to boot.
(Thanks dad!)
“It’s ok. It won’t be raining this afternoon,” assured my little optimist.
When I spoke to my dad this morning, he informed that even if it wasn’t raining, they might not be able to play because Ethan wanted to ride in a cart and the golf course often would not allow carts after a rain. “Ugh.” I cringed, thinking, “Please, please, pleeeeeeeeez don’t do this to me.”
So, of course, I hung up the phone then tried to relay my dad’s message to Ethan, adding that if they couldn’t go today, they would go tomorrow. To a logical adult, this made sense. To an impatient 6-year-old with autism, I might as well have been relaying the message to him in Martian.
They were supposed to go play golf today. Grandpa said so last night. End of story.
Then came the mini meltdown, complete with a few little hits (his hits and kicks are usually minor these days compared to when he was a wee lad) and a lot of angry climbing on my lap and sulking and hitting the desk. So I pulled this one out: “Ethan, if you can’t behave, I’ll tell grandpa not to come at all.”
Like that really worked.
During the mini-meltdown, he kicked a portable CD player off the table and it crashed to the floor. Ethan found that ridiculously funny and started giggling, snapping him back to reality.
Suddenly – and it really was suddenly – a light broke forth and the sun peeked through the clouds. The rain had ended. A new day -- albeit it a hot and humid day --- had dawned.
Part of me was relieved; part of me feared that if dad backed out now, I’d never survive the day with no rain to blame.
At noon, I picked up the phone to the most wonderful question: “What time should I pick Ethan up this afternoon?”
Happy sigh.
I'm learning that with children, you don't tell them you'll do something unless you are able to carry through. I've had to back out of plans with Abby before, and although she takes it hard, she usually bounces back fairly quickly. For Ethan, however, it's a different story. Children with autism do not easily handle change in routine or changes in plans.
I will say, however, that my little man is growing up. He had a major disappointment yesterday when he learned that the Dollar Tree no longer carries Junior Caramels, his favorite candy (which I could only find at Dollar Tree). But after a few tears, he said he wanted to try one more Dollar Tree. If they didn't carry the candy, he'd "be ok" and choose something else. "I like a lot of kinds of candies." So he settled for peanut butter cups instead.
Fortunately, today worked out all around. He and grandpa had a wonderful time sharing their favorite pastime together to boot.
(Thanks dad!)
Sunday, June 6, 2010
A looooooooong Day
I’m feeling pretty low tonight. It was just a long day, and I know it’s one of many long, long days to come over the next few weeks known as summer “vacation.”
I hear a lot of mommies talk about how much they’re looking forward to having their kids home with them for summer. I admit I’m not one of them. I find it exhausting, and I’m not sure why it’s so much harder for me than those other super moms.
Maybe it’s because mine have been home with me, for the most part, for seven years now. Maybe it’s because I’m here alone while Mike is in Afghanistan. And it’s his second year-long tour in two years. Maybe it’s because the only form of freedom I get is dependent on my own mommy’s help, and being 40 years old myself, it’s hard to not feel grown up.
Maybe it’s because my children have such different interests and personalities. Ethan is all things golf. Abby can’t stand golf. Abby is all things animals. Ethan is terrified of animals. Abby wants to go next door and swim. Ethan is afraid of the pool. Abby wants to go places; Ethan wants to stay home – unless it’s to go play golf, and Abby hates to go play golf.
The one thing they do have in common is that they constantly want their mommy. I only wish I got paid a nickel for each time they called for me during the day. I’d be a rich woman.
To boot, I’m supposed to somehow find the energy and joy of maintaining my household, i.e., cleaning, and I’m constantly under the microscope for failing to do so. Tonight, rather than go outside and watch Ethan and Abby play in the yard, I chose to stay inside and clean up. In the meantime, Ethan whapped Abby in the noggin with a golf club. The both ran home screaming and crying. I never figured out what happened – if it was an accident or on purpose because I cannot trust what Ethan tells me. So I tried a “typical” discipline approach and took his golf clubs away.
Only Ethan is not typical. He is autistic. So he hit me and then darted across the street in rebellion as I had to run shoeless after him then carry him home.
Yet to many close to me, none of this matters. What’s important is that the laundry and dishes are washed and put away. This is what determines whether I’m a good mommy. And this is why I feel like a failure.
I feel so alone right now. No one to call on. No one to help me.
No one but the Lord.
Fortunately, His love is enough to sustain me. His mercies are new every morning (and "morning" technically starts in about 20 minutes).
So I praise God that tomorrow is another day.
I hear a lot of mommies talk about how much they’re looking forward to having their kids home with them for summer. I admit I’m not one of them. I find it exhausting, and I’m not sure why it’s so much harder for me than those other super moms.
Maybe it’s because mine have been home with me, for the most part, for seven years now. Maybe it’s because I’m here alone while Mike is in Afghanistan. And it’s his second year-long tour in two years. Maybe it’s because the only form of freedom I get is dependent on my own mommy’s help, and being 40 years old myself, it’s hard to not feel grown up.
Maybe it’s because my children have such different interests and personalities. Ethan is all things golf. Abby can’t stand golf. Abby is all things animals. Ethan is terrified of animals. Abby wants to go next door and swim. Ethan is afraid of the pool. Abby wants to go places; Ethan wants to stay home – unless it’s to go play golf, and Abby hates to go play golf.
The one thing they do have in common is that they constantly want their mommy. I only wish I got paid a nickel for each time they called for me during the day. I’d be a rich woman.
To boot, I’m supposed to somehow find the energy and joy of maintaining my household, i.e., cleaning, and I’m constantly under the microscope for failing to do so. Tonight, rather than go outside and watch Ethan and Abby play in the yard, I chose to stay inside and clean up. In the meantime, Ethan whapped Abby in the noggin with a golf club. The both ran home screaming and crying. I never figured out what happened – if it was an accident or on purpose because I cannot trust what Ethan tells me. So I tried a “typical” discipline approach and took his golf clubs away.
Only Ethan is not typical. He is autistic. So he hit me and then darted across the street in rebellion as I had to run shoeless after him then carry him home.
Yet to many close to me, none of this matters. What’s important is that the laundry and dishes are washed and put away. This is what determines whether I’m a good mommy. And this is why I feel like a failure.
I feel so alone right now. No one to call on. No one to help me.
No one but the Lord.
Fortunately, His love is enough to sustain me. His mercies are new every morning (and "morning" technically starts in about 20 minutes).
So I praise God that tomorrow is another day.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
What Defines "Gifted?"
Last Friday morning I was supposed to meet with Ethan’s school to discuss possible placement in the gifted and talented (GT) program next year. Now, while every parent wants their child to be “gifted and talented,” I honestly am not messed up over the label. I just want him to excel.
Ethan is a smart, smart little boy. By 2o months, before he could speak, he knew his letters. I mean KNEW them. A TV commercial would come on with text and I’d say, “Ethan, do you see the letter Q?” He’d point to it. On a street sign, “Ethan, where’s the letter M?” He’d point to it.
His first real words came around 22 months – the numbers one to 10. I should have known I was in for a ride because he was so excited about those numbers. He would stay up for hours in the middle of the night counting from one to 10 (and I had to lay right there next to him listening.) Again, he KNEWthem, and he was adding more numbers to his vocabulary just as quick as his little language development allowed.
These things just came naturally to him. He taught himself to read by age 3. To add triple digit numbers together by age 4. This past year, it was the world map. He literally taught himself the countries of the world and their capitals. All with very little help on my part. His reading is well beyond that of his peers. (They’ve got him reading chapter books.) He can recognize numbers to infinity and beyond. His mind is just amazing.
OK, so back to my meeting. I made plans to have someone watch Abby so I could attend. When I arrived, the school administrative assistant said, “Oh. (Teacher’s Name) isn’t here today. Didn’t she call you?”
Then today, I got a note in Ethan’s folder saying the school decided to just go ahead and meet without me, and they decided to just observe him for the next year. Turns out his IQ test came out at 103, which is around the 57th percentile.
Flashback: When I was a child at this very same school, I was given what was probably the very same IQ test. Mine came back around average as well. I was not allowed to enter GT. A few years later, I was again tested, given a creativity test. They in turn told my parents that I had one of the most creative tests they had ever seen. Guess what? I qualified.
I'm not telling this to brag. I'm saying that the first test did not fit my skills or "giftedness." The second one did.
Again, I’m not as upset about the fact that he did not get in as I am the reason he did not get in. There is something wrong with a system that focuses on standardized testing and avoids common sense. (Not to mention the fact that they decided to exclude me from the meeting!) Autistic children often don’t do well on standardized tests. He was also given a creativity test. I don’t’ know what it consisted of, but I’m sure it was based off of “typical” children. Ethan may hate playing with dolls or playing cops and robbers, but you can’t tell me he’s not creative.
I thought, “Yeah, but did you ask him to design golf courses for you? Or create a new font? Or see letters and numbers in everyday objects?”
One final point. A friend told me that in her school district, they don’t like to test disabled children for GT because then they don’t qualify for special education. Since when does being disabled mean that you can’t be gifted or talented? I believe Beethoven would disagree. Or Helen Keller. Or Franklin Roosevelt. Or Temple Grandin. Or Albert Einstein, Leonardo Da Vinci, Steven Spielberg, or Bill Gates, all of whom were diagnosed with, or suspected of having autism.
So what’s the answer? I honestly don’t know. I don’t even know what to do about my own situation. I do know that this cookie-cutter system of one-size fits all is failing, especially in a nation where now one in every 110 children is diagnosed with autism.
I’d love to hear suggestions. And more than that, I’d love for us all to create solutions.
Ethan is a smart, smart little boy. By 2o months, before he could speak, he knew his letters. I mean KNEW them. A TV commercial would come on with text and I’d say, “Ethan, do you see the letter Q?” He’d point to it. On a street sign, “Ethan, where’s the letter M?” He’d point to it.
His first real words came around 22 months – the numbers one to 10. I should have known I was in for a ride because he was so excited about those numbers. He would stay up for hours in the middle of the night counting from one to 10 (and I had to lay right there next to him listening.) Again, he KNEWthem, and he was adding more numbers to his vocabulary just as quick as his little language development allowed.
These things just came naturally to him. He taught himself to read by age 3. To add triple digit numbers together by age 4. This past year, it was the world map. He literally taught himself the countries of the world and their capitals. All with very little help on my part. His reading is well beyond that of his peers. (They’ve got him reading chapter books.) He can recognize numbers to infinity and beyond. His mind is just amazing.
OK, so back to my meeting. I made plans to have someone watch Abby so I could attend. When I arrived, the school administrative assistant said, “Oh. (Teacher’s Name) isn’t here today. Didn’t she call you?”
Then today, I got a note in Ethan’s folder saying the school decided to just go ahead and meet without me, and they decided to just observe him for the next year. Turns out his IQ test came out at 103, which is around the 57th percentile.
Flashback: When I was a child at this very same school, I was given what was probably the very same IQ test. Mine came back around average as well. I was not allowed to enter GT. A few years later, I was again tested, given a creativity test. They in turn told my parents that I had one of the most creative tests they had ever seen. Guess what? I qualified.
I'm not telling this to brag. I'm saying that the first test did not fit my skills or "giftedness." The second one did.
Again, I’m not as upset about the fact that he did not get in as I am the reason he did not get in. There is something wrong with a system that focuses on standardized testing and avoids common sense. (Not to mention the fact that they decided to exclude me from the meeting!) Autistic children often don’t do well on standardized tests. He was also given a creativity test. I don’t’ know what it consisted of, but I’m sure it was based off of “typical” children. Ethan may hate playing with dolls or playing cops and robbers, but you can’t tell me he’s not creative.
I thought, “Yeah, but did you ask him to design golf courses for you? Or create a new font? Or see letters and numbers in everyday objects?”
One final point. A friend told me that in her school district, they don’t like to test disabled children for GT because then they don’t qualify for special education. Since when does being disabled mean that you can’t be gifted or talented? I believe Beethoven would disagree. Or Helen Keller. Or Franklin Roosevelt. Or Temple Grandin. Or Albert Einstein, Leonardo Da Vinci, Steven Spielberg, or Bill Gates, all of whom were diagnosed with, or suspected of having autism.
So what’s the answer? I honestly don’t know. I don’t even know what to do about my own situation. I do know that this cookie-cutter system of one-size fits all is failing, especially in a nation where now one in every 110 children is diagnosed with autism.
I’d love to hear suggestions. And more than that, I’d love for us all to create solutions.
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