Do you believe in it?
I used to snicker at the idea. But I still remember the first time I saw the man I would end up marrying 5 years ago today. I saw his shoes first. Brown loafers coming down a steep set of stairs. I didn't know what to expect of this man named Nik with the funny accent who had called me in to interview for a position for which I was clearly over-qualified. He later told me that my cover letter sold him: perfect spelling, perfect grammar, perfect punctuation and perfect formatting. To someone who deals with print media those things mean a lot. I remember sitting through the interview feeling embarrassed because I was so flustered by my reaction to him that I couldn't put two words together. He hired me and even though I was his assistant we didn't spend a lot of time together, which I was grateful for seeing as how I couldn't breathe when he walked into the room. I was excrutiatingly, wonderfully, profoundly uncomfortable around him. In a good way.
Six weeks after I started to work for him I found another-- better-- job, and left. A few weeks later I worked up the nerve to call him and ask what he was doing for New Year's Eve. He didn't answer the phone that night and I couldn't quite work up the courage to call again. But as the fates would have it, I met him again at a party a few weeks later and we have been together ever since. After our first date I told a friend that this was the man I was going to marry.
I think about that time a lot these days. How unlikely is it that Love At First Sight would end up as a marriage that really works? Those days when the fresh rush of love offered no hint of the times that were to come seem like just yesterday. When we were preparing to be married, a friend who is a Catholic priest, sent us a "marriage test." We each took the test separately and without comparing answers mailed them off in an envelope to be scored. A few weeks later we received a summary of the results along with a note from our friend that read: "You two will either have a marriage made in heaven or you weren't answering honestly!"
When we took the test I remember thinking that I had no idea how Nik felt about some of the questions. I don't remember if the test asked "What if your child is born with a disability?" or "Would you give up your financial security so that your child might feel more emotionally secure?" or "What if 'Date Nights' turn into 'I need a break' nights?" If it did I probably didn't give them much thought. Those things happened to other people, after all.
But I chose wisely. Or I was in the right place at the right time. Or there was someone watching out for me. Or I was just plain lucky.
Five years ago tonight on that little dance floor at the Inn where we were surrounded by our closest friends I probably couldn't have imagined the ins and outs of our life today. After Oliver was diagnosed with Autism last year I remember reading some scary statistics about how many marriages don't make it. But now I know the answers to all those questions that wouldn't even have occurred to me pre-Oliver and I know for sure how we will weather other challenges that come our way.
I understand now why couples choose to trade vows more than once in their marriage. Nik and I are not the same as we once were -- as a couple or as individuals. We have probably learned more about each other in the last year than some couples learn in a lifetime. And even so, I would do it all over again.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Normal
I've mentioned our lead therapist, Mary, a couple of times on this blog. And I believe that I also told you that she was much-loved. And she is, mostly. But let me tell you how weird it is when something like this happens to your child and you find someone who seems to know what they are doing and you invite her into your home, into the very heart of your family, and it sometimes feels like she has the secret key to your child. She has twenty years of experience working with kids like Oliver. And now she has a year of experience working with Oliver. And if she wasn't confident we wouldn't love her as much as we do. But sometimes it really stinks because she says things -- she believes things -- that I just don't like very much. And I'm not sure why I don't like them. Is it just because I'm not ready to see what she sees yet? Or is it because in my heart I don't believe that just because she is so wise and wonderful that she is necessarily right? I don't know but it really stinks -- like a big ole yukky skunk, as Oliver used to be fond of saying -- back before he stopped talking and I stupidly didn't know enough to savor every single thing he said.
So yesterday Mary and I met for coffee to go over the ABBLS assessment to see where things stand. Anyway, I had also asked to see the latest data for his visual schedule, which is currently part of his IEP. To consider it mastered he has to do it independantly 90% of the time and I thought we were probably getting close. And we are, he does almost every step independently except for when an activity is "all done." That he only does independantly 58% of the time. So I asked Mary if you wouldn't maybe see the same thing in any 4 year-old who was engaged in an activity. Wouldn't it also be hard to get any other four year old to stop an activity once in awhile? At that Mary looked at me and I could tell she was considering how to answer. Then she looked me directly in the eye and said:
"Christine, Oliver doesn't do anything like a normal four year old. Any other kid would have figured out the system after two weeks. But let me tell you, for as low-functioning as Oliver was when we first started working with him, he is doing really well. I never would have expected these kinds of results after only one year."
That's pretty much what she said -- word for word. I know because those words have been ringing in my ears and bouncing around my head since she said them.
And I don't know: is she right? Probably. Thank goodness that I don't get to spend a whole lot of time with other four year olds. But I'll tell you, it took a little while for the weight of what she said to fully hit me. He doesn't do anything like a normal four year old? Can that be true? And low-functioning? What the hell does that mean? Do you measure functioning as degrees from normal?
I honestly don't know what normal is anymore. I look at Oliver and I see a little boy who loves and laughs just like any other kid. So what exactly is normal, anyway? And if Oliver isn't normal, do I want him to be?
So yesterday Mary and I met for coffee to go over the ABBLS assessment to see where things stand. Anyway, I had also asked to see the latest data for his visual schedule, which is currently part of his IEP. To consider it mastered he has to do it independantly 90% of the time and I thought we were probably getting close. And we are, he does almost every step independently except for when an activity is "all done." That he only does independantly 58% of the time. So I asked Mary if you wouldn't maybe see the same thing in any 4 year-old who was engaged in an activity. Wouldn't it also be hard to get any other four year old to stop an activity once in awhile? At that Mary looked at me and I could tell she was considering how to answer. Then she looked me directly in the eye and said:
"Christine, Oliver doesn't do anything like a normal four year old. Any other kid would have figured out the system after two weeks. But let me tell you, for as low-functioning as Oliver was when we first started working with him, he is doing really well. I never would have expected these kinds of results after only one year."
That's pretty much what she said -- word for word. I know because those words have been ringing in my ears and bouncing around my head since she said them.
And I don't know: is she right? Probably. Thank goodness that I don't get to spend a whole lot of time with other four year olds. But I'll tell you, it took a little while for the weight of what she said to fully hit me. He doesn't do anything like a normal four year old? Can that be true? And low-functioning? What the hell does that mean? Do you measure functioning as degrees from normal?
I honestly don't know what normal is anymore. I look at Oliver and I see a little boy who loves and laughs just like any other kid. So what exactly is normal, anyway? And if Oliver isn't normal, do I want him to be?
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Random Update
I haven't been very cohesive in my thinking lately and I think it shows in my writing -- and lack of it -- in this blog. Rather than fight it I'm just going to go with the flow here and write a very random list of updates and thoughts. Here goes:
-- Add Baby Beluga; The Wheels on the Bus; Row, Row, Row, Your Boat, and The Good Morning Song (by yours truly) to Oliver's repetoire of songs. The Wheels on the Bus is something I haven't sung to him for probably two years and tonight I started singing and then stopped mid-way through the first line and he just jumped in and finished it off for me. He has also been sitting down at his piano more frequently and tapping individual keys rather than just banging it like he used to. Makes me wonder if I should be doing more with music.
-- Sam is SO incredibly verbal and I think it is because of Oliver's verbal behavior program. He is only 18 months old but is already speaking in complete sentences. Short but complete. Of course Oliver was too, at that age, but I don't remember him being so darn persistent in his desire to communicate, which is something entirely different.
-- The playgroup that I organized met for the first time on Saturday and only one other Mom showed up with her children. I wasn't disappointed with the low turnout though because I had only finalized the details two days prior. I think others will try to make it in the future. Our kids played for an hour and we chatted, then we left and I called her up and we talked for another thirty minutes. It kind of reminded me of when I lived on an island in the Philippines where there was only one other ex-pat couple. I craved talking to them and during the times when we could get together none of us could get a full sentence out without someone else interrupting because one person's thoughts could take you places, could send your mind off reeling in another direction, in a way that can only happen when two people speak the same language and know the subject from the inside out. That's the way I felt on Saturday.
-- If I had a TV I think I would have -- at one time -- really liked to watch This Old House. Because I like to do things with my hands. I like to fix things. I like to say: "Wow! Look what I just did." But now I live in This Old House and after four years and two children what I mostly do is sit around and say: "Wow! Look at all the stuff I should be doing!" I love this house. It is a 102 year old Victorian with incredible light. But it needs work.
-- The fish tank that I bought for Oliver's birthday was probably a mistake. I'm the only one who really ever watches the fish and every chance Oliver gets he climbs up on the table where it sits, takes off the top, reaches all the way to the bottom and creates a mini tsunami by swooshing around all the pebbles at the bottom. The fish, however, are miraculously still alive.
-- Add Baby Beluga; The Wheels on the Bus; Row, Row, Row, Your Boat, and The Good Morning Song (by yours truly) to Oliver's repetoire of songs. The Wheels on the Bus is something I haven't sung to him for probably two years and tonight I started singing and then stopped mid-way through the first line and he just jumped in and finished it off for me. He has also been sitting down at his piano more frequently and tapping individual keys rather than just banging it like he used to. Makes me wonder if I should be doing more with music.
-- Sam is SO incredibly verbal and I think it is because of Oliver's verbal behavior program. He is only 18 months old but is already speaking in complete sentences. Short but complete. Of course Oliver was too, at that age, but I don't remember him being so darn persistent in his desire to communicate, which is something entirely different.
-- The playgroup that I organized met for the first time on Saturday and only one other Mom showed up with her children. I wasn't disappointed with the low turnout though because I had only finalized the details two days prior. I think others will try to make it in the future. Our kids played for an hour and we chatted, then we left and I called her up and we talked for another thirty minutes. It kind of reminded me of when I lived on an island in the Philippines where there was only one other ex-pat couple. I craved talking to them and during the times when we could get together none of us could get a full sentence out without someone else interrupting because one person's thoughts could take you places, could send your mind off reeling in another direction, in a way that can only happen when two people speak the same language and know the subject from the inside out. That's the way I felt on Saturday.
-- If I had a TV I think I would have -- at one time -- really liked to watch This Old House. Because I like to do things with my hands. I like to fix things. I like to say: "Wow! Look what I just did." But now I live in This Old House and after four years and two children what I mostly do is sit around and say: "Wow! Look at all the stuff I should be doing!" I love this house. It is a 102 year old Victorian with incredible light. But it needs work.
-- The fish tank that I bought for Oliver's birthday was probably a mistake. I'm the only one who really ever watches the fish and every chance Oliver gets he climbs up on the table where it sits, takes off the top, reaches all the way to the bottom and creates a mini tsunami by swooshing around all the pebbles at the bottom. The fish, however, are miraculously still alive.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Hitting The High Notes
Today started out on a high note and just kept getting better. Oliver woke with a cheery smile and a "Good Morning" for each of us. He even joined in the good morning song that I greet each of the children when they awake each day. Then it was business as usual, getting dressed, breakfast, teeth brushed and ready for the therapist that arrives each morning 8:30. The out of the ordinary thing this morning, though, is that I stayed home. Although I quit my full-time job in January, they were kind enough to ask me to stay on for whatever amount of time I could spare away from home. I still go to work four days a week but now I am home by 11:30; early enough to overlap for a half hour with the therapist and then orchestrate the rest of the days activities.
But today I took the morning off because we were having special visitors. Our school district has created a new Autism Program Coordinator position and the man who has taken the job came by to meet Nik and I and Oliver. I didn't quite know what to expect but was pleasantly surprised by his knowledge, his demeanor, and his attitudes towards working with the parents. There are 19 children in our district, in 6 different schools, plus 4 in home-based programs like Oliver. That gives him a case load of 23 children. And he plans to visit our home twice monthly to spend time with Oliver. He made it clear that he wants to establish clear lines of communication with the parents but that he also wants to know and understand Oliver so that he can be of more assistance as we look to meet all of his needs. I've written before about how pleased I am with the efforts of our school district and I know that many parents struggle to get what we have been given so I feel very fortunate. I also hope he isn't too good to be true!
As we were sitting in the living room talking to this gentleman, who was accompanied by Mary, our much-loved lead therapist, Oliver came into the room during a break from one of his activities. I took the chance to ask him to sing for Mary, who had not heard his rendition of You Are My Sunshine. He sang beautifully and I tell you there are not many people who can keep a dry eye when listening to Oliver sing that song. And I love how he finishes with a flourish, holding the notes here and there for an extra beat or two. And when he finishes he basks, he revels, in the applause. I have never, ever, seen him so pleased with himself. Luke, the new coordinator was genuinely impressed. Only after Oliver left did he tell me that he had earlier expressed concern to Mary that we had abandoned our PECS program for the Verbal Behavior program. After seeing and hearing Oliver he now agrees wholeheartedly with the change.
As the day wore on I did some reveling myself. Oliver and Sam have gradually, slowly, tentatively, started to establish a playful relationship with each other. Most of this is due to Sam's persistence and the very physical play skills he has learned from RT. One of RT's favorite games to play with Sam is "Sumo." RT will walk into a room and say: "Hey Sam! Sumo!" and then Sam will tackle him sumo-wrestling style. This same thing has become very effective with Oliver and it is fun to watch as he lays down on the floor or bed and becomes increasingly excited as Sam repeatedly jumps on top of him. Sometimes Sam will hesitate for a few seconds and Oliver will breathlessly call out: "Jump, Jump, Jump!" or "Go!!" Then, once sam lands on Oliver the two roll around in a posture that is half wrestling, half hugging. It makes me deliriously happy.
Then at 4:00 we rendezvoused with our neighbor and her daughter on the porch of another neighbor to sing Happy Birthday to one of the happiest faces on the street. The woman who lives two doors down is always eager to invite the kids onto her porch to sit on the swing or to have some sweet that she has just concocted. She turned 80 yesterday and delighted in the special kiddie-style serenade. Oliver didn't join in the group song but when the candles were lit it seemed as though everything came together for him and he launched into a solo version of the song. I have never told her that Oliver has autism but I gather she has figured it out because she once told Nik about a program that she watched having to do with the immunization theory. Anyway, as we were sitting there shooting the breeze Oliver kind of curled up beside her on the swing and put his head on her lap. She then turned to me and said, "I really think that he is doing much better." I had just been thinking the same thing myself and wondered if my gratitude to her for saying it out loud showed on my face.
But all these high notes were juxtaposed against a couple of more somber notes. Oliver hasn't really had any tantrums of note since last November. That is, until last week. Twice in the past week Oliver has had monumental meltdowns of the kind that I would sooner forget. Both of them occurred in the car while I was driving. Oliver can now get out of his seatbelt and these tantrums had him lunging across the backseat aggressively towards his brother. What can you do when you are halfway between home and your destination in this situation? I drove for a block then pulled over, put a hysterical Oliver back into his seat and drove another block then repeated the whole thing three more times. It was awful. And scary. And I'm now busy brainstorming ways to avoid the same scene next week when we make this particular trip again. One thing about parenting: it requires resourcefulness and creativity unlike any other job I've ever had.
But today I took the morning off because we were having special visitors. Our school district has created a new Autism Program Coordinator position and the man who has taken the job came by to meet Nik and I and Oliver. I didn't quite know what to expect but was pleasantly surprised by his knowledge, his demeanor, and his attitudes towards working with the parents. There are 19 children in our district, in 6 different schools, plus 4 in home-based programs like Oliver. That gives him a case load of 23 children. And he plans to visit our home twice monthly to spend time with Oliver. He made it clear that he wants to establish clear lines of communication with the parents but that he also wants to know and understand Oliver so that he can be of more assistance as we look to meet all of his needs. I've written before about how pleased I am with the efforts of our school district and I know that many parents struggle to get what we have been given so I feel very fortunate. I also hope he isn't too good to be true!
As we were sitting in the living room talking to this gentleman, who was accompanied by Mary, our much-loved lead therapist, Oliver came into the room during a break from one of his activities. I took the chance to ask him to sing for Mary, who had not heard his rendition of You Are My Sunshine. He sang beautifully and I tell you there are not many people who can keep a dry eye when listening to Oliver sing that song. And I love how he finishes with a flourish, holding the notes here and there for an extra beat or two. And when he finishes he basks, he revels, in the applause. I have never, ever, seen him so pleased with himself. Luke, the new coordinator was genuinely impressed. Only after Oliver left did he tell me that he had earlier expressed concern to Mary that we had abandoned our PECS program for the Verbal Behavior program. After seeing and hearing Oliver he now agrees wholeheartedly with the change.
As the day wore on I did some reveling myself. Oliver and Sam have gradually, slowly, tentatively, started to establish a playful relationship with each other. Most of this is due to Sam's persistence and the very physical play skills he has learned from RT. One of RT's favorite games to play with Sam is "Sumo." RT will walk into a room and say: "Hey Sam! Sumo!" and then Sam will tackle him sumo-wrestling style. This same thing has become very effective with Oliver and it is fun to watch as he lays down on the floor or bed and becomes increasingly excited as Sam repeatedly jumps on top of him. Sometimes Sam will hesitate for a few seconds and Oliver will breathlessly call out: "Jump, Jump, Jump!" or "Go!!" Then, once sam lands on Oliver the two roll around in a posture that is half wrestling, half hugging. It makes me deliriously happy.
Then at 4:00 we rendezvoused with our neighbor and her daughter on the porch of another neighbor to sing Happy Birthday to one of the happiest faces on the street. The woman who lives two doors down is always eager to invite the kids onto her porch to sit on the swing or to have some sweet that she has just concocted. She turned 80 yesterday and delighted in the special kiddie-style serenade. Oliver didn't join in the group song but when the candles were lit it seemed as though everything came together for him and he launched into a solo version of the song. I have never told her that Oliver has autism but I gather she has figured it out because she once told Nik about a program that she watched having to do with the immunization theory. Anyway, as we were sitting there shooting the breeze Oliver kind of curled up beside her on the swing and put his head on her lap. She then turned to me and said, "I really think that he is doing much better." I had just been thinking the same thing myself and wondered if my gratitude to her for saying it out loud showed on my face.
But all these high notes were juxtaposed against a couple of more somber notes. Oliver hasn't really had any tantrums of note since last November. That is, until last week. Twice in the past week Oliver has had monumental meltdowns of the kind that I would sooner forget. Both of them occurred in the car while I was driving. Oliver can now get out of his seatbelt and these tantrums had him lunging across the backseat aggressively towards his brother. What can you do when you are halfway between home and your destination in this situation? I drove for a block then pulled over, put a hysterical Oliver back into his seat and drove another block then repeated the whole thing three more times. It was awful. And scary. And I'm now busy brainstorming ways to avoid the same scene next week when we make this particular trip again. One thing about parenting: it requires resourcefulness and creativity unlike any other job I've ever had.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
My Sunshine
Ever since Oliver was born I've called him my Sunshine Boy because that's what he is: bright and golden. And since he was a baby I've often sung to him the song You Are My Sunshine. Sometimes when he was an infant, one who took hours and hours to fall asleep, I'd amuse myself by singing it using a thousand different voices or I'd make up crazy verses to follow the first. So tonight, on the eve of my 37th birthday, I got the best present I've ever been given when Oliver sang the song right along with me.
Since we started his verbal behavior program I have made more of a habit of modeling language and of stopping mid-sentence, trying to encourage Oliver to fill in the blanks. And the thing is, I'm astounded by how much Oliver knows. I've never worried about Oliver's intellect, really, but I could never be quite sure how much he was absorbing. Oliver used to be able to name all of the shapes and the colors and his body parts. And then, gradually he stopped. So it was hard for me to know what he still knew and what, if anything, he was learning. I mean, I know for sure that he doesn't pick up things from the environment the way other kids do. And he seems to struggle with tasks that require him to do things -- like identify shapes for instance -- that he could once do easily.
So tonight, after he nearly flooded the bathroom durning bath time by spitting gallons of water over the edge and me not really caring because I had a beer in one hand and was tryng to pull all of the wallpaper off the walls before Nik came up the stairs and caught me, we both climbed into his bear bed for our nighttime routine. First, I opened our well-worn copy of The Three Bears. Reading to Oliver has become a challenge because he always wants to turn the pages quickly until he gets to that certain page that captures his imagination. But I insist on going through the motions of the book anyway. Tonight I did all of this the same but wouldn't you know it, Oliver started saying the words right along with me.
"Once upon a time"
"Goldilocks peeked in the window."
"She went inside."
"She ate it all up."
"It broke all to bits."
"It was too hard."
"The bears were hungry."
I started slowing down a bit as I realized what was going on and Oliver was less persistent in his efforts to get me to turn the page. And then, we were done and he had told the story right along with me. I closed the book and told him how proud I was of his talking and that he was my wonderful sunshine boy. Then I started singing to him and he just joined right in. We sang together for the very first time and my heart was bursting with pride.
When I think that Oliver wasn't talking 8 weeks ago I am simply awestruck.
Pluto might not be a planet anymore but the sun is shining even brighter and anything -- and everything -- seems possible tonight.
Since we started his verbal behavior program I have made more of a habit of modeling language and of stopping mid-sentence, trying to encourage Oliver to fill in the blanks. And the thing is, I'm astounded by how much Oliver knows. I've never worried about Oliver's intellect, really, but I could never be quite sure how much he was absorbing. Oliver used to be able to name all of the shapes and the colors and his body parts. And then, gradually he stopped. So it was hard for me to know what he still knew and what, if anything, he was learning. I mean, I know for sure that he doesn't pick up things from the environment the way other kids do. And he seems to struggle with tasks that require him to do things -- like identify shapes for instance -- that he could once do easily.
So tonight, after he nearly flooded the bathroom durning bath time by spitting gallons of water over the edge and me not really caring because I had a beer in one hand and was tryng to pull all of the wallpaper off the walls before Nik came up the stairs and caught me, we both climbed into his bear bed for our nighttime routine. First, I opened our well-worn copy of The Three Bears. Reading to Oliver has become a challenge because he always wants to turn the pages quickly until he gets to that certain page that captures his imagination. But I insist on going through the motions of the book anyway. Tonight I did all of this the same but wouldn't you know it, Oliver started saying the words right along with me.
"Once upon a time"
"Goldilocks peeked in the window."
"She went inside."
"She ate it all up."
"It broke all to bits."
"It was too hard."
"The bears were hungry."
I started slowing down a bit as I realized what was going on and Oliver was less persistent in his efforts to get me to turn the page. And then, we were done and he had told the story right along with me. I closed the book and told him how proud I was of his talking and that he was my wonderful sunshine boy. Then I started singing to him and he just joined right in. We sang together for the very first time and my heart was bursting with pride.
When I think that Oliver wasn't talking 8 weeks ago I am simply awestruck.
Pluto might not be a planet anymore but the sun is shining even brighter and anything -- and everything -- seems possible tonight.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Building a Community
Yesterday I had five phone conversations with mothers of children who have autism. All but one of them have a child between 3 and 4 who has been diagnosed over the course of the last year. Interestingly, all of us also have younger children. Only one of them has been at this longer than I have and she was the one who was there for me, the one who has walked in my shoes. It felt good to talk to them. To listen. To cry a little; laugh a little.
I went to the public library yesterday and asked if they had a space available where we could all meet for an hour once a week, together with our children. There is a room that is normally used for story hour that is full of toys that would be just perfect.
"My son has autism," I began, "and so regular story hours and play times don't really work for us." Even though I've been at this more than a year now I still find it hard to get the first part of the sentence out without feeling the sting of tears threatening. But the librarian I spoke with was very kind and thought it was a wonderful idea. It turns out that her husband also does some music therapy at a local school for the deaf and blind. She thought he might be convinced to put something together for our kids.
So I called each of the mothers and asked them if they would be willing to come and build a little community with me. I need the support, but I also need to give a little. They were enthusiastic and welcomed the idea. Now I am just waiting to hear back from the library.
And, so I don't let this post conclude without a little bit about Oliver: he really is a monkey!! The past 4 days have been incredible. If he had suction cups on his feet he would literally climb the walls. I've been summoned to other rooms of the house by loud crashes only to find Oliver at the highest point around. The tops of closets, on top of the fridge, on top of book cases, on the desks. ... I've caught him trying to climb the window frames by standing on the back of the couch and gripping the top of the moulding or by standing on the bottom ledge and holding onto the top of the window looking for a toe hold. ... We had to leave K-Mart because I couldn't keep him from climbing the shelves. And everytime I haul him down from somewhere he says: "I want to climb!!! I want to climb!!!" I am frankly at my wits end. It is a little bit funny but I do recognize the danger as well. I'm not so worried about him falling as I am about him knocking something heavy on top of either himself or Sammy. And wouldn't you know that Sam has to try everything that Oliver does so the next thing you know I'm going to have two monkeys at the top of the closet!!
I went to the public library yesterday and asked if they had a space available where we could all meet for an hour once a week, together with our children. There is a room that is normally used for story hour that is full of toys that would be just perfect.
"My son has autism," I began, "and so regular story hours and play times don't really work for us." Even though I've been at this more than a year now I still find it hard to get the first part of the sentence out without feeling the sting of tears threatening. But the librarian I spoke with was very kind and thought it was a wonderful idea. It turns out that her husband also does some music therapy at a local school for the deaf and blind. She thought he might be convinced to put something together for our kids.
So I called each of the mothers and asked them if they would be willing to come and build a little community with me. I need the support, but I also need to give a little. They were enthusiastic and welcomed the idea. Now I am just waiting to hear back from the library.
And, so I don't let this post conclude without a little bit about Oliver: he really is a monkey!! The past 4 days have been incredible. If he had suction cups on his feet he would literally climb the walls. I've been summoned to other rooms of the house by loud crashes only to find Oliver at the highest point around. The tops of closets, on top of the fridge, on top of book cases, on the desks. ... I've caught him trying to climb the window frames by standing on the back of the couch and gripping the top of the moulding or by standing on the bottom ledge and holding onto the top of the window looking for a toe hold. ... We had to leave K-Mart because I couldn't keep him from climbing the shelves. And everytime I haul him down from somewhere he says: "I want to climb!!! I want to climb!!!" I am frankly at my wits end. It is a little bit funny but I do recognize the danger as well. I'm not so worried about him falling as I am about him knocking something heavy on top of either himself or Sammy. And wouldn't you know that Sam has to try everything that Oliver does so the next thing you know I'm going to have two monkeys at the top of the closet!!
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