Who am I to argue?

"Ok boys, it's just about time."

I said this by way of preparing them that bath time was drawing to a close.

Sami ignored me.

Oliver said: "I. don't. want. to. get. out.   I. want. to. stay. in."

And just like that he won his first argument. 

In which I am thankful for beans and rice and many other things.

I don't know if I can come up with the right words to describe Thanksgiving, a day that was just all kinds of perfect from beginning to end. To begin with, it started after a full night of sleep -- so really, our nine month track record of sleep gives me more than a person has a right to be thankful for! Then, when the roasted turkey gave our house the smell of Thanksgiving, I packed up the bird and headed to our local community center for the meal that has become the center of our holiday.

We are very lucky to live in a smallish city where service to others is a core value to so many. The place where we share a meal at Thanksgiving time was started by a group of people who, once a week, cooked a meal for "anybody in the world." Three years ago, with a committed cast of supporters and volunteers, the group was able to buy a building, renovate it, and create a place where people in need can now eat three meals a day, every day of the week. On Thanksgiving the building is overflowing with friends, food and fun. And each year I cannot imagine a place where I would rather share a meal and give thanks.

This year, Sami asked if he could go with me and help prepare for the meal. I hesitated only because the place is thick with activity and I worried that he would be too much underfoot. But despite his small size, Sami knows how to get things done and together we set the table for 150 of our friends and then made the biggest vat of whipped cream you ever saw. And it made me very proud to see how determined Sami was to be of help.

Nik and Oliver joined us in time to eat, finding a space in the middle of a long, crowed table, in the middle of a very crowded room. Tradition dictates that each person present call out, in turn, one thing for which he or she is grateful. With about 180 people in the room, this takes some time -- but Oliver sat smiling through it all. Even during the moment of silent prayer (can you believe how long a minute is??), Oliver was, well, silent. But after the meal, when a whole group of kids and adults went outside to play soccer, Oliver made it clear that he was done, done, done. We left Nik and Sami to walk home after the game and snuggled up at home with a cup of hot chocolate.

Later, I made a giant pot of pumpkin-ginger-cranberry soup and we walked five blocks to a neighbor's house for our second communal turkey meal of the day. Oliver and I, not much for traditional T'giving fare, were extremely thankful to see that our neighbors from El Salvador had contributed a massive bowl of beans and rice with an amazing chili sauce! And then I was content to sit back and listen to the flow of Spanish-to-English conversation, trying to sense of it as I could.

The day ended perfectly when all the kids ran outside to jump on the trampoline and exhausted themselves!  And all of us went to sleep fat and happy!

So yes, I'm thankful. I'm thankful that we are part of this community. I'm thankful that my kids are growing up surrounded by people who see value in every human being. And, as in years past, I'm simply happy for each of us to have a spot at the table. 

Echoing Oliver

I wish you could hear Oliver talk. I wish you could hear the way he manages to get it all out, but slowly and only with me asking him and then repeating each and every word as he says it. It is laborious. A process every time.

"Oliver," I say as he hands me his plate with half a sandwich still remaining, "is there something you want to say?"

"I. don't. want. to. eat. that. I'm. finished."

Or, when he gets up half-way through the video game he is playing with his brother and I call him back: "What's going on little man?" and he says: "I. don't. want. to. play. anymore."

At dinner when he hungrily looks up from his nearly empty plate there is: "I. want. to. have. some. more. noodles." And later: "I'm. full."

He can say it. The words are there, but he waits to hear my words echo back to him. If I don't he loses steam and trails off into nothing.

I encourage and cajole. Anything to get him to turn his thoughts from silence into words.

Yesterday when we were out raking leaves and despite the cold Oliver took off his sweater. In the spirit of letting him decide for himself I didn't interfere. Then, a half-hour later he picked up the sweater from where it had landed on the back deck and handed it to me saying (without the need for me to repeat it back to him): "I'm cold. I want to put my sweater on." Just like that; full of the glory of pronouns.

He's still mostly quiet and, like almost everyone else in the house, lost in the wake of the verbal typhoon that is Sami. He is pointing now, to everything, with ease and without prompts. We play the pointing game every time we go to get Sami from school and the words are there. "I see a big truck." "I see the sky." "I see a house." I wish someone could tell me what his language would look like in a year, five years or ten. But for now it feels like we're getting somewhere.

For now I let it be enough.

Creating Meaning: A Life Beyond Reason

Having a child with a disability has required me to create new categories of meaning for my life. Before Oliver I understood the world, and my place in it, in ways that are -- quite frankly -- unrecognizable to me today. It is a process, this knitting together of new symbols, ideas, daily rituals and beliefs. It is a new becoming. And as Oliver grows, as we grow together, the shift in meaning becomes ever more profound. You know what I mean if you've sat in a similar chair learning how to knit. And if you follow this link you'll find yourself sitting with another knitter who describes very eloquently this process of shaping new meaning.

New little people

So many friends are having babies this Fall! Last night brought the news of a much anticipated new little person. I imagined my friend, a newly minted mom, snuggled down to sleep with her baby and I remembered all the wonder of holding my babies for the first time. I hope I never forget the world of promise I felt then.

Found footage: Sami Cam under the sea!

I was deleting some files from the flip cam last night and found a couple that were new to me. One in particular made me laugh to think that even with our unconventional approach to education, maybe Sami is learning something after all!

If you've got a couple of minutes, watch this amazing TED Talk about the wonders of oceanic life.



Or, if you don't have five minutes, you can watch Sami's summary:

Either way, you're amazed, right?

A bedtime story.

As the boys are ready to snuggle down into their giant shared bed, with me in the middle, I remind them:

"Don't forget to pick out a book for me to read."

Oliver and Sami both make their way over to the crammed bookshelf. Oliver looks for 2.3 seconds and chooses an old favorite. Sami takes longer, looking for a book about submarines that I don't remember.

The boys finally take their place on either side of me, I draw the comforter up high and tuck it in under all our chins, for the house is chilly with November, then I begin to read. After just three words Oliver begins to get up. I stop him and ask:

"Don't you want me to read the book?"

"Yes," he replies. But I know I haven't asked the right question because "Yes" doesn't tell me what is on his mind.

Then he offers: "I want to go downstairs."

"Why?" I ask.

"Why." He repeats back.

So I help by getting him started: "I want to go downstairs and get. ..." I lead, even though I know I'm not supposed to lead him in this way.

But he finishes my sentence with: "A ball." Only I can't be sure if that is what he said because Ls are hard and I scratch my head trying to think of what he could mean.

"What?"

Then he says: "Read the book." Ah, I think, he meant book, not ball. He was looking at a book about museums earlier and we left it by the couch.

"OK, sweetie. Go ahead and get the book but be quick. It's late."

And he is off and I hold my breath hoping that he doesn't get distracted once he is downstairs. Hoping that he remembers where the book is in the living room. Hoping that he comes right back upstairs so I don't have to call him. I hate calling him. I hear his feet on the steps. At eight he weighs eighty pounds and has never walked anywhere lightly. "Please," I pray silently to myself, "let him have the book." Let him have the book.

And then he rounds the corner into his room and I see he is holding a large blue ball. He carefully places it near the edge of his side of the bed and climbs back under the covers saying, "Read the book."

Okay, then.

This little light of mine

When you are a parent of a child with extra needs, or just a parent, when you homeschool, or just deal with the homework after school, it is pretty important to also think about where you fit into the equation. Lots of times I sit down at the end of a particularly sucky day and just shake my head and think: "What was going on with him today?" Then, usually a day or two later I feel my mood shifting and realize that I was the one who had been in a funk and that Oliver was, in many ways, responding and reacting to me. Of course he is! But sometimes in the thick of things it is hard to be so full of insight.

I bring this up because mid-October to February is a particularly hard time for me to parent through. I've never been a person who loved the winter months but only after I started my second career as a stay-at-home-work-at-home mom, did my seasonal mood issues become a real issue. It was intense and I just wasn't able to be the kind of mom I wanted to be. Last year I focused on maintaining my diet and exercise regimen but that offered only the slightest relief. This year I bought a light therapy box. And guess what? It is remarkable!

Each morning while waking I turn my head towards the little palm-sized box next to my bed. I wake up feeling rested and full of energy (that is, I don't want to hang myself at the thought of getting out of bed), I have my morning coffee and don't even think of another cup all day, I don't feel like I'm going to die without a nap by late afternoon. And, since I was never able to nap, there was also the binge-eating of high calorie foods: also, not a problem now (Well, mostly, I mean: Halloween didn't help!). 

Last year I thought about getting a light box. I even talked about it with my family doctor. But ultimately I didn't want to spend the money and figured I could tough it out. Again. This year, however, I found an inexpensive travel light and now I can't believe how I ever lived without it. If I had known how amazing it would be I would have gladly paid 5x the amount!

The thing is: we parents are mostly alike in that we'd do just about anything for our kids. We spend all kinds of money on therapies and therapeutic toys and special this and extra that -- you know: having a kid with extra needs is expensive and time-consuming. So I guess what I want to say is: YOU are the most important part of what your kid needs! Don't forget to make time for yourself. Figure out what you need and then find a way to make that happen. Even if you are the sort of person who is never able to make yourself a priority (this is you, right?) -- do it anyway. I promise you won't regret it. And your kids will thank you for it.

It all began with the bubble wrap

Remember awhile back when I posted this link to the bubble wrap website? Oliver had taken quite a liking to it and I predicted that soon he would have the mouse/cursor thing figured out. I had, from time to time, tried to get the boy to use the computer but learning how to use the mouse or track pad did not come easily to my boy who really struggles with eye-hand coordination. But I was right about the bubble wrap and learning this skill opened up a whole new world in terms of computer-based learning.

We own a couple of copies of Rosetta Stone language learning software -- I'm perpetually trying to learn German (and I'm actually making headway these days, danke!) so that one day I can actually converse with my mother-in-law. And RT studied Spanish throughout high school. If you aren't familiar with Rosetta Stone, it is marketed as the "Dynamic Immersion method." And now that I'm using the new, online learning system, I have to say that it is pretty remarkable. You never really have a grammar lesson but you are gradually introduced to more and more complex language through reading, writing, speaking and visuals. (And the pictures? They are goregous!) So, for a long time, I thought it would be cool to see how Oliver would do using the English learning software. But since he didn't have the cursor thing worked out it didn't make sense to try.

Last Friday we finally sat down to try. And do you know what? I was amazed at how Oliver breezed through the initial parts. Intuitively he knew what to do each time a response was required from him -- either speaking or matching a picture to a verbally given description. The verbs and the colors are easy. He does have trouble distinguishing between, for example, "woman" and "women", "he" and "she" but does usually get "they".

What is really cool about the program is that it gives me another little window into what Oliver understands and what he doesn't. Also, it was gratifying to see that he picked up the system right away -- no explaining necessary. Some of the content is hard for him but he LOVES sitting at the computer and going through the lessons. And every time he gets one right his face just completely lights up and he turns to me as if to say: "See, Mom? I get it! I know the answer!"

Kind of makes me realize for about the one thousandth time that usually it is all about how we ask the questions!

Since you asked: a post about Sami's school.

So, I've mentioned that Sami is going to a non-traditional, democratic school and it has been quite a learning experience for the both of us! Sami's cohort at the school is a group of seven children between the ages of five and ten. It is a very small school with three activity rooms, two bathrooms and a kitchen, plus a large-ish piece of property that includes a play area, a garden and a giant, wild meadow. The kids are pretty much involved in every part of the decision-making process at the school, which includes developing the school rules, determining what classes will be offered each year, and dispute resolution. This year the weekly classes include: cooking, gardening, science, art, reading, circus, gymnastics, video making, dance and the Native American stories. There is also a daily class on nonviolent communication and a daily meeting in which students, teachers and volunteers can discuss any issues and concerns.

I chose this program for a couple of reasons. I'm not wild about how "academic" kindergarten has become. It still seems to me that at five years old a child's primary learning should be done through play. And even though Sami is mature for his age, a full day of school, five days a week, at his age seemed too long. Oh, and did I mention that recess is only 20 minutes long in our district? In Virginia, Kindergarten is optional so I figured that I could keep him at home with me for another year. But since I also work from home, a program like this, where I could send him just two or three days a week, seemed to fit the bill.

What I had not planned on was how much time and thinking I would devote to re-examining my own thinking about the meaning of education and how I measure success for my kids. A big part of the philosophy at the school is a belief that kids are intrinsically motivated to learn when they follow their interests and that it is not the job of the adults to mold and shape the learning experience of the child. Guide and mentor, yes; Control and organize, no. Wow! Fantastic, I thought! Just what I was looking for! But then I found out that Sami was consistently turning down the chance to work on his reading in favor of other activities. You see, each day there is a schedule of classes that are offered but each child has the opportunity to attend or not. So I did what any control-freak mother would do: I nagged him. But even that didn't work -- and I didn't feel good about doing it -- so I did what I should have done all along: I dropped it all together.

Interestingly, Sami is learning to read even without formal instruction. When he comes home from school he often finds a quiet place to go and sit down with a book, then he'll come to me triumphantly sounding out a whole page of new words.

And on any given day at the school you'll see all sorts of planned and unplanned activities. One day last week the kids built an enormous spider web that spanned the entire playground. On another day they created a short play complete with costumes and a set. Yesterday, a gorgeous fall day, they spent a few hours making up games and creating an imaginary landscape in the tall weeds of the meadow. One observer skeptically asked me if this was a typical day. The answer was that there are no typical days. Grasping that has been, for me, revolutionary.

The thing about Sami is that he has always been so interested in learning about his environment. He wants to know what that bug is, what it eats and how. He wants to know what melts and why. He wants to figure things out, develop plans and make things work. When I think of how I will measure success for Sami I've realized that it has a lot to do with these qualities: if he can maintain this incredible enthusiasm for discovering all that the world has to offer, if he keeps his eyes open and full of wonder, then I will feel that his education has been a success. I'm still evaluating how this school fits in with all that. I like the freedom but I'm afraid of the freedom.

I plant to write more about this: how it has affected how I think about what I try to accomplish with Oliver and how I am beginning to see my role in helping my kids understand their place in the world. Overall, I just find it interesting that I'm having these kinds of conversations with myself. I never imagined how much this job of parenting would require me to examine and question so many assumptions. Is it like this for you?