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?

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.

Why I'm glad my friends are so insightful

Recently a friend and former teacher came to visit just as I was putting away the homeschool lesson for the day. Oliver and I had been working hard on one-to-one correspondence for a number of weeks and still, he wasn't getting it. I was having a hard time not being frustrated, mindful that I can't teach effectively once I start in with the pessimism: "He's NEVER going to get it!" But still, after trying everything I could think of to get the concept across I felt myself heading in that direction. Dangerous territory for the whole family! I said as much to my friend and her reply startled me with its clarity. In essence she said: "Then put it away. If you are trying so hard and he isn't getting it then he isn't ready. Do something else for awhile and come back to it. He'll get it eventually but don't make yourself -- or him -- crazy." I think I really needed for someone to say this to me because taking the long view of things often gives us such needed perspective.

Her advice made a lot of sense to me and it is something that I practice regularly with Sami without even thinking about it. You know, with Sami it is pretty easy to trust in the developmental process. Not ready to potty train? Fine. Let's give it some time. Tying your shoes? Reading? Who cares! We'll try again in a couple of weeks. And really, it has been as easy -- as not worrisome -- as that.  With Oliver, however, trusting in the developmental process hasn't been so worry-free. But after years and years of mothering Oliver you would think that I might be just a tiny bit more relaxed about it. After all, I've seen astonishing growth in my boy. I've seen his plateaus followed by bursts of development over and over again. I spend a lot of time being amazed by him. He and Sami just have a different rhythm to their forward momentum.

So we abandoned our lessons for awhile. I still incorporated numbers and counting into everything we did but I didn't try to sit down with him and match numbers with quantities again. Until today. Today was Sami's first day of school and so I figured it might be a good time to break out the numbers and counters again. And do you know what? It was like he had been doing it all along. He still had trouble remembering some of the names of the numbers, thanks to his aphasia, but he very clearly matched them with quantities. And each time he counted out the right quantity he proudly turned to me and said: "You did it!"

"No," I reminded him: "YOU did it!"

A couple of nights ago I listened to a speaker who reminded the audience that we cannot "pour language into our kids." This has kind of stuck with me because I like the image and because it is so true for just about everything. I mean, as much as we might like to, we can't pour anything into our kids (and here I'm also thinking about Resident Teenager!). Language, development, learning, reason. ... these are things that our children have to come by naturally through the course of living. What we can do is support them (with the right environment and teachers and all that), pay attention to their own individual rhythms, create lots of learning opportunities, and find a way to trust in the process.

And sometimes, I remind myself, the process of living and learning can even stretch well into a person's fortieth year!

The best grilled cheese sandwich I never ate

It was only 11:30 in the morning and it already felt like a day when everything went wrong. Maybe it is because the night before had been one when Oliver didn't sleep much at all, breaking his string of nights slept through. If you have lived that life you know how it feels to be without patience, full of over-wrought emotions and unable to muster more than a fraction of optimism. So when I sat down to my first meal of the day, a veggie burger with tomato and onion salad, all I wanted to do was refuel my body and recharge my emotional battery with a few minutes peace. I was surprised then -- and a bit annoyed -- when Oliver sat down across from me and said in his halting way: "I want a sandwich." He had only woken ninety minutes earlier and had already eaten two servings of baked oatmeal. How could he be hungry? But as you know, if your boy with limited language tells you he wants a sandwich, then by all means you fix him a sandwich. Except when you don't

"Oliver," I said, "you can make yourself a sandwich if you're hungry. Would you like a grilled cheese?" Mostly, I'll admit, I said this because I was just plain annoyed with him -- I had just finished cleaning up from his first meal -- and I thought my offer might stall him a bit so I could finish my burger.

Being a boy of few words he didn't answer me and I watched with curiosity to see what would happen next. After a few seconds he walked over towards the area of the kitchen where we keep the bread and the silverware. He looked around a bit and picked up some random items from the counter and set them back down again. I refrained from saying anything more. Then he opened the microwave, retrieved the bread (we keep it in there to discourage mice) and brought it over to the table where I was still watching, now with a bit of surprise, my annoyance completely faded away.

Let me say, before we go any further, that Oliver has spent a LOT of time in the kitchen cooking with me so he knows where just about everything is kept. But prior to this morning I never really just turned him loose to fix his own meal. Also, as I watched him I felt that now familiar twinge of my heart muscles contracting to realize how far he has come with his receptive language ability. Only two years earlier I had sat in the same chair despairing that he didn't understand the most simple commands like "Turn on the light," or, "Get me the fork."

But back the cheese sandwich. When Oliver handed me the bread I placed it on the table and then turned back to look at him expectantly. I saw the look on his face that registered his understanding that I was still waiting for something and watched as he went to the refrigerator, scanned its contents and retrieved the cheese. This time when he returned to the table I noted aloud that there was another item from the fridge that we would need. Once more he returned to the fridge and found the butter. "Ah ha," I said, "now we have all the ingredients." Upon hearing this and perhaps thinking that he was ready to make the sandwich he sat down and took two pieces of bread from the bag, then stopped and looked at me. I looked back at him and adopted a puzzled look. Then we both just sat there for another minute or so and I held my breath, again struggling with myself to refrain from saying anything.

Finally, after what felt like the longest, heaviest minute, Oliver got up and brought a knife back to the table and got to work buttering the bread, at one point declaring: "I want some help." Because the butter was cold and did not spread easily. He sliced the cheese, he assembled the sandwich and then sat there looking at it.

I told him, "I can help you cook it if you get everything ready for me, Oliver." Then I watched as he slowly -- and thoughtfully -- retrieved a pan and placed the sandwich in it on top of the stove, dragging a chair over there in the process so he could center the bread precisely in the middle of the pan.

By this time I had finished my veggie burger and had begun to feel as though this were a day when all was right with the world.


To help Oliver cook the sandwich, I merely stood to one side and adjusted the heat. He was in charge of the spatula. When he determined that the sandwich was cooked well enough, I carried it for him on the spatula to the table and stood there. "Should I just put it on the table?" I asked. Oliver turned to retrieve a plate but found that there wasn't a clean plate to be had. He stood for a moment, unsure, thinking. Then I watched as he retrieved a towel and spread it at his place at the table.



It occurs to me that I don't write very much any more about what we are doing with RDI. I don't want to beat anyone over the head with it. Plus, it is just so much a part of how we parent both our boys now that I sometimes forget what an important part of our lives it has become. Also, I probably don't make enough of all my uncertainties about how we are navigating this road with Oliver. We do RDI, not ABA. We homeschool. We don't have a team or IEPs or ESY. We only just started with OT (which I will post about soon). We didn't even have speech for more than a year. All of this is, well, outside the norm and I am keenly aware that we do almost everything differently than almost everyone else that we know. For the past three years I have put executive functioning first. Problem-solving, planning, reasoning -- thinking -- this I hoped and prayed and believed was where much of our teaching efforts should go. There are other things, sure, but without executive functioning he could be the most social, verbal kid on the planet and still be in big trouble. Remember this post when I watched Oliver struggle to solve such a simple problem?  That was just 18 months ago. Re-reading my words above and that post from December 2008, it is hard not to feel a bit gratified that I've chosen to follow my intuition even if it means that I sometimes (often) feel like we are completely off the grid.

I know we still have a long way to go, but even though I didn't get a bite of that sandwich, it was the most satisfied I have ever been by two pieces of bread and a little cheese!

Some learning resources

My house is quiet. I'm home alone in the middle of the day. This never happens. So while I have a few minutes to myself here is a quick and dirty post with a few things that I've been meaning to share.

I've discovered a wonderful blogger and if you are a homeschooling mama or just someone who needs a bit of a boost in the creativity department, you should check her out. Teach Mama is such a wealth of ideas and information geared towards helping the little people in your life with reading, writing and math skills -- and she manages to make it all fun.  The paint bags that I wrote about last time? I got the idea here. And I'm sure you'll see lots of other Teach Mama ideas in this space over the summer. 

In fact, yesterday as I was perusing her site for more ideas I followed a link to this site. I had been trying for some time to teach Oliver to use the mouse or the track pad and both of us had been largely frustrated. This simple Bubblewrap game did in 5 minutes what I had not been able to do. It was fun watching him master this skill and now I see lots of computer -based learning activities in our future. If I can ever get him away from the bubblewrap, that is.

Optimistic, thrilled, apprehensive and old all in one post

Summer is my season. I love these long days, nights with the windows open, crickets singing, fans blowing. I love sticky feeling of sweaty boy skin and feet green from fresh cut grass. All of it. I love all of it. And at this moment in time, this day, this week -- life is just so, so sweet. I know: you could just gag, right?  Well, maybe it is the vitamin D talking (or the Newcastle) but summer makes me feel so downright hopeful. Optimistic. Joyful.

Anyway, between the homeschooling, the garden, and the other outdoor stuff, it is shaping up to be quite a summer. Most days end with a bike ride. After dinner, when it has cooled off a bit, we head to a nearby park and ride the mountain bike trials. This is a relatively new thing for us and it has me feeling both thrilled, apprehensive, and old.  You see, Oliver is a shining star on the mountain bike trails. He so deftly and athletically picks his way over the obstacles that he totally leaves the rest of us in the dust. It is amazing to behold. That's the part that has me thrilled. I'm apprehensive because none of us can keep up with the boy and the paths have many twists and turns so that he could easily become lost. Luckily he has had the charity to wait for us before making any turns thus far. And Old? Well, did I mention that I can't keep up?  This is not an exaggeration. Granted, I'm the only one not riding a mountain bike (I have a hybrid), but I can't blame it all on the bike. I've become cautious. It won't be long now before Nik and the boys start suggesting that I stay home in the evenings.

How did it come to this?

On the homeschooling front, we made these cool sensory writing bag things today:

You just fill a gallon-sized ziplock bag with a mixture of tempra and finger paint and use it to trace letters and numbers with your fingers. The paint is solid enough that it holds the shape of whatever you draw. All was well and good until I heard Sami shrieking from the playroom as I was cooking dinner. When I went to investigate I initially had a heart attack as it looked like he was covered in blood. Then I discovered that he had only been writing too energetically and the ziplock had split open, covering him in red paint. I quickly then sealed Oliver's bag with plastic tape, knowing that he would do the opposite of scream if his "accidentally" split open.

We also had a bit of impromptu phys ed when the kids tried to break out of rest time. Behold:

A quick post before I slumber

Oliver continues to sleep.

During an appointment at the developmental pediatrician yesterday, she congratulated us twice for whatever it was that we did that finally worked. But I really believe that Oliver is now sleeping despite our best efforts. After years of struggling to honor what it seemed that Oliver needed at night -- to be comforted by human closeness -- while simultaneously managing to keep our physical, mental and emotional health in order, it feels as though we are finally, literally, at rest. Where once I had to lay with him, singing and soothing him to sleep, he now goes easily to sleep on his own. Where once I had a boy who could not fall back asleep if he awoke in the night -- who in fact often appeared to struggle to stay awake -- I now have a boy who seems eager to fall back asleep if awakened. All the manic energy during the day has gradually disappeared. The amazing appetite that belonged to a boy twice his size has become more moderate.

With all our new found energy, I've committed myself to teaching the boys how to read.  They are both ready, I think. And Sami, for one, is eager. I bought a book: Montessori Read and Write, which I am finding is very compatible with the style of learning that I would like to foster -- developmentally appropriate and fun! I was surprised to find that Oliver and Sami both know about an equal number of letter sounds. And Oliver already knows how to spell about six words. This will be the first time I've tried to teach both kids something like this at the same time. It should be interesting and I hope not too frustrating. Based on our first couple of days I am guardedly optimistic. Wish us luck!

And now: to bed! Soccer at eight a.m.