My All Star

As any one with a child on the spectrum knows, there are good days.  There are bad days.  There are bad days.  And then there are great days.  This baseball season has had a little bit of all of those days. 

This was David's second season playing baseball.   Last year was a very big learning year for him, but this year he really developed into a good player.  The season was rough, however.  

The year started with him playing second base.  One day he was complaining about his leg.  He thought maybe he hurt it on the trampoline.  Rest, ice, more rest, and the next day the pain is still there.  Several tests, several doctor's appointments, and a huge scare later we found out that yes, there is a tumor.  No, it is not cancer.  He also has Osgood Schlatter's Disease, which is the pain in his leg.  He had to miss several games and practices.  He was moved to the outfield while he was in physical therapy.

Just as we were getting things under control, we find out that David's seizures are not under control.  Medication needs adjusted, and that can be rough.  Most days are fine.  Until a seizure in the outfield. 

Good days.  Bad days.  Sometimes both.

Autism. Sensory issues.  Tumor. Osgood Schlatter's. Seizures. Medication Adjustment.  

Perseverance.  Determination. Passion. 

With incredible coaches, a team that works together, and team parents that cheer him on, David had an incredible season.  He was moved back to second base.  He had a catch that we will all remember for ever.  It was amazing.  Incredible.  A beautiful play in a close game.  That catch put the game into extra innings.  Base hits in every game.  Great plays in the infield and outfield.  He made friends.  He improved his game.  He developed character.  

Every day he overcomes.  The good days.  The bad days.  Every day my heart swells with pride.  So many challenges.  So much determination.  

The baseball season ended.  He was selected to play in the All Star game.  I cried.  He just nodded and asked when that would be.  

The last game in the playoffs was last night.  His team placed third.  The All Star game is next week.  This season will come to a close, like so many seasons in our lives.  It was made up of good days.  Bad days.  Great days.  Really bad days.  There were moments in those days that took my breath away.  Moments that filled my heart with pride. Moments that will last forever but are over too quickly.  I hold all of these moments in my heart.  The good and the bad.  

Defcon 5

The girls have been at camp since Sunday.  I am swimming in a sea of testosterone, surrounded by my boys, my husband, and even carrying a son.  It is interesting around here.  I grew up with no sisters and four brothers, so I should be used to this, but it is not something that females are supposed to get used to, I think.  It is why we tend to travel in packs, for our own protection.

Usually when I have something to gt done my girls bustle around, seeming to instinctively know what I mean when I say something stupid like put your laundry in the trash.  They assume that I mean toss the dryer sheet and put away your clothes, and they do.  My sons, however, follow my directions exactly.  So I find myself repeating what I thought I already said.  A whole bunch. 

If we are doing laundry my girls know that switch the laundry is a multi-step process that involves opening the dryer, removing laundry and placing it into a basket, opening the washer, moving clothing from the washer to the dryer, tossing in a dryer sheet, closing the dryer door and hitting the start button.  They then at times go a step further and add more dirty laundry to the washer, with laundry detergent, and turn it on.  After this, they carry up the clean.  Now, the girls are older, but have been doing this for years.  The boys idea of switching laundry involves moving piles of clothing around so it looks like less dirty laundry, riding dirty laundry down the steps, and playing in the formally full baskets.

Today, I declared laundry day. We have a mountain of dirty towels, as always, plus tons of blankets, sleeping bags, and quilts from camp.  Not that in these hot days and nights we will be needing them, but I would like them cleaned and put away to make room for the landfill that is going to arrive when the girls get home from a week at camp. 

I have already done several loads today, and reached the point of washing the sleeping bags.  This is where it gets interesting.  We do not allow the boys to use any heavy machinery, power tools, or even anything more dangerous than a butter knife without supervision.  I do not have them run the washer or dryer, mostly not because they do not know how, but because I can not be sure what they put in, laundry, toys, plastics, crayons, the cat, each other... 

As I was, umm, indisposed, the washer began the spin cycle.  With a heavy sleeping bag inside.  It was off balance.  David started screaming.  Isaac declared that we reached Def con 5 because the whole house was going to shake apart.  He was running around making siren noises and trying to evacuate the house.  From the bathroom I am yelling at them to calm down, which never helps, I know, but it was all I could do at the time. They ran to the washing machine.  I ran out of the bathroom as only an 8 month pregnant woman with a broken toe and sprained ankle can.  (That is a different story altogether, and not as exciting.)  They were already running back up the steps after "fixing" the problem.  They opened the washer, saw that the clothes were still in water, thankfully, because they normally would not have stopped to notice such a small detail, so they figured that the load was not done.  They added much more laundry detergent, and restarted the cycle.  Which is better than flopping the already heavy, now dripping wet sleeping bag on the floor.

So in about 40 minutes, I am sure that we will reach Def con 5.  Again.  This time I plan on intercepting before the sleeping bag disintegrates from an overload of laundry detergent and too much time in the washer.  I may have to go sit in front of the washer in about 35 minutes to head them off.  Or we will have  pre-lunch ice cream to distract them.  I vote ice cream.  And then, maybe a nap.

Our life is a zoo...

At the Creation Museum we went to the petting zoo.  Twice.

Angel was not too happy. 

She got better after we left the second time. 

David had the same level of excitment about the animals as Angel.

Maybe a bit less.

He allowed me to feed the animals for him.

And then spent the remainder of the time washing his hands.  

In case animal germs flew through the air.  Or because animals have spit. 

Depending on the day you asked him. 

 Isaac had much more fun.

So did Faith.

The best part, is that they did not butt heads like goats. 

While we were there.

Memory Lane, The End of Another School Year

Once again here we are, wrapping up another school year.  The years seem to stretch before me, being pregnant there are so many left, but having a middle schooler there are also too few. 

We are spending the week finishing things, finding things, putting together the portfolios, writing up next year's objectives, and doing final activities to complete the 2011-2012 school year.  This year also includes re-writing the log book that got destroyed by the cats. 

As always, there are so many things that we do that cannot fit in the portfolio.  Sometimes we do huge projects, but that is not what I am talking about.  I am talking about the things that there is no section for, not rubric, no entry in the log book.  We have overcome so much this school year, from the loss of our Hope, to the loss of pets.  Major sickness in family members, struggles finishing some school work, and long days of extra to make up for the lost days.  Also, each of the children have had personal conquests.

Angel hit a school year in which it was not longer all easy work.  At the beginning of the year she would struggle with work and it would be the end of the world if she got a problem wrong.  Never mind if it was not on a test and she could simply fix it.  There was frustration, tears, anger, and more tears.  Now, she was doing long division and realized during the checking portion that she made a mistake on a worksheet.  She was frustrated, but she redid the work.  Several times.  Until she got it right.  And there were no tears. Only a huge smile because she prevailed.  I have always had so many reason to be proud of her, and now there is one more!

Faith's progress has been measured in leaps and bounds since she was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.  At times it was super hard, and at other times it was easier, at least in comparison.  This year has been full of changes for her.  Her gecko, Liz, died. She lost her favorite Behavior Specialist, and several came and went quickly.  The last was also very good with her, and just left us.  But on a positive note, this does not only mark the end of her time with that Behavior Specialist, but of her services altogether.  She has progressed so much in recent months that there is no more a Behavior Specialist can do for her, for us.  We are handling any problems that come up, and there was a recommendation to limit her services so much that it was about the same to quit receiving them, and so we all agreed that was the best option.  And so as we look toward the next school year we are simply using the techniques we have learned in the past 18 months.

Isaac.  Oh, Isaac.  He is good at so many things, and he keeps me on my toes.  In school he is great at math, but not so great at focusing. Once I get his attention, I only have a limited time to work with him.  We have been working on some other issues as well, like anger, attention to work, and thinking through his actions before acting.  I have seen some progress in these areas.  I know the struggle is real, because he does not just have focus problems in school, but even in things he enjoys.  With charts, reminders, rewards, and patience we will prevail.  And past experience with other active children in my life lets me know that they slow down a good bit after hitting the teen years.  May not pay attention, but at least they start to sit still for longer. 

David is growing so fast!  He is not doing school yet, of course.  However, Angel does activities with him.  He has spend the past few weeks having a great time as Mariah comes over to play.  They love to paint, play, swim, and watch Blue's Clues.  He has been showing a lot of interest in letters and numbers.  He learned how to swim.  He even goes under water.  He still loves anything firefighter, and even got to help Pappy put out a fire!

And as usual, they are not the only ones learning and growing.  I have been trying to keep ahead of them in their school, do my own school, write VBS, and keep growing this baby.  I have dealt with my biggest fear, the loss of my baby.  I struggled so much through the miscarriage and for months after, and am pulling through now.  I have relied heavily on the grace of God, and my husband's support.  And I am doing OK.  And I know that doing great lies ahead.  I have gone through a fire and am going to come out stronger, closer to God, and while I may never know the purpose of my loss, I know that Hope's time with us, however brief, served a purpose, changed us in many ways, and will bring God glory. 

Still so much to do to finish our year, but this time when I close that portfolio after the evaluation, I have even more than ever before that we have accomplished, and my heart is full.

Normal is as Normal Does

For the longest time I was hung up on the concept of being normal.  Being perfect.  I would quiz my husband on what was normal when he was a child.  What did you do for birthdays?  Christmas?  Easter?  Summer vacation?  Allowance? 

I thought I would have it all figured out between his childhood and mine.  I would take from here, take from there, blend new family traditions that reflect the old.  Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not.  My husband is pretty easy going, so I end up doing whatever I want for chore lists, birthday parties, holidays. 

When the kids were younger, he also worked out of town, so our every day routine was different.  No sit down for supper every night, mostly we had cereal.  Or pizza.  Or pancakes. Or whatever the kids would eat that day.  We had early mornings when I had class in the morning, and late mornings when I had night classes the day before.  We walked everywhere we went because we had to.  But we were a bit different having three kids in four years.  And the concept of perfect changed.  Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect wife and mother became to mean different things. 

Then the kids got older, and a new normal was developed.  I chose to homeschool.  That became our new normal, not everyone else's normal.  Then Andy started to entertain more.  Which is a very different version of normal as our house filled up with unicycles, magic tricks, doves, machetes, and torches.  Non-work hours began to be filed with shows and practice.  And rubber chickens. 

Soon after we added another boy.  And discovered our second child has Asperger's.  And ADHD.  And our first boy is hyperactive, probably ADHD.  Once again, normal shifted.  Perfection shattered.   What I once thought of as normal was so far away.  Perfect was not even a long shot.  It was no where in sight. And normal became long school days, late nights, a messy house, and hyper children.  Loud children.  Boys who are such boys!  Girls who are such girls! 

Soon I came to realize that normal and perfect are more like a mirage.  You can see it, you think.  You can almost touch it sometimes, but not really.  And I adjusted.  Our normal is not your normal.  Your normal is not our normal.  And I am glad.  Because I would not trade my fire-juggling, tight-rope walking, magic huband, my girly stage performer, my free spirited nature lover, my delightful 100% rough and tumble superhero, or my singing dancing crazy son for someone else's image of perfect, of normal. 

Our lives are filled with rubber chickens, nature crafts, music, glitter, stage performances, dancing, laughter, school work, magic, wonderment, and joy.  And it is perfect.

He said WHAT?

Today my boys are cracking me up.  Here are a few examples.

David spilled Isaac's pellets for his gun.  He yelled, "Holy crack monkeys!" as they bounced all over the floor.  I am pretty sure I have never called anyone a crack monkey.  At least not my children.  When they could hear me.  Just kidding.  I have said they are like monkeys.

Faith needed a flashlight, and Isaac, scary enough, always knows where everything is stashed, like flashlights, matches, tape, all the fun stuff.  We sent him for a flashlight.  He can back with a flashlight with a whistle attached.  Faith asked him if it worked, so he blew the whistle and said, "It sure does!"

Isaac's chores were emptying the trash cans and cleaning his room.  I asked him to carry his laundry up and he said he was all chored out for the moment, he would do it as soon as he had a refreshing glass of water. 

Faith gave David a fluffy bunny that squeaks when it is squeezed.  He named it Squeaky McSqueaker Pants.  It is now friends with Squeezy the Camel. 

Faith was not happy to be washing the dishes.  Isaac said, "You better stop complaining before it gets any worse around here."

Those are just a few of the crazy things going on here today!

Like Father, Like Son: The Concussion Chronicles

For sure all of you are thinking that I am the Concussion Queen, and yes, that is true. And some of that will make a great blog that I shall write later. But for those of you who hang out here on a regular basis, which is pretty much Sarah and Anna, you have probably seen my husband hit his head. On everything in our house. It happens often, and usually goes something like this:

BAM
Me: “What was that noise?”
Andy:*grumbles*
Me: “What?” Because if that was not a kid, I am so not getting up…
Andy: “…..”
Me: “You hit your head again, didn’t you?”
Andy: “Umm……”
Me: “BWHAHAHAHA….I mean, are you OK?” Note my deep, deep sympathy.

We have that conversation almost daily. Pipes in the man room, that low ceiling as you go into the basement, open cupboard doors, open other doors, the shelf that keeps getting knocked out of the fridge, and, more recently, the wall, have all fallen victim to my husband’s forehead. So far he is on the losing end. Now he never gets a concussion, just a bruise, scrape, or a cut. But he passed his awkward-headed-ness on to poor David.

At first I blamed the head bumping on toddler hood. Every toddler I have ever know has tried the walk under the table trick when slightly too tall. Or misjudged and bumped his or her head when trying to jump up on someone or something. Or even the pew diving escape route from church has caused a few bruises in each of my children. And the parent or uncle who attempts to stop them.

David has all that down to an art and still he hits his head. Bending over by his toy shelf he misjudges how close he is standing and hits his head on the way down. And then on the way back up. Walking onto the back porch he hits his head on the railing. He frequently opens the door so that he gets hit by the door knob. He pulls, pushes, or knocks things over on his head. Occasionally the bump is a bit much and he starts getting a bit loopy.

The first time he had a concussion he tried to jump off an wooden swing. He succeeded in the jumping part, just not the getting off the swing the whole way part. He got dumped on the ground and the swing hit him in the back of the head. He fell into the mud, which to him was way worse than the bump on the head. We attempted to handle this like we normally do: an Iron Man ice pack, some hugs and chocolate. Then he started staggering around, said no to the chocolate, fell over a few times, and began talking nonsense. It was not until he kept asking who turned off the sun because he could not see that I became worried and took him to the ER. One CT scan, two orange Popsicles, some ibuprofen, a band aid and three hours later we were back at home. No sweat. The youngest of four has not thrown us something we have not handled before for at least a year.

Fast forward two months. Several small head bumps, bruises, skinned knees, and attempts to defy death later we get a second bump that sends us traipsing to the ER. I decided, against all other cautionary tales of my exercise mayhem that it would be a good idea to begin to enjoy family bike rides now that Faith and Isaac are getting good at riding their bikes without training wheels. First family trip: the park. We grab some water, jump on bikes, and head out. Angel, Faith, Isaac and I are riding, and David is relaxing in what he calls his rom-pom-pommer, but what normal people call a toddler seat, on the back of my bike. After a few blocks the kids start getting overconfident, and I have to admit I did too. They start weaving back and forth in front of me and one of them hits my front tire. My bike came to an abrupt halt and the back end, rom-pom-pommer, David and all fly into the air and land on the ground. David’s head hit first. It was kind of like that creepy nursery rhyme, Rock A Bye Baby.

Anyway, after untangling all the bikes, kids, and myself, we got David our of the pommer and his head was gushing blood. A few passersby took notice and came to our aid. I figured this was like every other bump on the head, but with more blood and embedded gravel, until David leaped out of my arms into the arms of some random guy and hung to him for dear life. He was screaming, “Daddy, you are here!” Over and over. Then a lady came and brought him paper towels, a Popsicle, and an ice pack. David said, “Thanks Grandma!” Then he proceed to shimmy away from “Daddy” stagger around and fall on his head. He proceeded to talking nonsense and falling over several times while trying to get away from me to “Daddy” until my mom got there to take us home. I had called out doctor and he recommended the hospital. Again.

.
  
We came home, picked up the kids, tracked down our bikes, and in the meanwhile David fell asleep in the van. We rode our bikes home, and as Andy was pulling the van into the driveway, David opened his eyes, looked right at me and asked for a ride in his rom-pom-pommer.

My Budding Troubador

David has a new favorite song, and it goes a little something like this:
Stinky-my-stinky-a-bink-a-bink

Stinky-my-stinky-do

Iiiiiiiiiiiii looooooove you.

I love you in the morning, and the other morning and the other morning and Mr. moon.

Stinky-my-stinky-a-bink-a-bink

Stinky-my-stinky-do

Iiiiiiiiiiii loooooooooooove you. Two. Booo-deee-boooo! Jazz hands!!!

Eat your hearts out, Sharon, Lois and Bram!

Hey, That's What I Said!!

David is a talker.  I have never really experienced a little boy of his age talk as much as he does.  He is constantly making noise.  His gibberish is beginning to make more sense as he lands on the English language.  I can not even begin to figure out how many words he knows.  And he strings them together in sentences that mostly make sense.

As all burgeoning speakers do, he has begun copying all of us.  They kids think this is great so far.  The get him to say lines from movies, parts of songs, and tell them they are great.  As he’s leaving the room they have him saying “Peace out”.   He talks about superheros, video games, and says “Joe Jonas- ooooOOOOooo”.

He has also copied a few of the mean sayings they say to each other.  They have been hearing their own mean words echoed back at them, and as Isaac says, “That’s just not cool!”  He has this squeal that rivals the one Faith always did when we called her the pterodactyl baby.  For some reason Andy can not remember anyone else screaming like that.  Not sure why, because just thinking about it hurts my ears and causes my eye to twitch.

It is funny when he says “Hey Daddy honey!” because I call Andy honey, or when he sings the hippopotamus song.  He also sings Davey, Davey that they learned in Children’s Church.  He has begun to echo our prayers, and just the other night he began asking for David’s Bible at bedtime.

Today, however, he busted into the bathroom while I was in the shower saying “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, moooommy, mommmy, mom. Look at me.” I poked my head out of the shower and he said “Wash your hair. Use sumpoo.” Which should tell you about how often I have to remind my highly distracted ones to actually wash while in the shower.

All of this makes me pray hard about the legacy I am leaving.  I want my children to remember to wash their hair, but more than that I want them to remember to pray.  To read the Bible.  To sing songs of praise to our Father.  I start to worry about balance.  Are we allowing them to grow, develop what they like and dislike, while planting a love for things of God in their hearts?  It is fine to have Jonas on your MP3 player, but that is not all I want filling their hearts.  They love playing and watching Star Wars, but are they equally in love with the heros of God?  Any little glimmer of hearts that are being molded after God gives me great joy.  They brought me Cd’s to put on their MP3 players, each child had several Christian bands and some praise music.  I gave David a movie choice at nap time.  He choose Praise Baby over Spider-man and Scooby Doo.  As I passed the girls room last night, Angel was reading Faith a bedtime story.  From a devotional Bible.  Wrapped up in softie, tuck inside Isaac’s pillow case is his camp Bible.  He wants to keep it close to his heart, so he stuck it with softie.

And most of the time, even though we all have bad moments and even bad days, I love that David is beginning to emulate the kids and Andy.  They all have hearts after God and are trying to walk in the light of His love daily. What better example could he have?

It's About that Time

After all, it is August.  About time to head back to school.  I see it everywhere.  Ads for clothes, new shoes, or school supplies.  Winding down of summer activities.  Emails from yahoo groups about lesson plans and curriculum.  And as always, I begin to think about endings and new beginnings.  Changes and areas we have grown, or need to grow a little more.

I have a preteen. She will be ten, but Angel has been claiming preteen status since about two years old. She is the one who most reminds me of me.  Oh, I see bits of me in the others, but this one is me at nine and me now.  I have been having a hard time watching her over this past year because I compare her to myself at that age and around nine is when my life started to unravel and I began to head for self destruction.  I see that she is more interested in competing with boys than liking them, and I rejoice.  I was not like that.  I see how her heart is set on following God, and I am overjoyed.  I did not even know Him.  I see how helpful she is around the house and how bossy that makes her with her sister and brothers, and I laugh, because I was the same way.  I see how she can stomp her feet and whine.  And I see myself, and cringe.  But overall I am so very glad she is different in the most important way- she already knows the love of her Savior.  And that is all she needs. (But I still like to see her race boys and win. Also me…)

And I have a sweet eight year old how has all of a sudden become more grown up!  She used to hide when it was time to clean up her toys.  Or just shove everything under the bed.  She used to scream and hit when she was mad.  Here is a familiar conversation in my house.  It has been this way ever since they could talk.

Angel:  You are supposed to be helping me clean up our toys! Get out of the closet! You clean these up or I will tell Mommy to just take them to Good William (a blog all its own!)
Faith: That’s OK, I’d rather buy new ones than pick these up! I am staying in here!!

Just yesterday I heard this same conversation. But now it was between Faith and Isaac.  And boy, did she get frustrated!!  But I had to laugh, because it was not soo very long ago that it was her hiding in the closet.  He hid in the love seat instead.  She has been doing much better in school  and I have not found her under a table screaming during church for months.  All good signs!!

Isaac, oh, Isaac, where to begin.  Every step of growing up has been hard for Isaac.  He always wants to stay the same size.  He will be six next month.  He wants the party and cake and presents, but he wants to stay five.  Forever.  Mostly I want that too, little man.  I would like if you stopped walking around the house in your sleep, though.  And if you have to climb the walls, make sure your feet are clean.  I have a hard time reaching those dirty footprints!!  He is our hero, our warrior, and that will never change!

David is growing in leaps and bounds as toddler tend to do.  He talks all the time.  Even if we don’t understand him, or no one is around.  And he sings!  Any music is fine for him.  He also likes to hold the guitar and strum.  None of my other children have strummed, they usually plucked.  He dances too.  Just last night at bedtime I told Isaac to get his Bible for devotions.  David said: Where David’s Bible?  I handed him a toddler Bible and he looked at every page, talking to and about everything, then asked me to read David’s Bible too.  We prayed and he said: Thank God for food.  (Not timely, but I cried anyway.)  Then he said Amen and lalulala, which we assume means hallelujah.  He is super sweet, and yet all boy.  The other day at the fire station he about had a heart attack over sitting in the fire truck.  He still talks about it. And two days ago, he tried to climb the pipes.

Overall, I am so proud of the progress we have all made.  But, this post is big enough for now, so I will talk about Andy and I on a different day.