Who Says?

The Princess likes loves water.  In case my word isn't enough, here's proof:

She also doesn't hate the prospect of having a snack in her wagon after a good, long bout of swimmin' with Momma.

This kid dragged me all around the swimming area at our neighborhood beach, cackling in sheer delight the whole while.  Who says you have to spend money to have a good time?

Mrs. Potato...um, yeah

Oh, to know what goes on in The Princess's mind...

Time

My three new rose bushes were happy, thriving even, when I bought them.  Then I brought them home and planted them in new soil with different nutrients than they were used to.  They suffered, dropping all of their blossoms and wilting for a few days.  They had me worried for a while there.

Over time, the bushes have gotten stronger, and they're even beginning to thrive once again.  Perhaps I can take yet another cue from a plant, which is subtly showing me that we can get over anything. 

It just takes time.

Disappointed

Note: It was never my intention to hurt anyone's feelings with this post; on the contrary, I wrote it simply to relieve myself of some of the hurt associated with the unfortunate sequence of events. 


When I was a kid and I did something wrong, I would work myself into a frenzy anticipating how mad my parents would be.  I figured if I thought through the worst possible punishments, it wouldn't be so bad once I actually had to 'fess up to whatever it was that I had done.  Not being huge fans of anger or punishment, my folks were never as harsh on me as I was on myself.  What really hurt, though, was when I disappointed them.

You see, being angry is one thing.  It's a knee-jerk reaction, one of the most basic of emotions.  But disappointment implies something else entirely: that you've somehow managed to hurt the person instead of simply invoking anger.

I've recently been through a tough time with someone who I thought was my friend.  I trusted "They", and I had their back - no questions asked.  Because of a stupid misunderstanding, I was suddenly left out in the cold.  "They" wouldn't talk to me, but had no problem posting ambiguous messages on a certain social networking site, which I can't imagine were referring to anyone but myself.  And those messages were blatantly wrong.


I was never given the opportunity to defend myself.


I was angry.  I'm talking cartoon-style smoke-billowing-from-the-ears angry.  It wasn't fair, and I was M-A-D, mad.


I had thought we'd had a strong enough relationship to have withstood anything, and I was dead wrong.  Over the years, I've lost many friends who I had thought would be around forever.  This one, though, hurt more than any of them, because we'd been through so much together.  "They" was my one friend in real life who I ever felt comfortable enough around to talk honestly and frankly with about The Princess's diagnosis and challenges.


And now that tie is gone.  Friendship over.  Finito.  Over a stupid misunderstanding, coupled with epic stubbornness.


I thought I'd still be mad, but all I can really feel at this point is disappointed.

Two Hundred

So, here I am, just minding my own business, wondering what to write about, when I notice something: this is my two-hundredth post on One Mom's Journey.

Granted, I had a blog on myspace before starting this, so I've written more than that in total, but just looking at the number really makes me think.  Have there really been two hundred important things for me to say?  Probably not, but I find myself a little bit proud, nonetheless, of the milestone.

Thank you to everyone who reads this blog: those of you who offer kind words of encouragement, as well as those of you who follow along silently. 

I am amazed at my good fortune, having found this community of other mommies online without whom I would surely be bald by now.  Ladies, you know who you are.  Thank you for celebrating with me over the little moments that no one else can understand.  Thank you for picking me up and offering a shoulder when I've needed it.  I can assure you we're nowhere near done...the only regret I have is that I didn't find y'all sooner.

And thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to keep writing, whether we're talking about my blog or any number of projects...mainly the fictional story I've recently started.  If you missed the post with the first chapter, you can find it here.  I'm not usually one to fish for compliments, and I tend to keep projects very close to me until and unless they are finished successfully.  This one, though, is very dear to my heart, and I find myself wanting to share bits and pieces of it from time to time.  I really do appreciate your positive feedback, and I am definitely forging ahead with Danville's journey.  I'm hoping to have the entire story completed within a few months, though that may not be realistic when I factor in the job search and school...so I'll just hope to have a copy in hand by this time next year.

Not to get all gushy on y'all, but through this blog and the friends I've made, I'm beginning to feel as though I've finally found my place.  For that, I have only you to thank.  And I can't think of a better reason to celebrate.

Wish I Knew

The poor Hubbs has been forced to handle the morning routine on his own for the past week or so, what with my inability to pry my eyes open prior to seven o’clock. This is really not fair to him, and I wish there was something I could do to avoid it. Maybe when this cold finally goes away, I’ll be able to pitch in more. I’m currently at the chest-rattling coughing fit stage.


Yes, big fun.

The Princess hasn’t gotten the hang of the early mornings yet, either, which doesn’t make things easier on anyone. Yesterday, around three o’clock in the morning, she was up playing happily in her bed, cackling and banging around. I quietly joined her in her room and explained that it was time for sleep, trying to help her understand that she’d need to be functional in only a few short hours’ time.

Three guesses how that one turned out.

When it came time to get up for school yesterday, she was a giant quivering mass of unhappiness. She cried and clutched Dirt Pink while The Hubbs attempted to feed her, dress her, and supply her with something to drink. She cried and clutched Dirt Pink while I tried to pull her hair back off her face. She cried on the way out the door. She cried on the swing. She cried as I strapped her into her car seat on the bus. When the bus pulled away from the end of our driveway, I spied one glistening alligator tear on her cheek, just above the pouty little stuck-out bottom lip.

My heart broke just a little as she was whisked away to school.

I don’t know what’s the matter, and I wish she could tell me. Does she not like her summer school class? What’s different from the regular school year besides her teacher? Could it simply be that she’s trying to fight off the same cold I’ve been dealing with for the last couple of weeks? Maybe she’s just plain cranky at having to wake up so early.

I just wish I knew.

Heart on My Sleeve

Okay...I've debated enough about whether or not I should post this.  The following is what will become the first chapter in my book (haven't determined yet whether it will become a short story or a novel...I'm not that far in), and I really want to know what people think.

***

The moment the coast was clear, Danville turned to me and said, “Don’t worry about them. They’ll never understand me, but you do, and that’s why I love you.” My friend and her big sister have just left my house to walk a block home for dinner. My name is Sanyo, and I am fourteen years old.


MaryBeth and Molly, my friends who just left, well, they’re mean. And small-minded. They just don’t get it. Sure, they’re great with their long, curly, brown hair, dark brown eyes, and gangly little-girl limbs. They can run fast, and they have a Slip-N-Slide, not to mention their little brother, who is a barrel of laughs. Little Raymond can’t make the “Y” sound yet, which can be a lot of fun. At least twice a day, I ask him what color that old Slip-N-Slide is, and he always answers, “Lellow,” without fail. We’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that one.

But Danville, he has been with me forever. He’s older than me, actually. Momma said that Gran made him for Bunky, my big brother, but I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t mine. Ever since I was an itty-bitty thing, Danville has been my Friend. Everyone says I stole him from Bunky, but they’re wrong. Danville chose me.

I know, I know. You’re thinking, “Wait a minute. Danville isn’t real?” and you’re criticizing me in your head right now. Don’t deny it. I’ve been through this enough; I can tell. Before you write me off, tell me this: wasn’t there ever anything in your life that you were absolutely sure of beyond the shadow of a doubt, but someone else made your faith falter…and then it was gone?

Danville is just as “real” as Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Mother Nature or Father Time. All of these characters exist, as real as you and me, in the imaginations of those who believe – I mean truly believe – in them. If you think about it really hard, I bet you can even come up with another being who would fit into this category, but I’m not gonna go there. You can figure it out on your own. No, I’m not comparing Danville to any of these people or whatever you want to call them; I’m simply using them to help you see that there’s a possibility I’m not absolutely bat-poop crazy.

If you’re still reading this, congratulations. You’re not as small-minded as many of the kids I’ve come across in my short life. You may even be ready for my secret, but I’m not totally sure yet. After being shot down so many times, I’m a little cautious with this information. Well, what the hey? If you don’t like it, then you can just stop reading, and it’s no skin off my nose.

Danville is not just an idea, or a figment of my imagination. He’s not invisible; anyone can see him, and you don’t even have to try. He’s a stuffed dachshund, crocheted by my Gran. He’s red with the sweetest droopy ears and blue eyes, and he’s wearing – don’t you dare laugh – a black tuxedo with tails. Nothing special, right? Oh, wait…I forgot to mention he can talk.

No, really. It freaked me out in the beginning, too. I was confused about why this little stuffed dog was talking to me when all the other plush animals sat stock-still with that deer-in-the-headlights look they’re so well known for. There’s something different about Danville: something special.

***

The real-life Danville, who remains with me to this very day

***

 
Well?  Is it worth the time and effort?  I sure hope so, because I've got most of the story worked out in my head. 
 
People have been telling me for years that I should be a writer, but I never know who's serious and who's just being nice.  I've started numerous projects, all of which have fizzled out, over the past few years...but I think this just might be the one.
 
Please, be honest...but remember what Thumper's daddy said.

A Day Late

Note: I had originally intended for this to post on Sunday for Father's Day, but I dropped the ball.  Sorry, all you daddies out there!  We were definitely thinkin' of y'all yesterday.

Where would we be without daddies?  A scary thought, indeed, when I think about all of the daddies who have touched my life.

Gramps was a wonderful man with a unique sense of humor.  He chased Hambone and me around his house, demanding "Who's gah mah heef?" while hiding his dentures and pretending that one of us had stolen them.  When my wonderful uncle, who happens to be gay, went to hug him one night, Gramps didn't skip a beat before backing away incredulously and proclaiming, "I'm just not like that."  Nothing Gramps did was ever offensive, and everyone who ever met the man loved him from the start.  He just had a way about him.  This wonderful man taught me many things, one of the most memorable being the proper way to say, "Shut up pig.  May God strike you dead up the ass with a lightning bolt," in Polish.  Sadly, I only remember "Shut up pig."  He loved my grandmother so truly, so fully, that there was never any question.  It was always buzzing around him like magic.  Their song was "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," and it still brings a tear to my every time I hear it.  He nicknamed me Daisy after the song, "Bicycle Built for Two."  He was a very, very special man, one whom I will never forget.

A, my brother-in-law, well...what can I say?  He's absolutely perfect for Jello, and they have the most amazing little girl in K-Bear, not to mention the fact that another little bundle of joy is going to be joining us in a couple of months.  I've never seen Jello this happy, and that is sayin' something, since she's a glass-is-half-full kind of gal like me.  To see A's eyes light up with his wife and daugher is truly amazing.  He's taught me that things don't always turn out the way we plan, and that's okay, because someone out there is looking out for our best interests.  JAK are living proof of this.

The Hubbs.  I could sing his praises for years if I didn't rein myself in.  The love of my life has taught me that it's okay for us to remain kids, even with a kiddo of our own.  He's silly with me, and he puts up with my shit (of which there is a lot).  That, in itself, is enough to nominate the man for sainthood.  I love you, Swatta, with every little piece of my heart.

Unc, my mom's brother, never had kids of his own, but he was like an extra dad to us growing up.  Hambone and I have lots of wonderful memories from sleeping over at his house and taking joint vacations.  He even taught Hambone how to pretend he was sleeping on the road to creep out other drivers on the way to our family vacation spot one time.  That was priceless!  Even more than his honorary status with Hambone and me, I am amazed by the relationship he's forged with his stepsons.  At the wedding of his oldest stepson, Eric, he was ambushed with a wonderful tribute: Brad Paisley's "He Didn't Have to Be."  This song is a tearjerker of the best kind, and a testament to the fact that Unc was always meant to be a dad.  He took me to my first-ever Charlie Daniels concert at the Boone County Fair when I was ten years old, and I had to wear two mismatched shoes, because I couldn't find a pair.  We sat in the third row, and I've never been the same since.  To date, I've seen CDB 16 more times, and I hope to increase that number if at all possible.  More than anything, Unc taught me that a person doesn't have to be a biological father in order to be a daddy.

The Hubbs' grandfather is an amazing person.  He has been head-over-heels in love with his wife for a lifetime, and they complement each other perfectly.  Gramp N has welcomed me into his extended family with open arms, and I've been dubbed "Pumpkiness" to The Hubbs' "Pumpkin."  (The Princess is "Pumpkin Seed," in case anyone is wondering.)  This wonderful man has shown me that it is possible for love to last a lifetime, and that the biggest secret to marriage is that partners must also be best friends.  Oh, and he's also made it quite obvious that Norwegians tend to exaggerate just a bit.  :)

The Hubbs' daddy, who we've dubbed "Grampy," is one of the most genuinely kind people I've ever met in my life.  He and Nana married while in high school, and they're still going strong.  The love between them is amazingly pure, and it really is a sight to behold.  His kids have so many wonderful memories from their childhoods that express his gentleness and caring, but this one stands out the most: When Jello was getting ready for a gymnastics meet, Nana was too busy to French braid her hair.  She asked Grampy to help her out, and he did.  He was so afraid of pulling her hair that he managed to produce the loosest French braid in history, and if my memory serves me correctly, I believe it lasted all of about five minutes before self-destructing.  This man is quiet, gentle, sincere, and real.  And the oldest of seven children.  He's taught me many things, among which are what The Hubbs will look like in twenty or so years, and the fact that there really is someone in the world who can eat faster than The Hubbs. 

Pop, I've put you through so damned much that I'm amazed you can still even stand to look at me.  Rinky and the blut search.  Danville and the incessant jabbering.  Dropping that Tonka truck on Hambone's head (okay, that was funny.  And totally called-for.).  Dragging you down to the lake or the pond after you were exhausted from work, only to make you throw me, row me around in the boat, or help me to clear an ice skating rink.  Hambone and I ambushed you and Harv with water balloons from the roof on your way in after work.  The Pink Milk Incident.  My four-year stretch of utter stupidity.  Karaoke until all hours of the night, on days when we both had to be up at five the next morning for work.  Screaming and asking Momma who that weird man was that one time you shaved off your mustache.  Saran-wrapping the toilet that one April Fool's Day.  Fish on!  How about rebuilding my 1980 Omni with the Rabbit motor?  That was fun...  I could go on forever, and I probably will...just not here.  You, and you alone, provided me with my personal image of what a daddy should be.  You are hilarious; everyone you've ever met can attest to that.  But there are so many other sides to you.  I'm so lucky to be your kid, because I get to see the way you smile when The Princess climbs into your lap.  I, and I alone, got to hear your Wizard reference at my wedding rehearsal.  The memory of that goofiness made all my nerves melt away as you and I stood in the narthex, preparing to walk down the aisle where you handed me over to The Hubbs.  You took me out by the bluffs on Norfork and sat there for hours, patiently explaining the proper way to suck air into my lungs for the optimum belch.  You laughed with me until we both cried when I finally got one to echo off those bluffs at twilight.  You've taught me that daddies are funny and sweet, but tough when they have to be.  But, most of all, you've taught me to get out there and be me.  I've long thought that nothing in the world could ever change you, and I hope to hell that's true.  I wouldn't change a thing about you, Pop.  You're perfect just the way you are, buzz cut and all (oh, yeah, Momma...I went there).

If I was to list every daddy who had ever touched my life, this post would go on forever.  As it is, I've gotten all gushy and long-winded, so I think I'll have to stop the specific list here.

To all of you daddies out there, those who I've named as well as those who I haven't, you're an amazing bunch.  Without you, the world would be a dimmer place, and we're lucky to have you in our lives.  I wish each and every one of you a belated but heartfelt Happy Father's Day.

Off

Heh, I just woke up.  This week has kicked my butt, and I couldn't be happier that The Princess and I both have Fridays off from school.

So, let the playing commence!  Have a wonderful weekend, y'all!

All That Matters

I feel like I'm goin' 240 with my hair on fire, and the simple act of sitting down at the computer to type a blog post has become unbelievably daunting.  I love to write, and I'm sure things around this page will get back to normal soon.  It's just that there's an awful lot going on around here right now, and I'm finding myself a bit overloaded at the moment.  Nothing bad...just a lot.

So...what to write about today?  I have absolutely no idea.  Rather than continue ranting about being busy and having a hard time coming up with a slice of brilliance, I'll just let y'all ooh and aah over this picture of The Princess enjoying the world's greatest texture bin.

Yes, she was covered from head to toe.  I found sand in her Little Swimmer, and I think it's still falling out of her hair a week later.  But she had a great time, and that's all that matters.

Blarg

Night school, on its own, doesn't suck.

The Princess's summer school schedule, on its own, doesn't suck.

But together?  I'm just not used to it yet.  Getting home at ten thirty from my own classes and getting up at six thirty to get her ready just doesn't compute.  I really think if she was on her normal schedule (which had us getting up an hour later) that I'd be fine.

Thank goodness The Hubbs is a light sleeper and can't ignore an alarm clock.  Otherwise, we'd all still be in bed when the bus got here.

Birthdays, Summer School, and the Big Girl Bed

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear Grampy and Aunt Cheri,
Happy birthday to you!!

We love you both so very much!

***

Not knowing much of anything about the summer school program The Princess started yesterday, I sent her on the bus armed with a note to her new teacher.  The note included general information about her, as well as some more specific stuff, and was accompanied by a handful of Pull-Ups.  The outside pocket of her backpack was stuffed with snacks, just in case, and her brand-new mini-Bah giraffe keychain was clipped to the outside in case she needed something to play with on the bus.

I needn't have worried.  Miss Ashley, the second teacher in Mrs. G.'s classroom, is in charge of the summer program.  The Princess already knows her, which is a huge plus.  The day will be structured very much like it was in her regular classroom, so she should be cool with it.  The only point of concern is whether or not she'll last through the longer days consistently...I guess only time will tell on that one.

Five hours after she boarded the bus, she returned home.  She wasn't overly, well, anything...it was a rainy day, and it seemed as though she'd been staring out the window for quite a while.  Once we got inside, she was in a fairly good mood, and she was extremely interested in what I had been doing while she'd been away.

This was the first time I'd had so many hours with her at school.  What, you may ask, did I decide to do?  Well, I figured it was high time to ditch the toddler bed in favor of the Big Girl model.  I trudged through the battleground that is her room, cleaning and sorting toys as I went.  I dismantled the toddler bed and brought my old twin set up from the basement.  I carefully placed and replaced - and replaced again - all of the furniture in her room.  I made the bed with adorable hot-pink sheets that have the "cutie" versions of the Winnie the Pooh characters on them.  I put her very favorite Friends and her prized blankie on the bed to welcome her when she came home.  I finished seven minutes before the bus was to arrive.

Endlessly entertained with the changes that had happened while she was at school, The Princess just had to check everything out.  Not five minutes after she went into her room alone, The Hubbs and I heard an enormous THUD, followed by what we have dubbed the siren cry.

She had fallen off the bed.

I kid you not.  I can't make this stuff up!  Luckily, she was totally fine and even resumed playing on the bed immediately after some much-needed snuggle time with Momma.  She proceeded to dismantle the carefully sorted toy bins one by one, bringing objects of interest up to her new perch for inspection (well away from the edge of the bed...won't do that again!).

Around 5:00, she began to cry again.  This time, she was lying in bed with her trusty pal, Dirt Pink, screaming at the ceiling.  Five hours of school and a whole new room can wear a gal out, don'tchaknow.  So, at five o'clock in the evening, I sang our ni-night song and tucked her in, carefully backing out through the minefield of toys and shutting off the light.

And then I left for school.  It was a long day, but I'm sure we'll all get used to it eventually...just about the time it'll all be changing again, probably!

Here We Go Again

At 7:20 this morning, The Princess will board a new bus.  This bus will take her to a new school four days a week for about five weeks.  Luckily, she's been there before.  It's where her normal class goes on their swimming field trips once a month.

I just can't wait to see her face when she realizes she finally gets to go back to school.  She's been so stinkin' adorable with her backpack for the last three weeks, and her little puppy-dog eyes. 

Finally, she'll wake up in the morning and be able to get on the bus.  Granted, it's four days a week instead of five, but she'll also be gone for five hours instead of three.

Here's hoping she absolutely loves it. 

Handmade Autism Awareness Purse

Okay, so I don't usually post on weekends. Nor do I usually post my crafts here...that's what my other blog is for, after all.

But this...this is something I wanted to share with y'all. When I completed this bag, I noticed a striking resemblance to the autism puzzle motif we see everywhere.

Here's a close-up of the stitching so you can get a better feel for the colors:

The "Fatty" bag is lovingly crocheted by hand using 100% cotton yarn.  The handles are bamboo, and it includes an adorable little flower clip for a little bit of sass.  It measures approximately 7" high (not including handles) by 11" wide by 6" deep.

This would make a great gift for someone (even yourself!), and I can make one especially for you with any color flower you like.  Each bag costs $25, and I'll even throw in the shipping cost...just give me a shout if you're interested.

Wish

The Princess has developed a new routine since school let out.  At least once every day, she presents me with her backpack.  As I hold it out, she carefully loops her arms through the straps and proceeds to drag me to the door.

I've tried and tried, to no avail, to explain the fact that there is no school.  No matter how I say it, she just doesn't seem to understand.  Nothing can derail her efforts to tell us what she wants.  It's sweet, adorable, and just a little bit sad, because no matter what I do, she persists.  I can only imagine what's going on in her mind: "Maybe this time, it will finally work..."

On Monday, The Princess shall finally get her wish.  Summer school starts for both of us; she'll go through mid-July, and I'll finish up in August.

Finally, I'll be able to help her into her backpack and onto that bus...the only thing she has wanted since the last day of school in May.

Cheyenne's Journey

Riding in the golf cart from Miss Cyndi's chicken coop in the pouring rain, Cheyenne (one of the angels at the hippotherapy clinic, who The Princess loves) mentions that she will not be there next week.  I find out that she's driving to Canada to visit her family, who she hasn't seen in a year.

I ask whether she and her hubby will be driving all the way through, in shifts, or if they're planning to stop along the way.  Not an off-the-wall question, seeing as how it's more than thirty hours away.

She turns to me and tentatively announces the fact that she's pregnant.  I beam, and squeak out my congratulations.  I'm so happy for her.

But I hope she didn't hesitate because we've had a different parenting experience than so many others.  I'm not ashamed of or disappointed in the way any of this has turned out.  I may have my moments where I envy others, but those are few and far between.  I know my daughter, and I love her so very much, interesting bits and all.

And I really am truly happy for Cheyenne and her hubby.  They're about to embark on an awesome journey, and I'm honored to have been among the first few people she told.  Hesitation or no hesitation, I made it into that group, so that trust and comaraderie is what I'll choose to focus my attention on.  So much more productive than second-guessing everything.

Lately

Lately, I've been wondering what's going to happen.  It's been almost seven months since I lost my job, and there's very little out there...the appealing prospects never call me back, but neither do the poop jobs.

Lately, I've been wondering whether or not I'll be able to handle being an OT.  The Princess had a pretty much textbook-perfect experience, and I know that many of the kiddos who need these services are far worse off than she is.  What if I can't handle it emotionally?

Lately, I've been wishing someone would just pay me to stay home with The Princess and maybe write a little.

Lately, I've begun to realize that retiring before 30 would be fawesome.

But I've also begun to see that it's nowhere near possible.  I'll sit back and wait to see how the job thing pans out, and all I can do is try the OT thing and hope I'm strong enough to work with shaken and beaten children without coming home battered and bruised myself.

The unknown can be exciting and scary as hell at the same time...

Boddy

The Princess is sitting on the pot, a very familiar place these days.  She's babbling in a sing-song voice, and I gently remind her that it's time to go potty.

"Boddy," she says, her voice low and her tone questioning.  She meets my eyes as a grin spreads from ear to ear.

"That's right, Princess.  It's potty time."

***

These moments are few and far between, and this particular word - like so many others in the past - has not appeared again since.  Nonetheless, she said it.  And I'll never forget the look on her face when she realized it came out how she had intended.

Priceless.

Giddyup!

About a week ago, The Princess came trotting out into the living room with a large stuffed Eeyore, giggling uncontrollably.  I don't know which was cuter: the movement or the cackles.

Since then, she's galloped out of her room on at least three other stuffed animals.  Get this: each and every one of them is a horse or donkey of some kind.  She straddles their backs and gallops or trots around the house while holding onto their ears.

The Princess, as you know by now, has hippotherapy once a week.  She rides various horses while laying on her tummy across the animal's back.  She had one pony ride last fall where she sat up in a saddle, but that's it.  Yet, she somehow instinctively knows that horsies are ridden by a person who is upright, straddling them, with something to hang onto right around the mane.

If that wasn't enough to gawk at, consider the fact that she is obviously pretending.  By herself.  With no prompt from anyone.  My little girl is using her imagination and playing in a productive way with her toys.  These are toys which we have never used in this way...the entire thing is coming from her imagination.

This doesn't happen very often, but I'm speechless.  Speechless, that is, if you don't count the laughter.  I wish you could all be here to see this when it happens.  Her giggles are contagious, and it's made all the better by the fact that she's pretending.

Helping Hooves

Whenever I mention the fact that The Princess participates in hippotherapy once a week, at least one person looks at me as though I have an arm growing out of my forehead.  This thought occurred to me when I was assigned to write an evaluation essay on a topic of my choice for my English class this past spring.

The instructor loved it, and she commended me on choosing an unusual topic.  Since she reads these things day in and day out, it seems to mean a lot to her when a student decides to evaluate something other than a car or an electronic device.

So...here's my A paper about hippotherapy.  I know that quite a few of you who read this blog are also mommas to special needs kiddos, so for many of you this will be nothing new.  But for my friends and family, and anyone else who winds up here, who may not understand unless they're one of the few who've accompanied us, I hope this will be helpful.

Hippotherapy is the integration of horses into other therapies in order to increase the effectiveness of these treatments. Not to be confused with therapeutic riding, this method does not involve the teaching of riding skills. Rather, hippotherapy involves a set amount of time with the patient lying across a horse’s back on his or her stomach, often used in conjunction with occupational, physical, or speech therapies. Riding in this position provides the most bodily contact, encouraging the greatest possible sensory input for the patient. This approach has been found to be very effective with patients who struggle with sensory integration problems, including many individuals who have been diagnosed as autistic. Being the mother of an autistic child, I decided to see for myself if what they say – that the horse’s movement helps patients to calm down, improves patients’ motor control, and has a positive effect on patients’ overall demeanor – was true.


Interestingly, the gentle swaying motion of the horse as it walks around the arena can be calming and organizing for many patients. My daughter, for example, is more relaxed when she is on her therapy horse’s back than in any other setting. Regardless of her prior mood, The Princess calms down drastically the moment she lies across Bear’s back. I have witnessed situations in which she has progressed from a near-meltdown state upon entering the arena to the most calm and serene little girl within less than five minutes. Bear’s movements have a staggering effect on my daughter, the likes of which I have never seen before. Despite the fact that The Princess is positively influenced in this way by Bear’s movements, the same is not true for every patient. Some people are afraid of horses, which can severely hinder their ability to relax enough to take advantage of the soothing qualities. Others can be lulled to sleep by the horse’s movement due to overstimulation of the vestibular system. For these patients, dismounting and changing to a different task such as speech therapy can be too jarring for them to handle upon waking. Very often, these patients are unable to transition successfully to the next part of their therapies.

Some patients find their hippotherapy time to be helpful in the organization of their thoughts and movements. The Princess's motor skills, for example, are strikingly more organized after spending thirty minutes on Bear than they are in a normal setting. She typically walks in fits and starts, alternating between a walking and running, rarely displaying a specific destination. Upon dismounting, The Princess purposefully places one foot in front of the other in an organized plan, moving from one place to another and giving the impression that this was her intention all along. In this way she seems like a different person, able to compose herself before plunging into a task. On the other hand, some patients seem to have a more difficult time adjusting to a world in which they are in control of their own movements. These patients often resemble sailors coming to port for the first time in a long while, swaying and struggling to control their movements. Unfortunately, those patients who fall asleep on the horses often awaken in a confused and agitated state, and can be unable to control their movements upon waking.

Incredibly, the time spent atop a therapy horse can heighten some patients’ ability to focus. The Princess, for instance, is far more capable of performing complicated tasks after riding on Bear. She has displayed a boundless attention span during her speech therapy sessions that immediately follow her time with Bear. During her half-hour sessions with Miss Cindy, she has shown the ability to attend to a task for a greater amount of time than she ever has before. This is not to say that she does not have a good attention span; she is just fine if the activity in question was her idea. Yet, her attention tends to wane quickly if she has not come up with the idea on her own. Just recently, The Princess participated in a sorting game with Miss Cindy for a full ten minutes. When Miss Cindy was sure she would have lost interest, The Princess adapted the game and continued it until her session came to an end. Other patients, however, are not as lucky as The Princess. Some people do not experience the same beneficial effects, finding themselves unable to focus even after spending time atop their therapy horses. Those patients who have a tendency to fall asleep on the horses often have a difficult time waking up and applying themselves to the next task in their therapies.

While hippotherapy does not work for everyone, it has proven to be an extremely effective tool in helping my daughter to cope with her autism and sensory integration challenges. She is displaying a calmer, more organized demeanor on a daily basis. Her movements are far more organized since starting therapy with Bear, and her ability to focus has increased astonishingly. These effects are helping her in many areas of her life, including those she is working on with her other therapists. As we pulled up to the stable for The Princess's third visit, she said, “Bear.” I turned around and gaped at her, thinking I must have imagined it. “What did you say, baby?” “Bear.” My daughter, who does not speak, purposefully said her horse’s name twice. Even without any other evidence of positive effects, this would be reason enough to continue The Princess's journey into the world of hippotherapy.

Date Night

Over this past weekend, The Hubbs and I decided that we absolutely must see the new "Sex and the City" movie.  Okay, you caught me: I made that decision; The Hubbs, being the wonderfully accommodating man that he is, agreed.

Sunday afternoon, The Princess was trucked off to The Grumps' house for a little free time while Momma and Da went out to play.  From what I hear, she did some real damage, though she dropped from exhaustion by eight o'clock.  Terrorizing the grandparents' house is serious business, don'tchaknow...

After checking showtimes and ticket prices (we're nothing if not frugal), we decided on a theater one town over with stellar rates.  Tickets and snackies were purchased without trouble, and we settled in for two glorious hours of fashion and girl talk.  Have I mentioned recently how wonderful my sweetheart is?  Really, he was probably the only man in the theater, aside from the elderly gentleman in the back who accompanied his wife and made some hilarious "oh, my goodness"-style remarks...which were directed mostly toward Samantha's character.

One hour and fifteen minutes into the film, the fire alarm went off.  I kid you not!  Naturally, this was in the neighborhood of 8:15, when all four theaters were packed to the gills with moviegoers, many of whom were families who had ventured out to see the latest installment in the "Shrek" series.

There were probably a couple hundred of us standing outside on the sidewalk when the fire truck pulled to the curb in front of the theater, some holding tubs of popcorn, others wrangling toddlers whose sassitude had turned up to about eleven at being forced out of their beloved movie.  It probably took a good half-hour before the fire department gave the all-clear and the doors were re-opened.  The theater staff did a great job, all considered...this isn't something they deal with every day, to say the least!

About fifteen minutes after we were all comfy in our seats again, the conversation died down as the screen flickered to life and we were all transported back to Abu Dhabi with the girls.

Since we had planned our night around a two-hour movie that began at 6:50, we were absolutely famished by the time we exited the theater in search of sustenance.  It was 9:45 when we returned to our car, and we had a specific place in mind for dinner...but it was two towns away from where we sat.  Fortunately, we thought to call ahead, only to find out that they'd stop serving dinner in fifteen minutes; there was no way we could get there that quickly.

Turning back toward town, we figured something had to be open.  After calling two more places and getting the same answer - kitchen closes at 10:00 - our hopes were all but crushed.  One final call to the pizza/everything-else-you-can-imagine joint in our little podunk town revealed that their kitchen, also, closed at ten o'clock.  BUT.  Even though it was ten minutes until closing, we were able to put in a take-out order, which was ready about five minutes after we arrived.

Back home, The Hubbs and I feasted on chicken parmesan and a sirloin steak with a baked potato, respectively.  We hung out, watching more movies and acting like silly kidless kids until the wee hours of the morning.

It's easy - too easy, really - to forget what it was like when we were dating.  It feels like a lifetime ago.  This is the first time we've done anything like this in quite a while, and it couldn't have come at a better time.  By the time The Princess arrived home with The Grumps on Memorial Day, we missed her like crazy, and we were ready to jump back in feet first. 

Sure, the evening wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I wouldn't have traded one second of it for the world.  Plus, it makes for one hell of a story, eh?

Bah

I looked at The Princess and said, "He's really cute, sweetie.  What's his name?"  Not expecting any kind of answer.

The Princess didn't miss a beat. "Bah."  She smiled and trotted off with her new pal.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to present Bah the giraffe...the first friend The Princess has ever named all on her own.

What To Do?

Over the long holiday weekend, we had some fabulous weather.  The sun shone, and there was not a cloud in the sky.  Temperatures raised as the weekend went on, and The Hubbs and I quickly tired of dragging The Princess's wagon around the yard and pushing her on the swing for hours at a crack.

What to do with a restless little girl who wants to be outside, but turns into a crank-monster in the heat?



I can't think of a better solution.

(Soundtrack is "Happy" by Salt Creek.)