Happy Birthday, R!

The Princess is growing up. Over the weekend, she, The Hubbs, and I attended our very first birthday party for someone to whom none of us are related.


As I’m sure you are aware by now, The Princess started school the day after she turned three. She entered into the autism program through our local special education district at a school about fifteen minutes from our little yellow house. Of the eleven children in Mrs. G.’s class, The Princess was – and still is – the only girl.

This, however, hasn’t turned out to be a bad thing so far. She’s something of a novelty to the class. At least a few of the boys have sisters, so they know a little bit about being around girls. I’m sure I told y’all about the one particularly adorable incident when The Princess’s allergies were acting up, causing her to be a Faucet Face, and one of the little boys in her class sweetly followed her around with tissues, wiping her nose like he does for his little sister.

It’s the moments like these, and the way I see her look at her teacher, that assure me she’s fine. All of you other mommas out there know where I’m coming from; when they can’t tell you what’s going on, you just plain have to have faith in the human race and hope like hell that your little ones are enjoying what they’re doing.

Well, today is R’s sixth birthday. He and The Princess have been in the same classroom together since April, and his momma was kind enough to invite The Princess (and, by extension, The Hubbs and me) to attend R’s very first “friends” birthday party. At first, we weren’t sure whether or not we should go. Three years in, we know what a challenge crowds can be. We know that any amount of structure can cause a meltdown. We know chances are that there will be at least some misery associated with such an outing.

But.

This was for one of her classmates. One of the boys with whom she spends tons of time on a regular basis at school. And the other attendees would also be her classmates, each and every one of whom is in the autism program. Each and every one of these sweet little boys has parents who get it.

So, on Saturday, we ventured to the fitness club where R’s party was to be held. Holding hands and lugging swim suits and diaper bags, we made our way past the reception area and back to the party room. The Princess, of course, wanted to run. Then she wanted me to fling her around. She couldn’t keep her busy little butt still while we feasted on pizza and cupcakes made in ice cream cones.

And no one said a thing. They got it. Each and every parent in that room understood. There was not a sideways glance, not an under-the-breath remark, not even the hint of anything but understanding and grace under the fire that was coming non-stop from the troop of little whirling dervishes in that room.

After lunch, we hit the pool. Each kiddo had at least one parent along for the duration. We drifted around the pool, playing in the kid area that had the coolest layout I’ve ever seen. Some of the more daring boys went to the (slightly) deeper area and climbed out, only to jump right back in, splashing everything in sight.

Naturally, The Princess took one look at this and wanted in. We joined the daredevils at the edge of the pool, where The Princess launched herself into my arms again and again. Eventually, she started climbing out almost completely on her own. She’d scoot herself to the edge, give me the look, and drop herself into the water. Completely into the water. On purpose. I’m talkin’ holding her breath, plunking herself into the pool – where she couldn’t touch, mind you – and coming up giggling when I dragged her to the surface.

We walked all around the areas where she could touch - the laps added up to miles, I'm sure. We played in the spray from one of the (I guess you’d call them) water features. We splooshed and splooshed until we couldn’t sploosh any more. We talked with the other parents. And it was all so relaxed. So natural.

This is the first time I’ve felt this way. I couldn’t be happier with our choice to start The Princess in this program at school. Meeting her classmates and their parents is an experience I’m not likely to forget, and it meant more to me than I could ever hope to convey.

R, you sweet, wonderful, little boy: thank you. Thank you for wanting a party with your friends from school. Thank you, and your mommy and daddy, for including us. Happy birthday, buddy. We hope to see you and the rest of the crew again very soon.