Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned.
After unabashedly eating two separate Thanksgiving dinners on two separate days this past weekend (neither of which was cooked - or hosted - by me), The Hubbs and I came home and made our very own 22-lb turkey.
And we didn't invite anyone to help us eat it.
That's right: we hoarded that giant turkey. All for ourselves.
We had two more traditional turkey dinners on Sunday and Monday, followed by some super-fun leftover experiments.
The cream of turkey and wild rice soup is fantastic. No, I really mean it. This stuff is epic.
Tonight, we'll be making one of our favorites: turkey pot pie.
And in between everything else, there's always The Hubbs' specialty: turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce.
Oh, and this whole time, guess who's been singing "Twinkle?"
Life is good, folks. Life is good.
And, for those of you joining in on the countdown, only fifteen more days until I've finished my AS degree. What will I do with all of this upcoming free time? Somehow, I don't think it'll be a problem.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
16...and Cousins
This Thanksgiving, we all hopped in our little maroon car and did the whole over-the-river-and-through-the-woods thing.
Arriving an hour or so early, we had a chance to hang out with JAK, Nana, Grampy, Great Grammie, and Great Grampy before the crowds descended.
The Princess and The Bear were inseparable for most of the day, much of which was spent with K leading our girl around by the hand.
Two years ago - hell, even last year - I would never have thought this possible.
Every day, I stand in awe of our girl. And, though I think it almost constantly, I can't remember the last time I typed it out loud:
Thank God for the team of people who have contributed to The Princess's happiness, wellbeing, and emergence from this debilitating shell we call autism.
For without you, you wonderful individuals, this little girl may not have any idea how wonderful it can be to have cousins.
Arriving an hour or so early, we had a chance to hang out with JAK, Nana, Grampy, Great Grammie, and Great Grampy before the crowds descended.
The Princess and The Bear were inseparable for most of the day, much of which was spent with K leading our girl around by the hand.
Two years ago - hell, even last year - I would never have thought this possible.
Every day, I stand in awe of our girl. And, though I think it almost constantly, I can't remember the last time I typed it out loud:
Thank God for the team of people who have contributed to The Princess's happiness, wellbeing, and emergence from this debilitating shell we call autism.
For without you, you wonderful individuals, this little girl may not have any idea how wonderful it can be to have cousins.
Monday, November 28, 2011
17...and Open Doors
This past weekend, the Hubbo family ventured out to T's place for Thanksgiving with friends.
The food was great, the company was wonderful, and The Princess was in rare form.
Not only did she use the big girl potty repeatedly, but she also let herself out into the living room once.
Look out, world...it seems The Princess has figured out the wiley ways of the elusive doorknob.
The food was great, the company was wonderful, and The Princess was in rare form.
Not only did she use the big girl potty repeatedly, but she also let herself out into the living room once.
Look out, world...it seems The Princess has figured out the wiley ways of the elusive doorknob.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
22...and Happy Thanksgiving
Hey, y'all!
Time to take a little bit of a break for this upcoming long holiday weekend. I'll be spending loads of time with people who are very important to me while simultaneously avoiding all things retail.
Wishing you and yours a happy and safe holiday.
~One Mom
Time to take a little bit of a break for this upcoming long holiday weekend. I'll be spending loads of time with people who are very important to me while simultaneously avoiding all things retail.
Wishing you and yours a happy and safe holiday.
~One Mom
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
23...and Johnny Five
In my family, it's a requirement that you name pretty much every inanimate object you spend loads of quality time with. This little goofball practice used to be reserved almost exclusively for cars.
Over the years, one or the other of us has driven Sherman the Wonder Tank, Tootsie, Melinda, Elmo, Sport, Cabernet and many others.
While technology has been subtly seeping into every facet of our lives, more and more things have been acquiring names. The biggest category? Computers.
My mom has had scads of computers. I think I've had three: my original tower, my laptop, and my HP desktop. The original tower was called something like Sherman the Wonder Tank, but I can't remember the exact name. My laptop was Stitch, after my favorite Disney cartoon character. The HP, over time, became Johnny Five.
Y'know...from Short Circuit?
Recently, Johnny Five became ill. He took my pictures hostage and refused to start up. It's been a few months since he started having his episodes, and at least a full month since he died for good.
Or so I thought.
After sending Johnny Five over to The Grumps' house to hang out with my momma for a while, he's back up and running, and he didn't even lose any of the information I was so concerned about.
In fact, he came home this past weekend, and I'm typing on him right now.
Welcome back, friend. No disassemble Johnny Five.
Over the years, one or the other of us has driven Sherman the Wonder Tank, Tootsie, Melinda, Elmo, Sport, Cabernet and many others.
While technology has been subtly seeping into every facet of our lives, more and more things have been acquiring names. The biggest category? Computers.
My mom has had scads of computers. I think I've had three: my original tower, my laptop, and my HP desktop. The original tower was called something like Sherman the Wonder Tank, but I can't remember the exact name. My laptop was Stitch, after my favorite Disney cartoon character. The HP, over time, became Johnny Five.
Y'know...from Short Circuit?
Recently, Johnny Five became ill. He took my pictures hostage and refused to start up. It's been a few months since he started having his episodes, and at least a full month since he died for good.
Or so I thought.
After sending Johnny Five over to The Grumps' house to hang out with my momma for a while, he's back up and running, and he didn't even lose any of the information I was so concerned about.
In fact, he came home this past weekend, and I'm typing on him right now.
Welcome back, friend. No disassemble Johnny Five.
Monday, November 21, 2011
24...and the ABC's
Remember when The Princess started singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?" She's still doing it. All. The time.
Except as time goes on, sometimes she modifies it slightly. In one spot, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah-ah. In another, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah.
There is no variation in the placement of these changes. When it happens, it follows the exact same pattern each and every time.
She's changing the rhythm ever so slightly to morph "Twinkle" into her ABC's.
Except as time goes on, sometimes she modifies it slightly. In one spot, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah-ah. In another, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah.
There is no variation in the placement of these changes. When it happens, it follows the exact same pattern each and every time.
She's changing the rhythm ever so slightly to morph "Twinkle" into her ABC's.
Friday, November 18, 2011
27...and 40
Forty years ago today, the world became a better place when my sweetheart was born in a suburb of Chicago.
Today, I celebrate him and everything he means to me.
He is the comic relief at the end of a crummy day.
He is a shoulder to cry on when it all gets to be too much.
He is the most devoted father I've ever met.
He is the inappropriate joke-cracker when the tension needs to be broken.
He is the yin to my yang.
Swatta Man, you are my very own personal superhero. I can't imagine what my life would be like today without you, and I'm glad I don't have to.
You're just neurotic enough to balance out my free-spirited go-with-the-flow attitude. In fact, you are the one person on this earth who is charmingly crazy enough to have chosen me for life.
Despite the vast differences between the two of us, we somehow complement each other perfectly. We're like two great songs that seem completely different until they get mashed together into something even better.
It makes no sense, but it's perfect nonetheless.
It ain't logic. It's love.
Happy, happy birthday, Mister. You've made me a better person, and I will love you every moment for the rest of my life.
Today, I celebrate him and everything he means to me.
He is the comic relief at the end of a crummy day.
He is a shoulder to cry on when it all gets to be too much.
He is the most devoted father I've ever met.
He is the inappropriate joke-cracker when the tension needs to be broken.
He is the yin to my yang.
Swatta Man, you are my very own personal superhero. I can't imagine what my life would be like today without you, and I'm glad I don't have to.
You're just neurotic enough to balance out my free-spirited go-with-the-flow attitude. In fact, you are the one person on this earth who is charmingly crazy enough to have chosen me for life.
Despite the vast differences between the two of us, we somehow complement each other perfectly. We're like two great songs that seem completely different until they get mashed together into something even better.
It makes no sense, but it's perfect nonetheless.
It ain't logic. It's love.
Happy, happy birthday, Mister. You've made me a better person, and I will love you every moment for the rest of my life.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
28
Twenty-eight days and counting. That's right: four weeks from today, at 6:30 in the evening, I will graduate from my little community college with my Associates Degree in science.
Back when I was in high school, I kind of assumed I'd go to college. So did my teachers, my parents, and everyone else in my life. When I made the decision to "take a year off," I was criticized from what seemed like every possible direction.
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
If you don't go now, you never will.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
(and the list goes on and on...and on)
Over the course of my "year" off, which actually turned into a decade, I found quite a bit of time to ponder these criticisms. One by one, they eventually became less mocking and less applicable in my mind.
That decade off gave me time to grow up, something most people don't get to do before going to college. Let's break down these criticisms one by one, shall we?
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
Me, that's who. Yes, I have always been good at art. Yes, I loved it in high school, and I was considered one of the most promising in my class. But my teenaged brain held pizza, long jump, fast cars and cute boys all in the same high regard. The fact of the matter is that I didn't have any worldly idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Art school seemed really cool at the time, but it felt like I'd have been playing, and that somehow didn't sit right with me. If I wasn't one hundred percent on board from the get-go, there's no way it was going to work out. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I could see that then.
If you don't go now, you never will.
Bull. Sure, it's hard to get back into the swing of things as a "returning adult student," which is the charming name they give to folks like me - you know, those of us who embark upon the furthering of our educations at or after the ripe-old age of twenty-five - but I can say with full confidence that I was far better equipped to deal with the responsibility of my college education ten years after graduating high school than I would have been way back when. I am fully convinced that I am taking far more knowledge with me out of this endeavor than I possibly could have as a kid. 'Cause that's what I was at 20. A kid.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Really? That's funny, 'cause over the last ten years I've only had one real dry spell, and that was during this bitch of a recession that has effectively knocked the whole country on its ass. There's a lot to be said for skills, people. And just off the top of my head, I can name at least ten people who went to college, graduated with a degree and a boatload of debt thanks to their student loans, who have not been able to procure jobs in their chosen professions. These are the people who are now working two or three low-paying jobs to pay off their loans while bitching day in and day out about what a waste it was to go to college. Oh, and by the time my high school classmates were out of college, I already had at least four years on them in the job field. You know, the real world? Where experience counts? Yeah. That one.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
Um, no. Do you? Again, not really the best argument. While the people I mentioned in the last point were still in school, I was making money. Not minimum wage, not millions, but money. I was doing very well for my age. By the time many of my friends graduated, I had bought my very own house. I was running neck-and-neck with my friends' parents in the salary department. Of course, that particular bubble eventually burst and now I'm back to making a more modest wage, but the fact is that it is possible.
I've never been a big fan of unsolicited advice. Just like when we're talking about our kids, there are so-called experts all over the place just chomping at the bit to tell us what we should and should not do, waiting around every corner to judge, judge, judge. But when it comes to me, my family, my life, and my education, I am the only expert, thankyouverymuch.
I may not have had all the answers at eighteen, and I'm glad I had the wherewithal to recognize that fact at such a young age. Instead of prolonging my childhood by moving into some dorm with constant parties, I grew up. I bought my little yellow house, married my sweetheart, adopted our two bulldogs, and had The Princess. How could I have known at eighteen that this is where I would be down the line? I couldn't, and that, my friends, is why I didn't make the decision about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life before it even began.
Back when I was in high school, I kind of assumed I'd go to college. So did my teachers, my parents, and everyone else in my life. When I made the decision to "take a year off," I was criticized from what seemed like every possible direction.
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
If you don't go now, you never will.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
(and the list goes on and on...and on)
Over the course of my "year" off, which actually turned into a decade, I found quite a bit of time to ponder these criticisms. One by one, they eventually became less mocking and less applicable in my mind.
That decade off gave me time to grow up, something most people don't get to do before going to college. Let's break down these criticisms one by one, shall we?
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
Me, that's who. Yes, I have always been good at art. Yes, I loved it in high school, and I was considered one of the most promising in my class. But my teenaged brain held pizza, long jump, fast cars and cute boys all in the same high regard. The fact of the matter is that I didn't have any worldly idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Art school seemed really cool at the time, but it felt like I'd have been playing, and that somehow didn't sit right with me. If I wasn't one hundred percent on board from the get-go, there's no way it was going to work out. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I could see that then.
If you don't go now, you never will.
Bull. Sure, it's hard to get back into the swing of things as a "returning adult student," which is the charming name they give to folks like me - you know, those of us who embark upon the furthering of our educations at or after the ripe-old age of twenty-five - but I can say with full confidence that I was far better equipped to deal with the responsibility of my college education ten years after graduating high school than I would have been way back when. I am fully convinced that I am taking far more knowledge with me out of this endeavor than I possibly could have as a kid. 'Cause that's what I was at 20. A kid.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Really? That's funny, 'cause over the last ten years I've only had one real dry spell, and that was during this bitch of a recession that has effectively knocked the whole country on its ass. There's a lot to be said for skills, people. And just off the top of my head, I can name at least ten people who went to college, graduated with a degree and a boatload of debt thanks to their student loans, who have not been able to procure jobs in their chosen professions. These are the people who are now working two or three low-paying jobs to pay off their loans while bitching day in and day out about what a waste it was to go to college. Oh, and by the time my high school classmates were out of college, I already had at least four years on them in the job field. You know, the real world? Where experience counts? Yeah. That one.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
Um, no. Do you? Again, not really the best argument. While the people I mentioned in the last point were still in school, I was making money. Not minimum wage, not millions, but money. I was doing very well for my age. By the time many of my friends graduated, I had bought my very own house. I was running neck-and-neck with my friends' parents in the salary department. Of course, that particular bubble eventually burst and now I'm back to making a more modest wage, but the fact is that it is possible.
I've never been a big fan of unsolicited advice. Just like when we're talking about our kids, there are so-called experts all over the place just chomping at the bit to tell us what we should and should not do, waiting around every corner to judge, judge, judge. But when it comes to me, my family, my life, and my education, I am the only expert, thankyouverymuch.
I may not have had all the answers at eighteen, and I'm glad I had the wherewithal to recognize that fact at such a young age. Instead of prolonging my childhood by moving into some dorm with constant parties, I grew up. I bought my little yellow house, married my sweetheart, adopted our two bulldogs, and had The Princess. How could I have known at eighteen that this is where I would be down the line? I couldn't, and that, my friends, is why I didn't make the decision about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life before it even began.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
29
Yesterday, I left our little yellow house at 6:20 am to go to work. The Princess was still in bed, snoozing soundly.
I worked the day like normal, heading directly for school when my shift was over.
When I arrived at school, I hightailed it for the testing center, where I spent an hour and a half taking my exit exams.
The moment I finished my exams, I had to drive across campus to my Spanish class, where I had to give an oral presentation for which I was extremely ill-prepared.
There should have been a meal somewhere between work and Spanish, but there just wasn't time.
Finally, something like fourteen hours after I left the house, I pulled into the garage. I couldn't get my stuff out of the car fast enough.
As soon as I walked into the kitchen, the stress of the day melted away. I was home, and my girl catapulted herself into my arms as soon as our eyes met.
The one saving grace of that long, hectic day was my family. I couldn't be happier than when I'm with them. This really is what it's all about.
Twenty-nine days from now, I'm going to walk the walk with a bunch of 20-year-olds and be done with this degree.
And thirty days from now, things are going to slow down considerably. I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like to have a full-time job without the full-time school schedule. Somehow, though, I have a feeling I'll adjust.
I worked the day like normal, heading directly for school when my shift was over.
When I arrived at school, I hightailed it for the testing center, where I spent an hour and a half taking my exit exams.
The moment I finished my exams, I had to drive across campus to my Spanish class, where I had to give an oral presentation for which I was extremely ill-prepared.
There should have been a meal somewhere between work and Spanish, but there just wasn't time.
Finally, something like fourteen hours after I left the house, I pulled into the garage. I couldn't get my stuff out of the car fast enough.
As soon as I walked into the kitchen, the stress of the day melted away. I was home, and my girl catapulted herself into my arms as soon as our eyes met.
The one saving grace of that long, hectic day was my family. I couldn't be happier than when I'm with them. This really is what it's all about.
Twenty-nine days from now, I'm going to walk the walk with a bunch of 20-year-olds and be done with this degree.
And thirty days from now, things are going to slow down considerably. I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like to have a full-time job without the full-time school schedule. Somehow, though, I have a feeling I'll adjust.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Escape
It never ceases to amaze me, this range of totally unveiled emotion. Of course, there's a bit of it in every child, but I can't help feeling as though with my girl it's somehow...I don't know...more.
In the span of five minutes, The Princess goes from happy to sad, angry, bored, frustrated, independent, needy, and everything in between. Absolute, unbridled joy is often followed immediately by inconsolable, blubbering, alligator-tear-streaked misery.
Her eyes give her away every time.
One look at that beautiful face, contorted in reaction to some invisible force, eyes pleading for help even though she has no words, is enough to break my heart.
I turn my head for a second, pleading with God to help me help her. When I look back, she's grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, pulling me in for a hug, eyes twinkling as though nothing ever happened to disrupt her.
And just as quickly, she's in her own world, focused completely on some seemingly mundane thing like a scrap of paper, as if it's the only thing in the entire world and deserves no less than her undivided attention.
I know from experience that this piece of paper can be the center of her universe for an hour or more if I let it. I also know that I've been told it's best to try to redirect her energy to something constructive when she starts to stim.
But somehow, I just can't bring myself to do it. At times, it seems like stimming is the only thing that allows her the opportunity to escape the constant barrage of input that sends her senses reeling so many times each day.
And so it is, from time to time, that I sit here and quietly observe. I refrain from offering an alternative, and I drink in the calm on my baby's face.
Everyone deserves an escape.
In the span of five minutes, The Princess goes from happy to sad, angry, bored, frustrated, independent, needy, and everything in between. Absolute, unbridled joy is often followed immediately by inconsolable, blubbering, alligator-tear-streaked misery.
Her eyes give her away every time.
One look at that beautiful face, contorted in reaction to some invisible force, eyes pleading for help even though she has no words, is enough to break my heart.
I turn my head for a second, pleading with God to help me help her. When I look back, she's grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, pulling me in for a hug, eyes twinkling as though nothing ever happened to disrupt her.
And just as quickly, she's in her own world, focused completely on some seemingly mundane thing like a scrap of paper, as if it's the only thing in the entire world and deserves no less than her undivided attention.
I know from experience that this piece of paper can be the center of her universe for an hour or more if I let it. I also know that I've been told it's best to try to redirect her energy to something constructive when she starts to stim.
But somehow, I just can't bring myself to do it. At times, it seems like stimming is the only thing that allows her the opportunity to escape the constant barrage of input that sends her senses reeling so many times each day.
And so it is, from time to time, that I sit here and quietly observe. I refrain from offering an alternative, and I drink in the calm on my baby's face.
Everyone deserves an escape.
Monday, November 14, 2011
First Friend
Every morning, shortly after I leave for work, The Hubbs gets The Princess on the bus. She has an assigned seat with her very own star harness, which The Hubbs helps her into.
Same seat. Every weekday.
There's another little girl on The Princess's bus, about her size, but this kiddo doesn't use a harness. She has the freedom to choose her seat since she doesn't require any special restraints...just the regular seat belt that is standard in all of the seats on this little bus.
Early last week, The Hubbs told me that this little girl had strapped herself in right next to The Princess's seat. When he mentioned it to the bus driver, she said that sometimes this little one likes to sit by The Princess. This entertained him to no end, and as he got our girl settled in her seat, she turned, made eye contact with this other little girl, and gave her a world-class grin.
On Friday, guess who was back in the same seat? Leaning down, he asked this little girl if she liked to sit next to The Princess, which she answered with an ear-to-ear grin. Strapping our girl into her harness, he noticed more peer-to-peer eye contact and great big smiles.
I do believe The Princess has made her first friend.
Same seat. Every weekday.
There's another little girl on The Princess's bus, about her size, but this kiddo doesn't use a harness. She has the freedom to choose her seat since she doesn't require any special restraints...just the regular seat belt that is standard in all of the seats on this little bus.
Early last week, The Hubbs told me that this little girl had strapped herself in right next to The Princess's seat. When he mentioned it to the bus driver, she said that sometimes this little one likes to sit by The Princess. This entertained him to no end, and as he got our girl settled in her seat, she turned, made eye contact with this other little girl, and gave her a world-class grin.
On Friday, guess who was back in the same seat? Leaning down, he asked this little girl if she liked to sit next to The Princess, which she answered with an ear-to-ear grin. Strapping our girl into her harness, he noticed more peer-to-peer eye contact and great big smiles.
I do believe The Princess has made her first friend.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Resurrected
It wasn't easy.
In fact, it was a rather large pain in the you-know-what.
But my momma was able to resurrect my computer long enough to at least recover every single, solitary picture it had been holding hostage. Every. Last. One.
My inner monologue at this point goes something like this: "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou."
And that's not all. It seems the computer may be salvageable as well.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief here, folks. I hadn't even noticed I'd been holding my breath.
In fact, it was a rather large pain in the you-know-what.
But my momma was able to resurrect my computer long enough to at least recover every single, solitary picture it had been holding hostage. Every. Last. One.
My inner monologue at this point goes something like this: "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou."
And that's not all. It seems the computer may be salvageable as well.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief here, folks. I hadn't even noticed I'd been holding my breath.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Christmas List Revisited
Thanks to some very supportive friends and family members (thank you, T and J), I've overcome my writer's block and have been able to construct a list of things I'm sure The Princess would love to get for Christmas.
First off, my girl is constantly sticking things in her mouth. We've wanted to try chew tubes and Chewelry for a long time now, but we just don't have the disposable income we used to. So, unconventional as it may seem, these items are on her list.
Next up: screw the age ranges on toy packaging. There are some things she's had since infancy that she prefers above all else, and they're getting kind of ratty. Some have even been worn out. After taking inventory of her favorite things, replacements for the oldest, rattiest, and worn-out-iest make up a good portion of her list.
Then there's her unflappable affinity for Pillow Pets. She just loves them, and there are now mini varieties on the market, so I no longer have to worry about Arlington being dethroned.
Lastly, I searched around for products geared toward occupational therapy, people on the spectrum, and some from our favorite brands to date.
And if she still doesn't care about opening presents this year, who the hell cares? At least I can say with confidence that she'll be happy with what she gets.
And I'll bet you a dollar none of it will end up collecting dust in the basement.
First off, my girl is constantly sticking things in her mouth. We've wanted to try chew tubes and Chewelry for a long time now, but we just don't have the disposable income we used to. So, unconventional as it may seem, these items are on her list.
Next up: screw the age ranges on toy packaging. There are some things she's had since infancy that she prefers above all else, and they're getting kind of ratty. Some have even been worn out. After taking inventory of her favorite things, replacements for the oldest, rattiest, and worn-out-iest make up a good portion of her list.
Then there's her unflappable affinity for Pillow Pets. She just loves them, and there are now mini varieties on the market, so I no longer have to worry about Arlington being dethroned.
Lastly, I searched around for products geared toward occupational therapy, people on the spectrum, and some from our favorite brands to date.
And if she still doesn't care about opening presents this year, who the hell cares? At least I can say with confidence that she'll be happy with what she gets.
And I'll bet you a dollar none of it will end up collecting dust in the basement.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Progress
The Princess is four and a half years old.
Every day since she was born, The Hubbs and I have continued pulling diaper duty. Sure, she's been wearing Pull-Ups since we started potty training three years ago (please don't ask how that's going right now), but they're diapers just the same.
Just a rough estimate: 1642 days of changing diapers so far.
And just when I thought changing time could no longer surprise me, for the first time ever, she lifted her butt to help me get her new diaper on.
It was earlier this year, and somehow it managed to go unmentioned.
She has done it every day since.
Progress in my world may not be the same as it is in yours. Here, it's the little things, the ones that so many people take for granted, which bring the most pride and joy.
Every day since she was born, The Hubbs and I have continued pulling diaper duty. Sure, she's been wearing Pull-Ups since we started potty training three years ago (please don't ask how that's going right now), but they're diapers just the same.
Just a rough estimate: 1642 days of changing diapers so far.
And just when I thought changing time could no longer surprise me, for the first time ever, she lifted her butt to help me get her new diaper on.
It was earlier this year, and somehow it managed to go unmentioned.
She has done it every day since.
Progress in my world may not be the same as it is in yours. Here, it's the little things, the ones that so many people take for granted, which bring the most pride and joy.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
My Wish List
I've been thinking about this whole wish list conundrum, and in the process I've come up with my own:
I wish I could communicate better with my girl.
I wish I knew whether or not anything I say is getting through to her.
I wish I could protect her from the world forever.
I wish I knew what the future held for her, but at the same time, I'm kind of glad I don't.
I wish I could freeze her at this age.
I wish I could be home with her.
I wish a lot of things were different.
I wish nothing would ever change.
I wish I could communicate better with my girl.
I wish I knew whether or not anything I say is getting through to her.
I wish I could protect her from the world forever.
I wish I knew what the future held for her, but at the same time, I'm kind of glad I don't.
I wish I could freeze her at this age.
I wish I could be home with her.
I wish a lot of things were different.
I wish nothing would ever change.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Twinkle, Twinkle
I'm walking through the grocery store, pushing The Princess down the aisles in our cart as The Hubbs and I stock up on necessities. The Princess is uncharacteristically happy, swinging her feet and singing despite the crowd and noise.
Wait, what's this?
I listen more carefully to her wordless song, and - sure enough - I know the melody well.
She's singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
And she hasn't missed a single note.
Wait, what's this?
I listen more carefully to her wordless song, and - sure enough - I know the melody well.
She's singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
And she hasn't missed a single note.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Punch to the Gut
There we are, going along on our little paths, when - totally out of the blue - BAM. Something breaks through like a punch to the gut.
I couldn't be happier in anyone else's shoes. I am well aware of the fact that sayings become cliches largely due to the grain of truth that's embedded in each one. I know that things are not always as they seem, and I know that the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the fence.
I couldn't be prouder of my little girl and the progress she has made in the past three years. Does she speak? No. Does she communicate? Hell yes, in her own way. She makes eye contact. She smiles and engages people.
She draws us all in and shows us beyond the shadow of a doubt that autism doesn't mean totally introverted. It doesn't mean permanently downcast eyes. It doesn't mean complete inability to interact in social situations.
Not to my girl, it doesn't.
But what it does mean is that she has to work that much harder, now, and likely for the rest of her life, to accomplish her goals, whatever they may be.
Normal is not a word you'll hear uttered in our little yellow house every day. "Normal" is as elusive to us as "existential" is to some people. We know what works for us, and we're happy with our unique little corner of the world.
Any of you who have children are probably going through the same thing we are at the moment: family requests for Christmas wish lists. I can remember being The Princess's age, sitting in Grandma Dorothy's spinny dining room chair on top of a stack of phone books, circling the things I wanted out of the Sears catalog with a red marker, dog-earing the pages and adding exclamation points next to the things I really wanted.
Nowadays, it's a bit different. Our girl pays absolutely no attention to the television or any other kind of marketing ploys from the big toy companies. She's at her happiest when playing with a string of yarn with a bead tied on the end of it. We have hundreds of toys in the basement that she has received for past birthdays and Christmases, none of which she's ready for yet.
Damn those age ranges on the toy packages.
How do I explain to everyone who loves my girl that I can't think of a single thing she would give a hoot about? That she's happiest with the toys she's had since she was born? That she - and it breaks my heart just a little to say this - probably wouldn't know the difference either way?
The optimist in me is sure that The Hubbs and I will be able to come up with something, and that it will be brilliant.
Right now, though? Not so much.
I couldn't be happier in anyone else's shoes. I am well aware of the fact that sayings become cliches largely due to the grain of truth that's embedded in each one. I know that things are not always as they seem, and I know that the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the fence.
I couldn't be prouder of my little girl and the progress she has made in the past three years. Does she speak? No. Does she communicate? Hell yes, in her own way. She makes eye contact. She smiles and engages people.
She draws us all in and shows us beyond the shadow of a doubt that autism doesn't mean totally introverted. It doesn't mean permanently downcast eyes. It doesn't mean complete inability to interact in social situations.
Not to my girl, it doesn't.
But what it does mean is that she has to work that much harder, now, and likely for the rest of her life, to accomplish her goals, whatever they may be.
Normal is not a word you'll hear uttered in our little yellow house every day. "Normal" is as elusive to us as "existential" is to some people. We know what works for us, and we're happy with our unique little corner of the world.
Any of you who have children are probably going through the same thing we are at the moment: family requests for Christmas wish lists. I can remember being The Princess's age, sitting in Grandma Dorothy's spinny dining room chair on top of a stack of phone books, circling the things I wanted out of the Sears catalog with a red marker, dog-earing the pages and adding exclamation points next to the things I really wanted.
Nowadays, it's a bit different. Our girl pays absolutely no attention to the television or any other kind of marketing ploys from the big toy companies. She's at her happiest when playing with a string of yarn with a bead tied on the end of it. We have hundreds of toys in the basement that she has received for past birthdays and Christmases, none of which she's ready for yet.
Damn those age ranges on the toy packages.
How do I explain to everyone who loves my girl that I can't think of a single thing she would give a hoot about? That she's happiest with the toys she's had since she was born? That she - and it breaks my heart just a little to say this - probably wouldn't know the difference either way?
The optimist in me is sure that The Hubbs and I will be able to come up with something, and that it will be brilliant.
Right now, though? Not so much.
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