Age Appropriate

If you're anything like me, those two words together make you cringe, grind your teeth a little, and - perhaps - start to twitch around your right eye.  Not that I would know anything about that.

As moms, we all have those pet peeves we can't seem to get over.  While they may seem trivial to some outsiders, they are very real and very big to those of us who take issue with them.  "Age appropriate" is one of mine.  You know, those seemingly harmless little numbers on every toy on the market...the ones that guide the consumer by telling them what age group said toy should be appropriate for on a developmental scale.

I vote we do away with these damned things altogether.  Who's with me?

This Christmas, The Princess received a gift card to Toys 'R' Us and some cash from a couple of her great aunties and uncles.  A couple of months before Christmas, The Hubbs' iPad crapped out, so our girl had been without her touch-screen educational apps for a while by that point.

Thinking we were doing something good, we threw in about $30 of our own money along with the gift card and cash, and we purchased a LeapFrog LeapPad2 from our local Toys 'R' Us.  The age range on the package was 3-9 years.  The Princess is going to turn 6 in April.

Well.  You can see where this is going, can't you?

The LeapFrog LeapPad2 is lightyears ahead of my girl's abilities.  Forget the fact that you have to purchase games and apps separately...I'll just focus on the developmental challenges. 

On-off switch?  Fine. 

Login screen where the child has to choose his or her picture and name from a field of at least 5 choices, even if he or she is the only user?  Discouraging.

The fact that the Internet cannot be accessed on the machine itself?  Perfect.  Exactly what I wanted.

Level of verbal instructions given for each and every game/app the thing came with?  Far too advanced.

General process for getting into desirable locations and getting things done?  Way too complicated.

Thankfully, our local Toys 'R' Us agreed to let us return the tablet for a cash refund and $25 store credit that same day.  I was feeling about "this big" by that time.  You know how it goes.  The fact that they were willing to work with us made it a little better.

Once I got over myself, we made another trip to the same store a couple of days later.  This trip was miles better than the one before.  The Princess found two toys she absolutely loves.  The fact that they each have an age range of 9-36 months does not bother me in the slightest.  In fact, I believe I've learned a little lesson here.

I'm done with age range labels.  Who the hell are you, you pretentious, colorful cardboard box, to tell me what's appropriate for my kid.  She smiles, it's all good.  And you can shove those age ranges where the smiley-face yellow cartoon sun don't shine.

A Better Christmas Gift

After a week away on business, Nana and Grampy picked me up from the airport on Saturday afternoon.  The Hubbs and The Princess were waiting for us back at their house, and I couldn't get there fast enough.

I was out of that car like a shot, careening up the stairs into the great room and singing out my girl's name.  She was stimming on some blocks in the middle of the room, right next to her ten-month-old cousin, E.

At the sound of my voice, she stopped what she was doing.

Turned to look at me.

Smiled.

Said, "Momma."

Ran across the room and into my arms.

I honestly can't think of a better Christmas gift.

Pity

"And what about The Princess?  Is she totally excited for Santa Claus to come?  What does she want this year?"

...asked everyone I've ever known.  I know it's not meant to affect me the way it does - I know this - but my reaction is not a logical one.

I get all prickly every time I am asked one of these questions, or any of the hundreds of variations on them.  Another favorite: "Does she just love to talk to you on the phone when you're out of town?  I bet she gabs your ear off..." or some other such seemingly harmless smalltalk.

We'll address these one at a time.  Here, my dear readers, are the answers to what seem - at least lately - to be the most commonly asked questions about my sweet little Princess.

No, she is not totally excited for Santa Claus to come.  The fact of the matter is that I don't even know if she has any idea who he is.  Or if she's retained any of the mythology, can she even wrap her little head around the concept?  These are things I may never know, and I am okay with this. 

I have no worldly idea what she wants for Christmas this year.  She does not ask me for things.  She does not flip through toy catalogs like other children her age.  She does not play Internet games or while away the hours with YouTube or Apple apps.  She is perfectly happy playing with the toys she has owned since she was a baby.  There are a few notable exceptions that have been allowed into the club as late entries, but the vast majority of her preferred playthings are plastered with age range labels that have long been left in our dust.  She is happy.  I am happy.  Please do not concern yourself with whatever the "next big thing" may be for little girls of a certain age.  No one in my house knows or cares about them.  Yes, I am asking for practical things for her for Christmas.  No, it is not sad.  End of story.

No, she does not just love to talk to me on the phone when I'm out of town.  She doesn't really seem to understand the concept.  More and more as she gets older, it seems as though she's recognizing the voices that come out of phones, but she has no interest in holding the phone at all.

No, she does not gab my ear off.  She doesn't speak. 

And stop it with the pitying looks when I answer you honestly.  You asked.  I'm not going to lie.  We are content - couldn't be happier, actually - with our lives.  My girl is not an unfortunate victim of some huge, horrible diagnosis.

She is my girl.

And I love her.

If you don't really want to know what's going on with me and my family, do us both a favor by refraining from asking the questions altogether. 

Don't you dare make me feel anything but blessed by what I have.

I wouldn't trade a second of this life for anything.  And if you can't understand that, I should be the one pitying you.

Aftermath

Looking back on this December, it's no wonder it seemed to me like it's been on steroids.  In addition to the usual holiday stuff, I had my final two weeks of classes, followed by a graduation ceremony, smack in the middle of the busiest time of the year at work.

It really was on steroids.

I've been goin' 240 with my hair on fire since about a week before Thanksgiving, and I think my body's trying to tell me something.  This week, in the aftermath of Christmas, I've been ready for bed by approximately eight o'clock each evening.

I'm gonna go ahead and take my body's advice, in the interest of not completely burning out.  Stay tuned for updates about graduation, Christmas, and everything else that's happened this month.

Just as soon as I catch up on some rest.

10...and Draggin'

This weekend, the Hubbo Family got a lot done.  And when I say a lot, I mean I'm not quite sure how we did it.

One of the biggest things for me was actually getting the Christmas tree up and decorated.  Every year since we bought the house, I've made a point of decorating for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving...until this year, that is.  Somehow, it just didn't feel like time until yesterday.

The only place in our little yellow house big enough and out-of-the-way enough for our tree happens to be in the front corner of our living room, blocking the door that leads into the front yard (don't worry...everyone comes in and out through the garage, especially during the winter, so it's not like we're shutting ourselves in!).  Last year, I had this idea while looking at the tree...you see, my front door really isn't all that pretty, so it doesn't make the greatest backdrop for the tree.

So here's what I did this year:

That's right: I wrapped the front door.  Apparently, all the gift wrapping at work has begun to pay off, because I don't know if I could have pulled this off as well before getting all that practice.

After a day of dragging boxes up and down stairs, hefting the tree around, stretching in odd ways to wrap the door, listening to Christmas music and addressing cards, watching Scrooged and Rudolph, my butt is draggin' a bit this morning.

But it's totally worth it.  You should see The Princess.  She's completely enthralled with the tree again this year.  I'm going to try to get some useable video at some point to share with you here.

Annnnnd...10 days to graduation.  Boy, am I ready.

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.