Have Wheels, Will Travel

Nuts to You

Nuts? Why yes, I am. I'm up way past my bedtime. And then there is that one other thing. That adoption thing. For a while now it has been a sort of side note to our family life. Did you hear that our son has autism? Oh yes, and we want more children. From another country. Someday.
We started the process in faith before we knew about It. The Big A. Back when we thought he was just quirky and independent. And hyper. And gifted. And from a different planet. Then we put the process on hold. After all, how can parents devote time and unholy amounts of money to a child they don't even know, when the child they already put to bed each night would rather hide under a table than participate in a game of RedLight/GreenLight?
Months have passed and we've been content with that decision, when we've had time to think about it. We've been completely wrapped up in appointments, treatment options, assessments, recommended reading, and forms. Lots of forms. And then someone must have spiked our water, because out of the blue, we decided to start again.
As I pulled my boys from on top of eachother for the bazillionth time today, I thought about bringing another child into the crazy fray that is our home. I wondered how on earth we would manage. But then, I thought about the times when I was pregnant and I worried about having a child with special needs -- how would we manage? And now that I do have one, I realize that you just do. Somehow God has given us the Grace to make it through each day (mostly) intact. And I just have to believe that His Grace is sufficient for a bigger family too. Those of you who know me know that I am by no means an idealist. So to say that I am at peace with our decision to adopt is surprising -- even to me.
I am already being trained in ignoring the caustic glances of strangers. How else could I survive my son running across half the food court at the mall -- on top of the tables -- with any dignity intact? Having another child in my brood that might draw attention will probably be one of easier things to manage. As for financing the darn thing -- is there such a thing as a fourteenth mortgage? Yeah, well, that's a big question mark. Good thing my family already survives on peanut butter and jelly three times a day. Probably the biggest ordeal will be the one that already gives me migraines: loading them in the car. I shudder at the very thought!
So, as to our being completely nuts -- yes, we probably are. That or we like to thrive on faith. I'm hoping its the latter because I don't think our insurance covers crazy people.

Progress Report

Once upon a time, a desparate mother tried every medium in the children's craft department in an attempt to get her son to create. The crayons were stripped and stomped on, the paints emptied onto the table and smeared on body parts, the clay hurled across the room like granades, and the paper torn into confetti. The mother quickly learned that the only thing her son was gifted at creating was carnage. The kind ladies at church didn't fare much better. Thus, when it came time to pick up the lad from some church activity, the mother would find her son to be the only child who lacked even a scribble for a craft to take home. "He refused to do the craft," the ladies would say with a shrug and a sigh. While other children dutifully created heartfelt cards and creations for Mother's Day or Valentine's, this mother was dismayed each time to find no such gift.

Those of you who have followed this story with one eye on the picture to the left are probably waiting for me to break the miraculous news that things have changed. Alas, I am sorry to report that for the most part things have not changed in regards to the son's ability to create beautiful works of childish art. However, whereas before a terrific meltdown would precede every attempt to coerce a single scribble on a pre-printed "Get Well" card for a sick grandparent, I am happy to report that this little boy willingly agrees to write his name (albeit backwards).

Something new has also transpired: representational art. At least, that's the only thing I can think of to call it. This plucky little guy has quite suddenly come up with the ability to draw a picture by following basic instruction. (see photo) The funny thing is you could ask him to draw a picture of a man and he would still tearfully refuse. Yet, you can lead him step by step through drawing different size lines and circles to create the image of a stick-figured man. In this particular case, the drawing was something he learned at school and was proud to recreate (instructor-like!) for his little brother. The concept has yet to be "generalized", as they say, and I would still classify him as "face-blind" in many cases, but it is progress. And to this mother, progress is a wonderful gift.

Wordless Wednesday...Again

For Katie

Those of you who know me know that there are few things I dislike more than involving myself in campaigns, petitions or politics. I'm not one to sign up for a cause and I hate arguing. I do, however, feel strongly about injustice. And, I must say that the day I dropped my son off for his first day in a special education class at school, combined with hearing the insurance company tell me that they will not cover any treatment that applies to his diagnosis, changed something in me. That being said, I want to join with the many families affected by autism in remembering Katie and her family.

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall,

I well remember them and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness.

I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion, therefore I will wait for Him.'"

Lamentations 3:19-24

Smokey Meatballs

(Or, Snoqualmie Falls, [snow-qwall-me], depending on whether you are over the age of 5.)

Last Sunday, Snoqualmie, WA, the first sunny day in weeks. Mr Spectrum, Mr Sensory-Integration, and Yours Truly, cold, but breathing outdoor air for once.

Yes, Victoria, there is a New Post

You'll find it below Wednesday's post.

Its the Mirrors

How I've been feeling and why I haven't been posting:

But, hey, look at that waistline!

Labels

"Yikes! Its the monster!" they shriek, tearing around the carpeted circle.

"No, I'm not!" he insists. He stands still, for just a moment, looking more confused than dejected. An instant later, he races after them. Seeing his pursuit, the others let out high-pitched giggles and increase their speed. Gaining on them, he squeals and swings his ever-present stuffed animal in their direction.

"Its the monster!" they chorus again.

And so it continues until he wanders over to me, baffled at their persistence and also the label they've given him.

"I'm NOT a monster," he declares, his logic offended.

Were it a one time occurance, I would assure him that no, he is not a monster and these kids were just being silly, etc. Instead, we are faced with this scenario nearly every time we go to any children's play area. Thus I am forced to concede that the common element in each interaction would happen to be my son.

When he was younger, he greeted those with whom he was familiar with a solid punch in the gut or a swat to the face. As a two year-old, such behavior could be laughed off, because although surprising, it rarely caused much harm. When the behavior ceased to change with firm instruction and the passage of time, we knew we had a problem. The fact that such unpredictable behavior is usually accompanied by strange utterances only made matters worse.

It is easy to see why a group of children who aren't familiar with my son would be intimidated by his bizarre behavior. Being children, they create a game out of the scenario, with the feisty and socially-challenged boy given the role of nemesis. Its easy to see...but hard to experience. Especially because I know that at five years old this is only the beginning.

Enter the glimmer of hope.

A week ago we paid a visit to one such play area, only to have the same drama played out again. Unexpectedly, however, an easy-going little guy broke away from the fray and aligned himself with my son. I have no idea what transpired between the two, but within moments they were walking side-by-side in laps around the play area. (The other children had lost interest by now. Two are harder to torment than one, I suppose.) They appeared to be chatting, of all things, and I could only assume that maybe this other boy shared an interest in the transpiration of plant life in a tropical rain forest. Their comraderie would continue for the next hour -- who would dare pull something so precious apart?? -- until his mother signalled it was time to leave. There was genuine reluctance as the two little guys said goodbye, something else new to behold in my child.

Imagine my delight upon the happenstance arrival to the same play area today to see the same blonde head atop the towering foam toy. I pulled my son aside and whispered the news to him. To my surprise, his eyes lit up and he asked me to show him the boy. Surprise turned to joy when upon recognition the other boy threw his arms around my son and cried out, "My friend! My friend!"

Praise the Lord, my son has a new label!

Wordless Wednesday 2