Anymore + Evermore

You know what, I'm not going to "quiet" my kid anymore. And I'm not going to "pretend" anymore, for the sake of social norms, that my child doesn't, or isn't, feeling something he can't "appropriately" communicate (based off other people's comfort levels or skewed terms of acceptability). Because guess what, "normal" doesn't exist anymore. And it never did, actually. I'm just sad, and sorry, it took me so long to wake up. But here it is, I'm not in a "fog" anymore. And I'm happy to say, I'm not going to worry about "you" anymore. So, for the record:

• My kid WILL scream when he's overwhelmed, tired, frustrated, excited, sad, angry, or indifferent.
• My son WILL drop to the ground kicking for reasons unknown to both you and me.
• My boy WILL make a scene to be seen, and "heard."

And I will not apologize anymore. Because, I am proud of him. For always, and evermore!

Moral of this post, and reminder to myself, respond intentionally.

Now, can I get any more photos of Aksel's face in just one post? And as a side note, I think, moving forward, he should take all of my pictures. What do you think?

Home House Sticky Call Me Maybe

Yesterday, for the first time ever, Aksel sat down, of his own free will, and wrote me a letter.

(This post and letter was originally written in April 2017.)

I drew lines on the page to help with his baseline orientation, because Aksel usually has a hard time visually attending to the paper. This occasion was different though, he was in it, and more importantly, he wanted to write. (As a side note, I never thought I'd write those last four words? Someone pinch me, please!)

Then, I left him to it, and finished loading the dishwasher - curious and hopeful, the whole time.

Here's what he wrote, my Faulkner-like little boy, expressing in his own perfect stream-of-consciousness, thoughts, I'll cherish for a good, long while:

"mom dad Aksel Ali light thought i Love You food dog chick sick sicky Bank high mail home house sticky call me maybe make bake story the end."

(I think Carly Rae Jepsen would appreciate the reference?)

In life, I'm learning, now more than ever, that there's little point rushing that which isn't ready, because "the race" is in my own head alone. And Aksel, for all that he knows, shows, and holds back, is resolutely determined, to run steady at his own pace. And as his mother, I've just got to be on my mark, with my toes on the line...

Like the Calm after a Storm

When Aksel was 19-months-old, a few weeks prior to his official diagnoses (of autism and childhood apraxia of speech), I received his first speech and language evaluation. It was not good...

With the bold words "severe" and "significant" splashed on its pages (like that of a messy abstract painting), I cried. I bawled! I sobbed the whole drive home...

It was the ugliest, most gut-wrenching cry of my life - to date!

At one year and seven months old, Aksel's expressive language communication age score was that of an eight-month-old. In the area of receptive communication, he received an age equivalency score of twelve months.

And strange enough, after all these years, I somehow found this evaluation today. (I used to be really organized. Now, I'm just hanging by a thread!)

These three pages were so impacting though, especially now looking back, because it was, in late-August of 2011, that, for the first and only time, I "doubted" my child. And myself, as a mother too.

To be clear, I believed, prior to receiving these "sheets of paper," these calculated findings, that Aksel "understood" me. (Specifically, my language when talking to him.) And even though I felt concern and worry for his development (hence the testing, etc.), I took comfort in knowing that I "knew" my child. But these words, these "professional" words, put into question everything I held to be true about Aksel, and his capability.

After reading, and re-reading the jargon-filled pages... there were now limits. There were barriers. There was ground that could never be covered.

And honestly, looking back, I don't know for how long, I hesitated? But somewhere, at some point along the way, my inner-dialogue of doubt, grew quiet, and I trusted again - in both Aksel and myself. Like the calm after a storm.

And today, to see my seven-year-old flourishing, on par with his peers - adding fractions, reconfiguring trapezoids, spelling "America" - I know I needed to feel the fire and pain, to believe wholeheartedly in "us." To push. And nowadays, I take evaluations and tests with a grain of salt. They're no big deal. They're not a game-changer... for us.

I wouldn't change a thing...

Picnics on Aisle Three

To start, this post is written out of love and compassion - something even I, as the parent of a special-needs child, have had to learn over the years. Because believe me, I've put my foot in my mouth and regretted certain actions I've taken in the past. And no matter how hard I try, no person, or parent for that matter, is perfect. This, I know to be true. And, I'm sorry!

Moving on to the point of this post... parent-shaming. Or in other words, adult bullying.

I'm writing this post in response to a photo I saw on Facebook recently, of two parents in public with leashes on their children. A picture taken discreetly by a former special education teacher, of a family, that we, as a community of critics, knew nothing about - a picture that was swiftly removed with comments ranging from confusion, anger, and acceptance, to just plain ignorance. My heart hurt (and my blood boiled, I won't lie) for the family, for the "problematic parents" as they were called.

I can sympathize with this mother and father, because I undoubtedly get "parent-shamed" when I'm in public with my family. Or rather, when I'm "out" with my children. In fact, probably more times than I would like, or even care to know? Points of possible criticism: why does that mother "demand" to hold her son's hand so tightly, why can't that mother "quiet" her child who's chirping like a bird on the floor of the grocery store, why can't that mother "keep" shoes on her child's feet, why can't that mother just "relax" and chill out? (The list goes on, I know.) And my response would be...

Because I do hear your questions, spoken or not (they're in my head, too), and I also see your stares (even when my eyes are fixed and I'm not looking), oh, and funny enough, I only wish for harmony and ease - just like you...

PLEASE DON'T JUDGE!

Don't speculate, gawk, or let hurtful comments slip. And don't, just please don't, take pictures! Instead, offer to help - if you can? Or, just keep moving, go about your day. Walk away thankful your circumstance is better, and try for just a moment, if you're still perplexed, to be empathetic.

Because as worn out as the phrase may be, it does hold strong - walk a day in another man's shoes.

In closing, I realize the person who posted this picture was not trying to be overtly malicious. It was a hasty decision borne of confusion, that as she said, "opened a can of worms." To take it a step further, I appreciate her choice to both help and teach children with special-needs, but even though she "gets it 100%" and understands the long list of adverse behaviors associated with autism, in particular, she doesn't live with it, day in and out.

And while I have the utmost admiration for those individuals that devote their professional lives to the cause of betterment - teachers, therapists, doctors - the parents, oftentimes, don't have the same technical wherewithal to prosper in stressful situations. More often than not, we have to lead with the heart alone, and sometimes, as "disrespectful and demoralizing" as it may appear, there are leashes involved - or in our case, random picnics on aisle three.

I hope to open one person's eyes, or give strength to one family struggling... YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

22 for 22

My 'buggy' is 22-months-old today.  And I just can't believe it?!  (You told me it would go quick.  I was skeptical though.)

Anyhow, take a look at how my boy's changed.  Here's 22 for 22:

I think it's safe to say Aksel's mastered his 'blue steel' pose.

No matter, he'll always be my baby!  Happy 22 months!

A Road Called Diagnosis

We're on a road called Diagnosis.  And it's bumpy, with sharp bends, turns, and autism signs.

In fact, I had a blow-out two weeks ago.  And oh was I flat...

Depressed...

Discouraged...

But there are sunny stretches to enjoy, too.  On this road.

Metaphors aside, Aksel has acquired a few reassuring skills in weeks past.  And after three speech therapy sessions, he is now:

• Stacking blocks and sorting shapes
• Imitating during songs 
• Showing/bringing things to me
• Giving warm eye contact

At 16 months, the signs* of autism were too obvious to ignore.  I felt desperate and alone.  Aksel wasn't:

• Responding to his name
• Greeting/acknowledging people
• Playing social games
• Pointing with his index finger (he hasn't mastered this yet)

And I blamed myself, for being anti-social, for not partaking in playgroups, for not having all the answers.

Not to mention, I was tired of justifying the excuses:  

• "Oh, he's just tired."
• "He's shy."
• "Give him time."

I was defensive, too.  Angry when people made assumptions:

• "He looks sleepy."
• "He's having a bad day."
• "He's grumpy."

But I'm thankful now, happy our pediatrician made recommendations to address my child's differences, because we have a plan.  

On our journey to Understanding, we have a map.  

We're just traveling a narrow pass now, a road called Diagnosis.


PS - Aksel has benefited greatly from a weekly Little Gym class. Twelve weeks ago, he scaled the perimeter of the space, his face pressed to the storefront glass, utterly detached from the activities. Now, he's the first in the room, rushing for the shakers, tumbling like a pro.  Maybe our lil' one's just a late bloomer?

PPS - Read more about our autism journey here.

Lemons for Lunch

Lemons for lunch, all last week.  That's what I got.

And when I say lemons, I mean a punch in the gut, bad news, I'm-gonna-lose-it information.  And I'm not kidding, either.

*Before I get to whinging though, I must first say, I'm thankful.  Things could be worse!

For one, Aksel's first speech therapy appointment shook me hard.

(I cried for days thereafter.)

Basically, his comprehension and expression of speech is significantly delayed.  And as our therapist said, 'we have our work cut out for us.'

I mean, It's crazy being a mother, feeling instinctive, thinking you know your child's everything, only to realize you don't.

Or you were wrong.

Since the autism conversation began four months ago, to my credit, I've been strong and optimistic.  (Relatively speaking.)

But that all changed last Wednesday.

I now feel I'm in the dark, standing in the shadow of special needs, and I want answers:  for my child, for my sanity, for the future.

On a positive note, I know they'll come (the answers), and I also know we're doing all we can as parents to ensure the best outcome for our quiet boy.  But it's not easy!  (But what is, right?)

Lemon #2:

After the stress of an emotional week, my father offered to keep Aksel for the weekend, to give Mark and me a much-needed break.

I didn't think twice...

Well, I received 'the call' on Saturday morning.  The call no parent wants to hear.  There'd been accident.  And Aksel was in the ER.

Beside myself, I asked, "Is he alright?  What happened, Dad?"

Without going into too much gruesome detail, let's just say... three gashes, nine stitches, and a black eye later... Aksel's fine!

Like father, like son.  Baby Frank and daddy!

By the way, did I say parenting is hard?  Sheesh!

But we're thankfully on the mend after a long, bitter week!

Happiness is... having my little boy, safe, at home!

Jellies, Jams and Bigfoot Slippers

I wore jellies, and my husband sported Jams.  In 1984, that is.  What can I say?  We were keeping with the times...

Fast forward some 25 years, and our progeny's wicked cool stompin' round in his bigfoot slippers.  His shoe of choice, might I add.

You'd think he was Max, or better yet, Aks, from Where the Wild Things Are... what with his heavy foot.  Not to mention, the way he gnashes all 18 of his terrible teeth, and rolls his terrible eyes at first whisper of the word, NO.

Did I mention, the way he roars his terrible roar? 

Come to think of it, could it be [dum, dum, dum]... the terrible twos?

But really, it's darling.  And for the time being, I feel like the wild thing, because I could eat him up... in all his knobby knee cuteness. 

Talk to me in six months though.  I might just be wishin' he could:

sail back over a year

and in and out of weeks
and through a day

In the meantime, here's his wild rumpus in Daddy's Jams.

Before I go, did I say I love this kid?

If you like this post, please give us a vote by clicking below.  C'mon, do it for the boy.

Mom Thumb.

I value my husband's opinion... selectively.  I'm not gonna lie.

However, the ol' hubs made a wise observation yesterday, and even I have to admit he's right.  (It feels unnatural though.)

But, here goes nothing...

So, we went to our local Outback Steakhouse for dinner last night.

While we waited patiently for our Bloomin' Onion to arrive, I encouraged Aksel to use his Joey crayons to color. 

As usual though, he struggled to properly grip the crayons, preferring instead, to clank them one against the other. 

Not to mention, the occasional bite.

So, being the artistic person in the relationship, and feeling it my responsibility to develop our child's artistic talents, I took lead in suggestively correcting Aksel's failed effort.

"Buggy," I said, "hold the crayon like this."

My husband interrupted immediately with a laugh, and said, "Aksel, listen to daddy.  Don't hold your crayon like mommy."

Forgetting, I looked down.  This is what I saw.

"Oops!  I'm Mom Thumb!" I said.  "Good call, Lovey." 

We then chuckled and ate more pumpernickel bread.  So, as I was saying, I value my husband's opinion...

PS - Enter this giveaway!  Ends tonight @ 11:59 PM EDT.

Bumps, Bangs, and Bruises...

The beauty of this thing called parenthood, becomes more clear each day.  At nearly 16 months, my little one sure keeps me laughing.

But, it's not just the good kind.  Mischievous to say the least, Aksel has me chuckling in fear.

For instance, I've recently observed this new "look" on Aksel's face, and I shutter to think of what's in store?  Don't get me wrong, it's darling... the look.  It's just daring, brazen, and curious, too.

It's like I tucked my BABY in one night (last week), and he awoke a BOY the next day.  And, it's been bumps, bangs, and bruises since...

As a side note, I'm thinking Aksel might take after his flying-squirrel-for-an-aunt, Bridgette, who carefully scaled and then jumped dangerously off each furniture item in my childhood home.  Oh boy!

Nonetheless, there's a great place in this world for carefree spirits. Undaunted ones, too.  I just hope this TYPE A momma can cope...

I'll keep you posted though. In the meantime, have a great weekend!

Check out my soon-ending GIVEAWAYS and enter now.

Momma's Hand.

Really, what can I say?  Being needed is bliss!

Holding on to momma's hand.

Here it is though...TIME goes quick! 

So, enjoy each stage (no matter how tiresome or monotonous), because my boy now needs momma's hand to walk.

Can you hear my tears?

PS - Walking photos to follow soon!

Just Shy of Acceptable.

Is your child shy?  If so, does is it make you uncomfortable in social situations?  I mean, do you feel obliged to make excuses? 

I do, and I feel bad about it.  I'm wondering though, is it my problem, or does society expect too much?  Speaking for myself...

I feel pressure when my child doesn't acknowledge people with a smile, or hint of recognition, because I know they want it!

They want giggles and gleaming eyes, outward affection.

So, in response to their unspoken disappointment, I make excuses. 

Ones like:

"He's usually not this quiet," or...

"It just takes him a little time."

I feel ashamed of this mommy behavior, and I want to change it.  My child isn't justifying my personality traits, or my awkwardness.

My boy is who he is, and he's sure proud of it!

Most likely, I'm the one with silence issues, and it's my social anxiety reering its nasty head, but it's something to think about.

I just appreciate the honesty my child exhibits, and I think I stand to learn from it.  When a stranger gets in Aksel's face, he doesn't react based on society's expectations.  He responds truthfully, in accordance to his own comfort.  Whatever that might be?

My boy is independent, and contentedly shy.

25 Things: What You Don't Know.

1. I love Merita Angel Food Cake.  As a child, I would sniff the plastic to smell its deliciousness.
2. I dislike the sound of a loose tooth wiggling.
3. I'm obsessed with Turner Classic Movies, and I find it difficult to sleep without the sound of a romantic oldie (like this).  That being said, I possess a lot of film knowledge.
4. I can touch my tongue to my nose, and like a Balinese dancer, I can bend all of my fingers to a 90° angle.
5. I love stories!  I've kept a journal since I was 12.  I live by the personal philosophy of making each day worth writing about. 
6. I'd rather receive a letter in the mail than an email.  I don't care much for the phone, either.  (Read this.)
7. My child's name, Aksel, means "father of peace" in Norwegian.
8. Contrary to beliefs, I'm not a Guns N' Roses fan, but I like Sweet Child O' Mine.  Just so you know.
9. I love the color red.  I wear it nearly everyday.
10. I was horribly distraught when Paul Newman died!
11. I want to help people in my life, and do good deeds.
12. I love sweet pickles!
13. I've traveled to 14 countries, and I'm not stopping there!  I want to see the world before I die.
14. I know what a "Nelson Mandela Cream 'O the Crop" is.  I can also pour a pint of Guinness with a shamrock on top.
15. I lived in Aspen for a summer, yet I've never skied!
16. My lucky number is 43, but I don't like Polamalu.  Go Ravens!
17. My father makes corn pancakes.  I love 'em!  It's a family tradition I intend to carry on.
18. I sang at my grandmother's funeral.  It was one of my proudest moments!  I attempted to sing at my grandfather's, but choked.  I asked if I could take a "Mulligan."
19. I can't shift gears on a bike.
20. I don't wear a wedding ring.
21. I want to be on Broadway.
22. My husband is my soul mate. 
23. I once described crab meat as "very clean chicken."
24. I've been to St. Andrew's in Scotland, yet I've never golfed.
25. I want to be a good mother, and wife, more than anything.



OATS, What a Beautiful Morning!

My mother called it "mush."  She ate it as a girl. 

My father preferred Cheerios.  He ate them in the 80's.

We like oats.  We eat them everyday!  Aksel and me, that is.

It's my favorite time of day, too!  When we share a bowl for brekkie.

He takes a bite, and I take a bite.  He chuckles as we exchange back and forth.  He also thinks.  Basically, he's hungry for some answers.

Let me be more clear...

My shy boy is understanding a lot about life these days, and he's asking me about it.  About the simple things, like oats and SHARING.

Folks, he's curious.  And I'm the lucky one who gets to explain!

Over cinnamon oatmeal, we talk about it all each morning.  He just happens to communicate in the language of wide-open eyes, subtle gestures, and da-da-da.  It's BLISS though, and despite its simplicity, I'm learning things myself...

For instance, I now know why breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  So you know, I don't plan on skipping it any time soon!

OATS, what a beautiful morning!  OATS, what a beautiful day!  I got a wonderful feeling everything's going our way...

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Holy Molar!

Holy moly!  Or shall I say, HOLY MOLAR!  Yes, that's better.

If you haven't yet gathered from the statement above (or my tone), my boy has a molar.  I'm devastated, too! 

I don't wish to be that soppy mom that just can't hold it together, that cries when their child reaches each new milestone, but I am. 

It feels like yesterday I was bringing him home from the hospital.  Now, he a has a molar...

I ask, "What's next?  Chest hair?"

Look at his big, empty mouth below.  Bare gums, and all.  Where has my baby gone?  My life's in fast-forward, and he'll be dating soon.

Mommies:  How do you deal with the passing of precious time? 

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Bears Go Barefoot!

The dreary weather's letting up, and the sun's been shining.  Such BLISS after a long cold spell.

Needless to say, we took a family trip to the local mini-zoo yesterday, and Aksel saw a BEAR.  I can't say the look of wonderment (mentioned here) overtook him, but nonetheless, it was cool!

Check out some highlights from our bear-y great adventure...

By the way, bears go barefoot.  Ya like the pun?  Now, the list...

1. Lions
2. Tigers
3. Bears

Little Bear

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LIONS and Tigers and BIRDS.

I'm a dreamer, and romantic.  I'd be LION if I said otherwise.  So, I look to share, over the course of this next week, a few dreams...

For one, I want to take Aksel on an African safari. 


The cutest lion, Cal.

I want the look of wonderment to twinkle in his eyes, as he watches wild animals run free.  Namely, lions and tigers and bears. 

Maybe not bears, but you catch my drift.

Wait.  I've got it! 

I want the look of wonderment to twinkle in his eyes, as he watches wild animals run/fly free.  Namely, lions and tigers and BIRDS.



Outbursts aside, I'm wanderlust.  And to my credit, I've traveled a fair amount for my years.  I don't wish to stop though.  I want more!

I want to sail the high seas, and teach my child to be compassionate of those less fortunate, to form opinions about cultures different from his own, and lastly, to appreciate everything that's open to him in this life.  Basically, I want Aksel to care.

A long deep sight later...

In all reality, I'll most likely settle on an outing to the zoo, or better yet, Disney World.  But a dreams a dream, and it's worth keeping. 

So, we'll see what happens.

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