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On Sundays I usually work at our small business. While I don’t love giving up half my weekend, I do enjoy having a day (8 hours) away from the kids (it gives us a chance to miss each other).
I also like the time for personal reflection that it affords. Even when I’m really busy, there are lulls where I can sit on my stool and ponder away.
Today I found myself ruminating on the various and sundry changes I want to make to my house. We’ve lived here about two years and have barely decorated. Fortunately, the house was in decent shape when we bought it, so we’re not living in anything hideous, but the house lacks our personal touch.
We have done some redecorating. There was a mediumish blue wall in the family room that finally drove me to nag my husband to death till it was painted along with the kitchen. We’re He’s almost done even and we he only started 5 months ago. At this rate we should have touch up done before Sarah goes to Kindergarten (yes, I said Sarah).
That’s it mostly. We hung just a few pictures (on existing nails), minimal photos are displayed, fewer plants, and no pretty little things on the coffee table. Hell, we don’t even own a coffee table.
Don’t worry. I’m not beating myself up too much. We have a 4 year old somewhere on the Autism Spectrum living here and a 2 year old with an appetite for destruction. The pretty little things that would go on the presumed coffee table would be destroyed in short order.
And it would mean more stuff for me to clean up.
It’s the walls that get to me. I want color. I want to hang pretty pictures. I want window treatments. Everything feels so bland.
I want new furniture too. Our furniture is old. Seriously old. Our living room couch is the one my husband bought when he first moved out on his own after college graduation. Eighteen years ago.
Our kitchen table was given to us by my mom and step-dad. It was his uncle’s. I’m not sure how old it is, but it’s not my taste. And the chairs hurt my butt.
We don’t own dining room furniture. The girls have mattresses and frames with no headboards. Sarah’s dresser was MY dresser when I was a kid (that my mom got at a garage sale – it was already old). Paint and cute knobs did wonders for it, but there’s no hiding that its heyday is long past.
I can live with the furniture as is because I see it as temporary. Why buy something nicer just to have an errant marker wreak havoc on it? Or stickers to suddenly adorn its facade?
The walls get to me. Need color. Need personalization.
There I sat today, letting my mind wander to the whens, the hows, the how muches to get it all done. Which room do I start in? What colors? When I can steal away time to paint without the aforementioned destructive 2 year old underfoot?
And then I let it all go.
It’s just not that important.
It will get done.
Eventually.
Before I know it, Sarah and Charlotte will both be in school all day leaving me six hours of “freedom” to paint, hammer, hang and organize to my heart’s content. And shop too.
Right now my focus should be, has to be, on them. It’s enough just to keep up the weekly chaos of grocery shopping, meals, laundry, mopping, and vacuuming in between rounds of puzzles, books, piano practice, princess play and writing stories.
So, yeah, my house isn’t perfect. It doesn’t look like I wish it did. But it will someday.
My reflecting today reinstilled my conviction that it’s not what’s ON the four walls of this house, but what happens inside, that counts.
Charlotte has overcome a great many odd fears in her life thus far.
Grass. Facial hair. Denim. Happy Bear. You can read about how we overcame most of them here.
Recently, she overcame her fear of the garage – we rejoiced!
There is one odd little completely unexplainable (or is it?) fear whose vanquishing remains elusive.
I have no explanation for why she is terrified of Barney. Maybe just because he’s Barney.
This fear, let me just say, is not one that I have expended a single iota of time or energy toward conquering.
I could not care less. (Can you blame me?)
She was very young when it started. PBS would be on and all of a sudden she would run from the room screaming her head off. Eventually I realized it was Barney. I learned to never turn the TV to PBS between 2:30 and 3:00 weekdays.
I can remember the day that her first speech therapist decided to play a CD during therapy (not sure why) and the song that came out was Barney’s anthem, “I love you, you love me…”
Session over. The therapist commented, “She has some serious noise defensiveness doesn’t she?”
“No, just Barney defensiveness.”
Through natural attrition of fears, I suppose, the giant, purple terror is lessening.
If she happens to turn PBS on while Barney is playing, she wants to leave it on. She “watches” sitting upside down on the couch with her eyes squeezed shut. I wish I had a picture to show you.
I offer to turn it off but she insists it remain on.
She came in today from our backyard picnic and immediately fired up the television on (she thinks that’s the routine – play outside, then watch a show – I guess we can live with that for awhile).
Barney was on and she assumed the position. Upside down. Eyes closed.
Eventually she moved. When I came by later I found her here.
Eyes open. Although several times I noticed she had to avert her gaze. It was too much purpleness.
After the show ended, I heard her softly start to sing, “I love you, you love me…” but she stopped herself.
“No, no, I can’t sing that song. I’m still a little bit afraid of Barney.”
“No rush, dear, no rush,” I assure her. “Take your time.” (Please.)
I greet her first thing in the morning, after her Daddy has done the initial wake up.
“Good morning!”
“NO NO NO NOT YOU! Not you! I don’t like you. I want Daddy.”
I maintain my smile.
“It’s too bad you don’t like me, because I REALLLLY like you. I love you lots.”
“NO NO NO NO! You can’t get me dressed!”
“I’m not going to get you dressed. You are going to dress yourself.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
But she complies.
“I don’t want to wear that! I want to wear something different.”
I have learned to save what I really want her to wear as the “something different.”
She takes my hand and we walk downstairs to the kitchen.
“Bathroom first to brush teeth and fix hair.”
“NO NO NO NOOOOOOOO!!”
“Sorry, dear, you take too long if we don’t do it first. Let’s brush teeth.”
“Not brush teeth first! Fix hair first!!”
“Okay, here’s your hairbrush. Start brushing your hair while I get your toothbrush ready.”
“NO NO NO NO. You can’t get my toothbrush ready. Fix hair first! Fix hair first!”
I put the ready-to-go toothbrush on the counter and take over the hair brushing.
“What day is it?” she sing-song shouts with a smile.
“Well, let’s see, yesterday was a headband day, so that means today is a ponytail day!” I respond with a smile and just a touch of glee in my voice.
“NO NO NO NO. Not a ponytail. We have to do a headband.”
I am firm.
“No, it’s a ponytail day. Tomorrow will be headband day again.”
“I want a headband, I want a headband, I want a headband!!”
“You can wear a headband and a ponytail.”
“Okay, Mommy, that sounds great.” She’s smiling again.
We head to the kitchen.
“What do you want for breakfast today? Besides chocolate milk.”
“Chocolate milk.”
“And….”
“Food!”
“What food?”
“Chocolate milk!”
“You have to eat regular food too.”
I run down a list of options. She chooses something and eats it while watching Diego.
(Meanwhile during all of this the other one has woken up, demanded to be nursed a gajillion times, refused to get dressed and refused to eat.)
“Time to head to the van. Do not, I repeat, do not open the garage door till I say it’s okay.”
I hear the rumblings.
“I said, DO NOT OPEN THE GARAGE DOOR.”
I enter the garage.
“NO NO NO NO. You can’t come in, you can’t come in. You have to go back inside and look for your keys.”
“I have my keys.”
“NO I have to help Sarah get in the van.”
Meanwhile, Sarah is halfway down the driveway. I retrieve her and head back to garage.
“NO I’m not first! I’m not first! Sarah’s first! You can’t buckle me in first.”
“I never buckle you in first. Ever. Get in your seat. Time to get in your seat. Time. To. Get. In. Your. Seat.”
We’re buckled in and we take off for the 7 minute drive to school.
We take turns picking songs off the CD and/or radio (Mommy’s pick is always the radio).
“NO NO NO NO Not the radio. We can’t listen to the radio.”
“Fine then we won’t listen to anything.”
“It’s my pick! My pick! Not your pick!”
Can you just see me rolling my eyes?
We sing songs instead.
Drop off line. She hops in the front seat.
“Which teacher do you think it’s gonna be? Which teacher is gonna get me out?” Excited anticipation is in her voice.
My sing-song tone: “I don’t know. It’s a mystery. Just have to wait and see.”
Unless it’s one of about 4 teachers (or a possible 12-15), I hear, “No, not her, I can’t go with her, I don’t like her.” (Not shouting anymore – this one is a game.)
She goes anyway.
“Bye Charlotte!! See you when you get home!!”
“Bye, Mom, have a great day!”
Whew.
And that’s just mornings.
I am thrilled to say that the Potty Prize Bowl, eventually filled exclusively with Dum Dum suckers, has worked some pottying magic on Sarah. We are definitely over the hurdle. Still an accident here and there (true accidents) but that’s okay. Wednesday we shall venture to tumbling diaper-free (and with our new portable potty seat - Sarah prefers not to fall in the toilet) and hope for the best.
Much thanks for all the comments and emails with support (and suggestions!). I couldn’t have done it without you (or the Dum Dums).
***
Charlotte has decided recently to take on the role of teacher/nurturer with Sarah.
“Here, Sarah, let me show you how to brush your teeth. You do it like this.” And she gives her step by step instructions.
Sarah eats it up (the attention and the toothpaste).
She wants to dress Sarah, buckle her car seat belts, fix her breakfast. She quickly hands back things she has swiped when Sarah lets out that high-pitched scream she is famous for.
Fewer are the refusals to share, more frequent is the call to “come play with me.”
It’s been very sweet to watch and utterly encouraging in showing me what Charlotte is capable of.
***
What is not so sweet is the screaming that Charlotte has decided to employ as her main means of communicating when she is unhappy.
Oh my aching head.
We’re having lots of talks about it, and about making choices on how to communicate. I think maybe, just maybe, that it’s working. This morning she didn’t scream at me when I came into the garage (typical screaming session because she wants to do the aforementioned nurturing of Sarah into her car seat). Instead she said, “See, I’m nice to you, Mommy.”
Gee thanks. I appreciate the kindness.
Really, though, I do. I appreciate anytime I’m not screamed at.
***
Sarah has very successfully transitioned out of her crib my bed and into her big girl bed. She is waking less and generally sleeping so much better. And so am I. Wheeeee.
***
I have lots of other blog post ideas swirling around my head lately, but not enough time or ability to focus to complete any. These kids are wearing me out. Well, them and the Flylady. Keeping on top of the chores all the time is exhausting! But I do enjoy the peaceful feelings that come from all my efforts.
Hopefully I can get back to the writing. And soon.
Who knew this little fake-fruit-flavored delight would prove to be the ultimate motivator for using the potty.
Tuesday I created a little “potty prize bowl” for Sarah. Included was an assortment of cheap toys, Dora “fruit” candies, and some miniature chocolate chip cookies.
She was so excited about this she immedately took off her pants and diaper and peed in the toilet. Hooray!
Then she proceeded to have 4 “accidents” over the next 2 hours. Boo!
My patience was shot. Back into the diaper we went. Wednesday I didn’t even mention it. Although I did show her the little Dum Dum suckers that I was tossing into the bowl.
This morning, all on her own, no prompting from me, she used the potty. She wanted a Dum Dum.
She has used it FIVE times today and there have been no “accidents.” Hooray! (Yes, that’s right, she’s had five suckers today. Who cares?!?!) We spent a few hours at the park at which she wore a diaper. We’re not venturing outside yet without it.
But still!
No accidents!!
God bless the Dum Dum sucker.
One of my greater fears has been realized.
Last summer Charlotte, who had been potty trained for a few months, decided to regress and began peeing on the floor regularly. I had a theory. It took a while to figure out how to break this particular habit of Charlotte’s, but break it we did. And she returned to full potty usage.
But not without consequence.
And that consequence shall be called Sarah.
My great fear last summer was that Sarah, who was 18-20 months old at the time, was going to model her big sister in this.
I was right to be concerned.
Sarah has all the pottying skills that a little girl needs. She recognizes when she has to go. She can take her clothes off, climb on to the potty, and wipe herself. And she can communicate all of this to me with ease.
So tell me. Why does she persist in going on the floor? Why, oh, why?
To be clear, it’s only with #1. When #2 is the issue, she will gleefully run to the bathroom, yell at us not to come in, and take care of business all by herself. Afterward she will shout praises to herself (“Yay!! Good job, Sarah!!” and “I’m so proud of me!”) and will seek us out for more affirmations. She will even do this if she’s wearing a diaper. She seldom dirty dirties a diaper anymore.
Why she does not do the same for the much more frequent bathroom need is, well, it’s frustrating me to no end!
I thought I could beat her out, you know. I figured I could suffer cleaning up the messes longer than she could stand making them. But, no, she long ago won that contest.
In my gut I suspect that Sarah is remembering Charlotte’s antics from last summer. What finally cured Charlotte of her problem was the threat of Time Out. I told her if she peed on the floor again, she was going in Time Out. She has hadn’t an accident on purpose since. Not one.
I felt comfortable about punishing Charlotte for peeing on the floor because she had already been trained and it was clear her accidents were deliberates. Also she was 4 years old.
Sarah is not even 2 1/2 years old. And although I feel her accidents are deliberates as well, she’s not actually ever been consistently successful. So I’m hesitant to try a punishment approach.
What is it with my kids and potty training?
This morning I was at my other blog (shhhh – don’t tell anyone) that I keep for family and friends.
I was uploading pictures from the weekend. Charlotte climbed up in my lap and was reading my little snyopsis about buying the girls new bicycles/tricycles this weekend.
I also uploaded a couple of pictures of her and Sarah riding ponies this weekend. I hadn’t typed any text yet, and Charlotte said, “Here, type this.” And she proceeded to tell a story about the pictures.
Such a good story and worthy of repeat here on goodfountain. Here it is, verbatim, unedited, straight from the horse’s, er, the girl’s mouth.
************************************************************
I was crying on Mommy’s lap outside. I waited for the cowboy and he said, “Hi Cowgirl!” and Mommy gave me a ride on the horsey.
And I said, “Yeehaw!” And then I rode around. I rode slower. And then I showed the Cowboy my horse and so I pet him. His name was Phillipe. He looked just like Phillipe. And Mommy said, “What color horse are you going to ride?” And I said, “I’m going to ride on a BIG BROWN horse.
Sarah rode on a horse with my Daddy. And I rode a horse with my Mommy. A BIG BROWN one. And he’s just like Phillipe. And Sarah is riding Smokey. And then I wanted some ice cream. And I ordered it.
THE END.
*******************************
Editorial Notes
Charlotte wasn’t actually crying on my lap. She was burying her face in my legs because she was being shy of the Cowboy (the man in the straw hat who owned the ponies).
Her pony’s name was Laffy Taffy, not Phillipe. Phillipe is Belle’s horse from Beauty and the Beast.
After she finished dictating the story, she read it and made several changes to the story for clarification. She also corrected some of my punctuation. At first she had said, “I rode slower and I rode faster.” Then she changed it to just “I rode slower” saying (to me), “I never rode faster, just slow.”
I really love her story. She took the telling very seriously, choosing her details carefully.
Good job!
April is Autism Awareness Month.
Today, apparently, has been World Autism Awareness Day.
I’m not feeling especially compelled to advocate for Autism right now. Not because I’m not passionate about the subject. I am. Definitely. I am all about awareness.
(Ironically, it’s during this month, April, that I’m going to finally be handed a diagnosis of Autism for Charlotte. How’s that for aware?)
What I am compelled to do right now is advocate for my daughter.
Over the last two weeks I’ve been presented with two different possible school options for Charlotte. Both were exciting, and I became very optimistic – only to come to the conclusion that neither would be the right fit for Charlotte. I was left feeling very discouraged.
But not for long. Now I am feeling more passionate than ever about advocating for Charlotte’s needs at school.
Much of Charlotte’s success in the classroom will depend upon, I think, her feeling safe and at ease in her environment. She’s got the smarts to learn. We’re not talking about issues of ability here. I have said it before but it bears repeating: I believe Charlotte’s biggest challenge is going to be the size of the classroom.
I don’t think the needed accommodations are going to be simply a matter of providing assistance during Reading and Writing Center as has been previously suggested.
Group Time, for example, has a lot of tactile, visual and auditory input all happening at the same time. From what I’m eeking out Charlotte’s teacher, Charlotte is not absorbing everything happening then. She comes home singing and dancing new songs on a weekly basis, so she gets SOME of it.
But she doesn’t go off into the classroom and do the work that was demonstrated during Group Time.
Right now Group Time is 12 kids. Next year it will be 22-23. I’m thinking it’s going to be even harder on her.
I’ve consulted with Charlotte’s private OT and received suggestions for Group Time. Charlotte’s teacher has agreed to implement those changes.
My theory is to just try out some different sensory-based accommodations and see if there is a positive effect. Perhaps one or two will work, and we can carry that into Kindergarten.
Sometimes that is the rub of Autism. There is no formula for treatment. What works for one kid won’t necessarily work for another. Just try different things and hope something sticks.
And that brings me to a truth about Autism. We have to do all the advocating for our kids.
All year long Charlotte has struggled to complete tasks, seemed lost during group instruction, and her teacher has not tried one single intervention with her that I have not suggested (and I have only suggested a couple).
So Autism Awareness, for me, is all about Charlotte Awareness. And advocating.
Because it’s up to me. As wonderful as the teachers are, and as wonderful as our school district is, it’s up to me to educate them about Charlotte.
I’m pretty sure I’m up for the job.
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