I do truly love the staff at the boys' new school. But seriously, this is the third time Owen has come home in a different pair of pants than I sent him in because he's had 'an accident'. He isn't toilet trained, so what kind of an accident could he have, other than no one changing his pull-up? I just don't think it's fair that a kid who can't speak to tell anyone, is left to feel uncomfortable.
It really does. They say that this smell is actually considered to be good news, since it proves that the asparagus eater's kidneys are functioning as they should. If you've never noticed, you might want to look into those kidneys!
I can't help it. Archibald's Hard Cider is all I think about.
I can't even talk about it. So gross.
I would say that they named that well.
Moms that are trying to connect with their techno-kids, but you don't yet know text jargon... please don't use WTF. It's not cool (or appropriate) coming from us.
Ya. People are idiots.
This was a meme brought to us by SupahMommy. Go check in what the others stuck up for Tuesday.
I know you guys are out there. Parents who have children attending this lovely preschool back in Ontario. I know that Holly is out there. Holly wrote me a beautiful little note that I haven't yet replied to, so I thought I might repay her the favour of linking to my blog, by writing a little something about the place that made such a huge impact on our lives.
Pineridge Nursery School was one of our stepping stones that I believe was a foundation for the twins. At the time, Diane was running things there and I had met her through a class we were taking at church. At the time of the boys' diagnosis, one of the few offers of advice we were given by our developmental pediatrician was to enrol the boys in a preschool so that they could benefit from the exposure to other kids. This absolutely terrified me. Up until this point, not even our family members were entirely comfortable caring for the boys because of their extraordinary quirks/behaviours and needs and I was afraid that a preschool would not be open to the idea of accepting two little boys who wouldn't know how to play by the rules. I think it's a natural fear of a parent to worry if their children are being ignored or mistreated, particulary if their children are non-verbal, as Owen and Will were (and still are). I can't ask them at the end of the day, how it went, if they had fun, what they did, do they like their teachers, who are their friends, etc. To find a preschool that would accept the boys (difficult), that felt safe and where I respected and trusted the teachers, would be a difficult task. But it wasn't.
A good friend from St. Paul's Church helped to coordinate my meeting with Diane at Pineridge. It took only a few days after the diagnosis for this to happen and Jonathan and I were fresh from our shock and devastation at the news. I think about our first meeting with Diane and I remember feeling like a brand new, bald and blind little bird who has fallen out of its nest. Vulnerable and pathetically desperate for someone to help us figure it out. I am so grateful that Diane was the one to meet with me, while in that state. She was a true blessing and I don't say that lightly. Life often puts people into your life for all the right reasons and just the right time. Diane offered us hope. She offered us a shoulder to cry on and she provided me with a plan so that I didn't feel so afraid about the boys' future. It wasn't a matter of just getting a tour of the classroom and a run-down of what they could offer. She was a warm blanket to wrap ourselves up in; it was a comfort and it gave us a sense of peace.
At the time, I didn't realize what it would mean for Diane to take on two little boys with special needs, I was entirely focused on my objectives. In retrospect, I can see that Diane and Pineridge went out on a limb, over and above what they needed to do to help us out. They hired on an extra staff to be sure that they would be able to support the boys and this was done without the assurance that the Region would provide any supplementary funding to help with the extraordinary expense. The women in the classroom were SO wonderful at trying to learn all about the boys and their needs. Their interest and their obvious affection for Owen and Will melted our hearts. The boys had a clear connection with each of the women, Holly, Susan, Joy and Diane and it made the experience so much more than what we had ever anticipated. Now that we are going into the boys' first year in a full-day school program (grade one), we are realizing how rare it is to find a school placement such as what we have experienced thus far.
We have been blessed and my boys are better people for having been so fortunate to go through Pineridge. We will never ever forget them and I am so pleased to continue to have this (web)connection to the school. If there is ever anything I can do for any parents who are going through what we did and your children are attending, please don't hesitate to contact me so that I can offer .. a bit of guidance maybe? Anything. It's all about paying it forward as Pineridge did for us.
Click on the links to take a look back at old blog entries regarding our experience with Pineridge:
Today I'm participating in 'Two for Twos-Day' when we post a photo of a favourite twosome. It is currently being hosted by Debi at Who Says 8 Is Enough?
I love this shot of one of my favourite twosomes. It's Will's legs you're seeing, in case you didn't recognize him.
Shhhhhh! Don't tell Steph I'm doing this, but I'm devoting my Tuesday Tribute to my sister. Let's hope she doesn't read this while she's here at my place because she and her big head (read: ego) won't fit in my house. That reminds me of a fantastic scene in So I Married An Axe Murderer with Mike Myers:
Now back to my tribute. Auntie Boom is my sister, Stephanie. My only true sister who earned the nickname of Auntie Boom when Jake was around 18 months old. He couldn't yet talk, but he had the amazing ability of using gestures and sounds to tell a story. So I had left Jake to be babysat by his Aunt Steph and his Grandma. When we were reunited, I asked Jacob if he had had a good time. He proceeded to tell me a story without words, where he described how Steph was carrying him, she fell down, then Jake smacks the floor with his hand and says "BOOM!". Hence the name Auntie Boom. Steph insists she never dropped Jake. That she placed him on his feet before she fell to the floor. Either way, the name stuck and will likely remain until she becomes Auntie Geezer.
My relationship as big sister to Steph spans three decades of me bossing her around and guilting her into everything. I took great pleasure as a kid of pulling her eyelashes to lift her eyes open when she was sleeping so she would awake to my face staring into her open eyes. Or to tie her with a skipping rope to the pole. Or my favourite was when she tried to follow me and my friends- we hopped a fence that was on top of a hill, overlooking the busy highway below. Steph followed after me and when she went to jump off the fence, her jacket caught her and left her dangling. I found this very funny and left her there to suffer. (What can I say. I was just a kid myself). Steph and I have not always enjoyed the same interests, but we have always found a strong connection through our equally sarcastic and annoying sense of humour. When our dad would take us for the weekend, we worked really really hard at ticking him off, so that we could enjoy making fun of him for it afterwards. On our long drives, we would write notes in the back window of the car for traffic to read: "Help us, we've been kidnapped", or we'd sing television commercial jingles at the top of our lungs, over and over and over again until he would snap. We would experiment with magic potions; watching the microwave window to see how long a marshmallow could last until its messy explosion inside. We pierced our own ears (a painful memory we are best to forget), we watched the same movies a million times over and enjoyed the really cheesy shows that everyone else would turn off ie. Mickey Mouse Club, Kids Incorporated, Saved By the Bell, Harriet's Magic Hats, and the list goes on.
Growing up, Mom worked a lot and Steph and I became that much more dependent on the other for company, for support and for care. It's a bond that only strengthened as we became adults. She is the first person I call when I am upset or emotional, when I've had a bad day and need to vent. If we have good news, I want to share it with my sister. If I'm in a funny or awkward social situation, I always look around and wish my sister was there to share the joke. We share a secret understanding when people-watching or when in a circumstance that requires for us to remain cool and respectable, but our instinct is to laugh uncontrollably. I just have to flick my eyes to Steph's for a split second and I know that she can read my mind and we make a mental note to share and laugh about it later when it's safe to.
I am the oldest and always got the praises for being smart or responsible. Steph got away with a lot more and she was the funny and pretty one. We could both say the same sarcastic thing, but the offensive comment would send me to my room, while Steph's delivery would have a parent rolling with laughter. Being the oldest often got me more respect and attention, but Steph has proved herself as an adult. I am really proud of her accomplishments, even if she doesn't recognize them as such. Steph always did her own thing and adamantly insisted that she would not be tied down to a 9 to 5 office job her whole life. She explored her own interests in university and college and didn't stick with something that she hated out of obligation, something I am very jealous of. She worked the jobs she hated, but stuck them out to pay the bills. I always had Jonathan to share the load when it came to paying my way as a grown-up with grown-up responsibilities and payments, but Steph managed to figure it out on her own. She's the younger sister who, when she borrowed money- she actually paid it back! AND she'd lend ME money when I needed it too! Most people find career jobs through friends who help them out or a parent who nudges open the door, but Steph got into the airline industry all on her own. She thinks we are joking when we say that we are proud of her for this job, but we really are. She is doing something she really wanted to do and she has done it all on her own, not to mention that she has used her French that she thought she lost after school.
When each of my boys were born, she was right there, despite her fear and intense dislike and discomfort of hospitals. She was as emotional as I was at their birth and I couldn't imagine her not being there to share it with us. Her love for Jake, Will and Owen is obvious and they feel it too- even from across the country. There is no doubt that they love her as much as she loves them. I am proud that she is such a great aunt to them and I hope that someday there may be a child for her because she's going to make a wonderful mom. Motherhood may not (yet) be something we share, but I know Steph does her best to understand the ride that I am on with my boys. I truly appreciate that she has always tried to be there for me and us with our every challenge.
Steph sometimes comes off as shy, introverted or even rude, but it's likely that she's too embarrassed to say anything. Her ego isn't as large as her Charlie Brown-sized head might suggest, or her pretty looks would make you assume. She's real. She's fun. She is as loyal as they come. She is reliable. Her sense of humour is one of my favourite things about her. She's smart. She's well-rounded. She's passionate. She's a sap (like me). She can't sing- even though our Nanna told her she was very talented- NOT! She shares my love for pop culture and trashy tv. Thank goodness she's become a reader of great books so I get great gifts! She's got style. She has determination. She's got a temper, but she's also got the capacity to forgive and admit when she's wrong (because I never am). I'm told she's finally turning into a cook.
Finally - she is my sister. And I am so grateful for that. My only regret is that we don't live closer and I wish that we could spend more time together in our daily lives. She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, she's the reason you wish you were an only child. ~Barbara Alpert
May 11th has just been formally declared My Sister Day. Love you, Auntie Boom!
Today I am supposed to shine the light on someone else. I talk an awful lot on here about my views, my feelings, my friends and mostly, my boys. But one boy doesn't get enough recognition.
Jonathan. Also known as Dr. Evil or Electro. This is my husband. I have referenced him on the blog many times, but I suspect it has often been in a list of who was attending this or that. Or he was likely the butt of one of my lame jokes. I often make fun of him as we did to each other since we met in the 7th grade. I know that I often downplay his role in our family because it's easy to shelf him into the "off at work" category. If there is an argument between the two of us.. he is to blame. If the kids are cranky, Jonathan probably had something to do with it. If the house is a mess, he probably made it. If I am extraordinarily tired out or stressed, he is to blame because he's not doing enough to help.
When he and I get into those marital discussions about who is doing more or who isn't doing their share in the household and parental responsibilities, Jonathan's defence is usually "you should be grateful because I do more than most husbands do". I personally don't think that's something to necessarily be proud of. Just because you can find examples of guys who don't participate in parenting to the same degree you do, does not mean that you are still doing all that you could or at least your share.
But I acknowledge that I am not showing my appreciation for what he does do.
Jonathan loves our boys. There are many husbands out there who have a hard time living with the diagnosis of autism. I have to say that I really do thank my lucky stars that Jonathan and I have pretty much been on the same page since Day One on what direction we wanted to go in for our kids. I recognize what a blessing this is. It's hard enough without having to defend your every thought, feeling and decision to your spouse.
He cracks me up. In my head, I laugh all the time. I couldn't dare laugh on the outside because then he'd know he really is funny. His sense of humour might be terribly immature- a lot of toilet humour a la Beavis and Butthead and you will probably hear the same lines ("does that come in men's?") a thousand times over- but he can keep a heavy situation light and he can definitely make a boring presentation or class a laugh to sit through. He also knows how to laugh at himself. He even admits to his students that his nickname was Electro because of his time on a primary school breakdancing group. He doesn't hate me for telling the same stories over and over again to everyone I meet about how he found himself of Walter Gretzky's garage, or how he danced so pretty as a cheerleader in high school AND university. He likes to pretend he's mature and serious, but he's not afraid to dress up like David Lee Roth in a pink jumpsuit and wig in front of his junior high students or don the Santa suit for our annual Christmas party. And he does some mean impersonations of the Squire.
He's smart and can kick my ass in geography and history trivia and his insistence that no one can ever beat him in sports trivia borders on the ridiculous. For this- he entertains me. Because we can spend a lot of time making fun of the fact that a sport-clueless girl can come up with an answer that skunked his, or we can laugh at his competitiveness when he loses at bowling.
Okay. So his frustration tolerance level is pretty low at times. But he works his butt off to do right by his kids. He gets up with us every morning to help get the kids ready for school. He lets me sleep in more often than he gets to himself. When we went through our years of sleeplessness, we would take turns at getting up with Will. When we have a poop accident in the house, he's there with the carpet cleaner. When the kids are restless and I need an empty house so that I can do some housework, he single-handedly will haul all three boys off to a park or the pool- something I would NEVER do on my own. When we set up the waterslide in the backyard, he's out there with the kids making a fool of himself as he bellyflops to the bottom. He's the one sweating bullets on a hot day with a boy's hand in each of his and one hanging off his back.
Most of all, Jonathan is still the same guy I loved and hated in the 7th grade. He's still my best friend, even if our thinking does not always follow the same path. When it comes down to it, there's no one else I'd rather be on this journey with.
I am totally about to copy a fellow blogger whose insights I really love. But isn't imitation supposed to be the ultimate sign of respect? It is in this case. (Go check her out: http://whitterer-autism.blogspot.com/).
We are supposed to blog about and shine some light on anyone but ourselves. It could be about another blogger, a friend or family member we respect or admire, about a business we would like to support, or about a cause we believe in.
Last night I fully intended to write this post about the same thing that Whitterer did, but she beat me to the punch. So now I'll copy her because it succinctly says all that I wanted to say.
Soeren’s courage to say what he believed in front of his entire school was inspired by the love between a brother and sister.
I made this personal pledge to myself many years ago before I knew personally how hateful this word would be to my family. Please spread the word, if not just to be a better person, but for Owen and Will.
Stacey is a Canadian Mama Warrior of 9yo twins with autism & an 11yo who thinks he's 18; bashing down obstacles, designing possibilities where there were none, while trying not to drown in quicksand with a book in one hand and a hard apple cider in the other!
