Sydney, Age Six

Once in a while something triggers an old memory that I had all but forgotten, something I would have blogged about back then if I had been blogging at the time. Tonight a comment from a Facebook friend triggered one of those memories. I will always associate this Facebook friend with this particular event.... It was the last day of first grade for Sydney, which coincided with the closing of our small community’s school. It had been quite a year for everyone involved in the education of Sydney as we all tried to manage her behaviors that come with having Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS) and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). Sydney’s first grade teacher was extremely talented and had taught much of the year with Sydney wrapped around her legs, literally. Sydney’s teacher and I had asked many times for increased services for Sydney without the results we hoped for. Through no fault of her own Sydney was not able to behave herself. There was no keeping her in her seat. She spent most of her day wandering the room and pestering the other students. There was no amount of discipline and no incentive program that could help Sydney control her impulses at the age of six and she was not yet on a medication that made a real difference.

 

That last day of school there was to be an assembly to hand out awards, recognize students and staff, and say goodbye to our small community school. Emotions were running high and tears were flowing. Patrons were both sad and angry because our school was closing. A large crowd gathered in our small school’s gymnasium. Teachers were seated in chairs at the front of the crowded building, while approximately eighty students from grades one through five were seated on the floor. Parents and community members sat in rows of chairs or stood, and the speeches and awards began. Almost immediately Sydney began to wiggle and I began to sweat. What were they thinking sitting her in the midst of all those children without an adult? Sydney’s wiggles turned to bouncing and swaying back and forth. Next, she was putting her hands on the children close to her and trying to engage them in a regular game of tag as they swatted at her like a gnat that could not be dissuaded. I was sick to my stomach. I could not reach her or get her attention without creating a bigger scene than she was making. The teachers were also unable to get to her easily without moving a lot of students. Then, just when I thought I could not be more embarrassed, Sydney began crawling around, weaving in and out of the children, distracting them and causing them to have to shift and move as she crawled around them and over their laps. The seconds felt like minutes to me and I shifted in my seat unsure of what to do. I was wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. I recall hoping that everyone was remembering that I had six OTHER children that DID know how to sit still and they were not judging my parenting on the behavior of my youngest child. I desperately wished I could whisper to the person sitting next to me, “Remember, Sydney was neglected for the first year of her life and she has many excuses for her behavioral issues. The Smiths are really good people. Pass it on.”

I was hoping that Sydney would eventually crawl over to the edge of that crowd. Maybe an adult would be brave enough to grab her and put her in a headlock until I could get out of the crowded seating where I was confined and take possession of my little angel. But as luck would have it, Sydney wormed her way further and further from me, toward the front of the gym jostling children all along the way. And then she was UNDER the chairs the teachers were sitting in, slipping between the legs of one chair after another, right up front where every eye was focused. If anyone had missed Sydney’s performance amongst the children, they surely were not missing it now. I cannot remember now how many adults tried to coax Sydney out from under their chairs as she squirmed her way down the line. The librarian, Lisa Myers, who had a great relationship with Sydney and genuinely liked her for who she was, lured Sydney out from under the chairs and onto her lap. While I was trying to teleport a message to Lisa that went something like, “Get a vice grip on her or she’ll squirm right out of your arms and escape!” this gentle lady was holding six-year-old Sydney lovingly, cuddling her, whispering softly to her, rubbing her back, smiling down at her with genuine affection, and keeping her calm and quiet. When that assembly was over I couldn’t get to Lisa fast enough. I thanked her and I have thanked her again since that day. Lisa did not just rescue the children that Sydney was distracting that day. She did not just help the adults to refocus on the speaker instead of focusing on the chaos my little girl was causing. Lisa showed me an example that I will never forget. She picked up a child that many of the adults in the room (myself included) probably wanted to take out and paddle. And instead of frowning at her, sternly talking to her, or telling her how disappointed she was in her behavior, Lisa lavished Sydney with affection and smiles.

There are two morals to this story…

The first being: The adults in Sydney’s life have often expected more of her than she can give. That day we sat her in the middle of a crowd of children, without an adult to directly supervise, or medication, and expected her to behave like her peers. When Sydney was unable to behave as her peers, I became embarrassed and I was ready to punish her, or at the very least lecture her. Sydney was doing the best that Sydney could do that day. Lisa recognized that. I love the quote by Albert Einstein, “If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

And the second: Lisa did not know how deeply her kindness toward Sydney would touch me. We can be sure we have influence on the people around us. Whether it is good influence or bad influence is for each of us to determine. When we leave our homes each day we do not know what kind of lesson we might teach someone. You never know who is watching and what impact your example will have on them. The ripples in the water sometimes go far. It takes only minutes to create a great long-lasting memory. It also only takes a minute to wreck someone's whole day or worse. 

So there you have it. The old memory was triggered yesterday when Lisa told me that my kids reflect my hard work on their behalf and that I am a great mom. What she did not know is this: Once in a while when I am ready to throw my hands up in the air, jump up and down, and holler at my little ADHD princess, I think of Lisa and how gentle she was with Sydney that day and instead of the jumping and hollering I am able to pick her up and hug her instead.

For more about Sydney, read Teaching Sydney (Or Trying To)

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I'll Love You Forever

Tonight I ran across a book on my youngest child’s bookshelf. She has outgrown picture books and is reading chapter books now. I am sorting books and deciding which ones should stay on the shelf, which ones I’d like to put up for future grandchildren, and which ones I’ll be donating. This book will be staying on the shelf. The title is, “Love You Forever” by Robert Munsch.

I remember the first time I ever read the words, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.” and choked back the tears. My oldest child was a baby and a friend showed me the book “Love You Forever.” I shared it with friends after that, daring them to read it without crying.

Twenty-five years ago, reading “Love You Forever” for the first time, I did not analyze what it was about the book that caused my tears. I believe I probably wept at the thought of my baby growing up and leaving home. Tonight though, as I held that book, I had far more insight and a considerably larger amount of experience than I had the first time I read those words. I thought long and hard about my children, who they used to be and who they have become. Tonight, sitting in the floor of my daughter’s bedroom, I was looking back, not just forward. Twenty-five years ago, it was very hard to picture the man my baby boy would someday be. It happened though. We blink and they are grown. Four of my children are young adults who I am very proud of, but I do miss the babies they once were. Three of my kids now live in another state. The drive to put the ladder up to their windows each night so I can sneak into their rooms is becoming harder and harder to manage.

Munsch did a great job of depicting a parent’s tenderness for their child at all stages of life, during both serene moments and tumultuous ones. Although Munsch’s book was published in 1986, the whole concept of “you’ll always be my baby” and “I’ll always be here for you” is not a new one for moms and dads. I imagine that concept could be traced all the way back to the very first mother and her children.

Tate and Sydney

Although it had been a while since I last read “Love You Forever,” I really did not need to look at the words as I thumbed through the pages. I’ve read it so many times to all of my children over the years. As always a lump formed in my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes. However, this time I was not thinking of the baby on my lap who would someday grow up and leave home, nor was I thinking of the adult children I miss who have left home. Ironically I was thinking of my two youngest and yearning for the thing I used to dread. If only they could grow up and leave home one day. I want for them what the adult children now have: college, jobs, a car, friends, and the ability to live independently. Tate has autism and Sydney has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. What does their future hold? Where will I lean the ladder when I need to sneak in to their rooms and rock them? Who will rock them when I no longer can?

If you liked this post, you might also like one entitled, "Don't Blink."

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Kindness and Mistletoe

I recently entered a short essay in The Mighty’s thankfulness challenge. It received a whole lot more attention than I ever dreamed it would when a representative of People Magazine saw the story and called. My essay described some children who have been exceptionally kind to my son Tate and I thanked them in a public way. Tate has autism and it is hard for him to make friends for several reasons, one being that he just does not understand how relationships work. Tate does not understand social reciprocity but he is making some great gains due to constant and consistent teaching from home and school. A lot of that teaching has come from his peers. They are teaching him about friendship and kindness. I wanted to spotlight those kids for their kindness to Tate. 

Kindness. Most of us know what it is even at a young age. It does not have to be defined in words but it is taught by example. Kindness does not just come naturally to small children. There are always exceptions to the rule, but most children are a reflection of their upbringing. In my experience, usually, the kindest kids have the kindest parents. 

Tate has been blessed with many kind classmates and a few of them have even taken a special interest in him. They eat lunch with him. They go out of their way to speak to him and consider him a real friend. If I had to describe these kids in one word I would probably pick the word, “kind.” So, today when I got a message from a representative of "Newton Kindness" saying two of Tate’s lunch buddies were nominated for a kindness award they offer each year, I was thrilled! But as I read on I saw that this representative also wanted to nominate Tate, and that left me slightly confused. Tate has been the recipient of his peers’ kindness but had he ever really shown kindness to them? He has autism, after all. I thought about it for a few moments. Tate is a good kid. He does not make any trouble. He is quiet. He is not demanding or mean spirited. But, would I use the word “kind” to describe Tate? It only took me a minute or so of pondering and I realized that I had given the word kindness a very small definition. Because Tate cannot DO so many things that the rest of us can he does not always show kindness the same way the rest of us do. Tate cannot show kindness by being a peer model for a classmate who is lacking in social skills but he is a very kind young man. He demonstrates it every day. He gives without expecting anything in return. He forgives easily when he has been wronged and it takes a whole lot to make him angry. His lunch buddies have described him as kind and a good friend who likes everyone. 

It has taken Tate a lot of hard work to get where he is. If you can liken learning social skills to learning to swim, think about taking those swimming lessons in a calm, heated, indoor pool with instructors and floaties. Then think about taking those swimming lessons in a muddy, cold river with a strong current and an instructor that is speaking a different language than you do. It would take so much longer to learn to swim if you did not have all the supports and you did not understand the instruction. When a child with autism is put into social situations they must feel like they are in that muddy river trying to learn to swim against that current. I've been on the sidelines shouting encouragement but I must have blinked and missed the part where Tate learned to "swim." His biggest encourager sometimes does not see the little milestones. 

After my light bulb moment I was a bit aggravated that I had even needed a minute to ponder whether or not Tate could be described as kind, because just yesterday he had shown me just what kindness really looks like. I took Tate Christmas shopping at his insistence. He had less than twenty dollars, earned one dollar at a time by doing one of the only jobs he has mastered, unloading the dishwasher. He was on a mission! He wanted to buy mistletoe and a gift for his brother Levi. As we shopped and talked, he added to his list. He wanted to find something for his three sisters as well. Have you ever tried to shop for four people with twenty dollars?  We got everything he wanted except the mistletoe. I have no idea where to find mistletoe. I quizzed him about why the mistletoe was so important. He finally revealed to me that the mistletoe was going to be his gift to his dad and I. Tate planned to put it up so we could kiss under “the mistletoe.” I was so touched and tickled at the same time. It took him over two weeks of emptying that dishwasher (which is not a preferred activity) to earn enough money for those gifts and he never batted an eye about spending it on others.

Note: I know that the mistletoe has got to be one of Tate's newest movie related interests. He has been watching lots of Christmas movies and has a sudden interest in little details like silver bells and mistletoe. Anyone know where to find mistletoe in the middle of Kansas?

To see the People magazine interview, go here: A Lesson In Kindness

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What Does A Good Mother Say?

I have adult children (an oxymoron for sure). I have found myself not knowing the right things to do or say more and more often as my kids age. Of course they do not need the same kind of nurturing they used to. And, it turns out I’m not very good at mothering adults. I still want to be able to fix the things in their lives that need fixing. I still want to be able to take care of their hurts and disappointments. I still want to be able to tell them what to do, knowing they will obediently follow my instruction, because after all, mother knows best.

I have seven kids. Four are young adults. They are great kids. Great kids. They all have some similarities but they are all very different people with individual strengths and weaknesses. I love kids. I was a really good mom to the babies. I did a great job with the toddlers. I did well with all of them in elementary school too. And then. And then. I had teenagers. Teenagers are ridiculously hard to deal with at times, but that’s to be expected. Right? Everyone warns you about teenagers. But they do outgrow the teenaged attitude like they outgrew the terrible twos and life gets better again.

There was no instruction book handed to me when the babies were born. But, I did okay without an instruction book, really. I was a young mom with a lot of enthusiasm. I suppose my first babies and I grew up together in some ways. I should probably apologize to the oldest. He endured most of my learning experiences and was so often my “test subject.”  

I’m finding that an instruction manual would come in handy about now though. Anyone seen one entitled, “How to mother grown children”? This is not easy! Adult children sometimes still need guidance. Should I wait ‘til they ask me for it or just go ahead and offer it? If I should wait, should I wait until I see pending disaster? If I watch silently will I be asked later why I did not speak up? If I speak up will I be accused of interfering? If I am the voice of caution am I also the voice of pessimism? A dream crusher?

There is this high balance beam I’m finding myself walking. The abyss on the left side of the balance beam is very quiet and labeled “neglect” while the cavity on the right echoes with the voice of that interfering Emily Gilmore of “Gilmore Girls.” Emily tells me to offer as much advice as I like, in the most condescending voice I can muster. Hmmm, those two options are pretty far apart so the balance beam might be a lot wider than I was originally thinking, huh? Maybe I won’t fall after all.

But it does seem that often a mom cannot win-for-losing. What does a good mother say to her nearly adult child who asks, “Hey mom, do you like the muffins I made?”  The answer I want to give is, “Yes, they are good but next time you might want to pull them out a few minutes earlier.” Did I just give helpful advice or crush my daughter’s enthusiasm for baking? What does a good mother say to a nearly adult child who decides he wants to become a professional rodeo clown? Do you encourage him, cheering from the sidelines? Or do you try to talk some sense into the young man, who, by the way, will forever blame you when he is sitting behind a desk and not out in an arena, being chased by a bull, and living his dream.

I’m being facetious here. No one has baked me burnt muffins or announced they are going off to clown school in this family. I’m just reasoning some things out here; thinking "out loud." It’s hard to parent when your kids are old enough to become your friends. I recently sent my mom this message, “Having grown kids is so much harder than having little kids.” She knew exactly what I was talking about and she spoke to me from experience. After all, she has walked that balance beam for a lot of years before me and I am her adult child who she gets to watch blunder through life as she bites her tongue.

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