A Sign of the Times

- Take medicine.

- Drink Rehydrate.

- Wear lanyard/key.

- Music & Instrument.

Those words are being printed on a small, bright sheet of paper. Then the paper will be taped on the wall at eye level in my son's dorm room when he attends band camp next week.

Whoa! Mom's a bit overprotective, huh? Maybe a bit extreme?  No... Mom's making sure she does everything possible for her autistic son to have a successful first trip to away-camp. 

Signs, Signs, Everywhere there's signs...

In our house, as in many homes with special needs children, signs help us learn a new behavior. Signs (and visual or written schedules) can be a great way to help my son learn sequential processing.

There's the Morning Routine sign hanging in the boys' bathroom. It's quite the conversation piece for visitors!

Sometimes signs are reminders.

On the fridge, a memory from elementary years still hangs: "No picking or tearing of notebooks or clothing." That sign was on both his desk and his binder for a while.

Sometimes signs have a deeper message.

There's a Creed that hangs by my son's bed. This is about positive thinking. I created it in a fit of exasperation. Far too often, my son's demeanor was negative, like a grumpy old man. One day I decided: We will learn a new way to think. (Even if it was simply memorization, I knew the words would eventually seep into his spirit). So we say his creed with our prayers.

Did I want to hang these signs? No.
Do I think they add a stylish touch to our decor? No. 

Will I hang a sign if I think it will help my son navigate successfully through this life? You better believe it!

Every day, my son makes great strides in his world. He's come a long way over the years. It's my hope he won't need signs and schedules throughout his house when he matures. (Barring some sort of art-deco obsession with signs). 

With prayer, practice, and God's grace, he will be ready to face the world.

I'm sure of it. 

I've seen the signs.

Check out: http://www.handsinautism.org/pdf/How_To_Visual_Schedules.pdf if you'd like more information on Visual Schedules.

Being a Man

 He was 12 years old and in 6th grade... from September 2009

As I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, the teary voice coming through my cell phone said, "Mom, I had silent lunch today. I couldn't sit with my friends. The teacher warned me to stop talking at least 5 times but I couldn't stop, so I had silent lunch."

I still had 45 minutes of commute to clear my head from work, and needed time to think about my response. My mind was going in numerous directions: I was thrilled my Aspie son has a group of band buddies (he has friends!!!) to sit with at lunch. I was glad to learn the teacher's are being understanding yet not letting him get away with inappropriate behavior in class. And I was sad my son was upset yet proud of him for telling me what's going on in his life. All I said at that time was, "I love you honey, thank you for telling me what's going on. We'll talk about this when I get home."

After I got home and changed clothes I sat down with Robert. As he snuggled next to me, a thought crossed my mind: There won't be many more times he'll want to snuggle with me as he grows up... and I already miss the feel of him in my arms.

And thus came the inspiration for my answer. I waited while Robert relayed the days events to me then I asked him, "You know how you tell me you're ready to be grown up? Ready to make your own decisions? Ready to make the rules?" He nodded yes.

And I asked him, "You know how I tell you it's not time for you to make the rules? That you're still a kid and not a man yet?" He nodded yes.

I said, "Well let's talk about what a righteous man would do. A righteous man will face his challenges head-on, he will admit his mistakes, face the consequences of his actions, then move on and strive to do better. Can you do that?"

He quietly said, "Yes Mom, I can." He didn't try to argue with me, didn't try to tell me he was the victim, didn't sass me.

I think he took a small step towards being a man.

A Moment in the Great Dismal

Original post January 14, 2010

I grew up in Chesapeake, Virginia... and remember when it was a small, rural town. Sadly, much of it's charm has been swallowed up by the Norfolk/Virginia Beach metropolitan sprawl. In the 90's, bulldozers destroyed the trails I used to ride horseback down to the Elizabeth River. Expensive homes now line RiverWalk and the people living there now have no idea of the beauty that existed before their fancy houses were built. I miss the Chesapeake that once was, and the beauty of life along the Dismal Swamp and Atlantic Inland Waterway.
 
I also miss my Dad. He was the one who taught me to ride a horse, how to find a trail, and taught me to appreciate the beauty of the silent forest. Although the Navy brought him to Virginia, he never forgot his cowboy roots. He worked long hours, and prayerfully worked through the memories of Vietnam that shaped him in ways I'll never be able to fathom. It was when he communed with nature: in the garden, with our horses, putting up hay, or out in the woods, where he was most comfortable and found peace.

Recently I brought out his book of poetry to share with the boys. Since it's Father's Day, I'm sharing with you, too, as a tribute to his memory.

A Moment in the Great Dismal

As you rest and get your bearing,
Almost feel the swampland staring.

Feel the peaceful power of love,
In the soft cooing of a dove.

Hear your name called so clear,
Even though no one is near.

The breathing, do you hear it?
Is it the wind or the swamp's spirit?

Smell the soft perfume of flowers,
The scent will linger for hours.

There, see the mother's fear is gone,
As she breathes reassurance to her fawn.

Sense the snakes moving back in fear,
Creaking frogs silenced as the way's made clear.

As jeweled spider-hung curtains fade apart,
The ancient swamp's drawing you to her heart.

While you feel the gentle heartbeat
Of this ethereal retreat,

Know that man can never own it,
This enchanted place only few know.

Hear the ringing, listening silences,
A soothing benediction to weary senses.

Feel a mending heart as your spirit lurches,
Not felt in many man-made churches.

Hear the rattle of your horse's bridle,
Reminding you he's much too idle.

Then feel the gentle tugging of the pack mare,
Letting you know that she's still there.

Just as the earth's spirit chose and came,
Know that you will never be the same.

Written by my Father
April 21, 1991