The New Neurologist in the Mountains

It takes 43 minutes to drive to the new neurologist's office. I drive in silence.

No movie, no radio. Just the voice of the GPS lady giving me occasional directions. I watch Lilli in the back seat as I drive. She looks out the window. Every now and then, she puts her fingers on her chin and smiles. A few times she claps and flaps her arms. She is happy about something, that's for certain. What she is happy about, I may never know. Maybe she is happy to be alone with no siblings annoying her. Maybe she is excited to go for a drive with just me. Although I am not very exciting at the moment.

Maybe she is thinking and hoping about this new doctor. I had already told her that she needed to be kind and smile at the new doctor. That we had heard good things about him. That maybe he could really help us. I have learned that if Lilli smiles and is affectionate and happy when we meet someone new, things are much more likely to go well with that person. I want people to like Lilli. I want them to love her and see her like I see her. I figure, if they see her as I see her, they will want to help her.

This is my reasoning for telling Lilli to make sure to smile and give people hugs. No one can resist her smiles and hugs. Maybe that is desperate or wrong of me. I am desperate. Sometimes you get more help when people like you. But Lilli likes who she likes. She can tell things about people. She sizes them up and gives her love out to only certain few. I do not know her reasoning as to why some people deserve her affection and tight squeezing hugs more than others do. I tell her to be nice to the new doctor today, but I cannot really control what she will do.  I have seen her hug and kiss doctors. I have seen her thrash around and scream at doctors, trying to get away.

When we arrive, I carefully pack up her two bags of important things to get through this visit, and my purse with the secret weapon inside. Not really a secret weapon. More like an emergency tool.

The iphone.

I don't let her see it. I zip it in an inside compartment. She has not seen it in a week. I am determined to keep it hidden unless all hell breaks loose. I need her to be her happy self...aware. Engaged. Not lost in her repetitive Youtube world of watching Elmo clips over and over. If she has the iphone, she will be less likely to look at the new doctor and smile and make him fall in love with her. On the other hand, if she does not have the iphone, she might be screaming.

It's a chance I decide to take.

We walk slowly up the sidewalk. In the reflection of the glass door, I see her foot turning in. I wince because I know it is going to be bad when we finally go to the orthopedic doctor in a few weeks. She will probably need braces again. Maybe even surgery. Don't think about that today. That's later. Think about the neurologist. That's today.

When we enter the building, Lilli immediately begins to get anxious. Like a racehorse, she gets antsy and I can tell she is getting ready to bolt. I hold her hand tightly and force myself to smile at the woman at the front desk. She smiles warmly and directs me down a hallway. As we come to the end, I am dismayed to see that there is a line for registration.

Lilli cannot stand in a line.

She anxiously tries to get away from me while making sounds of increasing distress. I silently pray that they hurry up, hurry hurry. They are used to kids like this here, right? They will not make me feel bad. But no one smiles at me or reassures me as Lilli collapses on the carpet and lets out a loud screechy wail, and then a low gutteral growl and a hiss. The large registration area and waiting room is at a very low level of soft talking in various areas. A constant but pleasant hum of activity with computers, people in line, and parents waiting with children.

Except for Lilli. She is the only person in the room that is howling at the top of her lungs.

Lilli shrieks. I watch the blond woman on the right behind the counter and I detect a flinch and a flicker of something. Irritation maybe. Lilli really is loud, and it is a shock if you are not used to it.

Maybe she is just irritated at her computer. I try to think positively but the negative sounds are quickly squashing any possibility of positive thoughts.

Parents in front of me in the line are busy with their own children and we do not make eye contact. I stand still and mute. Paralyzed by dismay and embarrassment, even after all of these years of experiences just like this one. It makes me feel like a failure. I still do not handle this well at all.

Potty. She might have to go potty, it occurs to me. She is pulling on my bag, trying to get into it. Maybe she is trying to tell me something. I do not have a communication device with me. We are between devices right now. It's complicated. I have to guess, but I am a pretty good guesser.

I step around a person at the counter and interrupt. "Excuse me, we have a 9:30 appointment but I need to take her to the restroom, I'm sorry. I'll be back." The blonde, possibly irritated woman is polite and tells me it's ok. "I'll tell them," she reassures me. She points to the restroom.

I take Lilli across the large echo-y waiting room with high ceilings to the restroom as her cries bounce all around us. And she goes potty. I am ecstatic. A small victory to celebrate. I make a big deal and she smiles and puts her hand on her neck, as if to say, I told you. I was trying to tell you. She is quiet and happy while I wash her hands for her, get a paper towel and dry them off.

When we go back to the registration desk, we see a pleasant gray haired woman. She is courteous. But Lilli loses it again. Again she screams and tries to run away several times. I pull out my insurance card and sign papers while wrestling with Lilli's arm. She growls and hisses at me. The gray haired woman acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. She is busy with my insurance information.

I look right at her and say in a matter of fact way, "She has autism."

I don't do that very often. I just felt like I had to. We were in this huge room with high ceilings, and Lilli's every angry noise seemed to echo off of the walls around us.

"Oh, it's okay," she says.

Several more torturous minutes of pulling and crying go by. I don't sit in the chair to sign papers. I stand and hold tight to Lilli while I sign with the other hand, because she is pulling and trying to run away from me. She has already spied a glass door that leads outside and has run to it several times to leave the building. She might not be able to talk, but she is telling me loud and clear that every inch of her does not want to be here. I glance at a paper sign tacked to the side of the cubicle that has the internet wi-fi password, and for a second I almost cave and give her the iphone. Instead, I remain strong and try to memorize the password in case I need to use it later. If I give her the iphone now, there's no taking it from her without a huge scene.

Finally we are finished with the paperwork, and the woman points to the couches in the waiting area. As soon as we make it over to a red velvety couch, I pull out our mini DVD player and turn it on. The DVD player is way less addictive than the iphone. I cannot explain the difference very well but it's just different. Lilli quiets for a moment while she watches the menu screen pull up, and just then a door opens with a nurse saying, 'Lillianna?" It was so quick. Lilli hadn't even had a chance to calm down and watch the movie.

Crying starts again as we get up and I put the DVD player back in the bag.

Off we go, with Lilli pulling my arm and crying through the doorway. The nurse takes us to a scale and asks me if Lilli can handle stepping onto it.

"No. 60 pounds," I say, and I keep walking. Then I think, maybe it's 65.

"We really need her accurate weight," she insists nicely. I put Lilli on the scale and she lets out a loud angry scream. Down another hall to the examining room. The sweet, pretty nurse tries to soothe Lilli. 'It's okay baby, no one's gonna hurt you, you're okay, sweet baby..." she coos at her repeatedly.

I was wrong, I think to myself. She's 63 pounds.

I ignore the nurse's cooing and scan the exam room carefully. Perfect, there is an outlet next to a small table. I put the dvd player on it, plug it in, and pull out three legos for Lilli. Lilli is all of the sudden content. She watches the movie and places her legos on the table in different positions. The nurse asks me a few questions. Then she asks why we are there.

"We just moved here. She is a new patient," I say. The nurse welcomes me and smiles. I can't find a smile at the moment. I'm on edge.

She leaves and I rummage around in my purse for a few things. I don't smoke, and I only rarely drink soda. I don't take meds. But I need something, anything to distract me and help with the anxiety. I don't even have a piece of gum.

I know what I need.  I need a Kit Kat.

I don't have a Kit Kat. So I take a drink of my bottled water.

The doctor comes in softly. He shakes my hand. He says a kind hello to Lilli and pats her on the back. She glances sideways at him quickly. She is absolutely sizing him up. He is a soft, gentle talker and immediately begins to ask questions. I answer dozens of questions as best as I can. I am sitting in a chair in the corner, across from the doctor who is standing at a sort of makeshift podium, taking notes on everything I say. I smooth my black skirt over my knees (I dressed up to try and appear educated and concerned) and try to focus and answer every question very carefully.

Lilli is listening to every word I say. Occasionally she puts her hand on her neck as if to interject. She seems to be especially quiet and attentive when I tell her birth story. She has heard it many times. I hate for her to hear it as I tell about all of the scary things that happened at her birth. I do not try to soften it. I tell the facts. The number of times she stopped breathing.  How the pediatrician figured out that she was having seizures in the nursery. She number of days she was in the NICU. The medications she took. The hospitalizations. The many scary seizures and all of the various kinds and symptoms. All of it I tell with no emotion. Just the facts.

He writes it all down as Elmo sings Elmo's Song in the background.

He asks more questions. What are her triggers. What are signs we notice before she has a seizure. He does not look at me like I am crazy as I tell him hesitantly that she has hiccups before seizures sometimes. He tells me that is certainly a sign of seizure activity. This is the first time I have ever had someone confirm the hunch we have had for years. I tell him as much as I can, in a calm, factual way. I describe what the different seizures look like.

I hate doing this in front of Lilli. She is listening.

I tell him that most of her seizures are when she is sleeping. Either napping or at night. He asks me how we monitor her to make sure she is not having a seizure in the middle of the night. I tell him that she sleeps in our room with us.

And then I have to stop talking for a moment and collect myself. Because this is one of the hardest issues we have faced. And I cannot help but feel beyond desperate for change and hope.

I tell him that we have tried many things, even waiting for several years for hope of a seizure alert dog. He shakes his head and tells me we should not put our complete hope and trust in a dog, that he prefers that we use a monitor. Again I cannot speak for a few seconds. I swallow and tell him that this is very difficult for us, to have her in our room and monitor her 24/7.  But this is what we do, and this is how it is. We watch her.

We talk about medication. We talk about surgery. He calls her seizures "Intractable Epilepsy." Which means that we have tried four medications that have not ever controlled her seizures. I tell him about how we do a special diet. I tell him how chiropractic helps. Her seizures have gotten better. But they have not stopped. I tell him that we have cut out as many triggers as possible.

Still she has seizures. And she is on a medication that is causing her problems.

We talk about getting her off of this medication. We talk for a very long time, and I am amazed at how much time he spends with me and with Lilli. It feels like he has no other patients at all. He does a few magic tricks for her with magnetic blocks on a string. She laughs and reaches up and hugs and kisses him on the forehead. Then he takes out three balls and juggles, and she looks away. He tosses a ball at her, and she does not even flinch. It lands on her lap. He pulls out a wind up snail, and makes funny comments about it. He winds it up and lets it walk down his leg. She looks away, silent and unsmiling. He takes out a flashlight and pretends to blow out the light. She turns and buries her face in my neck.

"She has autism," he tells me gently. He does not know that I already know this. It's ok. I love that he spent time actually getting to know her instead of reading her file. It's refreshing.

We will do tests and meet again and come up with a plan.

We leave, and he gives her the magnetic toy to keep. She reaches up and smiles and hugs him. She wants him to pick her up. I can tell he likes her. She has succeeded in capturing his heart. I have never seen her interact with a specialist like this before.

We go to check out, and she cries. We go to the lab and have blood drawn to check her medicine levels, and I hold her tightly in my lap and hold her arms as she thrashes against me and screams and cries with all her might. The two lab techs are fast and expertly draw blood. She freaks out about the bandage and tries to rip it off. We leave, and I cannot describe how relieved I am to leave that building. I'm sure Lilli is relieved too.

I get in the car and get Lilli settled in her carseat, with a few cheesepuffs and a movie. Then I sit and take a big swig of water and eat the rest of the mini chips ahoy cookies I found in my bag. I sit and stare out of the windshield, worn out, eating cookies.

This was one of our better doctor visits.

As I drive home, I see mountains all around and ahead. I can't believe we live in such a beautiful place. I look up at the rolling green mountains ahead, and a verse pops right into my head. I lift up my eyes to the mountains. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

What if God brought us to the mountains to help Lilli? What if I am looking at these hills and mountains and this place is the place where God has brought us to do huge things in Lilli's life? What if this doctor is going to really help Lilli?

My eyes well up with tears. I drive home, teary the whole way.

Later when we are home, Lilli has a seizure. It is a small one. Short.

I think about the doctor, and the small new seed of hope about her medication he has planted that is already taking root deep within me. Maybe moving here will be a turning point for us. Maybe she will finally get off of this medication. Maybe she will even get her speech back. The words she used to say so many years ago echo distantly in my ears.

She really said them, and I really heard them.

I think of how she would say "Go!" over and over as we bounced a beach ball back in forth down the hallway to each other. We used to play ball. She used to look at me and throw the ball purposely to me, and wait for it to come back.

I think of how we would change her diaper and laugh because she would imitate us and say the word "poop" in the most adorable voice ever.

There were more words too.

She didn't have a ton of words, but she had them. And they all disappeared.

Because the words were there once, I keep waiting for them to come back again. I keep hoping that her speech disappeared temporarily.

Temporarily for ten years.

Every time I look at the mountains, I think about the new hope we have here. I wonder what will happen here. I wonder what I will be writing about ten years from now about Lilli, telling all of the things that we experienced. What I hope I will be writing is that Lilli is saying words again. I hope her seizures are controlled, and infrequent. I hope that when she is 21, she has gained more control and independence in her life.

I hope so much that when we are driving in the car together and she smiles and looks out the window, that I can say, "Why are you smiling, Lilli?"

And she can tell me.

How We Saved Our Wet Ipad After it Took a Bath

I see you, desperate ipad owner, Googling my first wet ipad post. Hopefully, you have come to the right place. I have also been a desperate owner of a wet ipad.

Two different wet ipads, actually.

I wrote about our first wet ipad experience a year ago, and I can see that my first post is still Googled every week. Probably by a mom or dad freaking out, holding a sopping wet expensive mess swaddled in a towel while yelling at someone and googling "Wet ipad" at the same time.

Such a shame, because that post was probably not very helpful.  I am sorry that my first experience and post was such a disappointment. Putting that wet ipad in the bag of rice did NOT work for us. Alas, that ipad never came back to life.

This wet ipad post might actually help you. There is hope: our second wet ipad came back to life! Now working as perfectly as it was before it took a short swim in the tub. No side effects at all; it has completely gone back to perfection, much to our surprise. I will tell you how we saved it - quickly, because you are probably stressing out and skimming this post anyway.

Our ipad was plunged into the FULL bathtub by our daughter who has special needs. Yep, pushed down under water. I do not know for how long...and does it really matter? Because the ipad was COMPLETELY UNDER WATER. Our daughter has a fascination with water, and don't ask how it even ended up in the tub in the first place. All that matters is that it was completely submerged.

We put it on the heater so the heat could go up into this hole.
Good idea? Probably not, I guess it could have melted something.
But hey, it worked!

My husband propped the toweled-off ipad up on the heater. We left it there for a day. Then I picked it up and tried to turn it off. We could see water underneath the screen. No, not the decorative little water droplets that are just there to tease you - and can I just say, that joke is just plain mean, Apple. No, there was a huge, obvious puddle underneath the glass in the middle of the screen. It was tricky to turn it off and took a few tries. Once it was off, I left it alone for two more days. Propped on the heater so that the heat could go up into the charging hole.

Please ignore the dust and focus on the handle
where we propped the ipad.

I will show you a picture so you can see that we propped it on the little handle that adjusts the angle of the vent. This allowed the ipad to be sitting right in the middle of the grate, or whatever you call that thing. This also happened around the time of the "polar vortex," so the heater was working hard.

The actual wet ipad. NOT a dramatization. 

After (im)patiently waiting, I turned it on and held my breath. It worked! The first few days, there were two little teeny streaks of water still under the screen, but the apps all functioned fine. A few days later, the streaks were gone. I probably should have left it on the heater for one more day.

Yay for dry, January heaters that make you wake up desperately wanting a drink of water. I think our last ipad got wet in the middle of summertime, and rice seemed like the only best option at the time. This time, when I blurted, "Quick put it in the bag of rice!" (because parents like us happen to have a gallon size zip-lock bag full of rice stored on a shelf for wet device moments such as these - true story) my husband said, "No, that didn't work last time. Let's try something else." Good idea, honey. It worked.

(I just want to add that if his idea had been a bad idea, as in... if the side of the ipad completely melted and oozed down into the heater vent, I would have been mad at him for the next ten years. But fortunately for all of us, that did not happen.)

Our ipad is back to fully functioning, the water is all dried up and gone, and we have all done multiple happy dances about it.

Best of luck to you and your ipad. I feel like this is where I should insert some kind of disclaimer or legal mumbo jumbo: this advice is unofficial, please don't sue me or send me mean comments. This might even be reeeeally terrible advice. You should not even really listen to me, because I am the one whose child managed to get not one, but two borrowed ipads from the school district completely wet. All I know is that it worked this time, and the huge bag of rice did not.

However, if you have a victorious wet ipad story to tell, please share in the comments. Other desperate wet ipad owners will thank you.

Good luck!

The bag of rice that is still floating around. Oh, I have
two message buttons in there that...um...our daughter also
threw into the bathtub. Have not checked yet to
see if they still work. Guess I should have balanced them
on the heater.

The Fate of Ipad #2

When your kids do dumb things, does it ever remind you of something dumb you did when you were a kid? It's easier to show grace that way. It sure reminds me. I did a ton of dumb things. That is the perspective I am choosing to take on what happened here this weekend.

A little over a year ago, I read Carly Fleischman's story, "Carly's Voice." It is the story of a girl who has autism, and she learned how to type to communicate. Her story is amazing. She was the inspiration for why we are trying to teach Lilli to type independently. Even after two and a half years, we are still going at it with faith that we are on the right track. But I've posted about that before. In this post, I wanted to point out that when I read her story, several details really stuck with me.

One was that Carly broke a bunch of laptops while they were teaching her to type.

Another was that it took a very long time to teach her to type, but they never gave up hope, and they tried hard, for years.

Even after she broke a bunch of laptops.

I feel like the number was pretty high, like six or seven laptops, but I can't remember. If you ask me, even one or two is a lot. For some parents, if a child with special needs breaks even one device from slamming it or throwing it...well, I think many would say, "That's it. My child cannot have another one. It's too expensive. This is obviously not the way to go. Let's try something else." I think some parents will not even try to teach their child to use a device, because they fear their child will just break it. Yes, it's true. They might. In fact, they probably will.

But not Carly's parents. I picture them sighing, maybe yelling, or maybe just sulking in silence about it all, and then trudging out to buy yet another laptop. Because they had to. How could they not? (By the way, Carly is now in college, taking classes. So imagine if they'd given up after she'd broken the second or third laptop.)

Carly's story really has had a lot of influence on us. This girl has given hundreds of parents (maybe thousands - you should see this girl's facebook page) of children with autism something that cannot be bought:

Hope.

Because if it can happen for that girl, then maybe it can happen for my child too.

Hope that even though things are unbelievably difficult, there might be a reward one day. A reward of breaking through the silence. Of finally knowing exactly what my child is thinking and wanting to tell me, all the time. And even to think that there "might" be a chance that Lilli can learn to type all by herself, that maybe one day she "might" talk, there's a chance. No matter how small that chance may be, there is hope.

So you may be wondering why I remember specifically that Carly broke a bunch of her laptops.

It's because Lilli just broke her second ipad last night. Her second one.

Yep, plunged it into water and gave it a bath. Pulled it up and the screen was blinking. That destruction took probably all of about five seconds.

I am going to say this, even though I probably shouldn't. But I wasn't home at the time. I was gone for 25 minutes and my husband was there, running water in the tub for Lilli and getting ready to bathe her. But he was distracted... and momentarily drawn away from the bathroom by chaos in the kitchen with our other two children, a spill, and a borrowed dog.

Don't ask about the dog. So even though it was a big accident, well, I wasn't there. I was picking up my niece at the airport. I had nothing to do with it. That's all I'm saying.

So the ipad #2 is sitting on the heater vent this time. Last time, when ipad #1 was put under the faucet by Lilli (also discovered by my husband, I might add - I was home that time, but he was closer to her...I'm just saying) we did the bag of rice method for a week. And that ipad never recovered. It never came back on again. I had to drag all three of my kids to the genius bar at the local Apple Store, only to be told by the genuis (who took a special flashlight and shined it inside one of the little holes):

"This ipad has water damage."

I had just told him that my daughter put it in the sink and turned the faucet on. (She likes water.) So my experience at the "genius bar" kind of made me chuckle.

I felt like saying, "Well, DUH!" But you can't do that in an Apple store to someone who has the job title of "Genius."

I know, the rice in a bag trick has worked for many of you. Just not for us. Maybe we should have used white rice, not natural whole grain brown rice. I don't know.

We are trying the prop-it-on-its-end-on-the-heater-vent-and-pray tactic this time around.

This ipad is extremely valuable to us, in so many ways. Lilli took her first standardized test ever with this ipad. She can use it to make choices - whatever choices we program into the Proloquo speech communication program. She uses it with her ABA therapist in many of her programs. She has several favorite apps that have taught her a lot. The ipad is her number one source of self entertainment. One of her only ways to entertain herself, actually. (See my last post.) I actually cannot list all of the reasons why the ipad is so important to us, there are too many.

You now may be wondering: do we have insurance coverage on this ipad?

Hmmm. Great question. I do not know.

Last time this happened, I called the school, and the insurance plan had just run out, and they had not renewed it. They graciously forgave us and replaced it anyway.

This time...well, this time my plan is to have my husband make the phone call. I do not know how much grace this district has left to give us. We have been extremely blessed that they even gave us an ipad to use in the first place. Maybe they will get her another one. Maybe they will tell us: too bad. And we will say, "We understand. You trusted us with this device, and our daughter gave it a bath. We are so very sorry."

Either way, this will not stop us from trying to teach Lilli. She has a terrible fascination with water, and obviously no common sense about putting two of her favorite things together, the ipad and water. I wondered why she did it. I think it might be as simple as the curiousity of what it would be like to play with her ipad under water. Kind of like when I was a kid and I put the iron on the carpet, and then there was a burn mark shaped like my mother's iron in the middle of our green carpet for about ten years.

Why did I put the hot iron on the carpet? My feet were cold. Do you follow? Please don't make me explain that one in any more detail. I just told my husband the story and he laughed and said, "Well there you have it, that was equally as dumb as putting the ipad in the bathtub."

Kids do dumb things.

Maybe the ipad will dry out and survive. I'll let you know. But I forgive Lilli. It's better than an iron mark in the middle of my carpet.

My post about Carly: http://wherelilliblooms.blogspot.com/2012/04/unraveling-lillis-typing-mystery-with.html

Links about Carly: (you need to click on her facebook link, just to see it.)

http://www.facebook.com/carlysvoice 
http://www.amazon.com/Carlys-Voice-Breaking-Through-Autism/dp/1439194149 


 

Gift Giving, Toys and Autism, and Putting Elmo to Rest.

It's January and I am so glad. Not just because it is a new year, but because December is over. It was a tough month.

We were all sick on Christmas. I will leave it at that.

There were great things about the December of 2013. Lilli got to go to school and be in a class for Polar Express Day. She went in pajamas with her homebound teacher, Leslie, by her side. She went caroling with her new class that she visits twice a week - other mentally high-functioning fourth graders who have autism. She seemed upset at first. I wondered if it was because she is non-verbal and cannot sing. I took a few pictures and went over and whispered in her ear, "You don't have to sing, Lilli! Just smile! You're just spreading happiness at Christmastime." Then I left to go to Josh's classroom, and whispered a quick prayer that she would just be happy. Leslie told me she DID have a great time and was happy after I left, hugging with classmates and laughing. Lilli has some new friends at this school that really adore her. I was so thankful. (I just didn't get a picture of the happy moments.)

Caroling in the main office. Lilli  is in the back, leaning against her homebound teacher, Ms. Leslie. Not happy yet. But happiness came later. Maybe it was because her embarrassing mom was there taking pictures of her, who knows.

Gift Giving Challenges

As Christmas crept closer, I felt myself begin to slide down into my annual mental pit of feeling upset and frustrated about Christmas shopping for Lilli. This is the part of Christmas tradition that sends me into mixture of excitement and dread.

I love, love to give thoughtful gifts. I think it might be my "love language." I keep a "gift idea" notebook and write down ideas for people all year long. If time allows, I love to make gifts for people. If money were no obstacle, I would haapily act like Santa Claus, all year long.

For the last five years since we made this life change, moved and Jasen went back to school, I started the habit of Christmas shopping at yard sales for my kids during the summer. For obvious reasons- living on student loans with three children- we needed to keep the gift budget extremely small, and I discovered that there are lots of strangers who sell perfectly awesome toys, cast off from their (very possibly spoiled rotten) children, in their garage sales for practically nothing. Maybe these people have money to throw away. Maybe they are very bad at budgeting. Maybe they forgot that they spent $20 each on those four Disney princess dolls in perfect condition, and plopped them on a card table masking-taped together with a $1 price sticker just to get rid of them. Or maybe they just wanted to bless someone who could not afford to buy them new. Thank you, perfect stranger who gave away like-new Disney dolls for $1, Chloe loved them.

My kids had great Christmases and birthdays while Jasen was in chiropractic school, partly because of this planning, partly because of the awesome year-round yard sales here in the south, and mostly because this weird thing happens with me. I just think of something we need or I would like to give to someone, and I find it a week later at a yard sale for a quarter. I sometimes specifically pray to find one thing, and there it is in someone's garage, like-new for a buck. God knows what I need. He knows what I want. He is a crazy awesome Giver. People say "God will provide" a lot, but not everyone knows what that really means. I'm telling you, this one way God provides for us. Ask anyone who knows us well, and look around our house. It's pretty amazing.

Five presents each. One from Santa, one from Jesus, three from Mom and Dad. That's how we do it here. If Santa can give presents, Jesus can too, goodness.

Those lean school years taught me how to get creative and find ways to give great gifts on a shoestring budget. I learned much about money and spending. I learned you do not have to spend gobs of money in a panic in late December on expensive new plastic toys to make a child extremely happy on Christmas morning. You do not have to wait until the weather turns cold and then rack up hundreds on your credit card for a few moments of screaming on December 25th, only to faint when you get the bill in January. It's a weird thing we Americans do every year. It does not make much sense.

Josh and Chloe are easy. This fall I went to a neighborhood yard sale and found Chloe an awesome disco ball light and Josh a huge box of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and superhero action figures for a few bucks. All were things they wanted and asked for. Thanks, God. (We put "from Jesus" on the gift tags. Cause they were.) Gift ideas, and the process of finding them is a thrill - when it's for Chloe or Josh.

We've got almost every super hero now. Even Aquaman and Wolverine are in there somewhere new in packaging. Five bucks for the box, thank you, kind yard sale mom who just wanted to get rid of her teenage son's junk. Chloe wanted Uno Moo a few months ago. $1. 

Lilli, however, is not so easy.

Searching for a gift for Lilli dredges up a mixture of unwanted emotions from deep within me. Inside, Lilli is almost ten. Outside, Lilli is much, much younger. The ages collide for her in many situations. One of them is toys. When I begin to plan Christmas for Lilli each year, I feel a small sense of hopefulness and the challenge of finding a fabulous gift - mixed with sadness and frustration. I have no idea what to get her.

The longer I dwell on finding a good toy to give to Lilli, my oldest child, the worse the feeling gets. I hate it.

I know it must sound so completely shallow. It's just that Christmas shopping reminds me of what Lilli cannot do. Playing with toys is something that has not come easy to Lilli. For Lilli, even learning how to play has been very hard work.

Learning to play is part of her therapy.

For those who are confused by this statement, I will share an experience I had when Lilli was much younger.

Autism and the Hard Work of Playing

When Lilli was four, she received the autism diagnosis. The doctor strongly recommended that she receive at least 30 hours of ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis) therapy a week. Yes, 30 hours a week. We talked to the school district where we were at that time, and they were all, "Huh? What's ABA? We don't do that here, no." (It costs a district money, you see. On a side-note, when we moved here we discovered that not every district is so stingy.)

So I went to a special school for children with autism and paid $500 to take a three-day seminar on ABA therapy. I was the only parent there. I sat with a roomful of special education teachers (from other districts who knew what ABA was) and therapists. I was like that annoying, nerdy non-traditional student who asks a million questions, takes notes and pays close attention to every power point slide. Everyone else seemed to count down the minutes to the snack break and tried not to fall asleep, because they were only there to get credit points toward their certifications.

I was riveted by every video clip example and page of notes. I was hooked. The idea of ABA gave me hope for Lilli.

Several times, we were invited into the special autism school to observe students receiving ABA therapy. They placed me outside a room of a four year old boy, bless them. They did that on purpose. He was an exact male version of my Lilli. He could not talk, and he did not know how to play with toys. He was not potty trained. He cried a lot. He did not know what to do with himself. He was so unhappy. I was amazed to see that my child was not the only one in the world like this. In fact, lots of children with autism are like this. I won't say most, because I really don't know. But maybe.

A therapist and little boy were in this room that was about the size of a large walk-in closet. There was no door. I sat on a child-size plastic chair in the hallway outside the doorway. I balanced my pen and notebook on my lap, and observed. I took it all in, and thought of Lilli the entire time. It was nothing I had ever seen or known about. The therapist, a laid-back 20-something guy wearing jeans and an untucked button-down shirt, was lovingly and patiently trying to teach this boy to play. He took a moment and explained to me that every time the boy even just made an effort to touch a part of a toy, he got a tiny treat. I think it was a tiny piece of a cracker or something.

There was a toy vacuum on the floor. My three year old Josh had one like it last year and he ran it all over the house and pushed all the buttons. This boy just looked at it blankly for a second and then stared at the wall. I watched with immense interest as the therapist showed the boy over and over...and over...how to touch one button on the vacuum to make music play. Then he would encourage the boy to do it.

This was hard work for the little guy. So hard. He obviously did not know how to touch the toy's button to make it do something. No matter how many dozens of times the therapist took his little hand and showed him, the boy would not do it on his own.

It wasn't the cool, fun, vacuum's fault. The therapist explained that this was a new toy this week. He was teaching the little guy how to play with it, and I was fascinated with the whole process.

He tried with other toys too. There were cars, action figures, boxes of awesome toys any typical four year old boy would love to touch, play with, imagine with, zoom around the room while making little boy car sounds. There were a few toys that the little boy did pay attention to. Those were the ones he had already "learned" to play with. He took a small truck and ran it back and forth on the table for about three seconds. That, I was told, was progress. They had worked for a long time to get him to do that. Many hours of teaching, and bags of snacks.

If anyone reading this is thinking, "Why such torture? Who cares if he doesn't want to play with those toys, let the poor kid do what he wants to do." I struggle to covey to you: that's just it. He did not want to DO anything. He sat and stared at the wall and cried. A child's whole job - whole life - is to play.

This little boy did not know how to play. And neither did my Lilli. It had to be taught.

This is autism.

Lilli and Elmo: True Love

For a long time, Lilli did not know how to make toys work. I think it might be called a processing problem. She could not make that connection in her brain that she had to push a button to get a toy to do something. It took a very long time to teach her. Weeks. Months. When she was one year old, she played. She reached out and touched and smiled at toys. She had words - real words, like ma-ma, da-da, dog, we remember she even said "poop." I remember even getting her to say the word "donkey." She began to regress around 15 months. She stopped playing with toys. It was like she forgot how. She sat in a corner touching sunspots on the carpet for hours and looking with fascination at her own fingers, while piles of fun toys sat nearby. She cried a lot. She watched movies.

That's an autism thing too - the sunspots and fingers. She would run a piece of ribbon through her hands repetively for an hour.

We were desperate to get her back. To have her play with toys, talk, be happy. 

The first time I remember her really "getting" how to make a toy work and playing by herself was when she was about four years old - shortly after we began ABA therapy with her.

My sister got her "Dress Me Elmo." If you squeeze his hand, he sings this little Elmo song about how "Get-ting dressed, there's nothing to it, now that we've - learned - how to DO it!" And I could sing the next part to you by heart, about zipping and buttoning...Anyway, Lilli was ga-ga over that little singing Elmo. But she could not get him to sing by herself. I would press his hand for her, and she would crawl off so super happy for about ten seconds. Then he would stop. And she would cry, and bring him back to me.

Fifty times in a row. All day long. The mood swing was ridiculous. Singing: HAPPY! Silence: SUPER MAD! Happy! Super mad! Every thirty seconds. She did not understand that she had to squeeze Elmo's hand, no matter how many times I showed her. This could be due to brain damage, or autism, or both, I don't know. It was very frustrating. Playing with Elmo was an extreme love-hate experience.

We hired ABA therapists who showed me how to take her hand in mine and make her hand press a toy's button, and not do it for her. Sometimes she was rewarded by a treat. Sometimes the music or action from the toy itself was enough of a reward to motivate her to learn. I will never forget that it took days and days of listening to Elmo sing that song and Lilli sob and bring it to me over and over. For hours straight.

I think this was teaching her muscle memory by taking her hand and making her hand do it.

And she finally learned.

She learned to press his hand all by herself.

What a glorious moment that was after days of Elmo torture, when she realized she could do it herself. To this day, five years later whenever I hear that Elmo sing about tying his shoes, I remember that he was the first toy she ever learned to play with by herself after her autism diagnosis. Well, she doesn't do the "dress me" part. She can't zip up his coat or velcro his little shoe. We never worked to teach her that part.

After Dress Me Elmo, I went bonkers trying to find toys that Lilli could play with on her own. Pizza Elmo was another big hit. We would do hand-over-hand and teach her what to press, and after a few days or weeks, she would be able to do it herself. It was a whole new world! We had the most annoying toys ever! The worst one was this big, super loud whirring thing with big buttons that had parts that spun around while music played under all that loud racket. But I was just so happy that she could finally entertain herself. As long as there was a big button somewhere that she could press, she could play with it.

Loudest, most annoying toddler toy ever, with nice big buttons and fun spinning action. Even the therapists hated it. I think we had a party when we got rid of it.

If we took a few days or weeks to teach her over and over where the button was, she could eventually get it. And then I would have a few blessed minutes of "peace" to do laundry or something else while Lilli played with a toy by herself - at the age of five.

As the years went on, we went through dozens of toys with simple buttons. And then we realized that she had more going on in her mind than we ever realized. I started to get excited about technology, thinking that she could use a Kindle to read books, or play new ipad apps.

Soon I realized that even those things would take a very long time for her to learn. It's just how her brain works.

Christmas Toy Shopping for Lilli

On Christmas morning, I want my children to open one fun gift that they love - just one special one that they shriek about and play with all day. One that I spent time thinking about and finding. One that I know they will be excited about when they go to school after break and everyone asks them what they got for Christmas.

I love to find the perfect gift for someone. And each year I have a tough time figuring out what NOT to get for Josh and Chloe. I narrow it down to a few gifts each.

But then there's Lilli.

I will see a toy I would love for Lilli to have. And then I think about it and I usually realize: it's too babyish. Or it's too complicated - she won't be able to play with it because it requires fine motor skills that she does not have. She won't be able to use it by herself, because she won't understand what to do with it. We will have to show her over and over how to play with it, and it will frustrate her.

Maybe it was wrong of me, but as I planned my gift lists, I just did not want to buy her another Elmo. I wanted her to move on. I want to find something that is pretty "cool" for an almost ten year old to play with, that she is able to do on her own. Had she moved on? I was not sure.

Maybe I'm the one that needs the therapy, not Lilli.

What does a ten year old do to entertain himself or herself? Besides watch movies or use a device?

I really was stumped.

I posted a question to the parents of children with cerebral palsy group online. I asked them what their older children did to entertain themselves, other than using an electronic device or watching a movie. All the parents agreed that this is such a tough issue that they all struggle with. They detailed how they are always either entertaining their children, or their child is using a touchscreen device. Because fine motor and gross motor skills make most activities very difficult for most kids who have CP. And self entertainment is difficult for many children with autism. Unless someone is sitting down helping Lilli, she cannot entertain herself unless she has the ipad or a movie, or a simple toy with one button. And kids do evetually outgrow Elmo. Well, maybe.

Was she finally over Elmo?

Not Down with "Elmo Up Up Up"

Right before Christmas, I was still looking for something for Lilli. I went into a thrift shop, and there was an Elmo on the shelf. He even had batteries. He sang a song about how Elmo loves to be picked "Up up up." I held him and stood there for a long time, listening to him and thinking. I felt a little excited that I'd just found a cheap Elmo just in time for Christmas. But then I felt a little sad, and I hesitated. I wasn't going to give Lilli another Elmo this year. It reminds me that her progress is so painstakingly slow. I didn't want her to keep playing with Elmos. I wanted her to move on, but move on to what...I did not know.

After a long few moments of listening to him sing, I gave in and bought him.

I hoped that maybe she would play with him and be excited about him, since I could not think of any other toy to get her.

She was not excited about him at all.

She got some cool clothes. She got new movies from Nannie and Pop pop. We pulled everything out of her stocking for her, and she didn't know what to do with any of it.

She got a "question-a-day" diary. My thought was that we can put the choices in her communication device and she can choose the answers. Maybe if she starts typing better this year, she can type things and I can print them out and put them in the diary. It's a long term, dreamy-hopeful goal.

She opened the Elmo, and didn't care.

Jasen said, "She's over Elmo. She's not into him anymore."

She played with her ipad and watched youtube movies on Christmas morning. Meanwhile, Chloe and Josh each played with their new favorite toys.

Lilli didn't play with her Elmo. And you know what? It's a good thing. She's moved on. Where we go from here, I do not know. But she will be ten at the end of this month. Her birthday gifts will be the next challenge for me. But the fact that she can make choices, and she doesn't care about new Elmo toys anymore....that is a good thing. It's progress.

Almost one per year. Except for the years when she got two. If there ever is a game show where contestants win by singing all the words to Elmo songs, I would win.  

Progress is so slow, it is hard for me to see it sometimes. I need reminders that we are on the right track, that I am doing the right things, that I should never give up.

I don't know where we go from here, but we are headed somewhere new.

Farewell, trusty Elmo toys. We have so many of you. Your songs and voice are unfortunately burned in my brain forevermore. But you are headed for Ebay.

It's almost like a gift...to me.

How Lilli Jumped from 15 Months Old to Second Grade... with One Test.

Over the last few months, I have neglected to tell you that Lilli got a new communication device. I think I may have started to write a post about it once. But this summer was all about painting and fixing our new home and moving into it. The whole amazing experience of Lilli's newest communication device and how she used the ipad to take a standardized test kind of got lost in all of that craziness. She now uses both the ipad, and a new device called the NovaChat. The NovaChat is what she is now learning to use to communicate independently - and that will have to be a different post. For now, I will focus on the standardized testing.

It all started when we were talking about moving. Jasen was getting ready to graduate from chiropractic school in March of 2013, and we were once again at the crossroads of where to go. We thought we were going to move away. I guess it was fall of 2012 when I began to make plans for Lilli in preparation for this. I told the school district that I wanted documentation in her permanent record about what she is able to do. (I am a "think far ahead into the future" kind of mom.)

This was important to me, because just one year ago, her school assessments still said she was at a "fifteen month cognitive level."

Fifteen months.

Please let that sink in a moment, if you have read some of my other posts about Lilli, especially way back when she started to type on the ipad.

There was no way that I was going to let her school record say that, after she has been working on second and third grade level material for over a year. It is in her mind. You just can't see it.

Not because I care what other people think, but because I care about her education - we had to find a way to "prove" that she is smarter than a baby.

If we moved to another school district, I did NOT want to have Lilli start back at square one. I did not want to have a new school district look at her assessments in her file and doubt what she could do, thinking that her wacko mother was completely disillusioned in believing this child could actually do some third grade level work.

I did NOT want her go go into a special education self-contained class where she would be re-taught the alphabet and letter sounds that she probably learned when she was four and five.

I began to ask about asessments.

It is extremely difficult to assess a non verbal child with autism and fine motor issues that hinder her from writing. We know how to assess her, but there did not seem to be a standardized test that would do that. Schools want official standardized testing results, with tests that are administered a certain way. My goal was to prove on paper - officially -  that Lilli can and does understand, and deserves an appropriate education. And by "appropriate," I mean close to or on grade level, but with extreme accomodations. And by extreme, I mean a teacher who is willing to think completely out of the box and work one on one with her to discover what she can do, and think of imaginative ways to bring out that hidden intelligence.

I knew based on her special education path so far, that it would take a special person in a new school district that did not know Lilli, to see her potential and have that faith in her abilities. She might not be able to put blocks in a shape sorter, but she knows her multiplication facts. Darn it, there should be a way to prove that. This is the kind of stuff that makes me so mad and frustrated, especially as a former teacher. I hate that a standardized test is so important in proving to the world what a child knows.

At her IEP meeting in the spring of 2013, the adminstrators were supportive and helpful. We brainstormed. We realized that the only way to do this would be to figure out a way for her to take a standardized test.

So despite my hatred for standardized testing (because as a teacher, I gave many of those tests years ago - enough said) we began to rally for Lilli to take a standardized math test. "We" includes her parents, her homebound teacher, her ABA therapist, her speech therapist, and her occupational therapist. Lilli has a great team right now. We are blessed. It is incredibly important to me to have people that work with Lilli who truly believe in her intelligence and potential. I look back with sadness on years where we had various people who did not believe in Lilli's intelligence and potential. If even one person on this team had said, "Well, come on, Jennie. Face reality. She will never be able to take a standardized test, and that's OK..."

Nope. No more of that. I do not want people like that working with Lilli. I had a therapist two years ago sit me down and try to get me to "face reality," and work on what Lilli "really needed." (In her opinion, that did not include academics.) You want to know what I did about that? I told the school to remove Lilli from that woman's therapy services immediately, that I did NOT want her working with Lilli ever again, and I did not want her to attend any future IEP meetings or even have anything to do with Lilli. Not listening to you, negative professional with "twenty years of experience." 

A few weeks after the IEP/brainstorming meeting with the principal, assistant principal, and teacher, Lilli took a standardized math test. Her teacher and therapists only had a short time to prepare Lilli because of the testing window, but she had been "taking" multiple choice tests with cut up paper for many months. She took the math test on the computer, and used her ipad to make the choices. Un-touched. On her own. No "hand-over-hand" guidance. She took another standardized alternative test for English/language arts, math, and social studies, which used cards that were laid out on the floor for Lilli to choose her answers.

The nitty gritty of the experience would be a different post, with exactly how we did it. One day I hope to really write all of that down for other parents who need guidance in helping their children through a similar educational path. It was a lot of hard work on the part of the teacher and therapists. For now, I will post a few videos of the very beginning stages. In the beginning, it was all experiemental. We figured it out as a team, through trial and error. We used tape, old overheard projector sheets that I cut up, and Vis a Vis markers, along with the ipad. Then, she practiced.

The end result was that Lilli learned to take a multiple choice test with the letter choices on her ipad. When she took the standardized math test on the computer, we went to the school, the teacher pointed to each question and answer choices on the screen, and Lilli chose her answer on her ipad in front of her. Then the teacher recorded which answer Lilli chose.

Lilli took that standardized math test in the spring of 2013, when she was a third grader. She scored around the end of first grade, beginning of second grade for math. Then she took the test again this fall. She beat her previous score by around 20 points.

Chloe is in first grade right now, and just took the same test. Chloe scored very high on her math test, above grade level. I cannot compare these two extremely different children of mine. But for the sake of pointing out that Lilli is really smarter than most people give her credit for, I want to tell you this:

Lilli's score beat Chloe's score.

Lilli is nine and still has a ton of catching up to do. She missed a lot. She spent way too long learning the alphabet and number identification because no one could assess what she knew. Any person who would meet Lilli today would think that she is on a baby level, because of the way she walks, how she cannot talk, and plays with the only toys she can use with her fine-motor skills - toddler toys. But she really is smarter than a baby. I am not pushing for Lilli to "be" anything, to have a certain score...no. I just want an accurate assessment of what she does understand. And since there is no such assessment for Lilli, we had to figure that out.

I never thought I would be thankful for a standardized test. But I am. I am so proud of Lilli. We will keep working. And oh, incidentally, we never moved. We stayed in the same school district. Jasen found a job here close by, and we bought a house in the district. We chose to stay here for now, for Lilli's sake. We feel very blessed with the team of people she has right now, and we do not want to lose that. In the very near future, things will really change. Possibly as soon as this coming spring/summer.  Lilli's ABA therapy will run out and we will no longer have it. I cannot think about that right now, it makes me feel panicky. I am living for today. Trying to beat the clock. Trying to cram in as much catching up and learning as possible before things change.

The other "alternative" standardized test turned out to not be very helpful at all. Her results came back and she scored a "3 out of 4." The scores were completely general, non specific and unhelpful to me as a parent. No grade level, no skill level. Just said that she was "progressing." However she did get a lot of practice with multiple choice testing, and it was a positive experience. We are going to keep focusing on the test that all the other kids take. The school-wide standardized test.

Fo now, we will continue to build up that school record with test scores that do mean something.

And I may be the only former teacher and mother in the world to proclaim this:

I love standardized testing.

Because, it proves, on the world's terms, that Lilli is smart.

If you watch these video clips, it's not the questions and answers that are important. It's the method. This was the first day that we tried to show Lilli the concept of a multiple choice "test." It was all new to her. Also, you will notice that she looks away a lot. But that does not mean she is not listening. She is learning. Transferring the choice she wants to make from the top ipad to the bottom ipad is a new challenge. We used several different apps that had multiple choice formats. We used our ipad to make a multiple choice touchscreen board for her to select answers. The speech therapist brought her ipad and used it for the apps. We taped the clear "A B C D" choices onto her ipad screen next to each choice. The concept began to make sense to Lilli after we worked on this for awhile. She ultimately took the standardized math test without being touched. Yay for "thinking outside the box" with a team of people who care about our daughter!

Five Minutes on Saturday

Sometimes, just one simple everyday moment in time can completely rock my world, and give me new perspective.

That happened to me last Saturday, simply because I met someone and spent five minutes with her. Five minutes that I will probably think about for the rest of my life.

The day before, on Friday, I had a moment with Lilli that I rarely get. Lilli still takes a nap every day. She gets tired out. She's almost ten, but something about her neurologically - maybe the seizures - maybe the brain damage - she still must take a fifteen to thirty minute nap every day. And almost every day, she naps in her special needs carseat while we are driving to pick up Chloe from school.

But Friday was different. Jasen had the day off, and he went to pick up Chloe. Josh had fallen asleep on the floor in front of a Batman cartoon. So I decided I would just try and lay down with Lilli to get her to take a short nap. We snuggled together, and she fell asleep.

Years of interrupted sleep since Lilli was born has wrecked my ability to nap. I have a lot of trouble sleeping. But I didn't mind the quiet time to lay next to her, thinking. It was so sweet, this moment with my daughter. I spend a lot of time helping, dressing, feeding, bathing, coordinating her school and therapy schedules and goals. Then there's Josh and Chloe, who need attention too. But I rarely get to have a quiet time with Lilli, where I lay down and take a nap with her in the middle of the afternoon. (Any mom will agree that it's a miracle to have all of your children nap at once.) I thought, wow, I wonder if I will still be taking naps with Lilli many years from now, when Josh and Chloe are older and are both at school all day.

Then I thought, I wonder how many other moms of nine year olds can do this? 

I hugged sweet Lilli, listened to her soft breathing, and I felt blessed.

The next day, Saturday, I met a girl. The girl I will be thinking about for a long time.

I had heard about her for several months, but I had never met her in person.

A friend stopped by to pick something up. She had this girl with her because she helps provide care for her on the weekends. I went out to the van, because I really wanted to meet this girl that I had heard so much about.

I went up to the window of the van, and introduced myself. I won't tell you her name. She is a twenty five year old girl who has autism. She is non verbal. She has no way to communicate. She cannot be left alone. She needs a lot of care.

She was silently sitting in the back seat of the van, looking down at her hands. I said hello to her though the window, and she looked up at me. Her clear blue, beautiful eyes looked directly into mine.

"I've heard a lot about you, lots of good things," I said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

She was silent. I smiled at her. "How old are you?"

Some long-time readers will remember an old post of mine about talking to a person with disabilitites. (If you missed it you can read it here.) I knew that this girl could not speak. But she deserves to be spoken to. Everyone does. We talk to infants. We talk to cats and dogs. Some of us even talk to plants. I catch myself talking to toys on the floor, although it's not always nice words. If we talk to animals and objects, how can we ever ignore a person with a disability? It's a person. I know it's hard to know what to do when you see people in wheelchairs, people with missing limbs or people with mental challenges. This is what you do: smile, look them in the eyes, and say hello. That's all.

She reached out through the window and touched me.

I waited a few beats, and then asked my friend how old she is.

Twenty five.

This is what hit my heart: She's an older version of my Lilli. Sixteen years from now. Maybe.

Maybe Lilli will speak words one day. You know that is my biggest prayer for her. But maybe she won't, and that's okay.

I felt the urge to hang out with this girl. I wanted to paint her nails and read her a cool book. I looked at her and saw what looks very much like my future daughter.

And I felt overwhelmingly blessed.

The next morning, we went to church, and part of the message was about joy. That as we take communion, part of it is to remember that God wants to give us true joy in our lives. As we took communion together, tears ran down my face as I thought about how my life has not turned out at all the way I expected. We've missed a lot. My high school reunion is coming up. I cannot even consider it. I have missed weddings of dear friends. I have missed holding their new babies. We have missed trips and vacations. We might always struggle to find people to watch Lilli so we can simply go on a date. We might always struggle financially to live on one income so I can stay home with Lilli and provide for her needs.

But I am seeing that God's plans for my life were greater than any idea I ever imagined. And the blessings far outweigh the things we have missed.

When I was twenty-four with a fresh new teaching career, I never dreamed I would one day resign, because I have a child with special needs who I will likely be caring for full-time for the rest of my life. Some might see it as a burden. I cannot explain it well enough in words. And even when I say this, some will not understand or see it.

But it is not a burden.

It is an incredible blessing, and a privilige. A gift from God. A glimpse of Him. A tiny piece of an idea of heaven.

Even if that does not make any sense to you, I had to try and put it into words somehow.

It's true, I do have some very difficult, discouraging moments. It's hard. Very hard.

But it's a blessing. It is a joy. True joy is not always for happy times. Sometimes joy is most precious in the hardest times. When a person can go through a dark time and still know that God is with them, that God has plans for them, that God knows the future and it is all going to work out for our good, that is real joy.

I'm blessed that God had better plans for me than I could ever imagine. And I'm blessed to have met a future version of Lilli, so that I could have a glimpse of my own heart. I realize that I am not dreading the future. I am not afraid. I am not depressed. I am blessed. I have a purpose.

I am Lilli's mom.

Lilli and me at the pumpkin patch this week. 

Dishes Go in the Sink

When you have several young children, your house constantly looks like either a mini tornado just came through, or wild animals live there. I have found that teaching several young children to clean up after themselves and do chores is extremely challenging.

I think about cleaning up a lot. This is mostly because Lilli and Josh have therapists coming over almost every single day. Today there are five people coming.  Two ABA therapists (the line therapist and the lead therapist) and the ABA therapy coordinator for Lilli, and a service coordinator and an occupational therapist for Josh. Yesterday we had the homebound teacher, the speech therapist, the ABA therapist, and a personal care coordinator. We dearly love all of these people who help our children so much. I love that they come to us and we do not have to spend hours each week in the car or in a waiting room. They step over toys, ignore the mess in my kitchen, and use the messy bathroom without saying a word. I know they are here to help my children, not judge my housekeeping.

But I cringe from time to time.

This is my most common thought every morning as I sip my coffee: Who is coming today. Shoot, I should clean the bathroom.

Then I calmly scan the living room and kitchen disaster areas, and try to decide if I care. Many days, I don't care. I let it go. We live here. I cook a lot. My kids play with toys. We all use the bathroom. This is reality.

But sometimes I can't just let it go. If you are not used to having people come to your house almost every day, try to imagine how it feels. I assume that some of you reading this probably spend time cleaning up your house when you have company coming. Ever have someone drop by unexpectedly and you are just mortified at the messy state of your bathroom? You can only hope that there is toilet paper in there, and that no one left any undergarments in the corner on the floor. Your guest is lucky if there's a hand towel to dry their hands with that's not all wet and bunched up on the counter. Let's not even discuss children remembering to flush. Yep, well, that happens here several times a week. We have two children potty training and learning to wash their hands all day. I would pretty much have to clean the bathroom multiple times every day, to act like no one lives here and it is always clean like that. 

Mostly it's not about what other people think of me and my house cleanliness. It's about me being able to stand living here.  I don't play with Legos, and I do not want to step on them. And we have wicked, pointy Legos that look like grass and fire - those really hurt.

It is very important to me to teach my children how to help clean up. I long for the day in the future when they will clean up everything  - even the bathroom! But the process is so slow, some days I can't stand it.

The Clean Up Song

Cleaning up starts small. At first you are patiently showing a toddler how to put a few blocks into a container. You clap and cheer wildly to show them how "great" and "fun" cleaning up can truly be. Then you teach them some silly "clean up" song, and force yourself to chant it in a chipper way while crawling around cleaning up almost all the toys yourself. Your toddler puts a total of two toys back, commenting and playing with each one for a few more minutes.

Somewhere during the sing-songy-"cleaning up is FUN!" phase, the urge to thrust all the toys into huge black garbage bags and throw them out in the garage might cross my mind.

Right now this is what "cleaning up" looks like at our house:

Josh chants the clean up song: "Mean up, mean up, eb-by bady mean up!" While continuing to play with the toys. 

Chloe makes a mad dash off to her room, roots through her dress up stash (meanwhile making yet another mess throwing the dress up clothes all over her floor) and puts on a Cinderella outfit and apron - the "before the ball" Cinderella outfit. Then she has to have her hair a certain way... the right shoes...Mommy please button the back of my dress...and she grabs a broom, because a broom is essential to play the part, even if we are picking up Legos. Dancing with the broomstick in a Cinderella type way begins, with lots of dress swirling and a touch of The Little Mermaid song "Ah ah ahhh..." or some other Disney princess song. And oh, cleaning up? Thought we were putting on a play. What was I supposed to do again Mommy?

This is really consistently true.

This is her idea of the "before the ball" Cinderella outfit. And I did not take this picture specifically for this post. I took it on a random day a few months ago. We must have been cleaning up something in the garage.

And then, there is Lilli. She stands in the middle of it all, and does not begin to move in any clean-up-kind-of-way.

She hears my frustrated cries of "Clean up these toys right now or I am going to suck them up with the vacuum cleaner! SQUINKIES AND ALL!" (anyone who knows what a "Squinky" is can surely relate.) She puts her hand on her neck and smiles. I really love that Lilli gets my sense of humor. She might ignore me in other ways, but whenever I crack a joke for her benefit, I am blessed with a smile, or a giggle from the next room. (The Squinkies belong to Chloe, so I guess Lilli thinks this is funny.)

Lilli is completely aware of the clean-up chaos swirling around her. But she does not run around and help me clean up the toys. We discuss this issue often, and I even went so far as to actually explain to Lilli that we are working on initiation and follow-through with her. As I've said before, I choose to give her the benefit of the doubt. Call me crazy, but if she is smart enough to do math problems and take social studies tests, she can learn the meaning of the word "initiate." And maybe it will get her thinking about what to do with her body when I ask her to clean up.

Lilli is still in the beginning stage of learning to put the Legos back in the bin, and we have to sit next to her and help her complete the job. She gets off task easily. She has trouble initiating and following through. We can't tell her what to do and then leave the room. We have to take her hand and help her put one Lego at a time in the container. That's not really helpful to me most of the time when the place is a wreck and I need everyone to pitch in and help in a big way, fast.

So I am so pleased and proud to brag that Lilli has learned to pick her dish up after a meal, and put it in the sink. Thanks to her patient, fabulous, persistent ABA therapist. She is also learning to throw away her napkin in the trash. Now, it's not perfect. But I don't care. She does hold the dish high over the sink and "drop" it in there with a loud crash. (Here is my plug for awesome Correll dishes that do not break very easily. And rubber mats to line the bottom of the sink) She got mixed up last week and tried to put her napkin in the sink and the plate in the trash. Usually she gets so eager to complete this chore, she picks the plate up halfway through the meal and tries to get up to go put it in the sink while there's still a lot of food on it. Recently, she has wandered into the kitchen and scooped up any dishes at all that are on the counter - including clean ones - and thrown them into the sink.  But the habit has been formed, and that's the important part. She's getting it.

   

I have realized that the emotion that welled up in me on the day of Chloe's kindergarten graduation, is the same emotion I have when Lilli learns to do something. What kind of crazy mom gets choked up when their kid puts a dish in the sink?

Me.

It happened to me the other day. I realized she did it without me even saying anything to her. She finished her breakfast, slid out of her chair, and took her plate to the sink and dropped it in there with a loud crash. I ran around the corner expecting to see a mess, and realized she had just simply put her dish in the sink on her own. I was so proud!

It's such a huge accomplishment for Lilli, It's hard to explain. Every time she learns to do something after months of practicing with a therapist, it's like a mini graduation. She did it. She learned it. She did it on her own without me telling her. I know I never got teary when Chloe put her dish in the sink for the first time. In fact, I don't even remember it. And I probably was just relieved that Chloe finally listened to me and just did it, but certainly I was not choked up.

With Lilli, it is different.

I never got to see Lilli walk across a stage and "graduate" from kindergarten, and that does make me sad. Why didn't we? I don't remember. School has not always been a good experience for her. But Lilli has many memorable "graduation" moments that we usually take for granted with typically developing children.

Maybe we make too big of a deal around here for little things. But the little things are huge when you have small children. Life is all about the little things with a child. When Josh uses the potty and I clap and say, "Yay!" in a normal voice, he will correct me and say, "No, YAAAYYY!!" like, come on mom, you're supposed to YELL and cheer!

This is what we are supposed to do, moms: yell and cheer for the little things our kids learn to do on their own. And cleaning up is an every hour, ongoing battle in every house with young children. If anyone is going to help me clean up in any way at all, I'm ecstatic.

I will continue to fight the Lego, Squinkie battle and sing the stupid clean up song for as long as it takes. But I can celebrate the fact that one of my children has learned to put her dishes in the sink without being asked. And that's quite an accomplishment.

Now please excuse me while I go tidy up the bathroom.