This is not your typical lovey-dovey facebook post saying how amazing my husband is because of the fabulous gift he bought me, or because he cleaned the house, or sent me flowers. (Yeah, right.)
This is a post to say my husband is amazing because he changes crappy pants.
I hate, despise, and just am sick-and-tired of washing out poopy pants. I'm sure he is too. But lately, when I see that awkward I-just-crapped-my-pants pose, I may glance in my husband's direction to see if there's a chance I could play it off. "What? He pooped his pants?..."
I am sure Travis knows my evil scheme. In fact I'm sure he has probably tried it on me too. You see, it's just a phase I'm going through. I'm sure I'll be back to my usual underwear rinsing self soon enough. In the mean time, I have an amazing husband.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Thinking out loud.
Alright I know I just posted about not fretting. But you know that that's really just not possible when you have a child with special needs. If I didn't fret a little here and there, I would never make any decisions.
So here is a snippet of me thinking out loud, mostly fretting.
Waylon turned five in December, and has been in Preschool since he turned three. He has also been in some sort of ABA program (autism therapy) since shortly after he turned three, and he has done great with this routine. But it's time for kindergarten.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkk!
I know most moms freak out a bit about kindergarten, but I'm here on behalf of all moms of kids with special needs to say, I AM FREAKED OUT.
Waylon has bonded really well with his teachers, paras, tutors, speech pathologists, and occupational therapists. He has made huge progress. But you just can't keep a kid in preschool forever. I understand that. (Although I can envision an Elf scene where an adult Waylon er... Will Farrell is scrunched up with a bunch of little tykes around the mini preschool tables.)
Prior to our change of plans (I like calling Waylon's diagnosis that; I think I will continue) we were going to send all of our children to Catholic school. We both went to Catholic school as kids, and we send our oldest to Catholic school. My mom is his teacher, I am on the school council, and the whole place is like a second family. (Truth is, we are closely or distantly related to at least 1/4 of the kids there.)
There happens to be a contained classroom 30 minutes away, provided by the school district, where his current (phenomenal) speech pathologist also works (lessened separation anxiety). Some of the kids there are much more severe than Waylon, and some seem to be further ahead than Waylon. They spend the morning working on skills appropriate for their level, and the afternoon they go to first grade groups (P.E., computers, music) for social interaction. We have met the teacher and principal, observed in the classroom, and mulled over it in our heads for hours. It seems to be a wonderful place, staffed by 5-6 specially trained adults at a time.
Here's how it breaks down as I see it:
Contained Classroom: Well trained teacher/therapists/paras, working to help Waylon academically, in a classroom with other kids with special needs, 30 minutes away.
Typical classroom at the Catholic school: Teacher (Grandma), may not have a para, limited special education resources, and no specialized training, but lots of love in a "normal" classroom setting with his cousins and siblings and lots of people who love him to pieces and have a sincere desire to see Waylon learn and grow.
One last caveat: somehow we need to work in time to continue ABA (autism therapy). It's important, because unlike wherever we choose for kindergarten, they don't work on academics. They work on helping Waylon learn to interact with others, behave appropriately, and communicate.
But how do we go to full-day kindergarten and still find time for ABA?
Hmmmm....
FAQ's:
Q: What's the big deal about this contained classroom?
A: It wasn't in the plan. Still suffering from a little denial.
Q: How do we know Waylon won't do well in the typical classroom until we try?
A: Well the odds are highly stacked against us, not to mention, it takes months to evaluate Waylon, plan an IEP, implement it, and record results. All the meanwhile we are using his kindergarten year as a trial-run.
Q: Why can't you get a para in the Catholic school?
A: I think that is fishy also, I'm working on that one.
Q: Why can't you try the public school?
A: Public schools scare me. We love the catholic school because we want him to be a part of the big happy family there. And if that's not possible, what does a public school have to offer?
Q: Why can't you do half day kindergarten and half day ABA?
A: Well, which half of the kindergarten day should we cut- morning academics? Or afternoon social time? Both very important for Waylon.
I plan on uncovering every stone and exploring every route to find the perfect placement for next year. We'll keep hashing all of this out in our heads a thousand times a day; In the meantime, feel free to comment below with your thoughts.
So here is a snippet of me thinking out loud, mostly fretting.
Waylon turned five in December, and has been in Preschool since he turned three. He has also been in some sort of ABA program (autism therapy) since shortly after he turned three, and he has done great with this routine. But it's time for kindergarten.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkk!
I know most moms freak out a bit about kindergarten, but I'm here on behalf of all moms of kids with special needs to say, I AM FREAKED OUT.
Waylon has bonded really well with his teachers, paras, tutors, speech pathologists, and occupational therapists. He has made huge progress. But you just can't keep a kid in preschool forever. I understand that. (Although I can envision an Elf scene where an adult Waylon er... Will Farrell is scrunched up with a bunch of little tykes around the mini preschool tables.)
Prior to our change of plans (I like calling Waylon's diagnosis that; I think I will continue) we were going to send all of our children to Catholic school. We both went to Catholic school as kids, and we send our oldest to Catholic school. My mom is his teacher, I am on the school council, and the whole place is like a second family. (Truth is, we are closely or distantly related to at least 1/4 of the kids there.)
There happens to be a contained classroom 30 minutes away, provided by the school district, where his current (phenomenal) speech pathologist also works (lessened separation anxiety). Some of the kids there are much more severe than Waylon, and some seem to be further ahead than Waylon. They spend the morning working on skills appropriate for their level, and the afternoon they go to first grade groups (P.E., computers, music) for social interaction. We have met the teacher and principal, observed in the classroom, and mulled over it in our heads for hours. It seems to be a wonderful place, staffed by 5-6 specially trained adults at a time.
Here's how it breaks down as I see it:
Contained Classroom: Well trained teacher/therapists/paras, working to help Waylon academically, in a classroom with other kids with special needs, 30 minutes away.
Typical classroom at the Catholic school: Teacher (Grandma), may not have a para, limited special education resources, and no specialized training, but lots of love in a "normal" classroom setting with his cousins and siblings and lots of people who love him to pieces and have a sincere desire to see Waylon learn and grow.
One last caveat: somehow we need to work in time to continue ABA (autism therapy). It's important, because unlike wherever we choose for kindergarten, they don't work on academics. They work on helping Waylon learn to interact with others, behave appropriately, and communicate.
But how do we go to full-day kindergarten and still find time for ABA?
Hmmmm....
FAQ's:
Q: What's the big deal about this contained classroom?
A: It wasn't in the plan. Still suffering from a little denial.
Q: How do we know Waylon won't do well in the typical classroom until we try?
A: Well the odds are highly stacked against us, not to mention, it takes months to evaluate Waylon, plan an IEP, implement it, and record results. All the meanwhile we are using his kindergarten year as a trial-run.
Q: Why can't you get a para in the Catholic school?
A: I think that is fishy also, I'm working on that one.
Q: Why can't you try the public school?
A: Public schools scare me. We love the catholic school because we want him to be a part of the big happy family there. And if that's not possible, what does a public school have to offer?
Q: Why can't you do half day kindergarten and half day ABA?
A: Well, which half of the kindergarten day should we cut- morning academics? Or afternoon social time? Both very important for Waylon.
I plan on uncovering every stone and exploring every route to find the perfect placement for next year. We'll keep hashing all of this out in our heads a thousand times a day; In the meantime, feel free to comment below with your thoughts.
Monday, February 13, 2012
I'm a planner.
I'm a planner.
Our calendar (which is busting at the seams, it seems) is checked every morning with the necessity of fresh underwear, and I live by a mini-itinerary each day (or else I would forget where to go). I have known since about age eight how many kids I was going to have, where I was going to live, and what kind of car I was going to drive. (Remember M.A.S.H.?)
That's what's really annoying about autism.
It wasn't in my plan.
Similar to the crap in his pants as we were walking out the door this morning.
As I bend over the toilet bowl rinsing out underwear, I mutter a little prayer "Lord help me to accept the things I cannot change..." No sense in fretting, right?
Occasionally people say, "He's five and he's not potty trained?" Yeah, I know. That wasn't part of my plan.
Here's what else is really annoying about autism: It makes it hard to plan.
Who is the mom who calls hotels to see how high their deadbolts are off the ground? Me. Who is the mom who knows the location of and can covertly maneuver past every claw machine in the tri-county area? Me. And who is the Mom who has learned wills and trusts to make sure her kids will be taken care of forever? Me.
You see, from deciding what we're having for supper to deciding how much to put in the 401k, it makes it really hard to plan.
Nobody gets the cookie-cutter life they imagined. I'm ok with that. And my kid isn't going through chemo treatments right now, which I am so unbelievably thankful for. I count my blessings and thank God for each of them daily. And I firmly, and probably selfishly, believe that He has blessed me more than most.
Turns out, I am not in charge of my plan.
Our calendar (which is busting at the seams, it seems) is checked every morning with the necessity of fresh underwear, and I live by a mini-itinerary each day (or else I would forget where to go). I have known since about age eight how many kids I was going to have, where I was going to live, and what kind of car I was going to drive. (Remember M.A.S.H.?)
That's what's really annoying about autism.
It wasn't in my plan.
Similar to the crap in his pants as we were walking out the door this morning.
As I bend over the toilet bowl rinsing out underwear, I mutter a little prayer "Lord help me to accept the things I cannot change..." No sense in fretting, right?
Occasionally people say, "He's five and he's not potty trained?" Yeah, I know. That wasn't part of my plan.
Here's what else is really annoying about autism: It makes it hard to plan.
Who is the mom who calls hotels to see how high their deadbolts are off the ground? Me. Who is the mom who knows the location of and can covertly maneuver past every claw machine in the tri-county area? Me. And who is the Mom who has learned wills and trusts to make sure her kids will be taken care of forever? Me.
You see, from deciding what we're having for supper to deciding how much to put in the 401k, it makes it really hard to plan.
Nobody gets the cookie-cutter life they imagined. I'm ok with that. And my kid isn't going through chemo treatments right now, which I am so unbelievably thankful for. I count my blessings and thank God for each of them daily. And I firmly, and probably selfishly, believe that He has blessed me more than most.
Turns out, I am not in charge of my plan.
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