Harvesting Green Beans

It was a crazy week of school meetings, football games, class field trips to the pumpkin patch, prepping for a big fundraiser at the kids' school Saturday, fundraiser clean up on Sunday, and oh yeah I work full time, I'm pregnant, and I spent most of the week with poison ivy on my face.
Not trying to complain, just making excuses for why I didn't have time to download my audio book this week. Nothing to listen to during my hour-long commute meant I actually had time to reflect on the day and let my mind wander. (Which makes for good blog content.)
So bear with me here... And prep yourself for what is likely the strangest analogy you've ever heard.

I love home grown green beans. (I said bear with me here.)
So I love home grown green beans, and when I was a kid, we spent our summer mornings bent over the rows in our garden, sifting through the plants and picking the long ones. Then we spent our summer evenings in lawn chairs at the ball fields, watching my brothers play ball while we snapped beans into Pence's IGA sacks so Mom could can them the next day.
Most of the time, I didn't mind it. It was just what we did. We were the family who snapped green beans at the ball fields. But sometimes, when I saw all of my friends running around having fun and I was just snapping beans, I got jealous. It wasn't fair.
Even though I had those fleeting thoughts of despise for all things green bean, I sure loved having those home grown green beans all winter long. And those other kids running around at the ball games had no clue how delicious homegrown green beans are, because their mommas were just buying the 79 cent cans of rubbery beans at Pence's IGA. They didn't get to enjoy year-round home grown green beans, and since all they ever tasted were the rubbery canned ones, they never knew what they were missing.

So here's where the hours of commuting with a wandering mind turned into a really bad analogy.

I think having a kid with special needs is kind of like harvesting green beans.
I told you it was bad.
I love Waylon. Man, I love him. And as his mom, I spend every moment hovered over him, worried about him, planning for him, telling people about him, trying to get services for him, worrying about how to pay for the services for him. The aches in my back and sunburn on my shoulders while harvesting green beans as a kid have nothing on the amount of stress I have endured while trying to "harvest" Waylon.
The time I spent snapping beans in lawn chairs at the ball field have nothing on the amount of time I've spent trying to contain Waylon at the ball field, at church, at family things, at restaurants. And we don't even take him to the grocery store, to places with lots of people, or anywhere after dark (finding him would be next to impossible).
And most of the time, I don't mind it. We are the family who have a kid with special needs. It's just what we do. But when I see my friends at the ball field, or potlucks, or fairs, or even just running errands with their cute little well-behaved kids, I get jealous. It isn't fair.

Here's where the analogy gets ripe.
Even though I sometimes have those fleeting thoughts of despise for all things autism, I love Waylon more than you could ever know.
And those other moms running around with their perfect little families have no clue how rewarding parenting can be. Their kids look fine. They play sports and have friends. They don't make funny noises or throw dirt or crap on the floor. And they're a heck of a lot cheaper to raise. They're kind of like the 79 cent cans of green beans at Pence's IGA... fine, if you've never had the homegrown.

But my son, is being harvested. I get to watch as he learns and grows. I get to appreciate each new development and reap the rewards of our hard work. I have gained the ability to see the finest details in life and feel the most subtle hints of his love. Things that most other moms take for granted, I get to enjoy and savor year-round.
He, like green beans turning from a pack of seeds to a jar of deliciousness on the kitchen table in December, is a miracle. He is a very special gift.

If having a child with special needs is "My row to hoe", I am planning on a bountiful harvest.
Thanks for bearing with me.
Happy Harvest!

 “Life is what you make it. Always has been, always will be.” - Eleanor Roosevelt

Yep.

Walked into Waylon's room this afternoon to find him enjoying his two favorite things:

1) Being naked

And

2) Hanging upside down.

Yep.

This is my life.

Snippets



 

Yes, I am aware I have been blowing you off. The little ticker down there keeps rolling with every blog hit, and I have been standing you all up. I'm sorry.
It's just that life, well, it's been flying by.

I probably could have blogged a hundred times about all of the adventures we've been on this month. But all you're going to get is snippets. Sorry.
 


 

Late Summer bike rides are the best, unless you are my husband who has to haul two children (who should both be old enough to ride their own bikes) in the kiddie wagon. Then again, when part of me wishes W could ride a bike on his own, part of me realizes if he could he would be pedaling across the state line before we knew he was gone. 





 

Best family outing in a long time. During the 7th inning stretch Caden said, "We have been here 7 whole innings and Waylon hasn't had a single meltdown." In the Katzer family, that's nothing short of a miracle. Obviously, his patience had grown thin by the end of the game family pic. But who cares, right? It was a good day.



 

Caden and Rose Mary were thrilled to be headed back to school...

 

 

Waylon was not.

 

 

Day #2- much better.



 

 

Saw an autism article in a magazine at the Doctor's office last week... not really what I wanted to start off my day with. Again, with the depressing headlines and the incessant head counts. These people are going to give me stomach ulcers.


 

But then I had to stop the van in the driveway on my way home to greet the mob of fans running towards me and screaming my name... and I forgot all about that stupid article.

 


 

Waylon, who loves french fries but hates kid's meal toys, fell in love with a pair of shades from his Sonic kid's meal last week. Somedays, when all you want is your kid to be just a little bit normal, him liking a kids meal toy will make you feel like you've won the lottery. For just a few dollars, he looked like a million bucks, and I felt like a million bucks. What a cool kid.

And then yesterday we took a trip to the doctor's office to meet the Gummy Bear. We pulled the kids out of school early for a "treat" and they were ticked because it was kickball day in PE and they had to miss it. Go figure. (The first of many things their baby brother/sister is going to ruin for them.) And then the sonographer had a hard time catching certain pictures because she said, "We sure have a busy little baby!"
Oh, dear....



Breaking point

Have you ever had the thought, "Parenting is just so hard... I don't know if I can do this anymore... God has given me more than I can handle..."?

Well, then, friends, I implore you to get in your cars and drive to my house right now.

$20 says you run away screaming, saying prayers of thanksgiving your whole drive home, promising God to never say those things again about your children. 

But, seriously, if you're coming, I could really use some help cleaning up crap here. And some industrial strength carpet cleaner, if you have any. We're almost out. 

I don't care if my throat is raw and I'm still running a fever tomorrow or not, I am going back to work. I need a day off.

Is this ok to publish online? 

Please don't call SRS, I swear I was out of the bathroom for 3 seconds.

The kid is a monkey... He climbs walls and throws poop.

 

................................................................

Update: Rose just walked in and said, "What happened?" I said, a little annoyed, "What do you think happened?"

So she said in an innocent little voice- "Did you poop on the floor???"

Ok. I'll smile a little. Just this once.

Introducing: The Gummy Bear

I always knew I would have a big family. You can't come from a family of nine and think anything less. I'm sure every round of M.A.S.H. I played in fifth grade said I was going to have at least six kids (I don't think I ever wrote down options of anything less).
Well remember when I said I'm a planner? One of the many annoying things about autism is that it changed my plans. I was sitting in a support group once listening to an expecting mom describe her fears of having another child with autism, and I knew then that my plans had changed. We went to a genetics clinic and we read all the research. We found out that autism has a genetic component. Although we know a couple of families who have more than one child with autism and do it gracefully (albeit I'm sure they don't feel that way), the thought of Waylon The Sequel scares the hajeebies out of me. I love him, God loves him, heck most everyone he's ever met loves him, but one of him is enough.

So I have discovered that God waits for those moments, when He hears us say, "We have a plan" to really throw a wrench in the system.

Well, I don't know if I can necessarily call it a wrench. According to the sonogram last month, it looks more like a gummy bear.
(Insert "don't you know how that happens" joke here.)

So even though my mind had come to a practical and rational decision, I can't say that my heart's not just downright giddy with excitement. I've wanted this baby since, well probably since I was about 10. Sure I'm scared, but it's too late to spend time worrying now. I called the obstetrician, the developmental pediatrician, I've googled "prenatal autism prevention" more times than you can shake a stick at... and do you know what they all say? Don't worry so much.

If we had known Waylon had autism before Rose Mary was born, would we have had second thoughts? What would our lives be like without her? I don't even care to think about it.
I think in a couple of years we won't even remember what life was like before the gummy bear. Because I think it will be perfect. Just the way He planned.

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.     -from I'm a planner.

Night on the town

Went out for a night on the town with the kids tonight... major celebration of this week's B words.
Mom's Birthday, Dad's Birthday, and Mom finished her BSN!!!
Ain't nobody getting lost in this party...

Thanks Aunt Kara for the permanent marker/liquid bandaid tip!

 

 

Night on the town update: After way too much fun swimming, an unfortunately long afternoon nap, and a midnight chocolate ice cream snack, it was determined that Waylon would not be doing much sleeping in the hotel room. Scared that he would decide on a late night trip back down to the pool, father-of-the-year (aka Travis) slept in front of the hotel room door. Like I said, ain't nobody getting lost on this trip.

Caden put his wet trunks on the door knob so Waylon wouldn't want to touch it. Such a good brother.

 

All went well, no one escaped, and everyone had a blast on our mini vacay. Minus Waylon throwing up chocolate ice cream at breakfast this morning. Oops.

 

Ironically, even though it was our birthday celebration, Trav and I seem to be the only ones who are plum worn out. Glad to be back at home with booby trapped doors, Bob the Builder in the DVD player, and a new, fluffy recliner (happy birthday to me!) that is calling. my. name...

Messy messy messy

Most of the words that Waylon uses in a day are echolalia.

Echolalia is a fancy word for repeating phrases he's heard before. (Like an echo... Get it?)

Most of the time, his echolalic phrases are from movies, but sometimes he repeats things he has heard us say too. Last Christmas, we got so excited when he said, "Messy, messy, messy" when he spilled his milk. But we quickly realized that this is what the magician says on Frosty the Snowman when Frosty starts to melt. 

He finds ways to use the limited number of phrases he has, to get his point across. For example, one of his favorite phrases is "Get in your seat," which he has heard Travis and I say a million times when we are getting in the van. However, he uses "Get in your seat" to describe anytime he wants us to sit down for something- to eat supper, to watch a movie, or to go for a car ride. And because he doesn't know how to ask for those things specifically, he simply says "Get in your seat".

So even though he isn't coming up with these phrases on his own- he is using them functionally to communicate. And being able to understand what he is trying to say is awesome.

Except for maybe this morning.... 

I was sitting in the recliner, holding Waylon and his blankie in a sweet, special moment, when he pulled up my shirt, pointed at the old stretch marks on my belly, and said, "Messy, messy, messy." 

Yes, Waylon, I get what you're saying. Thanks.