The most hormonal time of the year

Travis and I were sitting on the sofa the other night watching a movie, when Waylon crawled up between us, scooped up our hands, and interlocked each of his little fingers between ours. We sat there for a while in silence, before the flood gates opened and I let the nine month pregnant hormones take over.

You see, it's been a trend lately... this month especially.
Waylon, recognizing Santa for the first time.... tears.
Waylon, shouting "Hello, hello!" at the top of his lungs when Santa came into the other kids' school Christmas program... tears.
Waylon, actually interested in opening presents on Christmas morning... tears.
Waylon, turning seven today... major tears.

Travis has also learned to recognize these special moments, but I can usually see the dumbfounded deer-in-the-headlights look of, "Why are you crying again?" (He is smart enough to not say this out loud, of course.)

Well, usually I don't know why I'm crying either.

If my glass were half empty (which it's really not), they would be sad tears. That Waylon, at seven years old, an age when some kids are starting to question the truth about Santa, has just now learned who Santa even is.
If my glass were half full (which it usually is), I would be happy. They should be tears of joy that Waylon, at seven years old, is finally able to experience the Christmas season. But are they?

My glass is spilling over with I'm-about-to-have-a-baby hormones, and I don't know what kind of crazy mixed up tears these are.
I guess they are tears because Waylon, at seven years old, can't look me in the eye and say, "I love you, Mom" but he can climb up on the sofa and squeeze his little hand in mine and I can feel it.
I guess the tears could be because Waylon is the only seven year old in the audience at the school program standing on a chair yelling "Hello, hello!" like he's meeting the Big Man for the first time, and I wonder if he'll still believe when he's ten, or fifteen, or twenty.
I think I get emotional because for just a few moments on Christmas, when packages are flying and chaos is abound, our lives seem so... normal.

But today, he turns seven. And Trav sends me a text from work that says "Don't forget to focus a little extra attention on Waylon today."
I try to sing him "Happy Birthday" and he screams "STOP IT!" (One of his favorite phrases these days).
And there's the reminder that our lives are anything but normal.

I can't help it. I go through it every year, this anger and resentment that I feel when his birthday arrives and he officially falls another year behind.
And unfortunately, dwelling on the negative clouds the really awesome things that are happening right before my eyes... We had his IEP meeting this month and reviewed all of the amazing things he has learned this year. We catch him saying new words all the time. He is able to go places and do things we would have never attempted before. (We've almost conquered Wal-Mart!)

And then I remind myself of the gift I have been given- a seven-year-old who may never grow up. Who may still be yelling "Hello! Hello!" to Santa when he is fifteen. Who may still be climbing on the sofa to hold my hand when he is twenty. Who still may be ripping open a new race track on Christmas morning with sheer excitement at twenty-five.
How lucky am I?

New Years is coming, and although I need a stiff drink really bad, I also need to have a baby with a well developed, healthy brain. So I am going to raise an imaginary glass-half-full toast.
Here's to a year of progress. A year full of amazing things. The year that Waylon turned seven.
The year that Waylon met Santa.

We were blessed to be invited to pictures with Santa for children with special needs, sponsored by our awesome support group, the Autism Society of the Heartland. During our one-on-one time with Santa, Waylon was able to jingle his bells and climb all over him, while Santa patiently talked to Waylon about Christmas. When it was Caden and Rose Mary's turn, Santa pulled them in close and reminded them he had been watching what a great brother and sister they are for Waylon, and thanked them for all they do for Waylon all year long...
Tears.

Velcro schmelcro

Yesterday morning, after watching him dig for his favorite socks and struggle to get his shoes on independently (because asking for help is such hard work...) Waylon came up to me with these puppy dog eyes that said, "Can you tie my shoes?" 

Only problem was, his lips couldn't say it. 

I asked, "What do you want, Waylon?" And I could see the pages of the dictionary in his mind flipping furiously through the few phrases he knows to try and find the right one.

He muttered, "It's broken."

Nope. I repeated, "What do you want?"

He said, "It's not yours."

Not quite. "What do you want, Waylon?"

So then he tried, "It's your turn."

Nope. 

And we're deadlocked in a staredown where his eyes are telling me, "You know what I want, Mom."

And my eyes responded, "Yes I know that I know what you want Waylon, but you have to learn how to say the words..."

And finally, the pages of the dictionary stopped flipping and I heard his cute little voice say,

"Tie my shoe."

YES!

So today, at the beginning of this week of Thanksgiving, I am thankful that we bought shoes with laces last Spring instead of Velcro. Or else I would have missed out on these beautiful words.

Learning new things

I've always said, that throughout all of the struggles that raising a child with autism brings, we have learned so much from him about life.

Patience...

Humility...

True joy...

How to disarm fire alarms...

It's true. He pulled not one, but two. Back to back. You know, Mom is running frantically trying to call the school secretary to figure out how to turn it off, and that's kind of cute. So why not go ahead and pull the other? 

So I think I can say that I am a professional at disarming them now.

Unfortunately, he was pretty proud of himself. So you can bet there will be more fire alarms in my future.

It's November, repeat after me. I am thankful... I am thankful... I am thankful...

A Halloween Miracle

Twas' the night before Halloween,
And all through the house....
I had no frickin' clue what Waylon would wear for Trick-or-treating.

(Gotcha there, didn't I?)

I think I mentioned last year, that Halloween may be Waylon's least favorite holiday ever. Really, it's a rather bizarre holiday, if you think about it.
Try explaining this to a kid who can't talk:
Here, put on an itchy, uncomfortable, costume. We are going to go to people's houses, but you can't go in. Just ring the doorbell and stand out in the cold. It will be fun, really. Forget everything we've been trying to teach you about asking for things nicely, and use new words- "Trick or treat". Then, when someone puts a bowl full of hundreds of pieces of delicious candy in your face, only take one. We'll walk forever and you'll be exhausted. But it will be a blast, I promise.
Right.

And because Waylon's wardrobe choices are limited to jeans, swimming trunks, and grey, red, or orange shirts, and I can't really ask him "What would you like to be for Halloween this year?" I planned ahead and thought he could wear a grey shirt with a NASCAR driver on it, and carry a plastic steering wheel. Perfect costume for the boy who loves cars and hates costumes, right?
Well getting ready to go trick or treating was something like this...

To $%#! with your stupid steering wheel, I'd rather throw rocks.

So when Trav and I got suited up in our costumes (Trav was real excited, can't you tell?),

Get it???

Waylon wouldn't leave my oven alone. He just loved it.
So just when I thought Waylon was going to have to go trick or treating as a bun-in-the-oven (minus the bun of course), I had a brilliant plan.
Travis ran downstairs, grabbed Caden's old robot costume made out of a cardboard box, and low and behold, the boy put it on and wore that thing all night long.

It was seriously a Halloween miracle.
And the cutest thing ever.

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.

Boy genius

Upon finding out I have a son with autism, the automatic, #1, most frequently asked question is, "So, what's his... thing?"
You know, everyone knows that people with autism either play piano like Billy Joel, or have photographic memories,  or can at least remember baseball stats like Rainman. Even though the Autism Research Institute estimates that only 10% of people with autism have savant abilities (compared to 1% of the rest of us), people always assume that since he has autism he's really a closet genius.
So I say, "Um, he likes cars."
It is true that restricted interests, such as obsessing over one specific toy, or movie, or topic, is one of the criteria for diagnosing autism. So even though he may not be a savant, the boy has mad skills when it comes to lining up cars. He's obsessed.
Lately, he's figured out how to take pictures with the iPad, and he has a new restricted interest: photography. (I think he must take after his cousin Kristen). He no longer wants to play the apps on the iPad, but instead I find myself deleting over 800 pictures a day that he has taken of his cars. (See, I told you he was obsessed).
So, typical mom here, I think this little photography obsession is pretty cute. And some of his pictures are really good! He would just go haywire if I had them blown up and hung on the wall in his room... I think I might.
So if he really is a photography savant, and someday his work starts appearing in famous museums and galleries, now you can say that you knew that famous photographer when he was just starting out.
A boy genius.

Best. Dad. Ever.

Yeah, I know Father's Day was over a week ago. Our lives have been thrown a little off balance lately (more on that later) and I just can't seem to shake the hamster-in-the-wheel feeling these days.

But I just couldn't let a day like Father's Day slip by without saying anything.

Because if I'm the hamster in the wheel, he's right there beside me. If I am falling apart, he picks me up. He is the number one reason I am still sane (even though sometimes he's the one driving me nuts). He makes being a part of our family so much fun.

Seriously, I can't imagine picking a better person to be the father of my children.

 

He is the first one to dig out the teacher's note from Waylon's back pack at the end of every day. He stays up late every night to pack Waylon's special lunch for school. He rearranges work schedules to make every IEP meeting and every doctor's appointment. I know I am bragging here, but what else can I say? He just rocks at being a dad.

 

Even though we thought we had the whole parenting thing figured out, when Waylon was diagnosed with autism we had to start all over. And we have learned so much more.

When I tell people "it was meant to be" I don't mean that God intended to give my son a life long struggle with autism. I mean that we have been blessed and our lives have been made whole through our journey with Waylon.

There is no person on this planet who could be a better father for Waylon.

It was meant to be.

 

Happy Father's Day, Trav.

 

We Worry

One of the first and most prominent slaps across the face I have received since Waylon was diagnosed was the day he was denied for a life insurance policy.
What? My son is healthy. He doesn't have cancer, or juvenile diabetes, or even asthma for pete's sake.
But he has autism.

We've always joked about our "wayward son". He is an escape artist at it's finest. Much like the orange slices in the gas station, there is no stopping him when he's made up his mind.
His ability to wander away unknowingly is just downright scary. To help us sleep at night we latch the deadbolts, set the door alarms, and dose him with melatonin. We used to have an enclosed bed for him- but alas, the escape artist could escape it. We have special bracelets with our phone numbers and we have a tracking device that can be safety pinned to his shirt if we are at a strange place. We keep the car doors locked in the summer, so he doesn't wander outside and get in a hot car. We keep the car doors unlocked in the winter, so if he were to escape on a cold night he could at least get inside a car. When we leave him with family we always remind them to lock their doors. We worry. Oh, do we worry.

A 2012 study by the American Academy of Pediatrics showed that Waylon is not alone. Nearly half of all kids with autism wander. Their website explains the study further:

Of parents whose children had eloped, 43 percent said the issue had prevented family members from getting a good night’s sleep, and 62 percent said their concerns had prevented family from attending or enjoying activities outside the home. For 56 percent of parents, elopement was one of the most stressful behaviors they had to cope with as caregivers of a child with ASD, and half said they received no guidance from anyone on preventing or addressing this behavior (American Academy of Pediatrics, 2012).

I'll admit it. Last summer, at a family reunion in Colorado, he escaped. Worst five minutes of my life. He was there, I swear he was right there beside me on a bench. And then, all of a sudden, he wasn't.
Although it felt like ages, I'm sure it was just a few minutes before I spotted him about 200 yards away, just trotting down the road giggling and flapping his arms, oblivious to the frantic yells or throbbing heartbeat of his Mom who was sprinting towards him. He had found his tracking device and pulled it off, annoyed by it's extra weight on his favorite sweater. He was headed toward Grandma and Grandpa's cabin, no doubt dreaming of the cookies she had shared earlier in the day. You see, he has no sense of worry, no understanding of danger.
But he has to understand, I thought. He has to know to never do this again. I was so busy trying to figure out how to get him to see how scared I was that I didn't pay attention to the bystanders gathering on their cabin porches, staring with astonishment at the lady who was screaming at a five year old who was laughing at her. Kids these days...
I couldn't even get him to look at my sobbing, grief-stricken face. He had no clue. He was hungry for cookies.

When I saw the first headline earlier this month, my heart sank. But by the time I saw the fourth this past week, my gut was wrenching. Mikaela Lynch was jumping on a trampoline in her backyard in California one minute and gone the next. Drew Howell spent his last moments on an Ohio camping trip with his family. Owen Black snuck away from his family during a beach vacation in Florida. And Freddie Williams slipped out of his home near Joplin, Missouri in just a t-shirt and underwear and wandered to a nearby pond. Four children with autism died last month alone from wandering and drowning. Four kids, just like Waylon. Four kids who loved to wander. Four kids who loved water. Four kids.

We worry, oh how we worry. We worry for these four families, whose lives are changed forever, and who will always relive those last few moments. We worry for those moments in our lives: the car door left unlocked, the deadbolt unlatched, turning my head for just one moment on that bench.
There was a river there, in Colorado. Waylon loves water. What kept him from wandering to it instead?
It could have happened to us.

Turns out, it happened to the parents of Jesus. He wandered off once. No doubt Mary was freaking out. I mean, God trusted her to raise His Son and she lost him. For three days. Although Waylon was only missing for a few minutes and not a few days, I can still relate to the grief on Mary's face when she found Jesus. Was she yelling at Him out of fear and relief? When He responded, "Why is it that you sought me?" was she searching for a way to help him understand? Were bystanders gathering on the temple steps to stare at Mary scolding a boy who was, no doubt, at ease with his escape? Kids these days...
But the brilliant, calm twelve year old Jesus
held the answer for his mother. In fact, He holds the answer for the mothers of all four of these children, now angels. "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?"

Please join with me in praying for these four families- for peace and strength, and comfort in knowing their children have escaped their burdensome cloaks of autism and are enjoying eternal peace with their heavenly Father.

Parents of children with autism: please check out http://awaare.org/ for lots of great tools and advice to prevent wandering accidents.
And if any of you would like to to help, consider checking out http://nationalautismassociation.org/big-red-safety-box/ where you can donate funds to provide door alarms, ID tags and bracelets, and educational information to families of children with autism.

Duck Duck Goose

I'm going to throw a big word at you today. Ready for it?
Reciprocity. Say it like this: res-ih-pross-ih-tee.
So the dictionary says reciprocity is a "mutual exchange". I say it's everything.
I mean, Newton's Law said that every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Everything you do causes someone or something to respond. That's reciprocity. And a lack of reciprocity is actually one of the criteria of an Autism diagnosis.

When someone looks at you in the eye, you look back (and probably say "Hi" unless you're a creeper). That's reciprocity. When someone says "I hate your guts" you'll probably get angry or upset. You might even cry. That's reciprocity. If you say "Hi" to Waylon, he can't say "Hi" back. But it's not like he can't actually say "Hi". It's like he's got nothing in the reciprocity department. You could say, "Say Hi, Waylon." And he would say, "Say Hi, Waylon." You could even say "I hate your guts, Waylon" and he would probably look at you and giggle and flap his arms. He would have no clue how to respond. It's just his lack of reciprocity. (Even though I'm not sure who would say that. Because I mean the kid is freaking gorgeous and awesome).
So mostly, when I say Waylon can't talk, I don't mean he can't actually say words. I mean he's got nothing in the reciprocity department. I could spend all day saying "Waylon, say I want fish sticks" and Waylon would say "Waylon, say I want fish sticks". He just can't reciprocate on his own. When I say, "Hey, Waylon, what do you want for lunch today?", he can't say, "Hey Mom, I want some fish sticks".
One of the most difficult things is watching a toddler initiate play with Waylon and seeing him completely ignore them like he has no clue what to do (even though he's twice their age). Because he honestly doesn't know what to do. When it comes to reciprocity, the boys got no skills.

So what's the gold standard for teaching reciprocity to preschoolers? Duck, Duck, Goose, of course. Waylon's been working on learning Duck, Duck, Goose since he was knee high to a grasshopper. And although he just graduated Kindergarten, I suspect that they were still spending quite a bit of time learning Duck, Duck, Goose.
Because guess what? He's finally getting it. For the first time, Waylon understands enough reciprocity to sit down and play a game with his brother and sister without being forced into it.
And he loves it.
It's the perfect game for Waylon, really. It's predictable, but it has just enough suspense. It's repetitious, but he knows he can take off running to get an extra giggle out of his brother and sister at any moment (and Mom and Dad too). It's the perfect way for Waylon to show us how much he loves to be with us.
It's reciprocity. And it's awesome.

See for yourself!

If the video doesn't appear, you can click here to see it on YouTube.

Date Day

Love me some date day action.

It is a requirement, of course, that we schedule time for ourselves each month. Not at a wedding, or a party where we spend our time catching up with friends. On an honest-to-goodness date, where we spend our time catching up with each other. No crappy pants, no screaming, no chasing children allowed.

Last month the stars aligned and our work schedules gave us one beautiful Tuesday together. I was so pumped. I waited for it all month.

 

 

We put the kids on the bus and went to town for breakfast. Then we headed out to hit some flea markets and antique stores. Margaritas and Dos Equis for lunch.

 

Trav scored a new (old) pocket knife and I found a whole set of carrom pieces to go with the antique carrom board I scored at a flea market a few years ago. (Sweet!)

Here are a couple deals that we decided not to bring home... 



Because a deer head on the wall isn't creepy enough, let's use his feet for coat hangers. I feel like he's just flipping us off with all four feet.





Hopefully this actually worked and it's not still teaming with creatures. Nobody wants to take that home after a date.

 

So I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. People think they don't have time for dates because they are busy raising their children? The best thing you can do for your children is show them how much you and your spouse care about each other. You will be better parents if you take time out for yourselves, and your children will be better people for it too.

 

Now don't get me wrong, going on monthly date nights does not make our marriage perfect. Au contraire, sometimes I really want to kill him. Being married is seriously a job. And like any job, you have to commit yourself to it.

 

Now that Spring has sprung, I'm thinking our next date will be a trip to the golf course (Insert inappropriate joke here Eric, Allyssa, Matt, and Val).

He is so awesome at everything, but he is terrible at golf. It does my ego good to smoke him at something every now and then.

Where are you going on your next date?



5 Reasons Special Ed Teachers Rock

Over the past four years, we have had nearly 40 special education teachers, paras, tutors, speech pathologists, occupational therapists, and BCBA's touch our lives. We still keep in touch with many of them, and we think of most of them often. So as we finished up Teacher Appreciation Week last week, I couldn't help but think of some of the reasons why special education teachers are so amazing.
The first one that comes to mind....

     1. They wipe kids' butts.
I mean, seriously, is that in the job description? I doubt it. But they do it anyways. Plus, after the butt is clean, they have crappy underwear to take care of. Who specializes in Underwear Rinsing? Not these people. It's just one of the perks of the job.

     2. They don't get a lunch break.
Because when they sit down in a miniature chair to open their lunchbox on the miniature table, across the room ten kids are screaming and/or throwing themselves or their chairs on the floor in protest of their GFCF (tasteless) lunch.

     3. They wear their heart snot on their sleeve.
If you consider that each Lysol wipe kills 1,000 germs, and each container has 100 wipes, the obligatory two Lysol containers I sent could have killed about 200,000 germs. Factor in each of the ten snotty cesspools whose sneezes deliver 100,000 germs at 100 miles per hour and I'm pretty sure we were behind in the germ race twenty minutes into the first day of school in the fall. Plus, kids who can't really communicate have a little trouble understanding the whole elbow-sneeze technique. Ever heard of hand-over-hand prompting? Only if you have plenty of germ-x.

     4. They brush ten sets of teeth a day.
Do I even need to describe a scene where ten children who don't like sensory stimulation are getting their teeth brushed at once? Actually I can't describe it, because I can't fathom it. One is enough for me. Does every special education classroom even do this? Probably only the really awesome ones. (Ahem... Mrs. Boyer's class.)



Patience is... teaching a kid who can't say a fluent sentence
how to write his name. Amazing.

     5. They have the patience of saints. 
People think I have a lot of patience, but the truth is when the going gets tough, I can always pop in a Pixar movie and hand out Little Debbies for a few minutes of peace with a Nicholas Sparks book. Special education teachers don't have that luxury. They're on their toes all day. While other teachers are worrying about finding popsicle sticks for a pinterest craft, special education teachers are worrying about being ready for a seizure, or an emotional mom at an IEP meeting. When most teachers are prepping for a summer of freedom from the crazy kids that have been driving them nuts since Spring Break, special education teachers are prepping for summer school or social skills groups, or new classroom strategies to try in the Fall. And at the end of the day, when they are exhausted and worn out, tired of crappy pants and screaming kids and collecting data and documenting behaviors, they still find the time to write a note to say your kid was a "rock star" (miss you Gentri =) ) plus three incident reports from your kid banging their head on the floor/desk/wall.
And all the meanwhile, I'm afraid they aren't realizing how incredibly important they are in the lives of so many families.

So in lieu of the kids in class who are sensory avoiding and don't offer bear hugs each morning, or for the kids who are language delayed and can't express their gratitude for all you do, or even for the kids who just hate your stinking guts because you make them say words before you let them have their snack...
Thank you.
From the bottom of our hearts.



Disclaimer: This post was not intended to make any special education teachers cry. If however, this occurs, it is only fair. You make us cry at every milestone, every note of awesomeness, every IEP meeting, and every therapy bill.

Toiletphobia

I finally got my smart phone back.
But now I have a toiletphobia.
We were road tripping again today, and my phone was terrified.

 

I am terrified for the day this girl turns 16.

 

Here's to a good insurance plan and urine-free cell phones. People who take pictures in public restrooms. And sassy four year olds who turn into well behaved, saint-like, honest and charming teenagers... right????

 

Hope you all have an amazing week!



Let's Clear Things Up

Yesterday was a beautiful day. I worked from dawn til dusk on Saturday, so I was determined to make my Sunday amazing. And thanks to smartphones and facebook, I got to share the love all day long. (Even though this drives Travis crazay).

 

My first post: "It was a Country Mart fried chicken in the park after church kind of day."

 

We played soccer and chased geese. Swung the kids til our wrists were sore and let them push us on the merry-go-round. Got greasy faces from our fried chicken and ate a whole plastic container of chocolate cupcakes from the CM deli. Drug Waylon away from making splashes in the water kicking and screaming. And then we came home and changed clothes to spend the rest of the afternoon outside.

 

My second post: "Going to find momma some mushrooms."

 

The kids played outside all afternoon in the amazing Spring weather. They went mushroom hunting. Travis fired up the smoker and threw in some ribs. Waylon played in the leftover rainwater in the sand table on the deck while Rose Mary and Caden headed out for an adventure.

 

My third post: "Kids went out "adventuring", and I found them 15 feet up a cedar tree. #myheartstopped ...But obviously I came to in time to snap a picture."

 

Then late afternoon, in need of a bit of solitude, I went to town to return some movies to the video store and enjoy 20 minutes in the van with my audio book. In town I decided to stop by the liquor store and wouldn't you know- I got caught red handed. The clerk says, "Oh, I read your blog this week!"

 

It dawns on me that I may need to clear things up a little. Even though I may portray one on facebook, or the blog, I'm no superhero. I'm no mother of the year.  Just your typical mom, raising my kids one day at a time.

 

And some days he drives me to drink.

 

 

 

Autism Awareness

I've had really great intentions to blog like crazy during April- you know, Autism Awareness Month. I know you've at least heard of it- pictures and videos are all over facebook and the puzzle piece is everywhere. (Even over there --->!) But other than braving Saturday morning soccer with a stimming, screaming kid, I haven't done much to spread the awareness.

This year marks our fourth Autism Awareness Month since Waylon's diagnosis. In the beginning, I started this blog to help my family be aware of what autism is, and to help them understand Waylon. Eventually, it expanded to friends, then facebook, and last month there were 737 blog hits of people who came here to learn about autism. Whoa. That's huge. And I love it.

Here's the way I see it. Waylon is six now, and although I've heard lots of great stories about the kid who just "grew out" of their autism, it's not looking hopeful for us. And every bit of awareness I can spread now, will help Waylon in the future. If the number of shared photos and videos to my facebook wall is even an inkling of an indication, I know Waylon is loved. And maybe I'm a bit bias, but when you read the blog and learn more about who Waylon really is (not just the stimming, screaming kid in the bleachers), you'll love him even more. And that's what awareness is about.

In nursing school, we learned the stages of grief- DABDA. (Well, that's how I memorized it for tests anyways). Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They work the same whether you didn't study and failed a test- (I 'm not going to fail this test, Crap I failed this  &*%$! test, Maybe she'll let me retake it for extra points, Now I'm going to fail this class, Oh well I guess I'll study better next time) or whether you have a child diagnosed with autism (I'm over-reacting he'll be fine, God why did you do this to my son, Maybe I'll pay for ridiculous amounts of therapy and it will go away, I'll never be able to have a life that doesn't include crappy pants again, I have a beautiful happy healthy son who I am proud of no matter what.) It's so true. But it's not like they're always in that perfect, neat order. Somedays, I find myself angry, and somedays I find myself in acceptance.

So I use this blog of awareness as my crutch. I hope you don't mind. When we are having a rough moment in the park, or the front of church, and I can feel a thousand sets of staring eyes come upon me, I think, "maybe they read the blog..." and I hope that they understand. Every one of the 737 blog hits last month were like fist pumps in the park, or the church pew, or the grocery store line, or the soccer bleachers.

 It takes a village to raise a child. African proverb

 Thanks for being part of our village.
 And happy Autism Awareness Month!



"Kids with autism are actually geniuses, you know. I saw it on 60 minutes."
#thingsIhearsixtimesaweek
Well, he doesn't play the piano like Beethoven or do math like Einstein.
The boy likes cars.
Future NASCAR driver? We'll have to wait and see.


As a sort-of Autism Awareness post-script, I want to mention: If you know of anyone who's child is not meeting the typical developmental milestones, and they are concerned, don't blow them off.  If I had a dollar for every time a well-meaning, kind-hearted person told me, "Oh, he'll talk someday and then you will wish he had never started!" Um, no. While many kids who start out with a language delay can catch up, there are many who don't. There are resources out there, like the Tiny-K program, for kids who are even just a little bit behind. It takes a strong parent to realize there may be something wrong with their child, and to do something about it while they have plenty of time.


Picture this

Picture this:
3 kids in the car with Mom and everyone has to pee.
If you get out at a fast food joint, inevitably it is assumed to be supper time, regardless of the actual time of day. You leave $25 poorer than you were before everyone had to pee.
If you stop at a gas station you have to strategically maneuver past the pop and orange candy slices and pray there are no venereal diseases lurking on the toilet seats.
So anyways, pick your poison and stop the car for twenty minutes of torture.
Although we've really outgrown the likes of the small stall, if one wants to urinate in the big stall they must keep one hand on Waylon at all times and complete all other business with the other. One slip of the hand and he's got the latch open and he's headed for the orange slices. And you've got your pants down.
On rare occasions (okay, it only happened once, last Monday) you'll hear a cute little girl say "Mom I think there's a camera in the toilet" and you turn to see that alas, your phone slipped from your coat pocket during the pee rodeo and it's now sitting in three different sources of urine at the bottom of the basin.
But don't forget to keep a hand on The Wanderer at all times, even during phone retrieval, or he'll be at the orange slices and you'll still have a phone in the toilet.
Add to the equation his fear of automatic hand dryers, and you get to hear shrill screams and wince as he plugs his ears with germ infested hands every time an innocent bystander tries to dry their hands. Or during the entire time you're trying to dry the pee off your cell phone.
Get everyone back in the car and start passing the hand sanitizer. Drive to the cell phone store as fast as you can.
The end.

Hell-ooo?

Waylon's voice is completely adorable.

Maybe it's because hearing his voice is such a rare moment in the day that we stop and appreciate it.

Or maybe he just has the cutest freaking voice on the planet.

I'll let you decide for yourself.

 

 

He wore a coat

Either  it's the sensory thing, or he's just ultra stubborn, but Waylon doesn't wear a coat. Ever.
The rule is, if it's cold out, he can't leave the house without a coat. So he usually carries it. (Sometimes the battle is just not worth fighting, you know?)

Well we got a whopper snowstorm a few weeks ago, followed by another whopper snowstorm. And although I'm not up for any mother of the year awards, I knew I wouldn't get one if I let my kid out in 12 inches of snow without a coat. Or hat. Or gloves.

So after 30 minutes of bribery (also known as ABA), he was at the door with a coat, hat, and (gasp!) gloves!

And... it lasted about 2 minutes. Tops.

I'll let the pictures tell the story.











 



 



Look, Ma! No coat!



Here's an entry for the baby book-

First time he wore a hat, gloves, and coat outside- March, 2013. For two minutes.

 

Is it spring yet?



And we can't forget these cuties!