Due Time

Where do I begin? This story begins a whole year ago, almost exactly, and it has taken me all year to get the closure I required to tell it.

Now, Emma and Ethan are 5 years old and almost finished with kindergarten! It was the blink of an eye...yet it feels like a hundred years since they were at home with Mimi or Nannie and Papaw during our work-days, a hundred years since they were too young to go to school young enough to stay home.

They have learned so much, and I am so proud of the amazing things that both of them are doing. When they were in pre-school, I was in total disbelief when Emma's teacher told me that reading was the expectation in kindergarten. I thought, no way, folks. That is not a reasonable expectation. Was I reading in kindergarten? I think I might've been sounding out words, but I couldn't really read yet. I said I'd eat a shoe if my kids were reading in kindergarten. They learned a few sight words in pre-school, but is sight word memorization really reading? Ehhh...not yet, I thought. Now, here they are with the majority of kindergarten behind them, and they know over 50 sight words each. Emma knows closer to 75 sight words. She has a memory for details. She is a little fact-repeating, song artist-naming, movie-quoting genius. Ethan has more of a mind for reasoning and analyzing. He's more of a theory-posing, problem-solving, deep-feeling genius.

I've been told to break out the salt and pepper for the shoe that I need to eat. Sure enough, the sight word books started coming home, and Emma and Ethan could point to the words and know what they said. One at a time, they take the words in. The pictures are very leading, of course, to help them predict what the words say, and they also help them to process what the words just said. It's such an amazing thing to watch: my babies are learning to read! I don't remember learning sight words except for the ones that were impossible to sound out, but it's working. It's working like I never believed it would. I don't know if I can really eat a shoe, but I stand corrected. I should eat one bite-by-bite with a fork and knife because they have exceeded my high hopes for them in the books department so far.

While it has definitely been a mostly-positive experience, it has been an especially jarring, heart-wrenching transition for all of us.

I couldn't believe it when I realized they were eligible to enroll in the pre-school program, the one my sister and my friends who have kids loved so much. I was shocked! No! Not yet! They're still three! They're barely potty trained! They're still toddlers!
I guess I was a little excited for them to go to preschool...and I knew that my mother was probably eyeing the finish line for her full-time babysitting career. But, they were still only 3 years old! I definitely wanted them to go to pre-school like Rodney and I did and like all the other kids I've known. I wouldn't want to skip it....

Then, I learned that public pre-school was an offer that came with very specific conditions in our district. A child could go to preschool if his or her 4th birthday fell in the given window of time for that year. Emma and Ethan's birthday was two weeks in to the window of opportunity. Their birthday wouldn't be in that window next year. This is when it dawned on me that Rodney and I were being given a now-or-never choice, not a now-or-later choice. I couldn't help but be pained by the fact that if they hadn't been born two and a half months too soon, they would've been excluded this year and eligible for preschool the following year. If I had just held on for two more weeks, my babies would've been able to remain in their safe and loving cocoon for another year. They'd be on the older end of the age spectrum of their class, like I was.

So I enrolled them in to pre-k with the thought in my mind that Emma and Ethan could have a 2nd year in pre-k. I thought that would be the perfect solution and reckoning for their pre-term birth date. About half-way through, I started voicing my intentions, and I was met with firm opposition. I was told in no uncertain terms that a 2nd year of pre-k was not allowed under any circumstances. I thought...surely if I explain, the administration will understand, and my kids will be compensated for the discrepancy in their biological developmental stage and their untimely birth date. I'm in education; I know the people want what's best for the children. We all do. They'll listen to reason.

To my great disappointment, that was not exactly the case. There was no law requiring this allowance, no allowance for human discernment of the facts. Since there was no mandated use of judgment, it was withheld.

I couldn't let it rest; I was dumbfounded. I just knew there was some mistake. I must just not be communicating this clearly or in the right way. I was so emotional. So I decided to write a letter in which I would clearly explain the problem and plead for an executive decision. All I could think of was what would become of this decision and what it would take to get what I felt was owed to my children. It wasn't their fault that their mother was not able to carry them to full-term. They hadn't even the ability to suckle or even the ability to maintain their own bodies without the synthetic womb that the doctors provided for a whole month. They had invasive and traumatic tubes and iv needles and monitors.  If there is someone to blame for that, it's me, not them. The superintendent for our district responded to my request: "I will not set a precedent for a non-mandated program." That's it, then. He wouldn't help us.

They were cut short in the womb, and now they were being cut short in the home.  If I had only done this, or not done that....

During my pity party, it hit me like lightning. I was complaining; I was being perceived as a complainer.  How could I be seen as an ally, a team-player? Then, I wrote another letter. I offered a solution that I thought was pretty simple, ridiculously simple, but also perfect: A proposal that would benefit the preemies of the future. I proposed that there be an allowable exception based on medical emergency and premature birth, a motion to allow delayed enrollment. I had to laugh at myself a little as I made out a mock form with the relevant information like the expected due date and the actual date of birth and how much time was required in the NICU. I even included research about the rate of repeated-grades for prematurely born children in elementary school. Then I made copies and sent them to every educational leader in my district.

I received timely responses from most that resolved the issue with tried and true slogans for all educational conflicts and disputes: "Thank you for your interest and commitment to your children's education. We must all work together to educate the children of our communities. We believe in our educators, and we believe in our students."

I hung my head. Maybe I've gone way off the deep-end with this whole thing. Am I a crazed extremist? With my faith in my sanity and my faith in humanity in shambles, I took a step back from this madness. I've done my part. I've blown the whistle.

They now know that preemies are being negatively affected, that more preemies survive with modern science--and then they are all nailed to the wall by their inaccurate birth dates when it comes time for their first introduction to school. 

I, for one, will go to bed at night knowing that I did what I could. I transferred that burden to the appropriate powers.

I couldn't help but think of Nate, the baby across the NICU hall 5 years ago who was only 1 pound at birth. His arm was the size of my pinkie. He had multiple complications and surgeries. I remember seeing his parents in the elevator tearfully rejoicing the fact that he had finally developed enough to accept his mother's milk. He was born right around the same time my kids were born, but even more prematurely. That means Nate's parents are being faced with this same issue today as he enters school. Nate will have to go to school when his birthday says...even though it was 4 months too soon. If Nate can do it, my kids can do it too, I thought. If Nate has to do it, then why should my kids be the exception?

I was finally able to lay the matter to rest in the name of Nate.

A few months later as I attended the last meeting of the semester for a "Leadership Group" at work, I met a person who changed everything. 

I listened as we interviewed our guest speaker, Representative George Faught. He was very down-to-earth and seemed to care about being an effective public servant. He spoke of personally digging a post hole and setting a mailbox for a woman who complained when her mail was no longer being delivered due to her blocked house-box. Did she ask him to come dig a hole in her yard and put up a mail box? No, she complained. He helped her by his own free will, no mandate needed. Then, he went on to strongly encourage us to reach out to our legislators if ever we had an issue or had something we cared about--even just a little bit cared about--that we should reach out and affect change. He said that it's incredibly rare to have a concerned citizen reach out about an issue, and sometimes, that's all it takes.

I was going for it. "If someone did have an issue, what would you say is the most effective way to reach you? What I mean is...what method would you say is most likely to get your attention as a serious matter to consider? Formal letter in the mail? Email? Phone call? Face-to-face?"
He said, "Any or all of the above would get my attention."

I couldn't help but hope this was fate.

"Ok, well, I do have an issue that I care about, so I guess I'll be writing, emailing, calling, and stopping by if that's okay."

After the meeting, he stayed back and asked me about my issue, and I talked for the first time out loud about it outside of my intimate friends and family. I had been fighting this battle as privately as possible, so as not to contaminate my purpose with my frustration. I didn't want to have a negative effect on the outcome by speaking too much too soon. I kept the matter between myself, close friends and family, and the powers that be.

He said, "Apathy. That's why no one has acted. I think I can help you with just a little bit of legislation."

I can't even remember what I said for the resounding choir of angels singing in my head. He gave me his email address and told me to send him all of my letters. I rushed right home and did it immediately. "Wow, you are really on the ball, LeeAnn. I'll get right on this, and I'll keep you posted."

I never heard back after that. That figures, I thought. I refused to think of it any further. I had exhausted all of my energy for the topic, entirely spent.

The conclusion of this saga came at a most unexpected place: at the parade our daughter was marching in.

We were lost from our supposed place in the line-up and were 4 blocks out of our way. If not for that frustrating and tiring mistake, I never would've gotten that tap on the shoulder.

"Don't I know you? You were concerned about pre-k and kindergarten enrollment?"

"Yes...Hi!"

"The bill passed! The bill just passed, didn't you hear??"

I didn't even know there was a bill. I thought it was forgotten or thrown out. I couldn't hold back the tears. I hugged him and thanked him and cried all the way to our spot in the parade line.

On April 5th, 2016, Governor Fallin signed HB2404 that amends the age restriction policy to include the allowance of exceptions:

An Act relating to schools; amending 70 O.S. 2011, Section 1-114, which relates to free attendance at public schools for children of certain age; requiring State Board of Education to promulgate certain rules; and providing an effective date....
BE IT ENACTED BY THE PEOPLE OF THE STATE OF OKLAHOMA:
The State Board of Education shall promulgate rules that create exemptions relating to the maximum age at which a child may attend half-day or full-day early childhood programs.

My faith in humanity and in my sanity has been restored because one man listened and cared. One man gave his time and energy and helped the future preemies and other children who are deemed exceptional in Oklahoma. It just makes me want to sing!

"Can I get a Hallelujah? Can I get an Amen? Feels like the Holy Ghost runnin' through ya..." when the preemies get what's due to them!

Hallelujah and Amen!

Mr. Repair Man

Ethan loves getting dressed up in his costumes. It's the most frequent type of play for both kids. Lately, Ethan has been all about the tool man costume. He has a bright orange hard hat, a tool belt, and a tool box with all kinds of tools in it.

He was on "the repair man" for at least 3 weeks. He stayed in character for most of the day, fixing all of our doors, windows and air vents. He was very serious about it. He asked me what my other name was besides Mom. My name has always been tough for little kids to say. I think it's because there is no consonant sound in the middle, that mid-vowel shift, and the uncommon stress on the second syllable instead of the first. "Lee'-uhn," he'd say. I didn't like him to call me by my first name because I want him to use formal address with adults elsewhere. So, he agreed to call me "Ms. or Ma'am."

Specifically, he would make sure I understood from time to time that he was not Ethan but the repair man. I understood. He'd slip and call me Mom but quickly correct himself' "--ma'am." The repair man act went on for so long that I almost worried a little bit. I corrected him when he called Mimi by her first name as well, and I threw in an additional reminder: "When you're pretending to be an adult, you can't forget your manners and you still address real adults respectfully."

"Okay, ma'am."

He loves helping with anything and everything. He offers solutions to any minor problem we have, and he has some good ideas! I tell him so, and he gets so proud of himself. Good boy. But he sometimes forgets that he's still just a little boy. He gets a little too big for his britches. I'm always reminding him that he's not the boss of other kids, and he's not the boss of me. "Are you the boss? Or am I the boss?" I ask him.

"You are," he always concurrs. 

However...the repair man kept trying to convince me that since he was "a professional worker," he could now tell me what to do. So, I had to point out that, actually, he worked for me since he is working in my home. "Sorry, guess I'm still the boss after all..."

He didn't like that, and he walked away looking somewhat defeated for the time being. 

We decided to go to the park, and the repair man said he'd like to go too. He insisted on wearing the whole get-up to the park. I let him wear it in the car, but I started workin' on him. "Okay. Well, that sure will be nice to have an adult to visit with me on the bench while Emma plays."

"Yeah...." The repair man looked to be slowly drawing his conclusion. "Umm...I think I will do some work on the play ground. The slide probably needs fixing."

Nice one. 

Hmmm.... "Well...there are no repair men allowed on the play ground...only kids. You'll have to go back later after the park is closed." 

Gotcha.

"Oh...well, I think I hear your son, Ethan, in the trunk. He was hiding. So, I'll wait in the car when we get to the park, and Ethan can come out of the trunk and play."

I laughed out loud for several minutes, I bet.

Well played, Mr. Repair Man, well played.

State of Mind

Since Emma has started occupational and speech therapy, Rodney and I have been learning about all kinds of therapy methods, tools, and equipment. Emma even gets to bring some of it home. A friend whose child is further down the therapy road has given me the heads-up on a few things which has been helpful. He even suggested early on that when we get to borrow equipment, we should use it on Ethan, too! So we do! Mommy even uses it sometimes. I had no idea that Emma's therapy journey would allow and require so much of our own direct involvement as parents. I just thought Rodney and I would be taking her to appointments and speaking with therapists about how she's doing.  

This whole thing has been quite a paradigm shift for me. It started with acceptance. Then, it was blind commitment and trust in professionals. In hindsight, I think my acceptance was misplaced. I had accepted that there was a "disorder," and that it might always be there. Sensory Processing Disorder means that there is disorder in the way that her brain processes her environment through her 5 senses. Although I do accept that there is a "disordered process," I have begun to see that therapy will either work, or it won't, but we will have worked. And that can't possibly hurt. Even if we saw no progress, I'd feel much better knowing that we are doing everything we know to do. I can see a lot of progress since we started, so either "Therapy Works"...or Emma is just growing into her senses. Frankly, I don't care which. Progress is good.

 Now, I've decided that I don't accept disorder. I will keep ordering. I want to be the calm in Emma's storm. When a storm comes, I don't just want to accept that there is a storm. I will not just stand in the rainy, stormy night with my daughter, waiting it out helplessly hand-in-hand.  I will lead her to shelter or die trying. And when Emma is grown and she's ever alone out in a storm, I don't want her to process the storm or accept the storm. I want her to learn to set aside the overwhelming physical senses and listen to the quiet within. I want her to learn to accept that she won't always understand a storm until it is passed. I want her to accept love. I want her to accept help. I want her to hear a voice inside her heart that tells her that she is more than enough.

One of the first simple but amazing therapy tools we learned was the "thera-brush". Rodney came home with a small, white, plastic brush with soft, white, plastic bristles. He showed me and explained exactly how it was to be used. He said we were to apply moderate pressure and make long strokes down each of her limbs for ten reps. Then, he showed me the joint compressions. We were to take her wrist in our hands and gently but firmly pull her joint, out, in, out, in, for 10 reps on all major joints (wrists, elbows shoulders; ankles, knees, hips). This combination of stimulation is supposed to strengthen the brain's communication with the body.

Fascinating, really. The body's largest organ is the skin, so it makes sense to think that it could have a significant effect on her brain. The regimen was to be fairly intense and then lessen as time went on. She was prescribed the therapy brush with joint compressions 8 times a day for 4 weeks, 4 times a day for 4 more weeks, 2 times a day for 4 more weeks after that, then one time a day for 4 final weeks. Then, it could continue as needed or requested. That first 4 weeks was a tall order, given that she had just begun school and we have to work, of course. Since her legal accommodations had not yet taken effect, there was no way to get her a school therapist to do the sessions throughout the day.

I know schools have a lot of legal policies and security measures to navigate, and I'm glad for the precaution and protection. When I informed the principal about her new therapy regimen, she politely told me that it was impossible to get a therapist in that many times even if she had the accommodations in place.

 So, I came to her school and did her therapy myself. I could only come one time a day, but I thought that was better than nothing. I'd rush over at lunch, sign in, get my visitor's pass sticker with my I.D., and go get her from her classroom. They didn't have a private therapy room, so we made due in the principal's conference room when she didn't have a meeting. I'd get Emma undressed and do all of her skin brushing and compressions, and then hurry and get her dressed again. I liked to finish off with some jump-and-jacks, crab-walks, and wheelbarrow walks (exercizes I know her occupational therapist uses). I'd pick up her feet and push her like a wheelbarrow all around the conference table. It was fun. And I thought it might help her to get some of that energy out, re-group and hope for a "green monster" day. Then, I'd walk her back to class and be on my way.

I was in a hurry to get back to work, but I always at least peeked into Ethan's classroom to see how he was doing. He always looked so happy and busy. But...one day, he got off of the bus and the first thing out of his mouth was, "Why does Emma always get a green sticker with your picture on it every day, and I don't?? I want a sticker, too," and he cried. My poor baby! I stopped right there on the street and lowered my face to his.

"Ethan...oh, my gosh, honey, I am so sorry. I didn't know you wanted a sticker. I always give my pass to Emma when we're finished with therapy because she wants it. Mommy just comes to see Emma because she has to have her therapy. How about if I start bringing a special sticker every day just for you? Would you like that?"
"Yes."
"Okay." I thought my heart was going to fall out. So, from then on, I signed in and out twice just so I could get two stickers with my picture on them. And I loved seeing Ethan's proud face when I came to give him his sticker for the rest of those 4 weeks. :)

Karli's Story: "My Night with E & E"

This post was written by Karli Ashing:

Dear Emma and Ethan, I am about to tell you about the first time I baby sat you. It was kind of a long night lol! When I first got there you guys were so excited. Emma kept saying HI KARLI! It was so cute. Ethan just said hi Karli once. When I first got there we rode scooters and bikes. But Ethan wouldn't ride his bike until I put his helmet on. He said Karli are you forgetting something? I said what do you mean? He said you forgot to buckle my helmet. But when it was Emma's turn she didn't care about her helmet. I had to put it on her or she wouldn't have worn it. While we were riding bikes Ethan and I decided we were going to race. Emma wasn't quite fast enough to race yet though. So Ethan and I raced to the end of the street and the first time he beat me. P.S. I let him win! But the second time I won. After we played outside we went inside. All Ethan wanted to do is watch Batman. He was so happy he could watch a big kid movie. He was saying I watch this movie and it is SCARY! And I don't even get scared. When we put in the movie Ethan didn't watch it at first. But after a while he started to watch it. Every time a scary part would come he would run to me and say that was a scary part Karli! Emma was asking me to do the airplane the whole time. The airplane is when I pick her up with my feet on her stomach. When she was in the air she would try to flip over. She loves doing that. As the night went on Emma decided she wanted to pee the floor. Then after she peed she thought it was funny. It was kinda funny how she did it though. She was wearing a dress. So she hiked up her dress, squatted, and peed. So let's just say her momma and daddy were not to happy about it! So this this my story of the first time I babysat.

I had a great night with you love you E&E.

                                 - Karli Nicole Ashing

[LOST FILES TWINCIDENT!] Dear "Baby,"

As Rodney was rearranging his vinyl record cabinet, he stumbled upon a small piece of paper folded in half....

Later, he handed it to me, and I read it for the first time since I wrote it...

I thought it would make a perfect "Throw-back Thursday" post for the blog...way back to when I was only a few months along and hadn't yet learned what was in store.

This, beloved Twincidents Readers, is the 1st Twincident ever. I give you..."The Lost Files Twincident," The Original Incident:

4-year-old Dempsey sayings...

"Is that our local library we just passed?" [Yes, it was.]

"Mom, someone disturbed me while I was eating." [At a birthday party]

"Mom, does Mimi wanna play with me bad, bad, bad?"

"Jesus wants us to brush our teeth. He's in our hearts and he doesn't wanna smell stinky teeth."

"No! I can't just wear my beater because it won't make me warm as toast!!" [After I tried to convince him to just wear his undershirt with pajama pants instead of a pajama shirt]

"Mom, I'm hungry. And one thing you can't do is leave a man hungry and thirsty." [After repeating that he's hungry several times while Mommy was putting away laundry]

"And even I'm kinda thirsty in here." [Frequent tag]

"Mom, Emma's got her jynis out. She needs to put on her panties, so I don't have to see her jynis. That's private."

Did you pee-pee in the bed last night?

"Yes, but I didn't poo-poo." [Okay, he never poo-poos the bed....]

Well, that's good, but you need to wake up and use the bathroom instead, don't ya?

"Yeah, but I was just sleeping and doin' my sang...I didn't know I had to pee-pee."

You are so smart, Ethan.

"Sanks."

"When I'm an adult, I'm gonna buy that."

Ugh, this mess. You kids keep making huge messes every time I turn around...

"I'm a kid. That's why...."

"Mom, the Easter Bunny wears shoes under his fur. And he has skin on his arms because his fur...is a sleeve!! And his head...is huge!"

4-year-old Lynny sayings

"Mom, guess what?"
--What?
"Poo-poo head."

"I need granola bar. Can I--granola bar, pwease? Say, 'Yes, you may, Emma.'"

"Ice cream--shut it." [When she can't have ice cream]

"Five. Five candies, pwease." [After learning how to count and how to choose only one candy instead of a huge handful, this is her new candy strategy.] 

"Hi, Chuck. 'I not Chuck'." [I have no idea why this happens.]

"This is terrible!" [Having her hair brushed] "I got tangles. I got pizza on my hair."

"Get off a my spot."

"Weave. Me. A. Wone!"

"'You needa say you sorry'--Sorry!"

"This makes me so sad."

"Mom, sing the Ariel song!" [Again.]

"I'm tellin on you. I'm tellin' Mimi on you, Mommy."

"Shhhh, let Emma rest."

"Emma's talkin'--shut it." [Oh, yes, she did.]

"You not listen-ing"

"Hi, tree! You so beautiful. That's a big ol' tree."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Exactly."

"Whadiya want for breh-fixt? Eggs?" [Takes order with pencil and pad]

"Bus rid-ers--STAND UP!!" [This one cracks me up, so I say it a lot too. ;)]

Bawkin' Bunny

We were just pushing our cart up to the back of a long line at the grocery store, and Ethan had already honed in on the candy.

"Mom, you should get us some of that candy. Because you never let us have candy. You always say no. So we never, ever get candy."

"Well, that's because I don't wanna get somethin' started, so you think you're gonna get candy every time we go somewhere."

"Because of you, I'll never have candy every day."

I laughed. "You're welcome."

Emma noticed some shiny eggs. "Eggs! Mom, what's a chicken say?"

"Bawk-bawk," I said.

Then, Emma noticed the bunny on the egg box. "A bunny!! Mom, what's a bunny say?"

And she looked back at me, waiting for me to do the bunny face. I never have a sound for a bunny when she wants one, so I just pucker my lips and move them up and down like a bunny. She loves it. She does the bunny face back to me, and we both smile every time. It's like our own little inside joke.

I made the bunny face but then said, "But this bunny right here says bawk-bawk-bawk like a chicken. It lays these chocolate eggs, and there's creme inside them. I never did like them. I'm not big on creme-filling."

"That bunny says bawk-bawk-bawk? Like a chicken??"

"Yes, I promise. What a silly bunny, huh?"

Ethan laughed very hard and told the man in line behind us all about the confused bunny. "This bunny thinks it's a chicken! It says bawk-bawk-bawk like a chicken! And it lays chocolate eggs!"

"Yes," the man laughed along, "the Cadbury Bunny!"

"Me. Mom, pwease. I need 5 eggs," Emma said as she pointed to the eggs.

"When I'm an adult, I'm gonna buy one of those. And one for Emma, too," said Ethan.

"Awwww, you are a sweet brother," I said.

"We would like those, Mom. They're not gross. They're yummy!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, how about I buy you and Emma both one, so you can try it for yourselves?"

"Okay!!" said Ethan.

"Yeah!!" said Emma.

When we finally got to the car, they both concentrated and worked very busily to get that shiny, smoothly wrapped foil from their prizes.

I smiled as I drove home in the complete quiet except for the "Mmmmm's" and the satisfied smacks of those little shugs in the back seat.

Sensory Overload

Emma has been struggling with her language and communication and I noticed it fairly early on. I think I flagged it early only because she is a twin. If I didn't have another child of the same age, I don't know if I would've noticed it as a problem so soon. Then again, I feel guilty for not doing something about it sooner.

I had been noticing some strange behavior...like the repeating and reciting and the distorted or inappropriate responses to questions. She seemed to know a response was required, so she'd just repeat my question. There were also times that Emma would completely fall apart and cry when interacting with some of her loving family members like her papaws. They looked at her too long? Too soon? She wasn't ready for that head-pat? She suddenly felt social pressure or intense discomfort for whatever reason. It was sad. It was scary. I'd hold her and try to comfort her. She'd eventually come through the panicked crying and heavy breathing. I felt a need to apologize to her papaw and explain that she really does love him. Ummm...I'm so sorry that Emma seems to find you horrifying. Haha! It was a little embarrassing. But I think they understood. We all understood that something was going on inside of Emma that we didn't understand.

But I think I do kind of understand. I was a very sensitive child. I remember feeling intense waves of emotions with every vulnerable moment or awkward exchange. Anytime I was spotlighted, I felt it. Anytime I was singled out at all for any reason, I was extremely uncomfortable and could be easily brought to tears over anything. I couldn't help it. My feelings were so intense and out of my control. Maybe that's what Emma's feeling. But maybe it's a little bit more than that. She says things totally out of context. For example, her latest strange repetitive go-to is "I can't see." Yes, she can see. This is something she says when she needs an escape clause.

Emma, don't hit your brother!

                  "I can't see..."

Emma did you make this chocolate syrup mess?

                  "I can't see..."

She started saying it after school one day when apparently other kids were saying they couldn't see the tv because she was standing in their way. I imagine she was then told to sit. She must've seen this as a valid excuse that requires the other person to move. "I can't see," is the trump card...the I'm-right-and-you're-wrong card...the it's-not-my-fault card. For now. Before "I can't see," the trump card was, "I have to go home." She'd say it every time she faced resistance of any kind. Even when we were at home, she had to go home. She'd say it at everyone else's house too, and I'd worry about her rudeness. Ugh, why does she have to have these strange, rude outbursts? Sigh... she'll be okay. Before "I have to go home," the trump card was: "Melmon, now, shut up!" That's a line from a movie. She said it when she was mad. She'd yell it out in church when she couldn't go sit with Mimi in the choir loft. Ummm...she doesn't mean that, guys.... I promise she's a sweet little girl.... lol

I'd swear sometimes that she was just parroting everything and not taking in any meaning at all from language. But I knew that wasn't true. She knew when to protest. I knew when "I have to go home" was coming. But I couldn't excuse her behavior and ignore her intelligence. I was taking meaning from hers. I knew what melmon now shut up and I have to go home meant.

I know what "I can't see" means. But that won't help her. No one else knows. I can't accommodate her by ignoring it and adapting to it. "Use your words, Emma, ...the right ones."

As this problem was surfacing, I was aware of my brain shutting it out. I know denial is usually not something you are aware of...but I was a little aware. I knew something was different, something that might be bad. What if my baby has something that may make all of my dreams for her out of reach? What if there's nothing we can do to help her? I'll just not worry, I said. She'll be fine, I said. I'll just wait for...whatever this is to go away. 

What if it doesn't go away?

When the kids were starting school, I was so excited and anxious. I was well-aware of Emma's verbal weaknesses and her destructive tendencies, as I have written about in Pick-it-up-now... and Tay inna Win., so I was sure to warn her teacher at the 1st meet-and-greet. Judging by the look on her face as I tried to explain, she probably thought I was one of those mothers whose baby is always the exception, who's always in need of special treatment. But she was nice, and she listened.

Then, the folders started coming home with daily behavioral marks. It has been interesting to see how differently the kids' teachers manage their classrooms. I truly appreciate all of their differences. Ethan's teacher doesn't send home a behavioral mark or grade at all. I've yet to hear a peep about Ethan's daily conduct. Emma, however, has not escaped the radar. And that's good, right? Green monster for Emma's sweet teacher! ;) That's what I think she needs, to be on all of our radars. Ethan, on the other hand, is yelling out his coordinates at every turn, so we don't have to radar him as closely.

The behavioral scoring system in Emma's class is Green Monster, Yellow Monster, and Red Monster. Her teacher made sure to clarify that "monster" was a term of endearment, her whole class being known as "The Marvelous Monsters."

On the first week, Emma had a yellow monster and a red monster. That escalated quickly. My heart started racing. I didn't know what to do. Should I punish her? I was so worried because she couldn't/wouldn't tell me anything. She couldn't/wouldn't answer any of my questions. She'd get a far-off look in her eyes and be babbling or la-di-da-ing to herself, but somewhere in the distance, she must hear me saying: "Emma, why did you hit your friend at school today? Emma...Emma, honey, look at Momma."

We took her to her doctor and he referred us to an occupational therapist. When he first walked in the door, he spoke to Emma:

"Hi, Emma."
"Hi."
"What book are you reading?"
"Library..."

He was quick to tell us that he doesn't think she has..."The 'A' Word." Yes, he used that term: "I'm certain just from that brief encounter that she does not have...The 'A' Word."

He knows how afraid parents are of that word...of autism. I was afraid of autism...of that word and what I don't know. I had wondered if she was on that vague phenomenon known as "the spectrum" before, but I decided that it didn't matter. Whatever it was, I love her still the same.

One day after Ethan had a failed interaction with her, he asked, "Mom...why are Emma's words wrong?" He had never asked that before and I was glad because before that time, I wasn't prepared to confront that question. I was too scared and frustrated and powerless. There was nothing I could do about the red monsters and the wrong words. After all the worry and fear, I think I am winning the battle with my own red monster. I know that no amount of discouragement will help her. Only love will.

"I don't know, brother, but she is working on it, and someday her words will be right. We just have to help her and love her."

"I love Emma," he said. "And I'll help her."

We all love her more and more every day, and we know that her speech and occupational therapy are some great things we can do to help her make her own dreams come true.

Alpha and Omega

After the death of Ethan and Emma's Papaw Jack, Ethan was confused and thoughtful. Emma would state now and then that Papaw was in heaven, and we would gently confirm. They both seemed to accept this as a vague fact, but Ethan was more concerned about the concept than Emma. They do go to church on Sundays, but I really didn't think my 4-year-olds were taking away any religious concepts other than "Jesus Loves Me."

One day as we were lazily playing in the front yard, Ethan made a comment that was disturbing for me, and a very significant conversation ensued:

Ethan: God's dead.

Me: --No, He isn't. [stunned] God is alive. Ethan, why did you say that?

Ethan: Because he's in heaven like Papaw.

Me: He's alive in heaven and in your heart.

Ethan: [Looking down at his shirt] How does God fit in my chest?

Me: God is in your love. That love you feel for Mommy and Daddy and Emma, that happy in your heart, that's God.

Ethan: Is this leaf alive?

Me: Yes. [feeling somewhat relieved of the gravity]

Ethan: And when it dies, it'll go to heaven.

Me: Ummm...if it has love in its heart.

Ethan: It does have love in its heart.

Me: Ok. Then, it will go to heaven.

Ethan: ....Why did God make his son die? ...on the cross.

Me: [stunned again] He didn't make him die. He died on the cross because of mean people.

Ethan: Is my dad gonna make me die?

Me: No. Never. Ethan you are such a deep little thinker. God loves that about you, and so do I.


Amen.

Parkbook: Social Networking

I had one of those moments that I knew would come, one of those small beautiful moments that I'd seen happen to other mothers on the playground, and it was amazing.

Just as I was thinking it was about time to go home, a small group of kids about my kids' age arrived at the playground, and I thought, "Oh, here they come. I wonder if my kids know any of them."

Now that Emma and Ethan have started school, I knew this moment would come soon. Emma looked over...and started yelling, "Hi! Hi!" Then she ran over to one of the kids.

"Emma!" the little girl beamed. Awww...they were so excited to see each other. Then Ethan spotted her and ran over too. He got right in her face with a big smile, as if to say, "Look, I'm here, too! Do you see me too?"

"Ethan!" the sweet little girl said.
"I didn't know you were here!!!" said Ethan.
"I didn't know you were here either!" she giggled. "Come on, let's go!" The three of them ran up the stairs and all over the big toy.

I couldn't have smiled any bigger. I think I almost cried. The joy that I had for those big kids is indescribable. I know it may seem like no big deal. But I stood there in the grass at a distance with my hands on my cheeks. I felt like I was watching a movie of my kids' lives. And I felt like I was invisible, just an onlooker. I was no longer needed for every little meet-and-greet, no longer hanging in the balance for every possible mishap. They were so big and so happy. I watched as the little girl introduced Emma and Ethan to her other friends. It was amazing. "This is Emma, and this is Ethan. They're my friends."

I couldn't leave after that. I wanted them to have a nice long time of playing together before we had to go home.

It was just the other day that I brought them to this park for the very first time. I'd see other kids meeting and recognizing each other from school, and I'd think, wow, I wonder what that feels like...to have your kids knowing people that you don't know, to have them out in the world making friends on their very own.

After a while, Ethan came running over to me. "We know her, Mom! She knows our names! She's not in my class, but she knows my name!"

"Well, what's her name?"

"Ummm...Aleesia!!" as he jumped high in the air, full of childhood excitement.

Tanish

When Ethan and Emma started learning their colors, they were all over it. They wanted to tell me what color everything was. And if they weren't sure, or if I seemed to be losing focus, they'd ask me what color it was. Then, I bought a color puzzle that named all kinds of lesser known shades. There was fuchsia, periwinkle, chartreuse, aqua, and azure.... It looked a lot like this one:

They had most of those colors down in a few weeks. I was so proud to hear my babies using such smart words.

Then, one day, when we were reading one of his books, Ethan was naming all of the different colors of the Sesame Street characters. He suddenly paused and asked, "Mommy, what color are you?"

I thought about it for a second, and of course, my first instinct was to say, "white," but I knew he'd never go for it. So I said, "Ummm...I'm kinda tanish, I guess."

Instantly, I saw the opportunity for racial identification, but I passed on it. He's so young. I know the time will come when he will be exposed to society and its stereotypes and racial classifications, but for now...what does it matter? He asked me about color, not race.

"Tanish? Well...what color am I?"
"You're kinda tanish, too."
"Is Emma tanish?"
"Yep, her too. And Daddy. We're all tanish."

I figured my next step would be to look up the names of every shade of brown and variation of white that I could. But, he never got hung up on it, never asked me about all of the colors of the people we saw when we were out. It never seemed to strike him that there were a lot more colors of people than just tanish.

Then, one day when we were in the grocery store, a man said hello to me as he passed, as many polite people do, and after he was a ways down the aisle, Ethan said, "Who is that man?"
"What man?"
"That brown man with the different hair..."
"Oh... That man who said hello to us? I don't know him. He just said hello, so I said hello, too."
"Because he's nice?"
"Yep, he seemed nice."
"Does he know our names?"
"Nope."
"Why doesn't he know our names?"
"Because we didn't tell him."
"Let's go tell him!"
"No...let's not bother him right now while he's shopping."
"Awwww...he'll never, ever know our names." He's getting so dramatic these days. Everything is never, ever going to happen again. I can not imagine where he gets that. ;)

Just the other day, another skin conversation happened. I was putting sunscreen on him, which he hates. He was crying hysterically: "You're making me turn white! Stop making me turn white!"

"Let me rub it in.... See? There. Tanish again. We have to put on sunscreen so we don't turn red."
"We'll turn red??"
"Yes. The sun will burn your skin and make you turn bright red and it hurts really bad."
"Well, I don't want to be red and hurt really bad."
"Well, then you better let me put this sunscreen on you, so you'll be safe...and tanish."
"Well...okay."

I smile every time I hear him refer to a person's color as tanish. Little sweetie pie. I hope no one ever corrects him about that. Clearly, he is tanish, y'all.

Old Cookbook

Emma took down my cook book from a decorative shelf in our kitchen. That's what it is pretty much, decorative. My mom gave it to me with the best of hopes I'm sure. I love it because it was hers and I have lots of memories of her actually using it. I love the red plaid cover and the old yellow pages. 

Ethan came to announce his sister's obvious offense at once: "Emma's-playing-with-the-food-book!"

"She is? What food book?" I asked as I headed in the direction he was leading me. "Oh, that food book." Ethan's head snapped toward me, like...what's to be done about this?? 

Seeing no real discouragement, Ethan asked, "What's it called? Is it Rachel Ray?"

I laughed and said, "No, not Rachel Ray. Let's see.... It's called Better Homes New Cook Book." 

"Oh, is it new?" asked Ethan. Of course he would ask that.

"Well, no...it's actually really old, so I'll let you guys play with it, but you have to be REALLY careful with the pages because they're VERY delicate."

They seemed to hear me very clearly and then turned to start right in. Their little hands tried so hard but clumsily bent the page in the first turn. It's a 3-ring binder, so it is already a little more complicated than typical page-turning. But Emma just placed her hand on the page and slid it hard to the left, straining it to the maximum of its life. Ethan tried to intervene and picked up the book from the table, and small recipe inserts fell to the floor. 

"Uh-oh, okay it's falling apart. We've played with it long enough." I picked up the inserts and placed them inside the binder. All the while, Ethan is begging me, starting in on the plan to convince me to give him the food book. Real tears were streaming down his face as I placed it back in its place. 

His last outcry for justice came flying out of his mouth: "BUT NO ONE EVER READS IT!" I was taken aback. Huh. That's true. I never read that book and I never cook from it. Now, I feel guilty. I don't cook enough. And I'm a mean mommy.

"Okay, I will let you play with it one more time if you promise to be careful with the pages."

"Okay, okay, okay, okay!"

They were much more careful this time, and Emma kept looking up and saying, "Careful with the pa-ges." 

Then, Ethan gave me a far-off look and said, "Can I read the Rachel Ray one?" 

I smiled and said, "Yes, you may because I never read that one either."

Accident-Purpose

Me:  So...what do you DO at school anyway?

Ethan:  I play at recess.

Me:  But what do you do when you're not at recess?

Ethan:  That's an accident....    And when you build a dukie house, that's an accident.

Me:  No, that's not an accident. That's on purpose. Now... if you tripped and fell and the dukie house fell down, then that would be an accident. [unfazed by any dukie discussions at this point of Ethan's boyhood]

Ethan:  Building a dukie house is an accident.

Me:  No, that's naughty behavior. And very gross.

Ethan:  But if you knock it down, it's an accident.

Me:  Very good. You know, my cousin Cassie and I used to fall down on purpose and say we did it on accident-purpose.

Ethan: Accident-purpose?? That's silly!

BatNannie Princess

Nannie watched the kids 2-3 times a week for a few hours to help out. She really wanted to, insisted. She and Papaw had started by helping my mother, the three of them, feeding and holding babies, watching them scoot and climb and crawl. Then, as Emma and Ethan got older and less physically dependent, Nannie approached me about keeping the children by herself. She said she really wanted to be more of a help to my mother, allow her some freedom, and I think she also wanted to spend more time as a valuable and responsible adult who is fully capable of watching over her two little great grandchildren for a few hours.

Far be it from me to stand in her way or to make restrictions for a woman who knows her limits and who has raised two children, cared for 5 grandchildren. When they were very small infants, she would never stand to hold them, only sit. She was always so cautious. I knew that if she thought she could manage a few hours, she could.

Now, the kids gave her a run for her money. They wanted her to play! So she played. She'd tell me about how she's been on a wild goose chase for that one singing Big Bird toy that Emma simply must find or that squawking, egg-laying Easter chicken that Nannie bought for them a few years ago. "Mama hen, back again, squawk and lock and let's begin! I'm about to show you how it's done! Layin' eggs is so much fun! Squawk!"  Emma sees Nannie and immediately associates the chicken, and it becomes the object of the moment, the task that Nannie must complete. Once found, Emma loses interest and thinks of something else Nannie must do. She told me about how they want her to get in the floor and play! And she did! Nannie eased her body from the chair to the floor and played with the kids and their toys. When she was ready to get up, she crawled over to the chair...and she couldn't get up as easily as she got down. Ethan asked her, "You can't get up? Why can't you get up?" and Nannie was laughing as she told him, "I'm an old, old woman, Ethan. This old woman can't get up and down like she used to." Ethan cheered her on as she made it to her seat.

Nannie loves to tell me the stories of the things that happen on her twinkie adventures. Once, one set of car seats was in the house and they loved playing in them. Emma buckled herself in and then she couldn't get it undone. Nannie couldn't get it undone either. So she just had to stay in there...until my mom got home. Nannie entertained her in the car seat. "They don't make things simple anymore." The world has done so well at complicating things. Nannie and Papaw have a cell phone, but they don't use it very often and they don't follow the usual cell phone practices, such as leaving the phone on when you're not using it. They don't send text messages, and they don't receive them either. Nannie is not completely convinced that Papaw can make a phone call when he needs to with it. We had done away with our land line since the cell phones are our only communication devices that we seemed to need, and Nannie felt vulnerable without it. Papaw's health is declining and she didn't want to be unavailable if he needed her.  So we got a land line. The kids think it's bizarre. It's big. It never rings, and when it does, we don't answer. It's always a sales call or a "message for Frank..." click. But it's a lifeline for emergencies and peace of mind for Nannie. And her son...I know he worries about her from out of town and is probably uncomfortable with her twinkie adventures altogether for the strain it may put on her body and mind. But she handles it. She wants it. And it's so very special to her and to Rodney and to Emma and Ethan. Those few hours on Mondays and Wednesdays are something that they'll always remember.

Then there's the tv. They sure don't make those simple anymore. I showed her how to work the DVR and how to get it back on her channel 8. Sometimes she forgets and becomes overwhelmed by all of the buttons and menus. I hear that. Why does the tv have to be so complicated? If the kids are watching a movie, it is an involved sequence of steps to get the tv to play the regular channels. I had Dumbo playing on the Play Station one day because the kids were really into it, and it helps me get ready in the mornings to distract them with a movie. I rushed out the door when Nannie came before I remembered that I didn't get the tv back in the mode where she could operate it. So they just watched the Dumbo intro of flying elephants across the screen and circus music for hours on end. Ethan asked Nannie to put on one of his Batman masks with him and shoot elephants with his shot guns. So she did! They played Batman and Batnannie hunting flying elephants! Nannie laughed and laughed when she told me about that. All of that dress-up fun made Emma want Nannie to play dress-up princess with her next. So she did! Nannie put on the tiara and Emma put on the dress. What a sweet Nannie. Super Nanny Princess to the rescue! Ethan told me later that Nannie says it messes up her hair, but she doesn't mind. What a trooper. That mask hurts my face after a while. It's uncomfortable. Ethan insists that you leave it on, and none of this raising it to your forehead business.

Since then, Papaw's health has taken another turn for the worse, and Nannie has had to resign her duties as Batnannie Elephant Hunter Princess. Since she and Papaw love our dog so much, we have started sharing her with them. We take Daisy to their house every Tuesday to brighten their day. They love to tell us about her day and how she loves to explore their yard and bark at their neighbors' dogs. Daisy loves to sit in Papaw's chair with him and eagerly accepts all of the yummy human food snacks that he sneaks her. More recently, Papaw has been admitted into a nursing home, and our family is greatly saddened by it. I still take Daisy to be with Nannie on Tuesdays, and I hope she brings her some comfort. I know Daisy loves going to see her Nannie because she gets excited when I say, "Let's go see Nannie!" The kids and I drop her off and Emma and Ethan say, "Bye Daisy! Be good for Nannie!" I ring the door bell and hear Nannie saying, "My baby is here! I'm coming!" She gets her key from its special spot and carefully unlocks the door from the inside. "Come on in here, baby!" she says with a smile in her heart. Life and love go on and on...

"Tay inna Win"

Emma and Ethan are full-blown talking machines now. Ethan is very inquisitive about everything he sees. Emma is very observant and likes to repeat phrases and lines from her favorite tv shows and from her favorite moments of play. Her rendition of the Dinosaur Train line, "Welcome to the Cretaceous time period!" is one of the cutest things her daddy has ever seen. She really emphasizes with her voice and facial expressions: "TIII--peer-rud!"

 

When Ethan says it, it just doesn't have quite the same effect. Ethan speaks very clearly and loves conversation. He requires acknowledgment for his every statement. If he doesn't get verbal recognition, he pushes for it: "Talk to me; talk to me; talk to me." If he gets a response he doesn't like, like a non-word utterance of recognition--"Mmmhmm," "Eehhh," "Hmm-mm" He objects: "No! Don't say, 'Hmm-mm.'"

When Emma gets a "Hmm-mm" or a "not right now," she immediately whines, screeches, and begins slapping the wall or storms to her room just so she can SLAM the door! If the nearest door is out of reach, she slams whatever cabinet door or drawer that's nearest. Slamming doors and drawers seems to give her deep satisfaction. The violence against the door, the slam in the face, the power, the control, the symbolic expression of her grievances.  "And stay out!" she says.

She is not as conversational or verbally expressive as her brother. Sentences take more effort, so she takes short cuts, and pronunciation is often muffled. We took her to an audiologist just to make sure the issue wasn't auditory. We sat in the small darkened room as the audiologist showed her pictures and asked her to point to each object that he named. He looked into her ears and warned her about a tiny sound she would hear in the earphone instrument he was placing on her ear. She sat quietly, curiously. He told me not to respond to the sounds I was about to hear and not to cue her in any way. Then, he left us in the room and sat behind a glass window where we could see him wearing a headset. Suddenly to the left--a sound. She turned to see a monkey banging its cymbals inside a clear box mounted on the wall. To the right--a clown blows a horn. The audiologist began speaking into different speakers that surrounded us, and Emma looked all around. She passed all of the tests for her age-level.

So I'm not sure what it is that causes her trouble with verbal communication. But I'm not going to worry. She'll get it. And her language is pretty cute. She still resorts to her baby babbling sometimes. Her pretend phone conversations are more about vocal inflection, mumbling with an occasional, "Oh my gosh," and "Okay, bye."

One day when we had some friends over, all of the kids were in the driveway riding trikes and Power Wheels. For some reason, Emma was so upset. She sat on her trike, pulling and fighting, whining, and crying. Something was obviously wrong, but I couldn't figure it out. I'd try to steer her in another direction, push her along. This made her even more frustrated. I didn't get it. I gave up. Later, when Ethan got on the trike, he said, "It isn't working. Something won't go!" and he was looking behind him for whatever was blocking the trike's movement. I never even realized there was a wheel brake that could be set on the trikes, just like a stroller. I'm so sorry, Emma. Mommy didn't know. 

She loves to be held and carried around, especially when Mommy is busy cooking dinner. She stands at the baby gate with her arms up, repeating, "Imma hode-ju. Imma hode-ju, pweese?" I usually can't resist this request because I know the time will come too soon that she will no longer want to hold me, no longer beg for my attention and affection. Many dinners have been burned while Mommy gets held by Emma or during another potty break...or yet another clean-up on aisle 2.

While I cook, I try to distract her with her all-time favorite show, "Sya-nah Sreet." She loves Big Bird. She watches episodes repeatedly and knows every word that is spoken and when. I have no doubt of Emma's intelligence. She has an amazing memory for songs, tv show lines and phrases that her parents say. I don't know why she doesn't talk more.... She sings the alphabet perfectly, counts to 15 without much thought. She even goes to "school" now once a week with her brother. They have a music class, and she just loves saying, "Ma tea-cher. Miss Beff, Miss Chorween.... Goo'moreen, cwass!" And you should see her operate her cd player! It is hilarious to me...her tiny little self popping open the disc lid like she was born doing it, switching out the cd, closing it, quickly pushing the appropriate buttons even though they are all very small and similar looking. She gets that baby blaring her favorite songs in no time flat. "Hakuna Matata!"

Talking Tom is the best app on a phone that Emma has ever seen! She is so happy to hear that little cartoon kitty repeating her favorite sayings and gibberish phrases. I noticed that she kept saying one particular gibberish phrase to Talking Tom...again and again. I tried so hard to figure out what it sounded like.... What is she saying?? Talking Tom had it down pat, and before too long, so did I. "It's a rah-tae mikka-wah! It's a rah-tae mikka-wah!" Your guess is as good as mine. I can't help but be reminded of the movie Nell (movie trailer: 1994) . She's like a little Nell with her own "wanguage."

Every once in a while when she is speaking her gibberish again, I repeat that one sentence of Emma's "Nellish" that I know: "It's a rah-tae mikka-wah!" She smiles her biggest smile. Wow, Mommy knows Nell-ish! I'm trying to teach her the only actual Nell-ish phrase that I remember from the movie: "Taaaaay ina wiiiiiin!" and I wave my hands like a tree in the wind, just like Nell. Oh, please, sweet Emma, just say it for Mommy. :)

Every time I have to go to work, I leave them with Mimi (or their Nannie), I say, "Be good for Mimi, ok?" So now she loves saying she'll be good for everyone.

"Uh-guffa Mimi--okay? Uh-guffa Nannie--okay? Uh-guffa Uncuh JAmes. Uh-guffa Ant Jare-wun. Uh-guffa Bren-ten. Uh-guffa Cway. Uh-guffa Uhh-Umy.['Aunt Amy' is a hard one] Uh-guffa Uncuh MIchael. Uh-guffa Kacie. Uh-guffa Karwie."

"Ha good day!"

Pick-it-up-now-pick-it-up-now!

Motherhood. Ahhhh....motherhood. Its blessings outweigh its headaches. Thank God. Because those headaches can be pretty mean. Don't get me wrong. I love those little tiny people. They're my sweet angels, my sugar babies. They make me laugh and love like I never knew possible. So please, keep that in mind when I say that they also push me to the brink of insanity regularly.

They're little terrorists. Point blank. They are trying to strategically drive me crazy using varying stages of torturous methods. Stage One: They destroy the house. Destroy. It's their mission from moment to moment and day to day. So don't try to pick up, Mom. "NO! Not my...[random fragment of a toy that I don't even recognize]!" Haha! I have been sneaking UFTs (Unidentified Fragmented Toys) into the trash for over a year now. Casually and cheerfully, I'm picking up the clutter and, right under their noses, I am picking off toys. One junkie piece at a time. McDonald's toy football men, tiny accessories for tiny plastic kingdoms and tiny spare hardware for tiny hero headquarters. Picked off. Gone forever. But it's just a drop out of the bucket...out of the ocean of toys and further UFTs.

Emma is forewoman of the destruction phase. It's as if she sees a state of disarray as her personal duty. When she walks into an orderly living room, she calmly but purposefully begins systematically breaking it down. First on her list of obvious problems is the couch arm covers, fling, the chair arm covers, fling! The couch cushions require hardly more effort--KNOCK those off in the floor where they belong. Oh, the books. What are they doing on the bookshelf? They go in the floor. Dusting off her hands, she scans the room for other eyesores. Seeing none, she makes her way to the snack bowl. She has a few Cheese-Its, and if one should fall in the floor, all the better for Em-Lynny-Lou. When they're all gone, she just dumps the crumbs right on the coffee table...for good measure. Time for a drink. Ahhhhh, refreshing. Fling! Ker plunk--sippy cup nose-dive into the carpet. Score! And it's standing upside down! Bonus!

She is practically begging me to have a nervous breakdown. I teeter on the edge now and then, but I have thought my strategy through a few times in my brief moments of clarity, and I think this kind of extreme recklessness calls for an extreme and perhaps radical approach. I try to catch her in the act and then I immediately sound off: PICKITUPNOW. PICKITUPNOW. PICKITUPNOW. It usually works. She is startled into action. My theory is that this alarm-like response will trigger a negative association with this destructiveness that she loves. When she is feeling extra stubborn, I stay fiercely committed to the auto-repeat strategy in my most serious and forceful tone. I combine this with a severe and dramatic pointing gesture. PICKITUPNOW, PICKITUPNOW, PICKITUPNOW! EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. And though she is a very determined little girl, she frequently gives up halfway through the task, testing my level of commitment. In order to get her to actually re-construct, I must repeat, repeat, repeat, never faltering even for a moment or she will sense my weakness and move right on from her consequence.

When this happens, it seems as if it may be too late.... It's over. We lost? Wreck it Ralph would be so proud. Auto-repeat couldn't penetrate the steel wall that is Emma's will.

Auto-repeat can actually be counter-productive because using it can weaken your senses, cause fatigue, and possibly even cause you to auto-pilot yourself right into delirium.... This is Stage 2. Your grip on reality begins to slip through your automated mind. I have caught myself repetitively and blindly participating in a three-line Q and A session with Ethan, answering the exact same question 100 times on auto-pilot, or saying, "You did?? That's awesome!" over and over to the same thing, or pretending to argue the same hard fact over and over, purely for his entertainment and unending joy. Ethan is foreman of Stage 2, mental fatigue.

I find myself caught in a mental loop, and I fall into the "Pete and Re-Pete" trap. You remember how it goes, right?

"Pete and Re-Pete were sittin' on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left? 
'Re-Pete.' 
Pete and Re-Pete were sittin' on a fence. Pete fell off...." etc.

That's exactly how I feel sometimes. I'm livin' in a Pete and Re-Pete world. Yes, my experience of motherhood sometimes causes...brief breaks from reality...moments when I think...this is not normal. I mean--I have obviously fallen way off the fence, Pete.

But, when I return from insanity and realize she still isn't pickingitupnow... I have even resorted to physically making her pickitupnow. I refuse to just throw my hands up when my child has just pulled all of the clothes out of the dresser and then said, "No," after I've clearly told her to put them back. I calmly walk over to her, explaining all the while that, yes, she will in fact pickitupnow. I stand directly behind her like a shadow and take actual physical control of her body. Her hand cupped in my hand, I bend her at the waist. Like a puppeteer, I direct her body to submit to my will, clasping her hand with my hand onto the object, and by gosh, we pickitupnow. One way or another, she WILL pickitupnow, pickitupnow--pickitUP, pickitUP, pickitUPnow. [Insert break from reality and The Red Hot Chili Peppers] Eventually, my hope is that this will become a learned sequence of events. You might even say "automatic." Destroy--AndPickitupnow. Good luck with that, huh? Thanks.

I'm sure some of you may think this form of "physical possession" is harsh. I personally think that different learning styles call for different approaches. She's just a hands-on learner. I can be hands-on.... She needs muscle memory. I can help her with that. I will go with her through the "pickitupnow" motions just as I directed her hands to reach out for her rattle when she was a newborn baby, when I steadied her first balance as she stood, held her hands and walked alongside when she learned to walk.... You see? Just as I directed her first crayola marks and guided her first tricycle ride, I feel called to guide her in the righting of her wrongs. PICKITUPNOW.

Her preference for disarray is admittedly something she came to very naturally. I have always been the queen of clutter. Things are here and there and everywhere, and I know each and every where.

However, although we both have a tendency toward chaos and clutter, we both will have to succumb to the hard, cold fact that in life when we pitch a fit, fling that thing, or dump that whole bowl of crumbs...the universe will insist that we PICKITUPNOW.

Hide-and--Go Where?

Our friend Necole is pretty much the coolest grown-up a little kid is ever gonna meet. I know a lot of really cool people so don't be offended, haha! My kids like all of my friends! But she's different with them from anyone I know. It's like she sees them with her heart instead of her eyes. Maybe she just has a young soul. I first met her as one of my students in Comp. 1. I don't normally form personal relationships with my students, but Necole was also a student worker and spent a lot of time on campus. She'd come in and chat. You know how they say some people have an old soul? I'd normally want to say that about her because although she is almost ten years younger, she's had more of life's experiences and challenges than I have. It's like she has an old soul and a young soul, a timeless soul.

She crouches down to Emma and Ethan's eye-level and shines brightly into their faces. They can't help but like her. Their walls come right down and they are best friends. I'm not really sure what it is. Some people just seem to be tuned-in to that child frequency more clearly.

Necole and I became friends on a more personal level after she offered to help me take the kids to the park. I'd mentioned that I really couldn't take 2 barely walking one-year-olds to the park by myself. I'd have to carry one, follow one. She kept insisting on helping me. Very enthusiastically. It wasn't like when most people offer, sort of politely and dutifully.... I am not offended and I reciprocate the social grace. But in the back of my mind, I know that I would never call this person out of the blue and ask her to babysit. And I also know that she probably won't...oh, just one day up and decide to call me for the first time ever just to see if I feel like going out with my husband tonight, so she can watch (and meet) our kids for the first time ever. Haha! We might not even really have each other's phone numbers! "Call me sometime. Okay! Let's have lunch or something...yeah.... Well, good seein' you!" :)  But not this time. I could tell she really meant it.  Necole said, "Do you want to go today later after work?? Colton and I just love babies." So I took her up on it. And she wasn't kidding. They love babies. And babies love them. Necole doesn't just look at them or watch them; she sees them. And she plays with them. She runs around at the park and slides down the slide right along with all the kids, laughs and has a good time. It's not a cheesy fake laugh or baby talk, no exaggerated movements or facial expressions; it's real engagement and enthusiasm with children. And she has this twinkle in her eyes the whole time, a big smile...a genuine friend to adults and kids.

We had been missing them so much. Finally, she and Colton came over for a visit the other evening. Our kids were so happy to see her...and Colton, Emma is especially happy to see him. She and Ethan both think he is such a cool, big kid. He even stands up for them just like a big brother at the playground if a bigger kid isn't being nice.  Emma acts like Colton is her hero, the way she looks up at him with such awe and admiration. She says his name over and over. She sometimes runs right up to him immediately when he comes over, not needing any time to get over awkward shyness, just walking right up to him with a big smile. She hugs him and says, "Hi, Colton!" It's so sweet.

On this night, not too long after they walked in the door, a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek had somehow broken out. Colton hid and Emma and Ethan went to look for him. It was so much fun, counting and covering our eyes. Emma wasn't exactly feeling the suspense of the hunt; the fun part for her was counting and hiding her eyes. It was enough just to "hide" behind her hands while she counted and then "seek" when she uncovered her eyes: instant gratification, none of this wandering around nonsense. "Waun, tuu, free, four, fiye, siix, se'ven, eeiiight, niine, ten, e-wev'-en...BOO! [hysterical laughter]"  Peek-a-boo style hide-and-seek is the greatest according to Emma.

Ethan loves the counting and face-covering part, too: "One, free, five, nine, free, four, free...ten! Ready or not, here I come! [scampering, squealing, giggling]" And when he found Colton, he was so proud. "WE FOUND HIM! WE FOUND COLTON, MOM!" he said...every single time.

When it was his turn to hide, he was intense and ready. Necole said, "Okay, Ethan, hide!" and he snapped into serious. He looked down for a split second, as if he was thinking, "Where is the perfect hiding place?" All of a sudden--he dropped to the floor, face down, hiding his eyes from the light. He stayed very still. Necole and I looked at each other and laughed silently. Necole said, just above a whisper, "Are you hiding, Ethan?"

"Yes," Ethan answered, more rasp than whisper. He lifted his face from the carpet to answer and then gave the area a quick scan for the seeker. Quick--hide! He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face back into the carpet.

Colton came in and chuckled when he saw Ethan's hiding place but pretended for a few seconds before calling out, "Found Ethan!" and then a few beats later, "Found Mom and Emma behind the chair!"

I was just sitting there on the couch smiling, laughing, watching this game take place, taking pictures, and thinking to myself, when was the last time I had this much fun so spontaneously, so wholesomely...stepped out of the routine, out of the norm and played a make-believe or abstract game from childhood with my kids? When was the last time we turned off the tv and played...without any toys, just our imaginations and each other? 

That night was a classic night, a cherry coke and apple-pie kind of night.

Twindependence

The kids decided on the very night of their third birthday that they would sleep in separate toddler beds for the first time ever. I couldn't believe it. But it wasn't complete magic. Here's how it happened: They had been put to bed by my friend Lindsey the night before. We had been out shopping for their birthday, and I guess she didn't know which bed they normally sleep in because they were in the other one. The next night after I rocked them for a few of our songs, Ethan seemed excited about sleeping in the other bed again. It was new and different. "I wanna sleep in this bed!" he beamed. He happily skipped to the other bed, and Emma sleepily walked to the other as usual, and she didn't protest or even seem to notice at all. They'd had a long, fun-filled day with all of their friends and the big inflatable bouncy house with water slide. It's no wonder that she didn't seem to notice or was too tired to care. I went right along with it and tucked them both in. I walked out of their bedroom stunned. The night after that, they went back to their regular bed together. I felt a little happy inside when they did. That part of it can't be over yet, can it? My little twins snuggling together.... Then I felt a little twinge of guilt for feeling sad when I should be only happy about their milestone, their progress and step toward independence. So the next night, I decided to throw out a subtle prompt: "Okay, which bed do you want to sleep in?"

"This one!" Ethan said and he happily went to his very own bed. They're finally making use of both beds. One bed had previously been just a decoration or a place to throw stuffed animals and to play on during the day.

And then there were two little separate sleepers. Two big kid beds. Two big kids....

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

Tonight, after we rocked for a few of our favorite lullabies, they got in their own beds and I tucked them in. Emma was singing, but I didn't let it stop me from getting a "Good night, Mommy" and an "I love you, too," out of her. Ethan was talking and talking about his new lincoln logs he got for his birthday. They were strewn about in the floor and oh-so-tempting for a busy little boy. "Tomorrow, you can...when you wake up. It's not time to play now. It's time for bed."
"It's not time to play?"
"No, time to go to sleep. Nite-nite, Ethan."
"Nite-nite."

Emma was still singing so sweetly, so I decided to act like I was leaving, but secretly stay behind in the complete darkness and they wouldn't see me. I wanted to hear more of Emma's singing:

"Where is pointer?
Where is pointer?
Here I am!
Here I am!
Howayou aday, sir?
Aireeyan a thank you.
Run away,
Run away."

Ethan decided to sing a spell afterwards and echoed Emma Lynn's sweet song. He's just learning to carry a tune and remember lyrics, something Emma is getting very good at by now.

Ethan sang:

"Very fine, I thank you.
Run and hide,
Run and hide."

Then he must've decided to make up his own song since his memory doesn't quite serve him yet:

"It's nice to meet you.
It's nice to meet you.
Mommy said no.
Mommy said no."

Then he paused a few beats and shifted back into his comfort zone: the monologue:

"We don't want that grasshopper. We don't want that grasshopper. Mommy said....  Mommy, I see you sitting in the floor."           (grasshopper story)

"You do?" I said, laughing and getting up now. I went over to his bed and rested my hand on his back. "What was I doing?"

"You were sitting in the floor," he said, looking in the direction of where I had been actually laying in the floor in the doorway.

"Was I watchin' you?"

"Yes."

"Because I love you?"

"Yes," he said, a smile in his voice.

"Oh.... Give me one more kiss, please." He raised his head and shoulders and gave me a sweet sugar on the lips. "Nite-nite, Brother."

"Nite-nite."

"Give me one more kissy from Em-lynn, too...." Emma didn't move, but I knew she was awake. She had her jumbo sized bunny squeezed tightly in her arms with its head covering half of her face. I gave her kisses and she laid very still but with her eyes open. "Nite-nite, Em-Lynn."

"Nite-nite," she said softly.

"Tell brother goodnight," I pressed. I have been working harder at getting words and sentences out of her. She can do it and she is getting better and better, but she just doesn't seem to have much to say most times. She prefers to play the passive role. She plays it safe; less is more. And sneak attacks are much more effective that way.

"Goo'night,...Essan," she said.

"Now, you say 'Goodnight, Emma," I said.

"Goodnight, Emma," said Emma.

"No, not you Emma. Now it's Ethan's turn. Ethan, tell sister goodnight."

"Good night, Emma," said Brother.

Amy's Story: "Swimming with the Ashing Family"

This post was written by Amy Ashing.

Kacie and Karli were so excited for Emma and Ethan to come over and spend the night again. This time they get to swim! The first time they swam, they were in life jackets and wanted to be held the whole time. They loved it. My girls were teaching them how to blow bubbles. Ethan became pretty good at it. Emma wasn't showing much interest. Ethan liked to jump off the ladder, the high step. Emma liked the lower step. She just kinda scooted into the water. So cute. She was excited about that.

The next day, we put the floaty bathing suits on instead of life jackets. We were holding them and having fun. I decided to put arm floaties on them, so if we let go of them, their mouths wouldn't go under water. I thought maybe they would float on their own. At first, they wouldn't let go. They would latch on with their legs, like--don't you even think about it. Ethan finally realized it was okay as we assured him that we were right here; we wouldn't let him go under. The look on his face was priceless. He was floating by himself. He got so excited! He was repeating over and over, "I'M SWIMMING BY MYSELF!"  Yes, Ethan...GOOD JOB...BIG BOY! After he realized he didn't need us, we couldn't hold him if we wanted to. Now we needed to work on Emma. It didn't take her as long to let us release her. I'm sure because brother was doing it, by gosh she wants to do it too. She was very serious and insecure at first. Then here she is...floating ALL BY HERSELF! She smiled so big and was so excited also. Okay, twins! Let's kick our feet and move our arms. There is a tv show I remember LeeAnn repeating that says, "Reach and pull and kick, kick, kick!!" That's what we kept repeating and they would repeat too. Emma's expression as she repeated was hilarious! Using every muscle in her body, very serious and repeating, "RREACHH...AND PPULLL...AND KKIICKK, KKIICKK, KICK!! RRREACHH AND PPPULLLL AND KKKKKICK, KKKKICKK, KKKICK!" Priceless. Wish everyone could've heard her expression and voice! Ethan, of course, is saying it too, but not near as dramatic as Emma! They would say, "Look...I'm swimming all by myself." We would say, "We are so proud of you! Big boy, big girl!"

I'm so glad we got to experience their first time floating on their own. We love you, Ethan and Emma!

Uncle Michael,
Aunt Amy,
Kacie & Karli