other than played

*

‘Kendall, what did you do with Ms A today?’ I ask. We are sitting together on the stairs. Darby is upstairs getting ready for bed and Matt is fumbling through papers in the office.

“Other than play. I can’t say played.”

No matter what the question – ‘what did you do at school today?’ ‘what was your favorite part of the party?’ ‘what happened on your playdate?’ the answer is a well rehearsed, mostly grammatically appropriate version of ‘I played.’ We’re working our way out of the narrow cubby-holes of scripted language.

“Right, honey. Other than played.”

“We went BACK to the museum.”

‘You did?? That sounds like fun!’

“Nope,” says Matt from the office.

“No to the museum?” I ask.

Marital shorthand – it works.

“No museum,” he responds.

Damn it. It sounded so plausible.

“Kenz, honey, what did you REALLY do with Ms A today?” The problem is that I don’t know the answer. Questions around these parts are generally useless unless I already know the answer. Yeah, chew on that for a while.

“Did you go the pool?”

“Oh yeah, I did. And I went under the water like this.” She puffs out her cheeks as though holding her breath.

“Oh wow! I’ll bet that was a LOT of fun. Did you show Ms A how you can jump off the diving board now?”

“No pool,” drifts in from the office.

Damn, damn damn.

“Hey, Matt, help me out, would ya?” I ask as he wanders over to the steps. I’m obviously flailing. “What did they do today?”

He gives me a rundown. Mostly, they just played outside in the yard.

“Did you have fun with Ms A today, Kenz?”

“Oh yeah. I did.”

I’ll take it.

Over the summer, Kendall had worked her way up to telling us one thing that she had done each day. With more prompting, she would even add small details – who she’d done it with or what her favorite part of the activity had been. It was heaven.

She has been out of camp for two weeks. Two stinkin weeks. Scripts are back in force. Anxiety is up. And when I try to ask what she did during the day, she tells me anything that she can think of to make me stop asking questions.

Regression sucks.

send in the clowns

*

Bratty Kid: I want a bicycle.
Jeremy: Listen, a bicycle is going to take a lot of ball00ns and frankly, Uncle Jeremy is a bit tired. How about I make you something else?
Bratty Kid: I just want a bicycle!
Jeremy: Why… why are you yelling at me?
Bratty Kid: Make me a bicycle, clown!
Jeremy: All right, I’m going to make you a bicycle. But I don’t want to make you a bicycle.
Bratty Kid: Shut your mouth, funny guy, and make it.
Jeremy: Take that, you hyena, don’t say thank you.

~ Scene from Wedding Crashers

Did I ever tell you about the clowns? Well, not clowns really, but that’s how they ultimately came to be affectionately known in my house after the ‘incident’. As in, ‘Oh my God, are you checking on the clowns AGAIN?’ I assure you, I mean no disrespect. I happen to love clowns.

It was a chilly night last April. OK, I’m lying. I have no idea if it was chilly or not, but I kinda thought that sentence sounded neat. I live in Boston. It was probably chilly. And rainy.

Anyway, I was poking around on WordPress. I like to check out the Referrers and see how people link into my blog. I find it fascinating (and sometimes a little creepy) to see how people end up here and to have some idea of who my readers are.

For example, last week I discovered that I’ve been listed as a resource on a website serving Australia, Vietnam, Indonesia, Phillippines and Pakistan. They describe Diary as words of encouragement for new families – how cool is that? I seriously have to wonder how let freedom ring translates into Vietnamese, but hey, still cool. Anyone linking in from CLAN, welcome!

Anyway, back on that evening in April and for a couple of days thereafter, I continued to get incoming links from a site called ball00n headquarters. I assumed it was some kind of Google search fluke and didn’t think much of it. But eventually, there were well over a hundred links from ball00n hq, so I decided to follow the link back to them and see what was going on.

What I found was a discussion group revolving around the post that I had written the day before. The website was apparently not protected or private in any way as I was able to see the whole thread simply by following the link. I wasn’t able to respond, however as I needed to be a member in order to do so. ( Note ~ Their posts are in italics, copied unedited; my commentary in between their posts is in bold lettering.)

Curious story I ran across. No it wasn’t my show.

the $240 ball00n animal (that wasn’t a monkey) redux

http://jesswilson.wordpress.com/

I am trying to figure out what the heck she is complaining about or if she is or

not.

~ Innocent query: Hey guys, anyone know what the hell is this about? Fair enough, right?

I don’t think she’s complaining about the entertainer, or his fee, just at

her own foolishness at setting her autistic kid up for failure in that

environment.  I bet she’d have been thrilled if her kid could have enjoyed

Big Joe’s show, but as it was, she couldn’t, and all she got out of it was a

dog-shaped monkey.

Lessons learned:

-always ask about the b-day kid’s favorite things

-check on special needs of those present

-make sure the b-day kid has the best time, and if you can’t, do something

extra for just them, even if it means staying longer than you’re booked for.

~ Ooh, loving this lady. Preach on, girl. Yup, just a Mama who is ‘fessing up to having made some significant mistakes but who then did the best she could to make her kid’s birthday party work under some pretty challenging conditions for her kid. Right? RIGHT?

What this Mom is saying is that her little sissy girl needs to get

out from under her mothers dress and play with the rest of the world!

 

Don’t blame the Entertainer that her “little Princess” is just too

sensitive to “loud noises” like all her friends laughing, at what

sounds like a really good show!

 

Another classic example of a mother stiffling(sp?) their children

from enjoying and participating in Life. It’s all the Mom’s fault!

 

Like when you go to a table that has beeh watching you work, and

say “Hi what can I make for you?” and the mother shoo’s you away

with “oh, she’s afraid of ball00ns!”

The fact of the matter is the Mom’s afraid of ball00ns and now has

poisoned the kids too!

 

Let the kids be kids!!! Can you tell I don’t like these mothers?

AARRGGHH!@!!

~ Um, say whu?? Seriously? I .. um .. wow. Someone? Anyone? Beuller?

No she is not upset by the entertainer.  Her daughter is autistic.

They planned this big party, the daughter wanted this entertainer

that was at her school.  She got the first animal, but the party

proved to be too much for her condition.  Parents had the party go on

without the bday girl – she wanted to stay upstairs.

~ At least somebody’s actually read what they’re commenting on. That will surely clear this all up, no? NO?

Seriously?

No?

I guess I missed the autistic part, when I quickly scanned the blog.

But I can’t help but think that the mother is a bit over protective as well

~Dude? reeeeeeeally? I mean, reeeeally?

 How?  She let her kid pick the entertainer.  She let her kid be the

center of the activity. She encouraged the kid to be part of things

even after getting scared. She did let the girl leave the party in

order to sit with her in a quiet space (something not at all unheard

of for an autistic child), but she had a house full of kids. Had she

forced her daughter to stay there, she would have had a real

disaster.  This way, all of the other kids could enjoy themselves and

no one else got upset.  I think the mom did a great job of trying to

provide what her daughter needed without forgetting about all the kids

in the house. And she still didn’t give up on her daughter. She gave

her all the opportunities/encouragement in the world to return to her

friends.

~I think I’m in love!

It doesn’t seem like the mother is complaining about the entertainer, just

complaining about the difficulties of living with autism.

However, the tone of the post sounds like she is surprised about the outcome

of the party, which doesn’t make sense to me. It doesn’t sound like the

mother prepared her child for what would happen at the party….especially

compared with all of the other preparation.

Kids with autism and many other disabilities often get used to routines.

While having the entertainer and lots of other kids at school is one thing,

have the same thing at home can be an entirely different scenario. It can be

really important for families to plan with their kid on what kinds of

options the kid could have if the situation gets overwhelming.

 

The parent knows the child best and she could have done a lot more things to

make sure that her kid had a good time:

 

-Informed the entertainer ahead of time that her daughter would want a

monkey

-Let the entertainer know that the child has sound sensitivies–you don’t

need to be loud to have fun!

-Have prepared an “escape” plan with her daughter—What the daughter could

do if the situation got overwhelming, perhaps the daughter could have even

stayed in the same room…like she could have a special bean bag to sit in,

or a blanket to get under or some other comforting activity or place.

-Do a run through with the kid so she’d know what to expect, that can be

huge with autistic kids!

-Know that even if things go “wrong” that it isn’t a disaster. The kid has a

new experience, it sounds like she was able to build on it for the following

year and all of the other guests had a good time.

 

She also did a lot of things right: She recognized her kids triggers,

comforted the child and didn’t let it interfere with the good times of the

other children.

 

As entertainers there are questions we could ask to make sure that kids with

disabilities have a good time…that is, if we are informed of the situation

in the first place! Some of the suggestions above, like spending extra

one-on-one time can be huge. A kid with special needs might not want to be

in a skit….but they also might just need a different way to be on stage!

Hopefully a parent would let you know about this ahead of time!

~ OK, this lady’s on her game. I did actually do most of the things on her list of what I ‘could have done’ (not the least of which was a long conversation with Joe ahead of time detailing Kendall’s challenges), but no matter, she’s thought this through and she makes some excellent points. I should not have been surprised by the outcome of the party. And you know, she’s right, if things go ‘wrong’ it isn’t a disaster. But it can be really hard to see that in the moment.

NEXT?

Sounds to me like the mother of an autistic child sharing her

experiences, and the folly of ‘best’ laid plans. Nothing sounds like a

complaint against “Big Joe”. She noted how much the other kids enjoyed

the show.

 

Other than trying to have a party like the other kids have, but with a

child not able to cope with every situation like the other kids, the

mother’s reaction seemed very much in tune with what I would expect of

a parent in that situation, having spent years working with children

with various special needs, including Autism.

 

I have done a party for Autistic twins; I did get to meet ONE of them;

the other never left his room.

 

But, yeah, we’ve all probably had the parent who has irrational fears

of ball00ns transfer the ‘blame’ to the kids. That’s life. Thankfully,

most just grin (or is that a grimace?) and bear it for the benefit of

the children. All part of the parenting life. 

~ This guys is a bridge builder. I’ll buy into that.

Sounds like mom did the right thing.  Unfortunately know really knows

how special needs children (or adults) will react.  I think she was

just frustrated that her child couldn’t enjoy what was to be a

special day for her.

 

This story has taught me, though, as an entertainer to now ALWAYS ask

if there will be any special needs children at the event so that I

can adjust my performance accordingly.

 

I have performed for many special needs people in the past, but in

each case, mom or the event coordinator, let me know up fron that

there may be a problem.  One of my highlights was having a blind

child help me onstage in front of everybody, and turning that child

into a hero!

~ Oh my God, ‘this story has taught me’! How cool is THAT? This ridiculous situation has actually turned into something positive! The power of blogging! Who on God’s green earth would think that this story would have reached someone who could learn from it? Sweet!

This went on for a while with mostly innocuous comments following the ones I’ve printed here. I’d almost gotten bored with obsessively checking to see what they were saying. Almost. And then there was one last entry that seemed to finally quiet the storm and send these folks onto their next victim. Thank God.

She is not complaining. The blog is “Diary of a Mom” and is the

shared emotions of a mother with a child that has Autism– “I pass

another mom whose husband is walking her son around the neighborhood

because he too had to escape the room. She sees my red eyes and

quietly says, ‘This is what we do.’ I feel better. And worse.”

 

This is the public display of the private feelings of a mom trying to

cope.  If you go back to read some of the other posts this mother

made, you will find days of Joy, Anger, Shock, and some of Wonder.

 

It is a diary and it is what it is.

~ ‘It is a diary and it is what it is’. Words to live by.

A – friggin – men.

ed notes ~ Matt was opposed to my posting this, which is fair enough considering that he had to live with the fallout of the first tango. In deference to his opposition, I changed all the ‘oo’s in bal00ns to zeroes. Hopefully that will help prevent triggering a red alert at ball00n headquarters this time. When I asked for a trusted friend’s opinion, she wisely suggested that I de-snark some of my snarkier comments. I did. Mostly. But I decided to go ahead and post this for a reason.

I think it’s important to clearly see how we can be perceived. To know where more work needs to be done and to understand that we may indeed look like overprotective helicopter parents to some who don’t get it.

I also thought that some of these folks made some really valid points. That for our kids, parties (and a host of other things) are not necessarily going to look the way we might have thought or hoped that they would. That that is OK. That despite our best laid plans, we may need to make adjustments on the fly. That even when we let our kids take the lead, we still have to parent them. The party was all of Kendall’s design, but it was my responsibility as her mom to structure it in a way that would actually work for her. That to some people, the word ‘autism’ offers no explanation whatsoever.

I think those are good things to know, so I thought I’d share them.

And I’d like to thank those who posted them in the first place.

Thank you.

auntie kendall

*

On Friday night before bed, Darby set up a nail salon on the floor of the bathroom that she shares with her sister. She dubbed it the ‘Flying Pig Salon’. Pigs were everywhere – stuffed pigs, Calico Critter pigs, pigs flying on her pajamas and even pigs on her pig-slippered feet.

She asked if she could paint our nails. 

Kendall was all for it. “I would get red nail polish, Darby!”

Darby painted her sister’s tiny nails and then set her sights on mine. I caved in and let her paint ‘feelings fingers’ on my nails – hot pink with purple faces depicting various emotions if you looked reeeeally hard and she was there to tell you what they were. By the time she was done with me I had a happy thumb, a sad pointer, a confused ring man, a scared tall man and a very sleepy pinky. Think we talk about feelings much?

Once Darby was satisfied with her masterpiece, Kendall asked if she could paint her sister’s nails. Darby balked, precisely mirroring the look that had been on my face when she had asked if she could do mine. She tried to say no,  but I gently pushed and she gave in just as I had. I promised that we would ALL take the polish off in the morning if we wanted to. Call me crazy, but I wasn’t much for facing the world with feelings fingers, so it was an easy out.

Darby was shocked. Kendall was slow and meticulous. She painted about half of each of Darby’s nails, but kept the polish surprisingly well contained. Darby looked over at my hands – fingers slathered in hot pink – then back to her own, fairly free of purple but for her nails.

“Mama,” she stage whispered. “She’s doing a really good job!”

“Yes, baby,” I said. “Why don’t you tell HER that?”

“Kendall,” she said dutifully,  ”you’re doing a great job. You’re doing a better job than I did!”

“Yes I am, Darby,” said the little manicurist.

The following morning, Darby and I hopped into the car to run some quick errands. As soon as we were around the first bend, Darby said what had obviously been on her mind.

“So Mama, I don’t know if I should say this, cause I feel like you might get mad, but I really think it’s extra great that Kendall did such a good job painting my nails because of her autism.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure I follow, baby. What do you mean?”

“Well,” she said, “I just think it’s pretty amazing that she was able to do an even better job than I did on hers really. And not just cause she’s younger, but I feel like her autism makes things like that even harder for her sometimes than they are for me.”

“Oh, honey,” I said.  ”I’d never get mad at you for saying that. Not EVER. I really appreciate the fact that you understand that there are certain things that can sometimes be more challenging for Kenz. And you’re right, she had a lot of trouble with that kind of stuff in the past. It’s taken a lot of work to get her fingers to be able to do work like that. The fact that you not only recognize that but celebrate her achievements in the face of it is nothing short of wonderful. It makes me super proud of what a great big sister you are.”

We talked some more. She asked me what ‘achievements’ meant. We laughed about the first time that she had painted her sister’s nails. I reminded her that Kendall had looked like she’d dipped her hands in a vat of polish. We laughed about how I’d had to remove the nail polish all the way up to her knuckles. And then she grew quiet.

We drove in silence for a while. I know my kid. When something’s brewin, I stop talking. I drove.

“Mama?”

“Yes, babe?”

“Remember when you said that it was OK for me to tell my friends about Kendall’s autism if I want but I told you that I wasn’t comfortable doing that?”

“Of course, Darb.” How could I ever forget?

“Well, I’m still not comfortable talking about it. Is that OK?”

“Of course it’s OK, Darb. You do whatever feels right to you. I can always help you come up with the language to use with your friends if you change your mind, but I will always respect your choice to handle it the way that you want to. Please know that. I promise you I will never be upset with you for the way that you choose to handle it.”

“I’m just embarassed, Mama.”

Ouch.

“I don’t want people to laugh at her, and if they know that she has autism, I think they might make fun of her.”

I wondered if she’d been secretly reading my blog. ‘Oh, honey’, I thought, ‘that’s why I do this, this, this, this, this and this‘.

We continued to talk as we drove. I told her that this is exactly why Mama tries to tell people about autism, so that they’ll understand it better and hopefully not tease people who have it.

We talked about some of her sister’s behaviors. The ones that can be difficult for Darby in public. How it can be embarassing when Kendall asks someone their name over and over and over again or when she walks over to people and and asks them if they are boys or girls. I tried to explain to her that in those situations, it may be LESS embarassing if there were an explanation for her behavior.

“I might change my mind when I’m older,” she said.

“Of course you may, honey. You may change your mind long before then.”

“Maybe when I have kids of my own,” she said. “I know I’m going to have kids, Mama. I’m sure of it.”

I smiled. I remember being eight and sure. Sort of.

“And then I can tell my kids that the reason that Auntie Kendall does the stuff that she does is because she has autism. That it’s just, you know – Auntie Kendall.”

She seemed satisfied with her plan.

“So where are we going first, Mama? Can we go to the bookstore first?” she asked.

“Sure, honey,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate.

*

… and soapboxes small

Last weekend, I took the girls to a birthday party for a little girl that Kendall knew from pre-school. L was one of Kendall’s first real friends, and despite the fact that they have been in different schools for over a year now, the connection remains. L is adorable. She was the first to join Kenz in the Deebahs. She’ll always be held in high esteem around these parts.

The party was at the gym where Kendall had been a founding member of the superstars class – a class for kids on the spectrum. As I watched her navigate the scene with relative ease, I was moved and awed by how much progress she’s made since the early days of that class.

While I watched, Miss J, one of the gym’s directors came over to chat. I welled up as I thanked her for helping us create the class. There was no hiding how much it meant to us or how much it had helped Kenz.

As we watched, Kendall climbed a wiggly waggly rope ladder and allowed (even tentatively welcomed!) a helping hand from a teacher.

We both marveled at how far she’d come.

A couple of days later, Matt and I got an e-mail.

Hello! It’s “Miss J” from (the gym)! I had so much fun with Darby and Kendall at L’s party this past Sunday!

Jess, our conversation that we had stayed with me since that afternoon.

I am writing this e-mail to you to see how I can become more involved with autism events at local schools or in the community. When I took this job and the superstars class launched it became one of my favorite classes. The best feeling was teaching and helping the superstars be challenged and accomplish their challenges- even having some of the kids move over to whiz kids! and I loved being a part of that and watching all the kids grow!

So if you have any events that I can help out in I would love to ….

It doesn’t take a lectern. It doesn’t take a microphone. It doesn’t take an invitation to speak to a bunch of executives. Hell, it doesn’t even take a good excuse. Sometimes, all it takes is a casual conversation and shared pride at a birthday party.

I put Miss J in touch with some folks who can use her help.

The army gets stronger.

And after today, I promise to get off the soapbox kick. Maybe. For like a week. Oh hell, no promises.

soapboxes big ..

Last Wednesday afternoon, I was honored to speak on behalf of Autism Speaks to a group of loaned executives from various federal agencies. The executives were attending a training session at MIT, preparing to work on a camapign for Community Health Charities of New England. CHC provides vital funding to thirty-three local and national organizations who, in turn provide services and resources for people with various diseases, disabilities and conditions.

My role was to thank them for their support of autism related services and to try to tell them just how much their funding means to some of the most vulnerable members of our community.

I spoke to them about the necessity of funding research. Above all else, I highlighted the desperate need to support the scientists and doctors who stand at the frontiers of discovery and innovation.

I spoke to them about the need for a capable and credible presence on Capitol Hill and in every state legislature around the nation. I heralded the recent passing of Autism Reform Bills in Wisconsin and New Jersey as palpable evidence of success, but reminded them that we are only 15 states into a long fight. I talked about how close we are in Massachusetts, but that we would not -could not – let up the political pressure until similar (and better) bills are signed here and then thirty-four more times thereafter.

And of course I went into great detail about some of the wonderful local programs that CHC’s money helps to sustain.

But in the midst of all of that, I decided to also talk about awareness. I can feel you rolling your eyes. Stay with me. I know that many of us in the autism community are well past believing that there could be anyone left out there who is not AWARE of autism. Personally, I’m friggin SICK of autism. By virtue of the numbers alone, it seems improbable that it’s escaped anyone’s radar. One in one hundred fifty seems pretty well impossible to avoid. Our lives are so saturated with this concept, it’s truly amazing to think that anyone else could have missed it.

And yet I believe that deep down, there’s still a whole lot left to de-mistify about autism. There is a veil of secrecy that still hangs over so many of our kids. Many of them are children like mine who may be able to ‘pass’ for a short period of time – whose slew of varied challenges might all be able to be explained away by some other means. She has a language ‘delay’; a coordination disorder, sensory difficulties; pervasive anxiety, motor planning challenges; a developmental ‘delay’ – whichever one fits best at the moment an explanation is required. Anything but using the dreaded ‘A’ word.

There is still fear and misunderstanding about what autism is – what it really means to have a brain that works differently from the majority of the population.

And this ‘passing’ – God, it must take so much effort, no? At what cost do we teach our kids to get by in this world as something they are not? And at some point, is there not shame and fear implied by a hidden diagnosis? Why else is it hidden if not for these? If it is for fear of the label – its ability to artificially limit or the reaction it may elicit – then the label itself needs to be better understood.

And what of those who could never dream of ‘passing’ as it were? Who have no choice but to announce their autism just as they display their gender. Whose behavior is dictated by an internal system that continually betrays them. Who appear to be ‘melting down’ or ‘lashing out’ because they have no other way to process the world around them. What about those who have no language with which to explain their actions? No system at all for interacting with others? Whose behavior appears to be aggressive until it is understood as defensive.

Without our efforts to make some sense of this for the rest of the world, where are we leaving these children, young people and adults?

So as much as I’d like to check the box marked ‘awareness’ and move on, I don’t think our work is done. The more people know, the more they understand. The more they understand, the more compassionate they become. The more they care, the more they will help us make life better for our kids.

And so, I asked these folks to take the time to think about perception and why it matters so much. Why it can be the difference between maintenance and productivity; desctruction and tolerance; fear and compassion.

Here is what I said.

I’d like to ask you to think for a moment about perception. I’ll use myself as an example and ask you to take a minute to think about how it is that you perceive me, standing here in front of you. Please be nice – tall and thin might be words you could consider. (ed note ~ This was the one time that I got a laugh from the crowd and truth be told, it was far heartier than I would have liked.)

You probably don’t have too much of an opinion yet. Perhaps you like my blouse (and if you don’t, don’t tell me) or well, perhaps you think that I look like I might have something worthwhile to say.

Well, what if I presented myself differently? What if I couldn’t help but flap my fingers in front of my eyes because I couldn’t handle the sensory input in the room? What if I yelped sharply any time someone coughed or cleared their throat because I perceived it as an attack on my already overly taxed system. What if I bit my arms or hit myself in the face because my body couldn’t make sense of the messages that the environment was sending to my brain? What if I were spinning in circles here in front of you?

What if I had limited words? What if I repeated the same phrase over and over and over again? What if I had no words at all?

How would you perceive me?

And what if we were all third graders? What if I were a fellow student in your classroom? What if I sometimes lashed out or bolted from the room? What if I cried and got frustrated and didn’t have the words to tell you why?

What if I were YOUR child?

How would you perceive me?

I am incredibly blessed that my little girl has been as lightly touched by autism as she has. I often say that we swim at the shallow end of the autism pool. In the shallow end of this pool, perception is vital. At the deep end, it can be everything.

I later came back to it and said,

A few short years ago, life would have been very different for my daughter. She would no doubt have been written off as mentally retarded and behaviorally challenged. She likely would have been in a substantially separate environment where she would ultimately have had life skills training and probably not much more.

Instead, my daughter has a team of dedicated and highly trained professionals who work together to give her the tools to mitigate her challenges and who support her as she develops and leverages her strengths. She attends her local public school and spends the majority of her time in a typical classroom. She has a community of people who are AWARE of her neurological differences and who accept and embrace her to her very core.

When I finished speaking, I was certain that I had failed to connect with a single soul in that room. I admitted later that I’d been tempted to toss a rock out into the crowd to see if anyone would at least flinch. (A small rock – more of a pebble.) My attempts at jokes seemed to fall flat (with the exception of the one) and I was convinced that I’d left them entirely unmoved.

As the representative from CHC took over and began to speak again, I tried to sneak out quietly. I felt badly that I’d blown it, but I didn’t see any way that I could change that by sticking around through the other presentations.

Just as I reached the door, one of the event coordinators stood up. She spoke right over the gentleman from CHC as she said, “Wait, please! Can we just acknowledge Jess for that amazing presentation? That was just .. incredible.” She began to clap.

I stood ackwardly halfway out the door as the entire room rose and applauded. My face was beet red and I had nowhere to hide. The woman who had been the first to stand asked over the din of applause if I would be willing to speak at their campaign’s kick-off event.

I was dumbfounded. The gentleman from CHC later came out to the hallway to let me know that there were two more requests to speak.

I share this with you for a reason. A big one. Ready?

I didn’t think anyone was hearing me. I didn’t think I was getting through to a soul in that room. I didn’t think my words were making a difference.

I was wrong. People were listening. They ARE listening.

I spoke publicly for the first time just over a year ago. That night I said, “I can’t speak for you. Your child’s experience is different than my child’s. Your experience is different than mine. So you need to tell them.”

We all do this in our own way. We find our voices when we are ready. As Vicki Forman just taught me in her glorious book, This Lovely Life, we become the mothers (or fathers or sisters or brothers or friends or .. ) that our children need us to be. They have given us that incredible gift – this transformation of sorts.

So please, when you are ready – use your voice. But don’t be surprised when you find out that people are listening.

guest blogger

I am thrilled to introduce a new blogger on the scene. This is her very first post and I am absolutely ecstatic that she chose Diary as the venue for her debut. Please give her a warm welcome!

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HI         LILY           I         LOVE        YOU

JOJO           IS                      COOL

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Yup, that’s it.

Yes, it’s a post.

It’s a post that took my guest blogger nearly thirty minutes to type, so don’t knock it.

“I would type on there. Is it my turn now? I will play on the computer!”

“Oooh, Kendall, do you want to type something on Mama’s blog? You can say ‘hi’ to my friends.”

“Oh yeah.”

She settles in to type. One tiny finger hovers above the keyboard, poised and ready. She is concentrating. She retracts the finger and turns to me.

“What is your friend’s name?”

“Hmm, well, I actually have a lot of friends who will read what you write. How about if you just say, ‘Hi, Mama’s friends’?”

Too abstract .

“Is your friend’s name Ell-ee-yah?”

“Um, well, no honey. Why don’t you just call Mama’s friends ‘Mama’s friends’?”

Nope.

“Is your friend’s name Lily?”

“Sure, honey. Why don’t you call my friends Lily.”

The little finger re-emerges. It takes up residence above the keyboard. It’s first job is to hit the Caps Lock. Hey, if you’re going to write a post you may as well MEAN it.

“Where is the ‘h’?”

I point to the h and she presses it down. She looks at it on the screen and appears to be quite satisfied with her work. She finds the i without help.

“Her name is Lily”.

She types L-I-L-Y.

“I said ‘hi’ to Lily.”

“I see that. That’s great, honey. What else would you like to say?”

She is already typing. I watch I LOVE YOU emerge, ever so slowly on the screen.

Oh man, Kenz. I love Lily too. (I keep this to myself).

“We would play here now,” she says, pointing to the Nick Jr bookmark on the top of the screen.

“No, sweetie. You already had your play time on the computer time today. You can go there again tomorrow.”

“I will type JoJo,” she says.

She types it all out … Slowly … Meticulously. It’s better than anything I’ve ever written. And then she starts to delete it. All of it.”Bye Bye Bye Bye,” she says as the words begin to disappear, letter by letter.

“Oh, Kenz, let’s leave it there. It’s wonderful.”

“It is?”

“Yes, baby. It is.”

She types it all back in. Slowly … Meticulously.

So, there you have it, Lily. Kendall’s first guest post.

Sorry, Russ, but I think you may have been outdone.

she lied

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lie –verb (used without object)  – to speak falsely or utter untruth knowingly, as with intent to deceive. to express what is false; convey a false impression.

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OK, so maybe it’s a little counterintuitive. Perhaps it sounds a little odd. Maybe I’m just off my rocker. But, damn it all I am THRILLED.

Why?

Because my daughter LIED.

Yeah, I know; it’s not OK to lie. As a parent, it’s my job to make sure that my kids DON’T lie. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s even something about this in the bible. It made the top ten, didn’t it? No? Weird. I wonder why not. I guess not coveting your neighbor’s wife was more important than not lying about it after the fact.

Anyway, back to my kid. She lied! Hooray!

Quick version of the background story…

The other day, Kendall apparently decided that she wanted to give a go at the tunnel slide at the pool. Big stuff – a totally new frontier. With little fanfare, she headed right up the ladder and onto the platform, where the lifeguard sat. I watched as they had a brief interaction, followed by a crying Kendall padding her way back down the stairs.

When Darby asked the lifeguard what had happened, he explained that he had told Kendall that she couldn’t go down the slide with her goggles on and encouraged her to take them off and then come back. That conversation had obviously rattled her. She was likely confused by it and probably didn’t understand what he was telling her.

She lost all momentum and became completely frazzled. She sobbed her way back to the comfort of the toddler slide and made her way down in tears. When I finally caught up to her, she was a wreck. She let me pick her up and hold her wet, shaking little body. I asked if she wanted to try it again, but the intrepid little girl of moments before was long gone.

Damn, this quick version isn’t turning out to be so quick is it? Ah well, you probably know me better than to have believed me anyway.

I curled her into an embrace and asked if she was OK. The answer I got was nothing short of miraculous. “I was scared,” she said through tears.

I. Was. Scared.

Wait! Wait! Wait!

So much for the quick version, this is important!

She labeled a new emotion!!! I haven’t heard a single, solitary reference to feeling scared since “the noise made me scary” nearly a year and a half ago. I was thrilled! And sad for her. And thrilled!

I told her how proud I was that she could tell me how she felt. I told her it was OK to be scared. I told her that Mama gets scared sometimes too. Darby chimed in with, “Me too, Kendall!”

So, yes – Scared. HUGE!

She refused to go back to the slide pool and I didn’t see a point in trying to push it. She’ll know when she’s ready. She always does. I figured we’d head back to the other big pool and float around for a while, but Kendall headed straight for the safety and comfort of the toddler pools.

Darby and I followed as she made her way around the circuit of toddler pools. She slid down the three-foot long froggy slide into two feet of water. She ran to the whale slide and ran her hands along the whale’s smooth sides, exactly the way she used to. She laid down on the warm mat by the sprinklers and ran in and out of the plumes of water, towering over the two-year olds with whom she shared the space.

She knew what she needed. By the time she had tired of the sprinklers, she had calmed down completely. Darby suggested heading back to the big pool where we could all swim together. Kendall agreed.

We walked the long way to the big pool, avoiding the scene of the crime at the slide pool. Our route took us past the gated baby area. Darby and Kendall walked together, just ahead of me.

“Darby, can we go in there?” Kendall asked her big sister.

“No, Kenz. We can’t go in there anymore. That pool is only for kids ages zero to three.”

“We will go in there, Darby,” she tried again.

“Kenz, we can’t go in there. We’re not allowed. It’s only for kids ages zero to three. And how old are YOU?”

“I’m three.”

Do you think I’d be exaggerating if I called her brilliant? Do you think I’m overstating the case? First “I was scared” and now this? This proof of theory of mind! This completely ingenious attempt at manipulating the system!

My kid lied!!!

I’m so proud!

the night watch

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This

THIS, right here I want to SHOUT above your sleeping form

Your tiny little body curled around an improbable number of stuffed animals

This is the mom that I want you to see

This mom – here – now

This mom who is calm – unharried

This mom who is FINALLY running neither to nor from anything

This mom who is not … late, hungry, cranky, tired, in a hurry, has to take care of something first, no not now, later, in a little while, please give me a few minutes, baby, mama needs a break …

No, this

THIS mom

This mom who bows lovingly over your bed

Watching you breathe

Rapt and wrapped in your love

Your spirit

YOU

This mom who lives and breathes you

Who falls in love with you over and over again

Who has forgotten why she was frustrated with you at … dinner, bathtime, bedtime …

Who can focus on nothing – NOTHING! – but you

This mom whose heart aches with pride

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I want you to remember THIS mom, damn it

But you likely haven’t seen much of her

If you’ve met her at all

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Because it’s the middle of the night

And you have no idea that she’s here

Watching you sleep

amazing grace

Dear Matt,

OK, OK – you’ve convinced me. The friggin iPhone that you just HAD to have with the video function that we just HAD to pay up for was worth every dang flippin penny.

Now, I’ll ask you to please pay close attention to this next sentence, dear because I’m not going to say it twice.

YOU. WERE. RIGHT.

Gah!

Love,

Your wife

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no i in kendall

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I’m at Hopeful Parents today.

Click here to read my post, ‘no i in kendall.’

Please?

Pretty please?

I’ll be your best friend.

C’mon, just check it out.

I’ll grab the coffee and meet you there.

Go!