Dentist

I've been putting off this appointment for years. But since little sister was ready, I decided to try the 2-for-1 approach. She did AMAZINGLY well (which is good and bad as we'll see). She wanted to be first, the dental assistant was wonderful to explain every step and make it fun, she ate up all the attention and let her polish and do flouride and even x-rays. And she's barely 3.

Then we switched and the assistant mistook Carver's size for being more advanced, went right to x-rays and didn't sugar coat it. We spent 10-15 minutes fighting him to hold perfectly still (only happens during a movie if his thumb is in his mouth) and got several very poor pictures of the ends of his teeth. This not only used up all of sister's patience, but all of Carver's. He wouldn't do anything after that. Except spray the water tool. On the station tray and, at the very end, on the window. He was putting the fire out, of course. :)

The blow by blow story is really secondary to the fundamental problems this experience highlighted again.

His sister is passing him up, despite being half his size. I shouldn't have taken them together and set us up for inevitable comparisons.

I really thought I'd talked to the dentist about Carver. But it occurred to me after that I thought we were seeing a hygienist, who knew about Carver, and instead we saw an assistant who didn't have a clue. And didn't pick up on the clues very readily. It wasn't fair to them or Carver or me. But I didn't mean to let that happen. Honestly, how am I supposed to know exactly how he'll react to a new experience? I don't. I do the best I can and then we'll know better for next time.

Hopefully he'll forget and next time we'll go just the two of us to my favorite hygienist and we'll go nice and slow.

And hopefully I WON'T forget and I'll remember to educate everyone as much as possible just in case.

A heaping dose of perspective

Today I took Carver (and his 2 year old sister) to chat with the teacher of a local preschool, run by a Lutheran church in the area. The website, their blog, my emails with the coordinator had all been very impressive. I figured it was worth a shot. I needed to know if I had other options, rather than the developmental preschool he's at.

Fridays are generally hard for the 3 of us. We are all tired and we usually spend the morning at home so I can clean, which makes everyone a little cranky. We headed over there before lunchtime just to add "hungry" to the mix.

It was a typical preschool classroom and she seemed very nice. My emotions have been close to the surface all week, I've been literally losing sleep at night worrying about this. I was perhaps not in the best frame of mind to have this meeting. The kids were trying to ransack the toys while I discussed Carver and heard about their program. Within a few minutes, I realized that this was not going to be an option for him and wanted to get out of there ASAP. I wish now that I would've found a way to do just that. Instead, I chased the kids around the room and cleaned up all the stuff they got out, while trying to concentrate on the sweet preschool teacher voice telling me he seemed like a typical preschooler, excited about a new place. Her words were all kind, but the look in her eyes revealed the feeling of "he's a handful, she's crazy to consider this." But, in all fairness, I was so caught up in my own flood of emotions that this might be totally off. Less than 5 minutes into it, I realized tears were coming. I prayed and prayed that I could hold them off to the drive home. But that was not to be. She had to console me, offer me tissues, for crying out loud. That's when she told me about their routine and program and I really knew this would never work. 18 kids, 2 teachers, circle time, letter tracing, art, all good things. But she reminded him maybe 5 times that the neat little house was just a reading place and not for toys. 3 times she reminded him not to go out the back door. Twice he got himself a drink with a cup without asking. 2 seconds for me to imagine their "sensory table" of water/rice spilled all over the floor if Carver played there. She didn't say no. She said we'd have lots of communication, that we'd need a few weeks as a trial to see how he interacts with the class and that I might need to stay with him, as they'd done before with a special needs boy. Clearly not an option for me and his little sister, not to mention the hurt if it didn't work out and the challenges with that.

I cried more in the car, more at home, more on the phone to my sweet husband, more to my poor neighbor, more at home, while I tried to take a mini-nap with Carver. It's been one of those days.

It was crazy to consider a typical preschool, of course. I should've known that. It's brought to the forefront all my worries about kindergarten. Which I do NOT need right now. It also made me extremely grateful that we have a developmental preschool at all, poor parent-teacher communication and all. And that alone is probably worth all the tears.

Help wanted

When Carver’s 2 older sisters were preschool age, I developed a sense of educational self-reliance and belief that teaching is most effective at home. My feelings about preschool are complicated, but the foundation that I always return to is simple: preschool is a helpful social experience that prepares children for a classroom environment. And that’s it. Neither of my girls learned anything in preschool that they didn’t already learn at home. As they progress into elementary school, they gradually begin to be introduced to new concepts and I’m the helper instead of the main teacher. It’s worked for them. It’s worked for me.

So Carver is not fitting this mold at all. I flounder to provide all the sensory input he’d like (which is roughly as much as is humanly possible to dish out) and he isn’t hungry at ALL for preschool “curriculum,” unlike his sisters who soaked it all up. Counting, letters and shapes have come and gone with his interest level. It is incredibly discouraging to see those regressions. And baffling, too.

I have the same motherly desire to do it all, be Carver’s primary teacher and therapist. At the same time, I feel so hopelessly ill-equipped for that role. It is a sticky place to be. I know that raising and teaching a child with special needs requires a team of specialists, with me to hold all the pieces together. Where do you find all the help necessary? That is the hardest part.

We found a fabulous speech therapist who has helped Carver tremendously. I’m impressed with how she pushes him each week, building on what he can do and stretching him just enough. I hear more articles, more complete sentences and more articulation all the time. He works SO hard for her! And when I try to get him to practice at home, I get “No, no, no – Jennifer’s office.” That is clearly the place he associates with that level of effort! And it is SO MUCH WORK for him. You can’t imagine how he watches my mouth, labors with his own to try to make the same sounds that come out so naturally for the rest of us. He just has to work for every sound.

Carver’s preschool is a disappointment. Last year he THRIVED. He came home happy and it was clear that he was learning routines and academics with adults who connected with him. It’s not happening this year. I don’t know what happened. All new teachers came in and it’s just not the same. In all fairness, we do have a few excellent therapists and assistants there. And I believe that everyone is trying hard. But it’s a government funded program, required by law to provide a minimum level of “services” and I feel like we get the minimum services required and nothing more. But what are my other choices? VERY expensive preschools with waiting lists in other cities. What’s a mom to do? I come back to my foundational belief that preschool is just a great social training opportunity… and yet somehow that’s not matching up with Carver’s needs. I have to admit that I need help teaching him colors and letters and all that good stuff. Either I need to find new team members to help me in his education (but WHERE?!) or I’m left to prepare him on my own for kindergarten. And that last option feels like a huge burden indeed.

Lesson #5: A Boy and His Thumb

Once upon a time there was a baby boy of squishy leg rolls and chubby cheeks. His mother gave him a pacifier when he cried, to soothe him to sleep. He loved his pacifier and began to call it his "yum-yum." This mother liked the yum-yum because it calmed him down when he was frustrated, which was often. And she liked that it was something they could eventually wean him of. They were a family rich in yum-yums, hidden in many places around the house and used for bedtime, car rides, movies, and late afternoon grumpies.


Then one day, this baby boy grew up into a preschooler. And his mom decided that it was a good time to say good-bye to the yum-yum. He missed it, but learned to sleep without it. They coped with disappointments and frustrations without it's help. But he wasn't ready to give up the soothing feeling of something in his mouth. They tried gum and a chewy tube, but they weren't the same at all. At long last he found the perfect thing for his mouth - his thumb. His mom didn't think it was perfect at all. How would she ever help him stop?


As I wrote this little tale, I realized again how much of it is about ME rather than CARVER. Interesting. I am a control-freak of various degrees and naturally like the security of pacifiers, that I get to choose when it's used and where it hides, when it's time to outgrow it. I'd asked some of Carver's OTs and SLPs and gotten recommendations to take away the yum-yum, but ultimately it was my choice. And he wasn't ready at all. He may have learned to sleep without it, but he wasn't ready to LIVE his life without it. I resisted that thumb, but in the end realized that it was my own fault for taking the yum-yum away too soon.

Then I made an even greater realization: Carver needs his thumb and that's OKAY. It's not my issue, it's his. I've even learned that it's a wonderful thing that Carver gets to choose when and when not to suck on his thumb. I see patterns - when he watches movies or listens to books, when he rides in the car or sits at church, when I tickle him, when I snapped at him this morning from the shower because he was playing in my jewelry box after I JUST told him not do. He sleeps with the yum-yum because it is still his favorite, but he doesn't get it any other time and he doesn't mind at all. He is learning to self soothe and that's an important skill for anyone. He won't suck his thumb his whole life - at least not in public, right? :)

So the lesson of the day is to accept your kids as they are. I never wanted a thumb-sucking child. EVER. But Carver needs his thumb and I take him as he is. We don't get to choose what our children like and don't like. We don't get to choose their personalities or sense of humor. I am learning to let go of my control issues, to honor my children's individuality and even let my 8 year old part her own hair.

Gastroenterology

That's a mouthful, huh? And why is it called GI for short? Where's the I?! I'm assuming it's for intestinal? Anyway...

The doctor was great. Carver actually spit up a little in the office and I was able to show him before I wiped him clean. Just the classic white curdles. I felt like the doctor took us seriously, considered the implications of SPD and make an accurate diagnosis.

It's not what I wanted to hear.

It's called "rumination" and it's a VOLUNTARY regurgitation, a habit or nervous twitch in the stomach that forces food back up. I've googled it and it fits Carver perfectly. It's more common in infants and children with developmental delays/disorders, it's (sadly) often linked with a lack of attachment or the absence of a mother. But we're not going to dwell on that part because it's not our situation, right?

Carver's tendency to eat quickly and not chew well lets the food sit in his stomach longer, making it easy to regurgitate. We'll work on those as best we can.

Another recommendation was to use bio feedback, which is more a psychology technique that builds association with the habit until you can use that association to control and eliminate the habit. For example, singing the ABC song is something other families have done with each regurgitation. I'd be singing it continuously sometimes. He suggested a toy that makes noise, essentially a distraction that will take attention from the behavior and eventually replace it. I get the concept, I'm just not sure how we're going to do that exactly. He recommended a child psychologist for more help. Sometimes anxiety/anti depressants help, but he doesn't recommend that. Thank goodness!

Speaking of medication, he'll stay on his Zantac indefinitely. It doesn't help the rumination, but it will control the acid and prevent damage to his esophagus, teeth, etc... Carver doesn't mind taking it, it doesn't have negative side effects. The dose was right, so we'll be refilling that somewhere cheaper than Bartell's and trying harder not to forget.

The doctor also said that there was a 5% chance there was something else involved and said we could elect to do an endoscopy (en-DAH-scuh-pee). I still have to repeat it in my head a couple times to say it right. Anyway, it's the procedure where they send a camera inside, take pictures, biopsies and rule out any other medical, physical problem. Allergies, hernias, ulcers, etc... It's done with general anesthesia at the Children's Hospital in Seattle. We've been there with ear tubes and it's a very similar experience. It'll be half a day at the hospital for a 10 minute procedure. He couldn't recommend it necessarily and left it totally up to us. His nurse told me after he left that he's very straight forward and would've said one way or the other if it mattered to him. I liked knowing that, but I still wished he'd just decide. Then I thought about my last post and how much I believe in mothers knowing what's best for their children. And I suppose I'm grateful to be involved and respected in Carver's healthcare.

I worried and thought and second guessed all the way home. And I prayed - a LOT. I've been fasting and praying to know what to do, to get answers and to be able to help Carver. I worry a little about the anesthesia because I can't help it. But in the end, I really feel like it is a good idea to go ahead and do the endoscopy. We might not find anything, but that alone would give me the energy and focus to move forward on the rumination with no question in my mind that there might be more to it. I'm pretty sure I don't WANT to find anything else. That would just make everything more complicated.

The endoscopy is Monday morning, bright and early. I haven't gotten all the instructions yet, but I know for sure that he's not eating anything after 7 pm the night before. And I think he's on a smoothie diet the 12 hours before that. It's a good thing he likes that sort of thing, but I still anticipate a rather grumpy day.

I think we'll know some results right away, but the biopsy results will take longer and will be discussed in another office visit. I feel tired thinking of another long-term condition to overcome, but I am so grateful to KNOW. It's where everything has to start. Now I just need to focus on HOPE in the future and the courage to keep heading that direction.

Lesson #4: Mother knows best

Next week Carver will see a pediatric gastroenterologist at Children's Hospital to get to the bottom of his regurgitation. He's been "spitting up" continually since he was an infant. It was curdly milk for a while, lately it's been more acidic. I'll spare you too many details, but his chin is raw from the drool and occasionally has just terrible breath. He has also been addicted to milk/cheese/yogurt his whole life - which I think is his way to soothe his stomach. Doctors have REPEATEDLY blown me off - many different doctors. Last time she assured me that reflux would hurt, that the main symptom is stomach upset. Well, Carver's not going to be able to communicate that to me even if he realized that his stomach hurt - and I'm not sure he'd know. So I finally decided that as his mother, it's time to refer myself to a specialist. Of course, I called and made that oh-so-helpful pediatrician do the paperwork. I've talked to friends in the medical field and got some invaluable tips about other possibilities, procedures and ideas. I'm determined to see this through. If it means I break down and cry to the GI doctor next week, I'm not leaving without a plan.

It's not easy to work through referrals at this hospital, it's intimidating to go there without a full knowledge of the specialty, but I've done my research and I'm taking a list of symptoms and observations of Carver. The last mediocre doctor gave me a prescription (generic Zantac) to try and it's possibly helped the acidity of the regurgitation, but not the frequency. And I still don't feel comfortable blindly medicating what could be a more physical problem. I'll keep you posted.

I kick myself for not pushing the issue sooner, but I think I had my hands full with the rest of the sensory issues and now I've reached a plateau where I can tackle another set of problems. It reminds me of what I learned the first time around. When you know as a mother that something is wrong, you don't give up until you get the help your child needs. No good doctor should dismiss this motherly intuition, but so many do!! I just don't get that. Don't ever back down when you think something is wrong -with your child or yourself. It's worth pushing for answers!

Lesson #3: Love

Awhile back, I was talking to another mom who confessed that she'd always been worried about having a special needs child because she was afraid she wouldn't love them the same. I really appreciated her honesty and the positive context of our conversation. It brought this lesson into focus for me.

When Carver was born.... no, before he was born... I loved him. I loved him because he was mine, because our lives are intertwined from the beginning and connected forever. When he was born, I got to meet this little guy I already loved and it just grew from there. Now, my experience with Carver isn't the same as someone who knows during pregnancy that their unborn baby has disabilities. I can't pretend to know what that's like. But I have to imagine that you still had time to love them first. That, for most of us, we wanted to be pregnant and we wanted that baby. That is where the love all starts. So no matter what happened, what disappointments were in store, we began with love.

It's a very emotional journey to diagnose disabilities like Carver's. I felt a lot of worry at first, those typical comparisons, some jealousy of other mom's little boys, fear of the future. I had to put all that on the table to get him evaluated, to be ready to face hard things. But I loved him too much NOT to. I wanted him to have help and I needed it, too.

It's a different kind of love to care for Carver than for my girls. I feel more frustrated, more impatient and more inadequate as Carver's mom - absolutely! I don't love him LESS for those feelings. I also feel more protective, more invested, and more sure that he needs me. It creates a different kind of love. A fiercer emotion, perhaps. But I know for sure that it isn't more/less than the other sorts of mother-love I feel for my girls.

I love that quote I just put on the sidebar:

“When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments; tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become."

That is just beautiful to me! And it's so true for children with disabilities. I love Carver for what he is now, for how far he's come and for all that he teaches me right now. And I certainly hope for his future and what he will become. I'm so grateful for other people that love him, too - his bus drivers, his preschool teachers, therapists, his sweet little friends and mine.

I love his smile, how he dunks his head in the pool, how excited he gets about simple things, how he's starting to fill in words to songs I've sung him again and again, how he snuggles in bed with me, the way he jumps and runs, the way he hugs me and wants to be with me. I love him fiercely, always have and always will.

And you know what? Having Carver has taught me to love on a new level. Those kids on his preschool bus have such a special place in my heart. I want to know their names and their stories and I'm just cheering for them because I know that they have challenges just like Carver. When one little boy started telling me all about the bus stop sign he could see out his window, I didn't understand a single word he said but I knew what he meant. And I loved him for telling me about it. It's easy to see the innocent in children with special needs, but I think that what really happens is that loving them purifies US.

Today I overheard one mom tell another mom about the difficult girl on her daughter's softball team - a group of 3rd graders. She described the way she never paid attention to the game, how she wrote in the dirt, made mud and played in it, couldn't follow directions. She head butted other girls when they were in their batting helmets, etc... Her main complaint was that it was an annoyance to the team, she couldn't believe that this girl's mom didn't intervene. From her perspective, the mom didn't seem to notice a bit. She commented that she must be a "nightmare" in the classroom. She said, with a mixed degree of relief and smugness, that next year the team is based on skill and she's sure THAT girl won't be moving up.

I kept quiet. I didn't know what to say. But inside, I had plenty of things to say to myself.

First of all, this girl needs help. I hope that her mother really isn't as oblivious as observed. Those behaviors are obviously NOT typical of 3rd graders. Life is going to keep getting more difficult, I am a huge believer in early intervention. I hurt for her, thinking of the many who watch her on the field and don't understand. I hurt for the mother they blame.

I've considered the dilemma of group sports for these very reasons. Swimming would be incredibly therapeutic for Carver, but a group lesson situation would be... um, difficult. He'd have a hard time following directions, need more attention than other kids and their parents would be resentful. How would I feel in a similar situation? Like I'd paid a lot for a class and expected to have equal attention from a teacher. Private lessons would be ideal, but terribly expensive and out of the question for us right now. Soccer? He'd love a turn to play, but again the interactions would be stressful to him, it would be so hard. But on the other hand, when he's ready, a team experience would be wonderful for him, physical activity tremendously helpful.

I realize not everyone has first hand experience with developmental delays and disabilities. They don't understand the balance between concern for everyone else's convenience and our children's need for integration and experience. I get that. I am incredibly grateful that my girls will have understanding of disabilities and, hopefully, grow up with compassion for others around them. It's certainly difficult to have Carver as a brother and they aren't usually saintly about it. But I hope that as they mature, what'll stay with them is that they love him anyway and that they are willing to be on his team and anyone else's who needs a cheering section.

Lesson #1: Letting go of the guilt

This is the start of a series that'll probably last my whole lifetime. I want to record lessons I'm learning from being Carver's mom. One of the first things I learned was about guilt. When Carver was just months old, I worried about how he wasn't smiling at me. He didn't do that normal infant behavior of watching your face, opening his mouth and cooing along with you. I kept waiting and waiting and FINALLY he did it once right around Christmas. He was 2 months old. He didn't engage with me often, even after that point. This was the first time GUILT started to sneak in.

I worried that because he was number 3, I hadn't spent as much time talking to him as I had with the girls. He spent more time in his bouncy seat, less time just being looked at - all that firstborn stuff. I swear I just sat around and watched Lydia grow! :) As Carver continued to miss milestones, there was lingering guilt and worry mixed together. That somehow I'd not been nurturing his development enough, that if I'd done something differently he'd be on track.

Even though I worried, there came to be a stronger sense of peace that Carver was just Carver, that I didn't cause it. I'd been careful during pregnancy, his birth was fairly uneventful. He'd been posterior, I hadn't had an epidural - but otherwise, no warning signs. I really believe that the Lord was helping me feel that it wasn't my fault.

A scripture that has become really meaningful to me is John 9: 1-3.

1 And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth.

2 And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?

3 Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.

What a beautiful reminder that disabilities aren't punishment! And that our lives are in the hands of God, that He has a plan for us. When I reflect on all I've learned and all the ways I've been stretched (both as a mom and as a person), I see that the works of God have been made manifest in my life, in Carver's life, and in the lives of so many more. And I know that everything is going to be okay.

So the lesson I learned early on about letting go of the guilt has continued to be important. You have to let go of the worry that you've CAUSED the problem, but I also have to continue to remind myself that I'm doing the best I can. I'm not a perfect mother to my typically developing children, I'm not ever going to be a perfect mother to Carver. And my faith in God comes into play here, as well. I know that Carver wasn't accidentally sent to our family, that the Lord knows that I can do this. I can be his mom, I can be good enough. That gives me courage to let go of the guilt and keep trying to be better.

snow days for Carver

This week we've been snowed in and missed 3 days of preschool in a row. I can't tell you how much it's made me appreciate preschool even more, just when I didn't think that was possible! :)

Yesterday in one phone call of reasonable length, he grabbed the butter out of the fridge to go squirt/shoot his sisters. One stick in each hand. As I put it back, I noticed the mustard on the kitchen floor, thankfully unopened. MINUTES later, he was carrying around the chunk of cheese from the fridge. Then it was the toilet paper, pulling it off with the intention of blowing his nose in it, but he doesn't have the skills to know how much is enough or how to stop - it's addicting, that TP. Then it was pushing the stool up to the sink to try and get water in a little cup he'd been playing with. Then to the pantry to try and help himself to fruit snacks, which brought the whole tub of snacky food down to the ground, spilling only slightly this time. I'm not exaggerating when I say that nearly every time I turn around, he's into something else inappropriate. He might just be running through the girls' play, taking toys from Grace, opening the front door because he can and because I'll ALWAYS come running to keep the snowy day outside. Maybe he's asking for play-doh, emptying something in the floor of the closet - something loud and with many pieces, a puzzle or the box of dominoes. Later, it was the pipe cleaners from our morning project with the girls spread all over the kitchen floor again.

I can see that he's searching for something, that he NEEDS something. But what? Why doesn't play-doh fix it? He's not hungry for food, he's hungry for sensory input. This is my sensory seeking boy - always seeking, trying to find it. I try to give him big squeezes, tight hugs, throws onto the couch, play-doh time, coloring, sticking connect-four style circles into a Fisher Price Noah's ark game. He loves the time with me, but I still never feel like he's satiated. Just writing this helps me organize my thoughts and try to see patterns. Because just like Carver, I'm always seeking answers and help.

Snow days are also hard because his big sisters are both home all day. Not only do they need something to do (even the best 5 year old and 7 year old can't entertain and feed themselves ALL day!), but they boss and nag and yell, "Car-VER!" in that way they've certainly heard their mother address her sweet boy. It's exhausting. I'm impatient with their impatience and that's no solution, for any of us.

We have one more chance for preschool tomorrow and then it's winter break anyway. It's going to be a LONG time til Jan 6. I've found myself slacking in our sweet preschool routine. It doesn't require as much of me and he's so fulfilled. Now it's back to the pre-preschool days (can you say that?) and I'm back to searching for more than a basic understanding of SPD. I need to know how to satiate this boy, which activities are going to fill his need. Am I supposed to be trying to calm him? Or get him going? I'm never sure.

some extra support for ME!

Our fabulous former speech therapist organized a support group for moms with kids like Carver. We met the first time on Saturday morning at a local coffee shop and it was wonderful. I was a little hesitant to commit to one more thing right now, but this is definitely going to be worth my time! It was neat to hear other moms have so many similar feelings and experiences, but at the same time have enough differences that we can help each other. One mom just swears by those SPIO suits for her two boys and hearing her testimonial motivated me to give it another strong push. After a month of consistently wearing his SPIO, her son stopped drooling. I think, for that kind of success, it's worth another try! So I'm going to give it a really dedicated effort through Christmas and see if we can see some progress.

I also realized that I've been SO very blessed to have incredible support of friends and family. I am really grateful for how understanding everyone has been. I'm looking forward to learning from these moms of SPD kids and broadening my support group even more.

LAST speech therapy

I'm full of emotions these days because I had to have a good cry after our WONDERFUL speech therapist left for the last time today. Carver's graduated from the SKIP program (birth-3 yrs) and is now ready for our school district's program, a developmental preschool in our case. I've loved doctors in the past and teachers the girls have had, but there is something really profound about someone who loves and helps your child with special needs. It just tugs at my heart strings like nothing else. So here's a big THANK YOU to one really special speech therapist.

She had great tips for our preschool IEP in a week, getting into writing his oral needs and making a plan for sending the chewy tube and probably gum in his backpack. Also she noted an improvement in his drooling and suggested wrist bands for wiping his face himself. I think it's REALLY time I put that on my list for Target. :)

We talked about goals we made back in May at the beginning and it was exciting to reflect on Carver's progress. He's come so far in just 6 months. Those first appointments he spent throwing fits, begging and crying for milk or food all the time, with absolutely no attention span for play. Now he not only associates his ST with play-doh, but sits for a good 20 minutes or so playing with us. AMAZING. And he uses words for what he wants, he waits for the next activity so much better than he used to, understanding that we're doing something now and he waits for something to come later. We still have a lot of work to do (dressing, undressing, potty training, to name a few...) but we've come so far!

The transportation dept at the school district called today and scheduled bus stop times for Carver and it works out perfectly to have him picked up here. I can't believe it fit into my already bus-stop filled day. Hurray for that! We're going to go take a little mini tour of the bus the Monday before he starts to see what it's like. I hope it helps. What an exciting time. Change always makes me emotional, moving, graduating, maybe it's the change of seasons, too. Sometimes I'm amazed I don't cry when I take out or put away the winter clothes! What an exciting, stretching time for Carver and for me, too.

the flip side

I haven't really done more than speech therapy reports here. Those are good times, where I feel direction and hope for Carver's improving communication. There are many, many other times that things are just HARD. Without intending to complain, here's the flip side.

Carver always needs something in his mouth - pacifier, food, gum, sippy cup. It's an exhausting balance to try and fill that very real need with age appropriate behavior while maintaining a responsible calorie intake!

He doesn't play by himself. He can keep himself busy occasionally, but very rarely is he doing something I approve of. It is difficult to fold laundry, clean bathrooms, make dinner because he wants my constant, undivided attention. I know that some of that must be my own doing, giving in to his demands too often. But he lacks skills to do imaginative play on his own, patience to do fine motor projects and self control enough to stay out of trouble. I'm not sure how to manage this one.

He is very messy. He wants to eat all the time, as I've already said. So I am constantly battling over food. Once he eats, he routinely smears his yogurt on the table, dumps his cup of milk, dips and tears, throws, etc... It's frustrating to say the least. By the time I've cleaned up snack #1, he's grazing for more milk, gum or snack #2.

Today I tried to do some cleaning - getting to things that never get their turn around here. I managed to do more than usual, but had to turn on movies and in the end, I'm frustrated because it was such a battle to keep him off the wet floor, out of the piles I was sorting, etc...

It has not been an easy day. But we've had worse. Sometimes I feel like it is very hard to be Carver's mom. But he's so sweet taking me by the hand to invite me to play with him. I know that doesn't last! He's very into Mommy right now, which is fun and very tiring. It makes me grateful to have preschool to look forward to. He needs the attention and therapy there as much as I need the break around here!