For years, Bambam has greeted me first thing in the morning by asking for a hug. I'm not sure when this started, it must have been somewhere around 3 years of age when he began using words. Every morning He comes downstairs with arms stretched out saying "hug". Bambam is a sensory seeker. Deep pressure calms him. I think this is his way of grounding himself before the onslaught of the day starts. And of course I comply. Because what mom doesn't want to start the day with a big squeeze. It is awesome.
For the past 4 years, everytime I get my morning squeeze, I say "I love you". And for years it was answered by complete silence. And then, as words came for him, he would respond with "I like you". But he never said the word love. I often wondered why. I'm sure he could pronounce it, he says much harder words. My (probably flawed) reasoning is because he didn't understand the abstract meaning and how to apply it. The word like is used much more frequently in our everyday language. I like toys, I like playing, I like brother, etc. But love is not used as often. So it is harder for him to learn how to use it.
And then one day a couple of weeks ago when I said "I love you" during our morning squeeze, he looked at me and said, "I love planes". Progress! I was so excited as I also recognized that every autism parent needs to have thick skin and not be offended easily. I mean really, who wants to hear "I love planes" in response to telling them "I love you"? Well, I do as it means progress. He does love planes, he was learning how to use the word love.
This morning during our morning squeeze, I must have been a little distracted as my "I love you" was delayed. And I was rewarded by my little man saying "I love you". And I cried.
My 7 year old son said "I love you" for the first time ever today.
Best. Day. Ever.
My Side of Typical
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Faith
"What ever God you believe in, we all come from the same one"
That is a lyric from Mackelmore's song Same Love. Now, don't go thinking I'm so hip and cool that I listen to rap. I'm a 40 something, mother of 3. I don't have time to listen to rap. But my teenagers do. And sometimes, they will come to me with a song and want me to listen to the lyrics. This is one such song. And I love this lyric.
When I was growing up, I was trotted off to church every Sunday with my family. My dad had attended Seminary. We had bookshelf after bookshelf of bibles and books about the bible in our house. And although he wasn't a full time pastor, he was a certified lay speaker and gave plenty of sermons. My siblings and I spent our youth attending vacation bible school, church camp, youth group, we all went through Confirmation. It was a family affair.
But, and this is a pretty big but, religion was never "crammed down our throats". What was important to our parents was that we have faith. And to them faith was different than religion. As they had learned in their lives, faith can get you though many things in life and it was important to them that we have that.
I remember as a teenager showing interest in a different church, one my best friend attended. My parents were very open to the idea. As my dad said, "as far as I'm concerned, we are all worshiping the same God. Find a church that makes you comfortable and helps your faith to grow." He had no interest in forcing us to go to his church, or adopt his doctrines. What he wanted was for us to have faith. How we defined that, chose to show that, to worship; well that was entirely up to us.
When I heard this lyric in Mackelmore's song, it reminded me so much of my dad. My dad, who now at age 80, is lost to Alzheimer's. As far as I'm concerned, he was a brilliant man. He was open and tolerant, accepting and loving. He was years ahead of his time. I love you daddy, and I miss you.
That is a lyric from Mackelmore's song Same Love. Now, don't go thinking I'm so hip and cool that I listen to rap. I'm a 40 something, mother of 3. I don't have time to listen to rap. But my teenagers do. And sometimes, they will come to me with a song and want me to listen to the lyrics. This is one such song. And I love this lyric.
When I was growing up, I was trotted off to church every Sunday with my family. My dad had attended Seminary. We had bookshelf after bookshelf of bibles and books about the bible in our house. And although he wasn't a full time pastor, he was a certified lay speaker and gave plenty of sermons. My siblings and I spent our youth attending vacation bible school, church camp, youth group, we all went through Confirmation. It was a family affair.
But, and this is a pretty big but, religion was never "crammed down our throats". What was important to our parents was that we have faith. And to them faith was different than religion. As they had learned in their lives, faith can get you though many things in life and it was important to them that we have that.
I remember as a teenager showing interest in a different church, one my best friend attended. My parents were very open to the idea. As my dad said, "as far as I'm concerned, we are all worshiping the same God. Find a church that makes you comfortable and helps your faith to grow." He had no interest in forcing us to go to his church, or adopt his doctrines. What he wanted was for us to have faith. How we defined that, chose to show that, to worship; well that was entirely up to us.
When I heard this lyric in Mackelmore's song, it reminded me so much of my dad. My dad, who now at age 80, is lost to Alzheimer's. As far as I'm concerned, he was a brilliant man. He was open and tolerant, accepting and loving. He was years ahead of his time. I love you daddy, and I miss you.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A Love Story
The local radio station is running a contest. They are asking readers to send in their love stories. The top stories will be posted on line and voted on by the general listening public. The winner receives a dinner for two and a gift certificate to a local jewelry store. I'm really not interested in the prize, but I've been very tempted to enter our story.
You see, our love story is not full of roses and candy and date nights. In fact, I don't remember the last time I received flowers from my husband. But ours is a love story none the less. It goes something like this:
I met my husband almost 15 years ago through mutual friends. We were both divorced and single parents of preschool aged boys. After 6 years together, we married almost 9 years ago. 6 years is a long time to wait, we were both a bit gun shy. And we knew that blending families is hard which is why the divorce statistics for 2nd marriages increases from 50% to 60%. But we were committed and it was working even with some bumps along the way.
Then 7 years ago, we received unexpected news. We were having another child. This was not planned. Our boys were almost 10 years old. We had other plans. They would be off to college in 8 years, we could do something different. We had been planning to semi-retire, move, see the world, etc. Now, we needed to adjust all that and get ready to welcome a new bundle of joy.
I won't lie, tears were shed. But once the shock wore off and all the "advanced maternal age" tests came back "normal", we settled into welcoming our bonus. But the surprises were not over. A "difficult baby" eventually led to a diagnosis of autism and a host of other comorbid diagnoses. Now we were not only a blended family but also a "special needs" family. And those statistics are even worse. Divorce rates for families with a special needs child are said to be 80-90%. Those odds are not very encouraging. And here is where our love story really kicks in.
My husband has continued to work at a job that he had plans to leave. He goes every day because we need not only the steady income, but more importantly, the health insurance. He comes home every day between 3:30 and 4:00. No going out for a drink after work. He comes home to give me a break and spend time with our son. He rarely goes out with the guys.
Day in and day out, he is in the autism trenches with me. He changes pull ups on a 7 year old. He acts excited about the same damn airplane video for the 100th time that day. He stays home from gatherings with our son, encouraging me to go and enjoy myself. He takes numerous hours off from work to attend IEP meetings, doctor appointments, evaluations, etc. He pulls our 4'4" tall, 65 pound son on a tag along bike, and the child does not peddle. Many nights he gives up his side of our bed when Bambam has a rough night. We now joke that the guest room is daddy's room. He understands when I fall asleep on the couch by 9:00 many nights in a row from complete exhaustion.
My husband and I have not had a weekend away in over 7 years. I'm not sure when we will. I may not remember the last time I received flowers, but I do remember the last time he stayed home with Bambam and encouraged me to go have some "me time". I do remember the last time he paid thousands of dollars for doctors appointments and medications and therapies instead of getting a new car or a new anything. I do remember when he went out to play in 16 degree weather because Bambam was already out the door. I do remember that he always gets in the pool with Bambam, no matter how cold it is. I do remember that he is still here, everyday, being my tag team partner in this wrestling match called autism.
Now, none of this is to say that he is perfect. None of us are. He can be impatient. He sometimes yells when he shouldn't. And he's not very good at recognizing when he needs to step back and refuel. But he's here. Everyday. Doing his part. Loving our son.
I read almost daily about autism dads who leave. And daily I'm thankful that my husband is still here. A long time ago I was told that "love is the act of living out a commitment". If so, my husband is the definition of love. It may not be all roses and violins, but this is our love story. And I think its beautiful.
You see, our love story is not full of roses and candy and date nights. In fact, I don't remember the last time I received flowers from my husband. But ours is a love story none the less. It goes something like this:
I met my husband almost 15 years ago through mutual friends. We were both divorced and single parents of preschool aged boys. After 6 years together, we married almost 9 years ago. 6 years is a long time to wait, we were both a bit gun shy. And we knew that blending families is hard which is why the divorce statistics for 2nd marriages increases from 50% to 60%. But we were committed and it was working even with some bumps along the way.
Then 7 years ago, we received unexpected news. We were having another child. This was not planned. Our boys were almost 10 years old. We had other plans. They would be off to college in 8 years, we could do something different. We had been planning to semi-retire, move, see the world, etc. Now, we needed to adjust all that and get ready to welcome a new bundle of joy.
I won't lie, tears were shed. But once the shock wore off and all the "advanced maternal age" tests came back "normal", we settled into welcoming our bonus. But the surprises were not over. A "difficult baby" eventually led to a diagnosis of autism and a host of other comorbid diagnoses. Now we were not only a blended family but also a "special needs" family. And those statistics are even worse. Divorce rates for families with a special needs child are said to be 80-90%. Those odds are not very encouraging. And here is where our love story really kicks in.
My husband has continued to work at a job that he had plans to leave. He goes every day because we need not only the steady income, but more importantly, the health insurance. He comes home every day between 3:30 and 4:00. No going out for a drink after work. He comes home to give me a break and spend time with our son. He rarely goes out with the guys.
Day in and day out, he is in the autism trenches with me. He changes pull ups on a 7 year old. He acts excited about the same damn airplane video for the 100th time that day. He stays home from gatherings with our son, encouraging me to go and enjoy myself. He takes numerous hours off from work to attend IEP meetings, doctor appointments, evaluations, etc. He pulls our 4'4" tall, 65 pound son on a tag along bike, and the child does not peddle. Many nights he gives up his side of our bed when Bambam has a rough night. We now joke that the guest room is daddy's room. He understands when I fall asleep on the couch by 9:00 many nights in a row from complete exhaustion.
My husband and I have not had a weekend away in over 7 years. I'm not sure when we will. I may not remember the last time I received flowers, but I do remember the last time he stayed home with Bambam and encouraged me to go have some "me time". I do remember the last time he paid thousands of dollars for doctors appointments and medications and therapies instead of getting a new car or a new anything. I do remember when he went out to play in 16 degree weather because Bambam was already out the door. I do remember that he always gets in the pool with Bambam, no matter how cold it is. I do remember that he is still here, everyday, being my tag team partner in this wrestling match called autism.
Now, none of this is to say that he is perfect. None of us are. He can be impatient. He sometimes yells when he shouldn't. And he's not very good at recognizing when he needs to step back and refuel. But he's here. Everyday. Doing his part. Loving our son.
I read almost daily about autism dads who leave. And daily I'm thankful that my husband is still here. A long time ago I was told that "love is the act of living out a commitment". If so, my husband is the definition of love. It may not be all roses and violins, but this is our love story. And I think its beautiful.
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