As I was getting ready this morning, Bambam came into my room and said, "I OK". This is a clear sign that something has happened. So I start to question him.
Me: What happened?
Bambam: It slippy
Me: Did you fall down?
Bambam: Yessss
Me: Did you get hurt?
Bambam: Yesssss
Me: Where did you get hurt?
Bambam: On da ground.
(I should be used to this literal kid by now. New question.)
Me: Where does your body hurt?
Bambam: My foot. Kiss it.
So I did. And that was the end of it for Bambam. But not for me.
Like many kids with an ASD, Bambam has sensory processing issues. He appears to be hyposensitive to pain and temperature. I've seen him hit his head on the corner of a cabinet, putting a small hole in his head with blood running down his face and he not even cry. It is not uncommon for him to have scapes and bruises and us have no idea how he got them. Once, after noticing that he was limping we looked at his foot to see his ankle swollen to double its normal size. Thankfully it was not broken. But this all freaks me out just a little.
Clearly his body reacts to pain, he was limping and that's why we looked at his foot. But he doesn't express anything, or at least very little, about it. He rarely says "ow". He knows he got hurt, he came and told me "I OK". But he doesn't cry and he never complains about being in pain. Ever. Not even when he has 104 degree fever or is vomiting for the 4th time in an hour. Is this just because he doesn't know how to express the pain? Or does it really not register as pain? I don't know. Nor do I know if it matters. The fact is that I remain in fear that some day he will have a broken bone and we won't discover it for a week.
My Side of Typical
Monday, January 21, 2013
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Just Ask
Mr. Fixit and I spent an hour last night looking for the TV remote. At about 6:30 tonight, Bambam asked if he could watch some of "my TV". That means either PBS or Disney channel. Since PBS was well past kids programming, Mr. Fixit put the Disney channel on and disappeared into the office. About 7:00, Bambam decided to go downstairs with "brother" and I couldn't find the remote.
I looked everywhere: in the basket where it belongs, on the side table, on the coffee tabel, on the counter in the kitchen, on the breakfast table, under the coffee table, on the couch, under the blanket and pillows, in the couch cushions. No luck. At which point I went into the office and very irritated asked Mr. Fixit where put the darn thing. His response, "I haven't been in the family room in an hour, I have no idea where it is." But you were the last one to use it I countered. So into the family room he follows me to join the search.
In the mean time, it's now 8:00 so I go get Bambam ready for bed. And I hear Mr. Fixit grumbling because he can't find the remote either. At one point he says rather sarcastically that maybe Bambam used it. On a whim I asked Bambam if he knows where the remote is. And he says, "Yesss, I put away." You put it away? Where? Unner da couch. And then he marches right over the the end of the couch, leans down, and pulls the remote out from under it. Well, huh.
Who would have thought to ask him? Seriously, its a crap shoot when you ask Bambam a question if you are actually going to get an answer that is even on topic. And as far as I know, this child has never really paid any attention to the remote. He doesn't play with it or attempt to change the chanels or anything. So I never really thought to ask him.
I can only imagine what was going on inside his little head as he watched us searching for the remote. That stinker knew where it was the whole time. All we had to do was just ask him.
Lesson learned: Never underestimate my autistic 7 year old, and he apparently has a wicked sense of humor.
I looked everywhere: in the basket where it belongs, on the side table, on the coffee tabel, on the counter in the kitchen, on the breakfast table, under the coffee table, on the couch, under the blanket and pillows, in the couch cushions. No luck. At which point I went into the office and very irritated asked Mr. Fixit where put the darn thing. His response, "I haven't been in the family room in an hour, I have no idea where it is." But you were the last one to use it I countered. So into the family room he follows me to join the search.
In the mean time, it's now 8:00 so I go get Bambam ready for bed. And I hear Mr. Fixit grumbling because he can't find the remote either. At one point he says rather sarcastically that maybe Bambam used it. On a whim I asked Bambam if he knows where the remote is. And he says, "Yesss, I put away." You put it away? Where? Unner da couch. And then he marches right over the the end of the couch, leans down, and pulls the remote out from under it. Well, huh.
Who would have thought to ask him? Seriously, its a crap shoot when you ask Bambam a question if you are actually going to get an answer that is even on topic. And as far as I know, this child has never really paid any attention to the remote. He doesn't play with it or attempt to change the chanels or anything. So I never really thought to ask him.
I can only imagine what was going on inside his little head as he watched us searching for the remote. That stinker knew where it was the whole time. All we had to do was just ask him.
Lesson learned: Never underestimate my autistic 7 year old, and he apparently has a wicked sense of humor.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Brother
Bambam adores his brothers. Both of them. But he has a special bond with Miracle Boy. I'm sure this is because Miracle Boy has always lived with Bambam. He's always been there, a constant. He loves The Quiet One just as much. But in times of stress, he wants Miracle Boy.
Other than Mr. Fixit or me, Miracle Boy is the only one that can put Bambam to bed. When he needs help going potty or needs changed he turns to Miracle Boy. (Actually me if I'm home; Miracle Boy is a close 2nd even before Mr. Fixit.)
He follows Miracle Boy around the house, wants to hang out with him in the basement, sit next to him at dinner and in the car, mimics him. And he calls him "Brother". It is the sweetest thing. He occasionally refers to him by name; but most of the time he simply calls him "Brother". He loves it when Miracle Boy babysits him: "Brother stay with me?" with a huge grin on his face.
And for the most part, Miracle Boy is up to the challenge. (He is after all a teenager, so sometimes he squawks about it) On school holidays, he frequently acts as Bambam's care provider so I can work. He stays with him so Mr. Fixit and I can have the occasional date night. He is an integral part of what makes our household work.
So I should not have been surprised this past weekend. We were at the Fun House and went sledding for the first time this season. As expected, Bambam was hesitant, something outside the norm. Nothing Mr. Fixit said could convince Bambam to go down the hill with him. So Bambam watched as everyone else went on a run. And he still refused when Mr. Fixit tried to get him to go along the next time. That is until Miracle Boy asked if he wanted to come sledding with him. With that, he took off in a run with a huge grin and went sledding with "Brother".
Other than Mr. Fixit or me, Miracle Boy is the only one that can put Bambam to bed. When he needs help going potty or needs changed he turns to Miracle Boy. (Actually me if I'm home; Miracle Boy is a close 2nd even before Mr. Fixit.)
He follows Miracle Boy around the house, wants to hang out with him in the basement, sit next to him at dinner and in the car, mimics him. And he calls him "Brother". It is the sweetest thing. He occasionally refers to him by name; but most of the time he simply calls him "Brother". He loves it when Miracle Boy babysits him: "Brother stay with me?" with a huge grin on his face.
And for the most part, Miracle Boy is up to the challenge. (He is after all a teenager, so sometimes he squawks about it) On school holidays, he frequently acts as Bambam's care provider so I can work. He stays with him so Mr. Fixit and I can have the occasional date night. He is an integral part of what makes our household work.
So I should not have been surprised this past weekend. We were at the Fun House and went sledding for the first time this season. As expected, Bambam was hesitant, something outside the norm. Nothing Mr. Fixit said could convince Bambam to go down the hill with him. So Bambam watched as everyone else went on a run. And he still refused when Mr. Fixit tried to get him to go along the next time. That is until Miracle Boy asked if he wanted to come sledding with him. With that, he took off in a run with a huge grin and went sledding with "Brother".
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Humanity
I refuse to give up my belief that people want to do the right thing; that at the heart of it they basically want to do and be the best that they can. I'm not naive enough to believe this is true of every single person, I know there are exceptions. But as a whole, I believe this to be true. I believe in humanity
I see examples of it every day. I see it in the scruffy man who paid the difference for the little girl who didn't have enough money. I see it in the cashier at the big box store who lifted the big turkey out of the elderly ladies cart to scan it and then put it back in for her and then called another employee to help her to her car. At a big box store that doesn't provide any help, at all, for anything. I see it when 3 cars stop for the stranded lady on the side of the road to see if they can help her. I see it in the gentleman who opened the door for me today. I see it in the smiles of the people I pass.
And I see it many times a day in Bambam's activities. I see it in Bambam's swim teacher who goes above and beyond to connect with him and keep him engaged. Who patiently replies "goodbye" 18 times as Bambam says this every 10 seconds as we are getting ready to leave. I see it in Bambam's teachers and classmates who are beyond accepting and caring. I see it at the pool where they do not make Bambam where the paper wrist band as it dives him nuts. I see it at the Fun House airport where they allow Bambam out on the tarmac to see the planes. I see it in his soccer coach, who with no real experience with autism made appropriate accommodations for him. Who was supportive and understanding and who celebrated his little victories as much as we did.
But even more importantly, I see it in strangers who we pass briefly. People who don't know him and don't really understand his quirks. Like the lady at the groccery store in front of us who asks if we want to go first so we don't have to wait so long. Or the pharmacy clerk who engages him in conversation and seems completely comfortable with the fact that he is stuck on the same thought. Or the man at the stables who graciously took us back to see the horses in the barns, even though the barns were closed.
Don't get me wrong. Not all of our outings are all roses and sunshine. One particular example comes to mind. Last year I took all three boys up to the ski lodge. The older boys were snowboarding and I thought Bambam would enjoy a day playing in the snow. He loves the snow. Boy was I wrong. It was a new place, his brothers went off on the mountain without him, it was noisy and chaotic in the lodge and Bambam was beside himself. By the time I got him into the bathroom to put his snow clothes on he was in full blown meltdown mode. He was screaming and flailing all about as I was trying to change him when the janitor approached us and said to him "You are really too old to be acting this way."
Being on my last nerve, I lost it. It is not my proudest moment. My response to her was "Even though he looks 8, he's only 5. And he's autistic. So, when you've raised a special needs child, then you can comment on how I'm raising mine." At which point I started crying right along with Bambam. It was a low point for me. We walked off around the corner to try and put his boots on.
But you know what? Before we got calmed down and both boots on, she came back. She gently placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry. It was really none of my business and I shouldn't have said anything. Is there anything I can do to help?" And I started crying all over again.
In the midst of all the terrible news stories we've been hearing, I still refuse to give up my belief that people want to do the right thing; that at the heart of it they basically want to do and be the best that they can. I choose to believe in humanity.
I see examples of it every day. I see it in the scruffy man who paid the difference for the little girl who didn't have enough money. I see it in the cashier at the big box store who lifted the big turkey out of the elderly ladies cart to scan it and then put it back in for her and then called another employee to help her to her car. At a big box store that doesn't provide any help, at all, for anything. I see it when 3 cars stop for the stranded lady on the side of the road to see if they can help her. I see it in the gentleman who opened the door for me today. I see it in the smiles of the people I pass.
And I see it many times a day in Bambam's activities. I see it in Bambam's swim teacher who goes above and beyond to connect with him and keep him engaged. Who patiently replies "goodbye" 18 times as Bambam says this every 10 seconds as we are getting ready to leave. I see it in Bambam's teachers and classmates who are beyond accepting and caring. I see it at the pool where they do not make Bambam where the paper wrist band as it dives him nuts. I see it at the Fun House airport where they allow Bambam out on the tarmac to see the planes. I see it in his soccer coach, who with no real experience with autism made appropriate accommodations for him. Who was supportive and understanding and who celebrated his little victories as much as we did.
But even more importantly, I see it in strangers who we pass briefly. People who don't know him and don't really understand his quirks. Like the lady at the groccery store in front of us who asks if we want to go first so we don't have to wait so long. Or the pharmacy clerk who engages him in conversation and seems completely comfortable with the fact that he is stuck on the same thought. Or the man at the stables who graciously took us back to see the horses in the barns, even though the barns were closed.
Don't get me wrong. Not all of our outings are all roses and sunshine. One particular example comes to mind. Last year I took all three boys up to the ski lodge. The older boys were snowboarding and I thought Bambam would enjoy a day playing in the snow. He loves the snow. Boy was I wrong. It was a new place, his brothers went off on the mountain without him, it was noisy and chaotic in the lodge and Bambam was beside himself. By the time I got him into the bathroom to put his snow clothes on he was in full blown meltdown mode. He was screaming and flailing all about as I was trying to change him when the janitor approached us and said to him "You are really too old to be acting this way."
Being on my last nerve, I lost it. It is not my proudest moment. My response to her was "Even though he looks 8, he's only 5. And he's autistic. So, when you've raised a special needs child, then you can comment on how I'm raising mine." At which point I started crying right along with Bambam. It was a low point for me. We walked off around the corner to try and put his boots on.
But you know what? Before we got calmed down and both boots on, she came back. She gently placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry. It was really none of my business and I shouldn't have said anything. Is there anything I can do to help?" And I started crying all over again.
In the midst of all the terrible news stories we've been hearing, I still refuse to give up my belief that people want to do the right thing; that at the heart of it they basically want to do and be the best that they can. I choose to believe in humanity.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Ashamed
Yesterday we spent the evening with our good friends, kids included. Bambam loves to go to our friend's house. He's known them his whole life. Their girls are 2 and 5 years older than him and they adore him. Almost like older sisters or even little mothers. They are fiercely protective of him.
We had a great evening eating leftover Christmas dinner and snacks, a couple of cocktails, and a game of dice while the kids played. Then, towards the end of the evening I looked over and saw some dark spots on the back of Bambam's shirt. Uh oh. My heart sank. I quickly grabbed his backpack and hearded him into the bathroom. Just as I suspected, a complete blowout.
This is not unexpected. Bambam has been fighting a bug for about 4 days now. Between that and the holidays, he hasn't exactly been regular. In fact, we had nothing for a couple of days. I've been waiting for the blowout to occur. And when I say blowout, I mean up the back, in his shirt, in his pants, up to his belly button, down his legs, almost in his socks BLOWOUT. Had we been home, I would have dumped him in the shower. Instead I'm in a small powder room trying to clean him up with toilet paper and wipes. He doesn't want to stand still, tries to open the door, wants to go play. And I find myself getting impatient.
To add insult to injury, I don't have a complete change of clothes with me. I have extra pullups (always) and a shirt, but no pants. Now I have to go ask for a pair of sweats to borrow for the ride home. And I found myself embarrassed. Somehow almost overnight I feel like things have changed. It's never bothered me before when he's had an accident at their house, I've even borrowed clothes before. There is nothing new here. But now he is 7. And he seems so much bigger. And he's made such huge gains in so many other areas. And it just feels wrong. And I want to leave quickly.
These are new emotions for me. I've never been embarrassed by anything about Bambam. He is a loving child with special needs doing his best to navigate through this world. And I was embarrassed. And now I'm ashamed. Ashamed that I was embarrassed. I feel like a bad mom unworthy of the love of this sweet boy.
We had a great evening eating leftover Christmas dinner and snacks, a couple of cocktails, and a game of dice while the kids played. Then, towards the end of the evening I looked over and saw some dark spots on the back of Bambam's shirt. Uh oh. My heart sank. I quickly grabbed his backpack and hearded him into the bathroom. Just as I suspected, a complete blowout.
This is not unexpected. Bambam has been fighting a bug for about 4 days now. Between that and the holidays, he hasn't exactly been regular. In fact, we had nothing for a couple of days. I've been waiting for the blowout to occur. And when I say blowout, I mean up the back, in his shirt, in his pants, up to his belly button, down his legs, almost in his socks BLOWOUT. Had we been home, I would have dumped him in the shower. Instead I'm in a small powder room trying to clean him up with toilet paper and wipes. He doesn't want to stand still, tries to open the door, wants to go play. And I find myself getting impatient.
To add insult to injury, I don't have a complete change of clothes with me. I have extra pullups (always) and a shirt, but no pants. Now I have to go ask for a pair of sweats to borrow for the ride home. And I found myself embarrassed. Somehow almost overnight I feel like things have changed. It's never bothered me before when he's had an accident at their house, I've even borrowed clothes before. There is nothing new here. But now he is 7. And he seems so much bigger. And he's made such huge gains in so many other areas. And it just feels wrong. And I want to leave quickly.
These are new emotions for me. I've never been embarrassed by anything about Bambam. He is a loving child with special needs doing his best to navigate through this world. And I was embarrassed. And now I'm ashamed. Ashamed that I was embarrassed. I feel like a bad mom unworthy of the love of this sweet boy.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
A Fraud
Usually I feel like an open book. I don't really hide much. My life is what it is and if you are willing to listen, I will share it with you. But, lately I've been feeling like a fraud.
I can not tell you how often I hear the words "you are such a great parent" or "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do what you do" or "Your kids are so lucky to have you" or my favorite (which came from the LRC teacher at school) "Bambam hit the jackpot when he got you for parents". Really??? I don't feel like any of this is true. And if this is the picture I present to you, then I'm a fraud. Because here is what my days are really like:
I barely even say hi to my teenagers as they get themselved up, ready, and out the door to school. Our conversations in the morning exist of "bye mom, we're leaving" answered by me with "have a good day, love you guys". That's it. Most days I don't even know what they are wearing as I'm in my bedroom getting ready when they walk out the door and the words above are yelled down to the front door. Great parenting? I think not.
Bambam watches Curious George and The Cat in the Hat every morning so I can get his breakfast made, our lunches done and get myself ready before getting him ready for school. Seriously, TV first thing in the morning, every morning. And, I don't have time in the mornings to patiently wait and work with him on dressing himself. I know more than anyone that we are supposed to work on adaptive skills. I just don't have time in the mornings so I still dress him at 7 years old. Some days we are still late for school. Not exactly parent of the year.
My teenagers go either straight to their sports practice or to the athletic club from school. Often they are not home by dinner time so we eat in shifts. Sitting down for a family dinner is a rarity at our house. And Bambam doesn't really eat dinner, it's just not his thing. So he sits in the family room doing his iPad while Mr. Fixit and I eat dinner. Now that's good parenting.
The dinner dishes don't always get done after dinner. In fact, some days they don't get done until I get home from work the next day. And my house is not always dusted, vaccumed, swept and mopped. The laundry piles up. I will never win the Betty Homemaker Award.
Miracle Boy has been on the varsity golf team every year in high school. I have never yet watched a golf tournament. In 3 years, I've never seen him play. Granted, they play during the week when I'm either at work or have Bambam with me. And its not convenient. But a great parent would make it happen.
I do not get to all the things I'm supposed to work on with Bambam every day. The fine motor work, gross motor work, sensory diet, academic work, social skills, play dates, adaptive skills, speech and language skills, theraputic listening, brushing, etc. Some days we don't even read for 10 minutes. Some days I fail him miserably.
I am not a great parent. I'm just a parent, just like all the other parents out there. I really want to be a good parent. But life is not perfect. It's messy and chaotic and the days are shorter than necessary. I often make mistakes and fall short. I'm impatient, I yell, I make snap decisions I regret later. And when people tell me what a great parent I am or how lucky my kids are, I feel like a fraud.
I can not tell you how often I hear the words "you are such a great parent" or "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do what you do" or "Your kids are so lucky to have you" or my favorite (which came from the LRC teacher at school) "Bambam hit the jackpot when he got you for parents". Really??? I don't feel like any of this is true. And if this is the picture I present to you, then I'm a fraud. Because here is what my days are really like:
I barely even say hi to my teenagers as they get themselved up, ready, and out the door to school. Our conversations in the morning exist of "bye mom, we're leaving" answered by me with "have a good day, love you guys". That's it. Most days I don't even know what they are wearing as I'm in my bedroom getting ready when they walk out the door and the words above are yelled down to the front door. Great parenting? I think not.
Bambam watches Curious George and The Cat in the Hat every morning so I can get his breakfast made, our lunches done and get myself ready before getting him ready for school. Seriously, TV first thing in the morning, every morning. And, I don't have time in the mornings to patiently wait and work with him on dressing himself. I know more than anyone that we are supposed to work on adaptive skills. I just don't have time in the mornings so I still dress him at 7 years old. Some days we are still late for school. Not exactly parent of the year.
My teenagers go either straight to their sports practice or to the athletic club from school. Often they are not home by dinner time so we eat in shifts. Sitting down for a family dinner is a rarity at our house. And Bambam doesn't really eat dinner, it's just not his thing. So he sits in the family room doing his iPad while Mr. Fixit and I eat dinner. Now that's good parenting.
The dinner dishes don't always get done after dinner. In fact, some days they don't get done until I get home from work the next day. And my house is not always dusted, vaccumed, swept and mopped. The laundry piles up. I will never win the Betty Homemaker Award.
Miracle Boy has been on the varsity golf team every year in high school. I have never yet watched a golf tournament. In 3 years, I've never seen him play. Granted, they play during the week when I'm either at work or have Bambam with me. And its not convenient. But a great parent would make it happen.
I do not get to all the things I'm supposed to work on with Bambam every day. The fine motor work, gross motor work, sensory diet, academic work, social skills, play dates, adaptive skills, speech and language skills, theraputic listening, brushing, etc. Some days we don't even read for 10 minutes. Some days I fail him miserably.
I am not a great parent. I'm just a parent, just like all the other parents out there. I really want to be a good parent. But life is not perfect. It's messy and chaotic and the days are shorter than necessary. I often make mistakes and fall short. I'm impatient, I yell, I make snap decisions I regret later. And when people tell me what a great parent I am or how lucky my kids are, I feel like a fraud.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Trapped in the Car
As luck would have it, The Quiet One and I were in the car today. Just the 2 of us. I love it when I have one or the other teenager trapped in the car with me, just the 2 of us with no distractions. OK, maybe some Christmas music in the background. But they are my captive audience. I have the best conversations with them in the car.
Since they both now drive, this doesn't happen very often. Don't get me wrong, I love that they now drive. It makes my life so much easier. I'm no longer a taxi for 3, now it's just 1. But, I sometimes miss that one on one time in the car. So I try to create situations where it happens. And today it happened with The Quiet One. And this is awesome. As his alias implies, he is quiet. He doesn't volunteer information unless you ask. So the time in the car with him is great.
With the holidays coming up, I asked him if he was excited to go see his mom. Of course he is. So we talked about that a little bit, what they had planned, would he see his grandma, etc. Then I asked him if he sees his old friends when he visits there. And he said not really. He sees one, but not the rest. And then he went on to say that the kids there are different. Different how I ask. And he says "There sort of all punks." I find this to be an interesting comment, these were his friends. And then he goes on to say "You know, I'm really glad I moved up here." Say what?
This is the child who moved into our household under duress, for lack of a better word. He was failing high school, getting in trouble, had been arrested twice, smoking pot, etc. He was sullen and angry when he got here. Did not want to be here, was angry at his mom for shipping him away. Angry at us for making him come. Angry he was taken away from his friends. He was counting the days till he could return.
This same child is now telling me how glad he is that he lives here. He went on to say that the kids here are nicer, that even when they are joking and having fun they are still respectful. He actually used that word "respectful". He likes that there is no need for a police officer at the high school here, that there is no graffiti on the walls. It's nicer.
And I'm sitting there in awe. I'm in awe that he not only sees these differences, but that he is acknowledging it. That he is outwardly saying "I like it here, I'm glad I live here now." And I got a little teary. But I kept it in check because teenage boys don't appreciate a little happy cry. But what I did say is "Honey, I'm so happy that you like it here. Thank you for sharing that with me. You just made my day."
I have the best conversations with my kids in the car.
Since they both now drive, this doesn't happen very often. Don't get me wrong, I love that they now drive. It makes my life so much easier. I'm no longer a taxi for 3, now it's just 1. But, I sometimes miss that one on one time in the car. So I try to create situations where it happens. And today it happened with The Quiet One. And this is awesome. As his alias implies, he is quiet. He doesn't volunteer information unless you ask. So the time in the car with him is great.
With the holidays coming up, I asked him if he was excited to go see his mom. Of course he is. So we talked about that a little bit, what they had planned, would he see his grandma, etc. Then I asked him if he sees his old friends when he visits there. And he said not really. He sees one, but not the rest. And then he went on to say that the kids there are different. Different how I ask. And he says "There sort of all punks." I find this to be an interesting comment, these were his friends. And then he goes on to say "You know, I'm really glad I moved up here." Say what?
This is the child who moved into our household under duress, for lack of a better word. He was failing high school, getting in trouble, had been arrested twice, smoking pot, etc. He was sullen and angry when he got here. Did not want to be here, was angry at his mom for shipping him away. Angry at us for making him come. Angry he was taken away from his friends. He was counting the days till he could return.
This same child is now telling me how glad he is that he lives here. He went on to say that the kids here are nicer, that even when they are joking and having fun they are still respectful. He actually used that word "respectful". He likes that there is no need for a police officer at the high school here, that there is no graffiti on the walls. It's nicer.
And I'm sitting there in awe. I'm in awe that he not only sees these differences, but that he is acknowledging it. That he is outwardly saying "I like it here, I'm glad I live here now." And I got a little teary. But I kept it in check because teenage boys don't appreciate a little happy cry. But what I did say is "Honey, I'm so happy that you like it here. Thank you for sharing that with me. You just made my day."
I have the best conversations with my kids in the car.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)