Race Report: Houston Half Marathon

I am now beginning Week 7 of Marathon Training, but that also left me with the Houston Half Marathon to run last weekend. I was feeling pretty good in the week leading up to it. Had a great pace run mid-week, but then some sore hips later in the week. I was determined to HOLD BACK for this race. It should be a training pace run, a celebration of running with NO knee braces, but it was going to be a test of will LOL!

The night before Patrick talked about wanting to take the kids out for the race, but simultaneously we were learning (as was everyone in our area!) of the massive invasion of terrible mosquitoes!! Thankfully, when I took off at 5:30am the next morning, I had the carseats with me so I knew he wouldn't chance it!

This was probably the first race I've ever done completely on my own...drove on my own, no surprise family appearance, just me. I was impressed that I found an easy parking spot, and got to the starting line in plenty of time. I really hadn't mentally prepared myself for the race at all, and it hit me the day before.

As most of you know, I am fundraising for the Organization for Autism Research for the Houston Marathon this year...and we all know that I'm doing that for our Kellen. Well I recently received my OAR race singlet, and I thought the half marathon would be a great chance to test out my race shirt. What I didn't anticipate was the overwhelming emotion that came with putting on that shirt. As I walked through the crowd that early morning, I felt people looking...and I felt myself caving...

Did they think I was just looking for a cause to run for? Could they tell that I was a mom that this mattered to? Did they pity me? Did they have any tiny idea of what my life was like?

And as I pondered all of this during the pre-race routine, the line-up, and the first couple of miles of the race, I let the emotions come. I let myself cry a little, I let myself feel, I let my skin toughen.

Because I am a mom of autism, because I am a mom who will do something for every mom like me but more importantly for every child like our Kellen. Because I am not ashamed, I am not weak, and I am not afraid of yelling (on the front of my shirt) the name of my struggle.

And once we start moving...I'm just like every other runner. I was committed to keeping this run to training pace (easy long run pace). Last year, I "raced" this course, and I did it with 2 knee braces and felt pretty miserable after and for several days following. This year, I have my focus FULLY set on January 15th.

So I took off slow, kept it easy. I was all out bored and still breathing through my nose at mile 8 when I choked on a Gu Chomp...LOL! Then I decided I had been a good girl and I should have a little fun on the backside ; ) It was a lot of fun pretty much passing everyone in front of me for the last 5 miles. I had TONS left at the end, I was still breathing through my nose at mile 12. The little uphills (overpasses) that bugged me last year were of ZERO concern this year. It felt good, and while I took a couple of rest days after, I could have run the next day. Major improvements from last year (even though my time was 3 minutes slower), and I'm proud of myself for being smart. It was one of those mornings when I felt good, and I knew I just could have gone if I'd let myself...but I continuously held myself back, and as I sit here two days later, my knees are thankful.

I crossed the line at 2:10:54...smiling widely in my OAR race singlet.

Exhibit A: What a good girl I was...my first half split was 1:07:59 at a 10:23min/mile pace. Nice long run pace, very conservative.

Exhibit B: I told you that I got bored at mile 8 right?...my second half split was 1:02:55 at a 9:36min/mile pace. What's not to like about a negative split? ; )

Just one more step along the way of this journey...

Race Report: Ten for Texas

So while many other things have consumed my posting lately, I *am* still running LOL!

I was super excited to run Ten for Texas this past weekend, and the Thursday before I just maybe started feeling a tad bit under the weather...I was getting the kids' cold. Then I spent most of Friday at work in denial and simultaneously infecting everyone around me with this miserable cold (sorry everyone!). Stubborn as I was (am), I took cold medicine Friday night and still got up Saturday morning to head to the race.

I was a stuffy mess, but I used my Afrin spray in the parking lot (reclined my seat for the full nose clearing effect), and sucked it up (literally and figuratively). Thankfully my friend Jenn was happy to run together at a reasonable pace with plans to walk the water stations.

The weather pretty much sucked. It was pretty warm for October with an occasional breeze that had a habit of being a headwind. Oh well. Had I not been stuffy, I would have been content with the humid warm temps, but not so much with my 50lb head of snot.

Anyway, Jenn and I took off at a pretty normal training pace and managed to hold steady throughout the entire race. We walked each water station, but after mile 2, we were pretty much passing people the entire time. We actually had a great rhythm of weaving in and around people the whole course, so we were in a groove. Lungs did well, nose bugged me a little, felt sluggish overall with an ab cramp at mile 5 and a weird back cramp at mile 7, but overall, not nearly as bad as I expected. I was feeling pretty good around mile 8.5, and I think Jenn probably could have killed me. I certainly would have been more conservative in the early miles had she not been with me, but I have a tendency to always have a little kick left in me at the end, so I started to pick it up a little. That last half mile we were moving pretty good, Jenn started protesting a little, but I managed to convince her to stick with me. And just at the last turn before the finish, I see something I have never seen before...

...as a complete surprise to me, there is my sweet husband with KK in his arms and Larkin standing beside him. I could not believe it, I totally spazzed out and did the goofy wave with Larkin finally seeing me (he was apparently in awe of all the runners), and then I had to pull myself together to not be doing the ugly cry in the finish line photos. They totally made it worth it, and I was so happy to have that moment! They had never seen me in a race before, and I still dream of seeing them somewhere along the course at the marathon this year (the weather and timing were terrible last year).

We hung out at the post-party a little, saw my ob/gyn who delivered both kids (LOL! We see her at races all the time!), and then headed home. I was already feeling pretty rough but was doing a decent job hiding it. We got home, I took a shower, Patrick took Larkin to soccer, I struggled to get KK through lunch and down for his nap, and then headed to bed myself. I soon realized I was headed downhill fast. I took my temp and was not surprised to see 101.2, CRAP! Took some meds and spent most of the afternoon in bed. Thankfully after some great rest, I recovered decently on Sunday (just congestion and little cough), and was fully functional by Monday.

So running may not have been the best decision, but we live to race (or not race) another day!

Final time: 1:45:05 I am proud that I maintained my training pace and did not try to "race". Mostly I have my illness to thank for that because had I been feeling good, the crowd and the adrenaline would have most likely pushed me to go too fast too soon and that could have been catastrophic for my knees. For now, I'm happy to say that I made it through 10 miles WITHOUT knee braces for the first time in my life!

Rewind: The Autism Evaluation Process

Another retrospective post in order to shed some light on how we got here...

So I've caught you up on how I knew something was wrong and how I decided that I wanted him evaluated...well...then what?

Finding the right place for his evaluation
I work for a large nationally acclaimed hospital that has a huge autism/developmental pediatrics department. Naturally, that was where I would have Kellen evaluated, right? I had a hard time digesting the fact that there was potentially a few month's long wait list to be seen, but when I was told that the current waiting time for evaluation was ONE YEAR...well I can't remember if I cried, cursed, or drank (oh please, that's easy, I did all three). No amount of complaining, string pulling, favor calling was going to help that because #1 an eval is not like sneaking in for a quick ENT appt and #2 all of those people on that waiting list were people just like me, who had been waiting a lot longer, and you know what, it just wasn't fair to jump ahead.

Thankfully about the same time, Patrick spoke with some colleagues at school and they recommended another independent center. I don't want to list places here, but if you'd like to know where, then contact me via email, message, facebook, etc. and I will happily share our story (and center contact info, etc.).

I put our name on the waiting list of both places the first week in May. The last week in May I got a call from the independent center that a couple of appts had opened up and we could be seen the following week...our eval process would most likely be completed by the end of June...less than 2 months from my first call to them. It's October, 5 months since I called...I'm still waiting to hear from my hospital...

Appointment #1: Initial Intake Interview
This appointment was hard to prep for...the thought of having to walk into a center like that. Patrick met me there with KK, and I remember sitting in the waiting room looking out the window, waiting for them to get there. And I had a thought that has stayed with me the past few weeks....at that exact moment...mothers everywhere were sitting in waiting rooms...the waiting room of the emergency room...of the cancer center...of the funeral home. I would take sitting in that waiting room over any of those other options, I would be grateful for my son who I know loves me, who I know needs me, who I hope and pray I have decades with. So I sucked it up and put on my scientist mode as we began the interview process.

We met with a psychologist who asked all the usual questions, listened to our greatest concerns, and walked us through what the arena assessment would be like the following day all while Kellen proceeded to destroy her office (apparently her office was made for that, she had bins of toys, but Kellen still managed to knock a table over on that poor woman's foot...LOL!). This was not an appt to get any potential diagnosis, just an appt to set the stage for the following day, let us know what to expect, for her to get to know him to try to help him the following day (he loves cars, he doesn't talk at all, he's not generally afraid of new people or closed spaces, he really likes cars...). But she said a couple of things "Does he usually walk on his toes like he is now?", "Are those guttural sounds typical for his speech pattern?" To which my inner monologue said "Toes? He doesn't walk on his...does he...is he....well he's just tentative right now because he's someplace new, he doesn't usually do that...I don't think...crap, I don't know...and those sounds, well that's just KK, he makes silly sounds, why is there something wrong with that?" I don't think I said any of that, I think I just looked like a deer in headlights while thinking 1) she thinks he's autistic and 2) she's a psychologist so she's currently evaluating my reaction to the questions she's asking and I hope she doesn't think I'm crazy or defensive or in denial (I may be/have been all three...).

We left that day with an idea of what to expect the following day...and I tried not to freak out for the next 24 hours. What did I want from the assessment? An answer...I still held out hope (a lot of hope) that they would tell me what everyone else was..."Oh he's just a boy with a chatty older sister, a late bloomer, we don't see enough to classify him as autistic, he'll just grow out of it..." I hoped to hear that, but I think I always knew I wouldn't...so then I just wanted confirmation, I needed to hear the words, and I couldn't move on until that happened.

Appointment #2: Arena Assessment
This was the appointment I dreaded. I dreaded that we were going to walk in this room and have multiple people evaluating my son's every move, and I dreaded even more that it would be weeks after that appointment that we would actually discover the outcome...but it didn't actually happen that way. An arena assessment allows multiple therapists/specialists to perform simultaneous evaluations. I can't even remember how many evaluation tools they ended up performing, but it was beyond thorough. We had one person interviewing us while observing Kellen's responses/reactions to the various trials they were putting him through. She was someone who had been doing this for 20-30 years, so she knew what she was looking for, knew what she was seeing, knew what to ask us.

It's a hard thing to sit there and answer questions while you're simultaneously trying to watch your son to see if he's reacting appropriately, doing as well as you know he can. And then you're watching them to see how they're reacting to his reactions...good, bad, confused, someone tell me something!

He walked in that room and charmed them...that boy is his daddy through and through...he was cute as can be, and I thought he was doing well. One of the evaluation team members actually favors me quite a bit, and he went over and grabbed her hand to get her help with something, then did a double take and realized that I was across the room and ran over, everyone thought it was the cutest thing ever. He had one tantrum, but nothing too major. He ran into a door in the play kitchen (leaving a pretty angry red mark on his cheek) and it didn't phase him (oh crap!). He started losing it over the lack of juice/snacks (oh crap!). He was playing and ignoring most of what they were asking him to (well, that's pretty typical KK).

And so you sit there worrying about what they're thinking of him, and then worrying about what they're thinking of your reaction to the situation (they're therapists after all!). The team was just great, and in the end, they said they would compile all of their results and let us know the final diagnosis, but the most senior evaluator basically laid it all out at that moment. She said that she felt like "a diagnosis on the autism spectrum would most likely be appropriate". I remember that moment...because I wasn't expecting it. It was just the assessment, we weren't told we would even be provided with a tentative idea much less a point blank, "He is". It felt like the wind was knocked out of me, but I was grateful. After that cat was out of the bag, all of the team kept saying he had so many strengths, and that he would most likely be extremely high functioning. But I think I stopped listening somewhere along the way. They decided they'd like to perform an additional evaluation in his daycare setting. We smiled, collected our happy toddler, and left with a plan for follow-up, knowing we'd get the formal feedback session in a few weeks...
I turned 35 the next day...

Appointment #2.5: Daycare Evaluation
No surprise and no need to go into detail...they saw what I saw...it only contributed to what they'd already seen in the arena assessment.

Appointment #3: D-Day
Diagnosis day. My parents took the kids for a couple of days, so Patrick picked me up for the appt, which was at the end of the day. We walked into the office where the team was already assembled around a round table. There was folder placed in front of each seat, and in the center of the table, sat a box of Kleenex. I proceeded to stare down that box of Kleenex repeatedly over the next hour...there it sat, willing me to cry, telling me it was okay to cry, expecting me to cry because everyone did...but I refused to do it.

Pages and pages of data from the various evaluation tools...each one suggesting the same conclusion...so finally we turned the page and we saw it...and they said it. Kellen met the full criteria for a diagnosis of autism. I sat there and nodded, acting unsurprised, being the most stoic I may have ever been in my entire life.

Screw you Kleenex I'm not crying. I'd break down in rivers of tears everytime we got bad news while trying to have a baby. I would be overcome with agony and emotion and despair and could not hold it back...but that was then. I had survived that, and I had a gorgeous daughter and amazing son...and they needed me to be strong...and that I could do...for them.

So I sat there and listened to all of the results, all of the recommendations, all of the potential strategies...and I did not shed a single tear. I didn't cry because my heart already knew. I didn't cry because my son was autistic not dead. I didn't cry because he needed me to someday tell him the story of how we found out and I wanted him to know that I could handle it, that we could handle it, that he could handle it.

In the end, they went on and on about how many strengths he had. Physically he's amazing. He has so much potential. They called it his baseline evaluation because it was pre-intervention. He's supposed to be evaluated annually...and while I don't know what "normal progress" is, it gives us something to work toward...something to dread/look forward to...because I will be whatever he needs.

I will be strong for him, I will endure his meltdowns, I will keep searching for what might help him, I will not give up on him...because someday next summer we'll walk into another assessment...and I will not cry.

Patrick and I went to a wine bar after the assessment. It was a nice evening, we enjoyed some good wine, a nice atmosphere, and we digested. We didn't sit and feel sorry for ourselves...we talked about what we wanted to do next, and how much we knew that he would be okay. I don't think I really cried until the next day...when we went to get them from my parents. The moment I had him in my arms, the waterfall came. I needed him in my arms for it to feel real. But I dried my eyes, sucked it up, and I started us all on this journey...thanks for coming along.

How Did You Know?

So this is the first in a series of retrospective posts related to how we got here, but before I get into the most common question we're asked lately "How did you know?", I'd like to make a shameless plug. I'm running this year's Houston Marathon (my second) in honor of Kellen by running for the Organization for Autism Research. Should you have a few dollars to spare, I would greatly appreciate it. You can donate here...please pass on to others who might be interested in donating to a terrific cause!

Donate for KK!


So back to the topic at hand...How Did You Know?


In the womb?

Let's see. Was he less active than Larkin? I can't say because I was so busy taking care of an infant...did I miss a sign? I don't think so. I certainly knew what he was doing...if anything he seemed "busier" than Larkin. Now of course, we all know about him being born prematurely, but do I think that played into his autism...no, not really. Yes, he was early, but those were biological issues related to physiology not autism risk....right? Yet, we find ourselves questioning everything...


The first year?

So maybe he rolled over a little later than expected, but even though I gave birth to small babies, they quickly turned into chubby snuggly worms...so I fully blame that on the big baby belly (right?). Looking back in my notes on him as a baby, he was more difficult than Larkin. He had inconsolable episodes (which Larkin never did), he was more temperamental, he was more attached to me, but more concerning...

He didn't wave bye-bye...
He didn't turn when we called his name...
He didn't have any first words...
I've never had the joy of hearing him say "mama" and mean me...

In summary, were there signs? Well yes, I see that now, but I was in denial then.
He also started rice cereal later than expected (because he shunned it), and we had a harder time starting baby food (gagging followed by a general picky eater)...but you're not supposed to compare the first and second kid, so how could I know that something was really wrong? (right?)


The second year?

He walked on schedule...but he still wasn't talking...or waving bye-bye...or turning when we called his name when we walked in a room.

His eating was still very picky, and when we switched to solid food, there was lots of gagging. I remember him surviving on Gerber puffs for quite a while.

His inattention to our voices became a serious concern at 18 months...so we had his hearing tested...it was perfectly fine.

So then we started speech therapy...and got nowhere...and then he almost got kicked out of daycare...because he started biting his classmates, for no discernible reason.


The third year?

It was just past his second birthday, after a few weeks of speech therapy, that the biting outbreak occurred. As part of our strategy, I went to daycare with him as his "shadow"...and by snacktime that morning, I found myself standing outside daycare crying profusely into the phone talking to Patrick. It wasn't just the aggressive attempt to bite (which was disturbing in itself)...it was how far behind he was compared to his classmates. He was unengaged. They would run around crazy and loud, he would attempt to hide behind a bookshelf. They would sit in circle time and sing songs, he would sit in my lap and retreat into himself. They would come too close, be too loud, move too fast, and he would bite to say "leave me alone"...

Something was wrong, I saw it, I knew it, I had known it for months, but had listened to everyone else...
...he's a boy...
...he's second born...
...he has a chatty older sister who talks for him...
...it's normal...
...so-and-so didn't talk until they were 3, 4, 5...
...he's a mama's boy...


That one hit hard...a mama's boy. Did I coddle him too much as an infant? I certainly was careful with him...you know because he was premature and delicate and difficult and...did I know? Did I know even then that he was? I certainly knew before anyone else, before anyone else could detect it and way before anyone else would admit it. But after my shadowing morning, I could take it no more...and no one fought me...because while they did not want to admit it either, they knew it too. So we went forward with his formal evaluation...which is another post in itself...for another night...soon.

A Dog's Life

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a dose of life...and death.

We lost our Great Dane Skylar unexpectedly almost 2 weeks ago. It was as unexpected as possible considering that she was 10...and Great Danes have a life expectancy of roughly 7 years...10 being the upper extreme really. So I'd like to take a little time to recount the tale of our sweet Skylar.

Once upon a time I married a man named Patrick...who dreamed of having a dog...but not just any dog...a Great Dane. Luckily, I was an animal lover, and he'd tolerated the cats, so as soon as we were able, we began to look. As soon as we started building our house, we started thinking of a dog. It so happened that each summer we'd go to the huge dog show here in town. I'd LOVE to go by the Great Dane Rescue groups booths and just pet those huge sweet dogs. Well 10 summers ago, we stopped by that booth again, thinking that we might be ready to put our name on the list, thinking we'd be waiting a long time for a puppy. Then that day we walked up and saw the pictures of a litter of Great Dane puppies...and fell in love.

Turns out that their mother had been taken in by the Humane Society a week before. She was so skinny they were shocked when she went into labor the following day. She had 9 puppies...4 lived...2 went on to live a happy, full life at our house : ) We went to visit the foster home thinking we'd pick one, and Patrick immediately picked the biggest boy (that's our Tristan), but Skylar picked him (she came over, laid beside his hip, and refused to move). So we chose them both (designated as BigBoy and LittleGirl by their foster parents), and continued to visit them at their wonderful loving foster home for almost 2 months.

Then our new house was finished. We closed on a Friday, moved in on a Saturday, and the dogs were delivered on Sunday. This house has always been a house of paws.

So now a few random facts and stories about our sweet Skylar:

* She was named for Minnie Driver's character on Good Will Hunting.

* One time her and Tristan were playing and she tackled him so hard that his head put a hole straight through our living room wall...they were 3 months old (the house was less than a month old!).

* She liked to sleep in bed with me whenever Patrick was away.

* When Patrick was home, she slept on the floor on my side of the bed, leading me to always feel for fur with my foot before stepping out of bed in the middle of the night.

* Once when she was younger, she jumped out of the window of the Expedition while it was moving (thankfully only about 10 mph). Scared all of us (we drove straight to the vet), and we always had to keep a close eye on her hips her whole life.

* One time there was a chocolate donut in the back of the Expedition we forgot about, then saw the empty bag and realized one of them had eaten it. We had to take them to the vet and they made them both puke since we didn't know which one was the culprit. Turns out it was not Skylar, she was pretty pissed at Tristan about the whole incident.

* Skylar was always gentle and always loved kids. I used to take them out to soccer games, and Skylar would just lay over and let the kids crawl all over her loving every minute of it.

* She had a way of coming over and laying her big head in your lap whenever you were sad. Instead of trying to play with you, she would simply come over and be sad with you.

* She ate shoes when she was younger...some of them looked like a small shark had taken a chunk out of them. I lost many a flip-flop including my favorite Diadoras, but I miss my Doc Marten Mary Janes the most...

* She loved the cold weather...and the rain.

* She was a good dog, actually followed commands, tried to keep her brother in line as much as she could.

She's been having a hard time the past couple of years. Her hips had caught up with her, so she didn't move around as well but her quality of life was still good. The kids would go and pet her, she'd sleep a lot, she moved slower, but she was eating and happy. She went downhill in the course of 12 hours. Turns out she had a massive tumor that spanned her entire body, and some shift had happened constricting her breathing. The choice (as if there was one) was easy, and she looked at us with such peace that we knew she was ready. Patrick and I were both there with her, she was loved, and she went peacefully.


She sits on the mantle in a gorgeous cherry wood box now. We've thrown all of our love and attention to Tristan to try to get him through this. He's doing ok, but I know he needs to grieve a little too.

These dogs were our children before we had children, when we were trying (and failing) to have kids, they were and are a huge part of our lives.

We miss you Skylar, but we know that you are sprinting across heaven right now feeling no pain. We are lucky to have had you in our lives, and I'm so grateful that the kids were able to know and love you.

Little Victories

So we have a lot going on (when is that not the case?), but I'm making a pledge to update more often! I'm especially going to take advantage of Patrick's coaching nights and try to do at least two posts a week. I really do have a lot I'd like to document and some backtracking I'd like to do both in relation to Kellen's diagnosis path and just general family fun (we went on vacation...seems like forever ago).

For now, I would like to comment on little victories. So I have now firmly allowed/convinced/strong-armed/bribed/brainwashed myself to stop comparing Kellen. I vow to stop comparing him to Larkin because well let's face it, there has not nor ever will be another Larkin LOL!
I also vow to stop comparing him...
... to the kids in his class
... to the other kids at birthday parties
... to my friends' kids on facebook
... to your kids on your blogs
... to my newlywed ideal of what my son might be like someday
... to other autistic kids
... to anyone other than the kid he was yesterday, last week, last year...
I vow this for my sanity, I vow this for both of my kids' confidence, and this new outlook allows me to openly celebrate things like walking to and from the car!!

This is HUGE people. Kellen is a little bit of a Mama's boy...and when you have two kids less than 11 months apart, well one is going to get carried because it's all about containment in open parking lots at that point people! So somewhere along the way, Kellen got used to being carried (you know, probably because he used to be a baby that didn't walk and stuff), Larkin would walk holding our hand (because she being Larkin got to a point where she refused to be carried!), and so was life for the past oh 2 years!

So we realized (when I say we I mean Patrick told me) that we had no idea why we were still carrying Kellen. So we'd try to make him walk in...drama ensued. So we ditched that...about 30 different times.

It's volleyball season, and due to a variety of different factors, I'm really pulling extra duty this year. I have dropped off, picked up, done dinner/baths/bed solo more times in the past month than in the past 2 years it seems. So be it, many women have had it way worse. I have the luxury of a wonderful supportive husband, he just happens to not be home a lot lately, but I'd rather have him in some gym across town than in some desert across the world, you know? (I've really been trying to put an end to my pity party days, can you tell?). So anyway, it's HARD to carry 40lbs of Kellen while keeping track of a very speedy Larkin, all while being my size!

Anyway, one day about two weeks ago, Kellen was adamant about bringing this car at school home with him. So I said "You know what, ok, but you're walking your booty to the car"...and so he did...stopped a few times, couple of complaints, confusion on all of our parts of how to open the car door and get everyone in without my parking lot freakout, but we survived.

The next morning we get to school, Patrick's turn...Kellen sat down on the sidewalk...and refused to budge. Larkin and I actually went in to log them into the system and sat and watched them on the surveillance cameras wondering how long they would sit there...long enough that Larkin and I headed to the breakfast room! And then there they came around the corner...walking...

Rinse and repeat with a few tantrums thrown in here and there but we did NOT, we all out refused to let him get out of walking to and from the car to school everyday for...TWO WEEKS. And just like that we made a huge change for him. He walks to and from like a big boy, he's even attempting to get in and out of the car by himself. What I wouldn't let him do for so long, he was more than capable of doing all along...so I again am humbled, and we all need to re-evaluate other ways that we may be inadventently holding him back.

Once I started along that path, he's also brushing his teeth by himself (standing on the stool, waiting for toothpaste, etc.), he's helping to dress himself, he's waiting patiently for his milk when we get home (and I'm allowing him to play downstairs without quickly ushering him to his chair to be contained). I even found out at daycare that he's tolerating standing up diaper changes...so next week...
...I'm buying pull-ups instead of diapers...
...and the next week, we'll start putting him on the potty...
...because who says he's not ready to potty train...
...who am I to say he can't...

Oh and he's saying "Noooooooo!" clearly, purposely, and turns out he has a lot of opinions...because well, he is my son after all ; )

He Sings

I need to be doing better about blogging…for sanity, for progress tracking, and just for documenting life in general. Yesterday was a day worth mentioning.

First, the crappy part…my poor husband has a herniated disc. Apparently this is painful? I’m not sure how it compares to childbirth, but interestingly, there are striking similarities! Yesterday, my biggest baby (that’s Patrick) had to get an epidural steroid shot. This is supposed to help with inflammation around the disc so that maybe he’ll have better luck with physical therapy. Surgery is still potentially on the table, but we’re taking it one step at a time. Regardless, I tried to prep him and tell him that epidurals don’t hurt (mine didn’t at least), but I also tried to avoid telling him that steroid injections hurt like a bitch no matter where you get them! I’ve had A LOT of shots in my life including self injections of blood thinner right into my growing belly every single day I was pregnant. Not a one of those shots compared to the stinging of the steroid I got in my rear when I got strep throat a couple of years ago…but again, I may have failed to mention that to him ; )

He took it like a champ though (I give myself credit because he knew he could show no weakness or I would ridicule him with the “Oh please, I had two epidurals and THEN had to actually give birth after them.”). I just hope it helps…

Anyway, so we got home with the kids last night and my sweet boy did the most amazing thing. First, he ate his mac and cheese like a champ. He was in a great mood, asked nicely (signed for more) for his milk, asked for his cookies (the “c” sound suffices), asked for his cup (the “c” sound is multi-purpose), and then he sang me a song…

I mean he really sang me a song. I was holding cookies out to him one at a time, so I could continue to hear that wonderful “c” sound, when he stopped eating, looked at me, and began very obviously singing a song. He sang the whole thing, with repeated sounds that had a definite rhythm, melody, and even hand motions (it looked like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!) through the whole thing! I mean this lasted like 45 seconds, and it was a complete song. He seemed very intent on finishing the whole thing and then very proud of himself when he was done. Thankfully Larkin knew when he was done so she clapped and said “yay!”…while I sat there awestruck fighting back the buckets of tears that were eager to fall.

Patrick and I looked at each other and had what I realize was a glorious moment of hope. Kellen was “on” yesterday, he was present in that moment, he was engaged the whole evening. He even said nigh-night when I put him to bed…I haven’t heard that in months. The song was completely new...the words were unrecognizable, it just sounded like some wire was crossed in his speech, like he was very deliberately using specific sounds, but to us it sounded like another language (we heard the same sounds repeated). What was so different about yesterday? what changed? what went right?

The scientist in me is fighting to start logging every detail of his life so that I can unravel this mystery. We’ve always said he responds so well to music, maybe we can sing directions to him, maybe we can use sounds as requesters, maybe if we can record him singing "words" to a known song, then we can try to translate those sounds into words, what if Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is the rosetta stone to deciphering what he's trying to tell us…

But then maybe I should just sit back and calm down and be grateful for a moment because…

…he sings…and that's forward progress...