Why I don't post as much as I should...and why that's about to change

I know that I should post more.

I compose at least a post a day in my head...but life gets in the way.

I said something recently on Facebook, and I was struck by a few friends' appreciation of my honesty. It's something I do well, and I'm basically honest to a fault. For moms like me, for families like ours, for kids like Kellen, I need to do a better job of transparency. 

So here it is...my promise to post at least once a week.

Why is this important?

Some of our voices are getting crowded out. I used to closely follow another autism mom blogger who had various adventures somewhat similar to our own, but then our paths diverged. She began to focus far more on what adults with autism needed rather than what mom/child pairs (like us) needed. By all means, her points and priorities are valid and needed...but it's not what WE need. When that mom is so focused on (and let's be honest "parading") asking her autistic daughters permission to post pictures/stories online, well, let's just say that their autism is NOT our autism...at least not right now. While I absolutely respect her/their approach, we are in an entirely different game. Do NOT attempt to speak for us, and we will happily show you the same courtesy.

Anyway, the point is...I had one, you see... Get ready. A whole lotta truth is headed your way. 

I'm strong enough to write it. Are you strong enough to read it? And are you brave enough to stand up for what we believe in?

These Things Happen to All of Us (AKA The time I got trapped in the backseat)

I hear this quite a bit. When I share a challenging story on my blog, on Facebook, or in person, parents of neurotypical children always console me by saying “That’s normal, those kind of things happen to us all the time, too.” I’m about to share “one of those” stories, but I wanted to take a minute to talk about that comment.

First, I know that it is absolutely meant to make me feel better. I appreciate it. I really do. You want me to know that “normal kids” line stuff up, write on the walls, pee all over the floor, climb the pantry, lose their minds in the grocery store checkout, and create general destruction around the house. I get it, I hear you, and again, I appreciate your compassion and camaraderie so very much.

But, I’m going to tell you something that you maybe don’t realize. You’re not only saying it to make me feel better…you’re saying it to make yourself feel better. Because you are a good person and a good friend, you want to convince yourself that what we’re facing isn’t really as tough as it is. It’s self-preservation in your subconscious, and if I were in your shoes, I’d be saying the same things.

Lots of the crazy things that happen in our family have happened to other families, but when you throw autism in the mix, you add another layer of complexity that it indescribable. We can’t communicate, we can’t just change the routine on the fly, we can’t recover as quickly...him or me. But we get better at it every day…I think…I hope.

So let me set the stage. Patrick just started a new job. We are SO happy and so proud of him. He started Monday…flew out Tuesday…oh crap. No problem though right, I can do this with my eyes closed…turns out it probably would have been great if I’d just kept my eyes closed through the entire morning.

I have a plan. I’m working from home because we have a huge progress report for our grant due next week, so bonus, I don’t have to get dressed! Throw on some running clothes, get everyone dressed, backpacks packed, dogs fed, we are completely killing it! So then there’s the timing issue this morning. Normally, when I’m flying solo, I drop off Larkin at school first, which is a dropoff line where they just open the car door and out she goes. But it’s freaking summer…and she had a field trip today and HAD to be there before Kellen’s clinic opened. No problem…I can do this.

Off we go to drop off Larkin, sign her in, walk Kellen back to the car, and then…yep…thermonuclear meltdown. Lays down in the middle of the parking lot between the cars, parents going every which direction, and a super busy road yards away. We struggle for a while, but I’m a safety-at-all-costs kind of person, so I know I need to get him contained in the car. I managed to pour him into the backseat somehow, but he’s still trying to escape. I then get in after him and shut the door so we’re both in the backseat. He them proceeds to wedge himself into the floorboard in such a way that I can’t even begin to pick him up and get him in a carseat. Not to mention, I’m now basically sitting in HIS carseat (you know because we got in on that side), so I’m going to have to get him into Larkin’s carseat. I’m pretty sure 15 or so minutes go by, along with at least 2 different cars per side parked next to us, so yes, if you’re keeping count at home, that was at least 4 moms/dads staring at the crazy lady in the backseat of her car with her clearly poor behaved son. I did not give anyone the finger…I’m putting that in the win column.

I finally physically get him to sit in Larkin’s carseat, but then he starts the inevitable backbend to keep from being buckled. Yes, this is exactly where everyone says, “my kid does that all the time, it’s terrible”. I challenge you to try to do this with a SIX year old who is at the 90^th percentile in growth for his age and is ridiculously strong and fit. However, in a battle of wills, I still win (for now), so I got him buckled. He’s crying, I’m about to start bawling, and then I realize the ridiculousness of my situation.

I’m in the back seat of the car…with the doors closed…and the child locks on…I can’t get the eff out. I closed my eyes for a second, mustered as much dignity as I could, and crawled over the console of my car into the driver’s seat…at this point, I had even more people staring. I smiled this time, put on my sunglasses, and took a really deep breath. I can only imagine the various retellings of my morning “Oh my God, at daycare this morning, this mom was totally crazy sucky at parenting, she couldn’t even get her kid in the car seat.”

I got myself together and drove off. Kellen cried a good bit of the way to his clinic while I tried to tell him soothing and calming things. As soon as I drove away from dropping him off, I fell into the ugly cry. I get home…Larkin forgot to close the upstairs gate…so Raven (the newest Great Dane) had gotten hold of Kellen’s overnight diaper and torn the thing up all over my bedroom floor…

I’m fine now. I wanted to crawl back under the covers and just sulk, but there’s just too much to do. Half an hour and a caramel macchiato later, I was returning to normal. Mom texted me to see how the morning went and clearly I couldn’t possibly recount the events via text. As I began to retell it, I found myself laughing at the ridiculousness that was my morning. I was okay. I was recovering. And by the time I picked up Kellen, he was of course totally fine and actually ended up having a great evening.   

Forget the fact that the internet went out in the afternoon (spent the afternoon at Starbucks working), that one dog went crazy for some unknown reason and the other dog chewed up something and we STILL have no idea what it was in its former life.

This is our life. This is our life with autism. It’s not easy, it’s not normal (well it’s normal for us but obviously not for most of you guys), but it is worth it. At the end of the day, we all got what we needed: Larkin had her field trip to the Dynamo Stadium (she said the locker room smelled like stinky armpits), Kellen made it to therapy, I managed to get out all of the necessary emails and come up with a pretty good first draft of the progress report, Patrick seems to have had a super productive day in Chicago, and we’re all still (mostly) sane.

We live to play another day (say it with a Cajun garbled accent, you get bonus points if you know the movie). On the bright side, our lives will never ever be boring...also Patrick comes home tomorrow so that helps.

Because Just in Case...to Kellen

If you’re reading this, you know how overprotective I am. If you’re reading this, you know I can get a little crazy when I’m separated from you, or your sister, or your father. Whether you’re reading this or not, I know that you KNOW how much I love you.

I’m getting on a plane on Sunday. Don’t tell your sister, but I HATE flying (I know that’s a bad word, just humor me). I hate being in the air, I hate not having control. The one thing I hate most of all is that right now, as we are, I am terrified that you won’t understand what happened if the unimaginable happens…I am bawling my eyes out this second thinking about it.

We spend every day trying EVERYTHING we can to get you where you need to be. Diets, doctors, therapies, all of it ISN’T to make you NORMAL (as some so-called autism advocates would say, and son, I’ll tell you now they are full of poop – see I’m using better language here). All of it is so that we can talk to each other. There is no one in this world that understands you better than I do. Everything I do is so that we can know each other better, so I can help you be what you WANT to be, so that you can tell me/show me what you need/want/hate (bad word again). You’re doing a damn good job (oh just go with the bad language).

I am proud of you EVERY day. You surprise me ALL the time. You, your sister, your father, you are my reason for being. It is all worth it every single day. The good, the bad, the hard, the easy, the crazy, the sane, the…us.

Currently, you’re focused on setting up these elaborate scenes with no less than 30 parts in any given area of the house…so much so that I’ve started sweeping around them. Your favorite things right now…books…it’s awesome. You’ve also discovered stickers…which is also awesome except when you stick them to the couch… You love Baymax, Transformers, and there is nothing I love more than to hear you say Optimus Prime. You’ve also started crying at the appropriate parts of movies (lately, the Transformers movies), and while I don’t like to see you sad, it is truly wonderful.

You’ve started asking for me when I’m not here (which tears my heart out right now as I get ready to leave in 36 hours). Your sister loves to fly (clearly that is your father’s genes). Her birthday is while I HAD to be gone for this conference, so in a crazy chain of events, she ended up coming with me. I know that you’ll be in excellent hands with Papa and Nina. I know that we’ll learn a lot by traveling with Larkin (many days son, you are a much easier child than your sister, but don’t tell her I said that). I also know that you would not survive an overseas trip, or even a 3hr flight right now. But know that we are determined to get there. You will be our guide. I won’t force you on a plane because WE want to go somewhere. We will wait until you are ready…and then we will go. Wherever your heart desires. I’ll be honest, once you’re ready, I actually think you’re going to love flying…you and your sister both have your father’s fearlessness when it comes to that kind of thing. I’m seriously going to have to fake it with Larkin on Sunday!

So I’ll leave you with this…you are on the verge of something. I see it. I feel it. I’m still trying to figure it out. You are always the leader on our journey. I said recently that my research will be my love letter to you…I mean that with all my heart. It’s with that thought that I have to head out to this conference. I’ll buy you way too much stuff, I’ll annoy you by calling on Facetime too many times, I will completely micro-manage your food, schedule, clothes, etc. while I’m gone (there’s a really long list for Papa).

But it’s because I love you. It’s all because I love you. Never ever forget that son.

Bangs

I know what you’re expecting…this supercute post on me cutting bangs and loving them/hating them/discovering cute up do’s…. What? No, that’s not what you’re expecting? Then you know me too well ;)

I got bangs. They look pretty cute thanks to my super awesome hairstylist.  I wanted something different and for it to look like I ACTUALLY got my hair done…mission accomplished. Truth be told, once they settled in after a couple of days, I do genuinely like them and I’m going to completely love them as they grow out and I get to play. Patrick even seems to like them (maybe because I said they were temporary). But before I came to that realization, something bad happened…I looked in the mirror.

For a good 24-48 hours after I got them cut, I completely froze every time I got a glimpse of myself. It was a bit unnerving honestly. It didn’t make sense…I actually look darn cute in bangs J And it took me awhile but then it finally hit me. I joke (although I am completely aware that it’s not a joking matter…I joke because I’m not entirely joking…) that I have PTSD about random things related to the rough years, including ultrasounds (when you have so many go bad…). So in a huge surprise to me, I have PTSD about bangs. Laugh now. Please, really, laugh, because I did after I got done crying. It’s completely ridiculous, completely inconceivable (ha…look at me being funny), and completely true.

I took a shower this weekend, and stepped out with bangs going every which direction…and was immediately and painfully thrown 10 years in the past. You see, 10 years ago next month, I found out I was pregnant for the first time. A week later, we went to my parents’ to tell them in person (you know, because tell everyone you know at 5 weeks, what could go wrong…). While there, I got my hair cut, and decided, of course, to get some bangs. They were very poorly behaved bangs to be honest LOL. I think it was about 72 hours later that everything started to fall apart. Pain, a general bad feeling in my bones, medical confirmation, an overnight hospital stay, and surgery…then I wasn’t pregnant anymore (the ectopic…).

This led to me…a few days later…stepping out of the shower…looking in the mirror…and finding myself completely and utterly unrecognizable.

I looked rounder than usual….thanks to 3 months of fertility drugs and gas that had inflated me during the laparoscopic surgery a couple of days before.

There were scars…3 of them…I could see them all in this lopsided triangle, sutures still visible.

There were those stupid bangs.

I looked nothing like myself. Everything about me was wrong. Everything about me had changed. Nothing would ever be the same…and it wasn’t.

I remember that moment so vividly. I’m fairly certain it was the first shower I had taken without supervision, the first day I’d been home left alone.

So here I was this weekend, stepping out of the shower and that image slapped me in the face. Maybe it was that I’m a little rounder than usual…I had more than a little stress this fall between major changes for Kellen, Patrick’s travel, and my grant proposal; my marathon training was anything but perfect; and my eating habits…embarrassing. But then there were those damn bangs.

And then I laughed. I laughed because for whatever ridiculous reason, Larkin is in LOVE with my bangs. She talks about my hair constantly, especially when I’m not around, so she just really loves it that much. And I kept laughing because the “old bangs” had lost so much…but the “new bangs” have a little mini-me super-fan that’s totally into the bangs. And then I cried…not because of the “old bangs” but because I thought of the day that I got my hair cut and went to pick up Kellen, having a momentary worry that he’d of all times notice my hair and react negatively, and instead…he did notice…and he kissed me…first on both cheeks (where I joked that apparently we were British that day)…and then purposefully put his hands on both side of my face, looked me in the eyes, and kissed me on the lips…twice. He doesn’t kiss on the lips. When you ask him for a kiss, he gives you his forehead…and if you kiss him on the cheek, he wipes right after. He didn’t wipe. He kissed me.

And so then I laughed and cried at the same time because the “old bangs” had sorrow and failing hope…but the “new bangs” had joy and laughter and…us. Time passes, things change, hair grows. No matter where you find yourself stepping out of the shower today, it can and will get better. Hope is powerful, and maybe I just needed that reminder.

Also, maybe I should remember that “grown out bangs” are a little more my style…Larkin may be disappointed J

Because She Doesn’t Know Me…and Sometimes I Don’t Either

***I started writing this in April 2014 and never finished it! I'm recommitted to blogging in 2015!!***

It’s an amazing thing to see yourself through your child’s eyes. It can sometimes be less than pleasant, (Do I really sound like that?), it can be quite comical (when your toddler constantly praises you for doing a good job at everyday tasks, like opening the milk.), and it provides an endless supply of “teachable moments” that you have to balance between your own wants, what’s best for your child, and how it all fits into the world we live in.

Larkin had a fun run at her school. It was basically a 1K race (I know, hilarious distance right?) complete with fancy tutus. We were dressed up and having a great time. I thought the parents were going to run with the kids, but then we were told that we could follow along, but they were on their own. I ran at a distance, encouraging her the whole way, and she did amazing. Ran the whole way, never walked, and came in around 7^th place, the 2^nd girl, and again, all the kids in front of her had walked at least once. I thought she did awesome. But they only gave medals to the first 3 places, and I could see that she was disappointed. Come to find out, the parents were actually going to run separately at the end of the kids’ races. I was not prepared to run that morning, I was just going to jog around with her. But when we went to line up, I heard my own words pep-talking me from the mouth of my newly-6-year old. “OK, Mama, remember, no walking, just try your hardest and run your fastest. I know you can do it.”

Oh crap, so now I have to run because she’s watching me with all of her friends, she’s expecting me to be fast, and I want to make her proud. Super role reversal there. Let me just say that 1K is a rough distance, it was basically a cross-country sprint around the school. I fell in behind two dads, and then managed to pass one of them on the home stretch, winning 2^nd place. She was so excited. But then when I got my medal, I saw a little bit of sadness creep into that smile.

We walked home, and I tried to get her talking. She really was disappointed that she didn’t win. I quickly showed her the picture of her coming to the finish line, and what I pointed out to her were the people BEHIND her not the people in front of her and again told her how proud I was. But my random medal was making her feel like she’d let me down…and that’s when I realized it.

She doesn’t know me. I mean of course she knows me, but she doesn’t know 6-year old me. She knows a mama that balances all sorts of things every single day, that spends her work day as a scientist, her evenings and weekends doing the best she can as a mom, being that mom that makes matching tutus, and bows, and homemade cookies, and finds a way to get to the school parties, and pack lunches with a little love note or surprise. She knows the mom that runs marathons, that does push-ups in the living room, that is “athletic”.

So then I sat her down and told her who I was. That at her age, if I had run that race, I would have been dead last. That at her age, I wouldn’t even have had the courage and confidence to even start the race. That at her age I was picked LAST every single time in PE (but first in the math flashcard relays…LOL). That I never played soccer like her, never danced like her, never ran a race like her.

She was completely and utterly shocked. We both learned a lot that day, and by sharing who I was, I saw that confidence bloom in her even more. But at the same time, it was an unexpected opportunity for self-reflection.

I’m not the person I thought I was going to be. For so many reasons.

I was going to have 2-3 kids. I was going to have a nanny, and the kids would only go to private school. I was going to have a ridiculously huge house and a very expensive car. We were going to go on lavish vacations every summer. The kids would wear only Ralph Lauren. My career would come first, and the kids would have to fit into our schedule, to our lifestyle. They would be in the best camps, the best sports clubs, and have private lessons. I would expect them to be the best, I would put them on a pedestal and accept nothing short of perfection. I would have felt entitled, I would have felt superior, I would have felt empty…

That same month, it became even more clear that I was not the person I was going to be. Larkin had her first science fair. Long story short, she got second place (she was robbed though, first place went to a group project, and they had their results and conclusions swapped…geesh! Lol). When I saw the red ribbon instead of the blue, I heard my grandmother in my head. I heard the tone of disappointment, I felt failure, and then I looked at Larkin and saw joy “Oh my gosh Mama, a red ribbon! I got 2^nd place!”. Every kid had gotten a green participation ribbon, unless you were 1^st-3^rd. She saw red and saw success. It slapped me in the face in the best way.

I am not the person I was going to be. The changes started the day that I walked in a door and met eyes with Patrick for the first time. You would think that the changes were further solidified when we had kids…but it was the opposite. I was changed forever when we DIDN’T have kids.

When month after month, year after year, we still didn’t have children. When loss after loss happened. Those years shaped me in a way that I can’t explain. Because of those losses, because of those trials, because of the fight to get to them, I am a very different mother. Believe it or not, I am thankful for those years. They’ve made me more patient, more grateful, more loving. They’ve made me see my children with wonder and excitement, eager to see what they’ll do in this world…rather than simply expecting them to follow the path I set out for them. I’m along for the ride to help guide…but it’s their road.   

I am not the person I was going to be, and thank God for that.

Facing an Irrational Fear: Why I Can’t Swim at 38.

I can’t swim. People often mistake that for “I don’t swim” or “I don’t want to swim”, but I truly and absolutely CANNOT SWIM. This simple and stupid fact terrifies me.

I went to swim lessons once. At Larkin’s age now that I think about it, just a few days after kindergarten ended. Swim lessons in my small town consisted of everyone heading to the city pool to be separated based on age and taught by local high school students. I had a summer birthday, and this was back in the days when school ended in May, so I was still 5. This meant that almost all of my friends were in a different group. I can’t remember if I made it through 1 or 2 days…

I remember blowing bubbles in the water, I remember Ring Around the Rosie where we were all supposed to go underwater…I cheated and always kept my nose above the water, sometimes struggling with the person next to me because they had my hand and they were pulling me down. And then I remember seeing the other class head over to the diving boards. And I saw one of my friends panic and decide that he wasn’t ready for diving…and then I saw them push him off the board anyway, him screaming bloody murder the whole way down. My grandma saw it, too. I cried and panicked…and that was the end of it. I never went back to swim lessons…ever in my life.

My friends had pools of course. I would get in, with a death grip on the side. They’d all try to teach me, to slowly coax me into trying, but I would always panic, and they would always realize that it just wasn’t going to happen. So then they’d always have a life jacket waiting for me, which I could comfortably maneuver in, careful to never let water anywhere near my face, always checking the buckles on the jacket.

And then we got older and boys started getting in the pool with us…and then the same story repeated itself endlessly. EVERYONE wanted to teach me to swim. Inevitably one of the boys would offer oh so sweetly to help me loosen that death grip on the wall. They’d hold on to me and swear that there were not going to let go. We’d slowly make it over to the deep end, panic slowly rising…and then guess what?

They let go.
                Every. Single. Time.
And then I’d panic, go under, and someone would have to pull a flailing, choking, mess of me out of the pool.
                Every. Single. Time.
They all seemed to be under this notion that I really could swim. That if they just put me in a “sink or swim” situation that surely I would swim.
                Nope, I sank…over and over and over again.

There was this one boy that tried to teach me to swim. He even had me putting my head under water for very small periods of time, never letting go of my hands. He took me to the deep end, but never let go. He was the only one that never let go. So I married that one!

Patrick has been wonderfully patient with my inability to swim and irrational fear of water deeper than my waist. I’ve sworn many times that I was going to learn…but I’ve never followed through, or even set foot in a pool with intent.

I really meant it when we had the kids. I knew how important it was going to be for 1) me to be able to swim for their safety and 2) me to not pass on my fear…  Larkin’s asked for swim lessons this summer, and I’ve run out of time. Any day now she’s going to realize that I really can’t swim (I generally avoid the subject, but the one time we talked about it last summer, I think she thought we were joking). And Kellen loves the water. He is completely fearless, and I need to be able to keep him safe. I need to know that if it came to it, that I could jump in the water and get him. Because right now if he were in danger, I would absolutely jump in…but the odds would be good that I’d drown us both…and that terrifies me.

The idea of me being comfortable in the water is completely inconceivable. I just don’t understand how it will ever happen. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t understand how this body that has failed me in the water my entire life, this supposed innate ability that I was NOT born with, I don’t understand how all of that is going to float away (get it…float?). Speaking of, I CAN’T EVEN FLOAT!

Besides doing this for the kids (which is the #1 reason!), I (we) have missed out on a lot of things because of my fear of water. We leave for Grand Cayman in just over a month. There are amazing things to see and do there…in the water. I want to do them, but I know me, and I know that there is a high probability that I will freak out on day 1, refuse to get in the water again, and ruin the whole trip.

So with Patrick (and everyone else close to me) encouraging me, I start swim lessons tonight. In precisely 9 hours (and 4 minutes from when I’m typing this)…not that I’m counting. He signed me up for 2 sessions that run back to back…so for the next 4 weeks I will be going 4 days a week. This is serious. The first two weeks our goal is to get me to “won’t drown if she falls out of the boat” and  “willingly goes into the water”. The second two weeks…I want to swim . Actually swim. Like in the deep end. Like in the ocean.

I can’t see how that is going to happen. I can’t swim. I also can’t say that to myself anymore after 7:14pm this evening. Right now, I panic. At 7:15, I will commit myself to getting over this fear. I will commit myself to trying my hardest to do what the instructors ask me to do.

I sit here, and I think about all of the failed attempts as a child, as a teenager. But I’m not that girl anymore. She was scared (of EVERYTHING), she was not the least bit athletic, she had a very loud voice at home telling her that she “can’t”.

I may still be scared, but today, I will not be afraid to face it head on.

I once lacked confidence in my body, unsure if I was strong enough, coordinated enough, athletic enough to physically be able to swim. No one would have ever envisioned that girl running marathons. But she does.

I once had someone constantly in my ear telling me what I couldn’t do. Now I have the support of the people that matter most to me telling me that I WILL do it.

Throughout our lives we are met with few true challenges. I’m going to embrace how hard this is going to be, how many negative thoughts I’m going to have to drown out (oops, I said drown), how many tears I am undoubtedly going to shed.

Because WHEN I do this, they will be proud of me...Patrick and the kids.

WHEN I do this, there will be one less can’t in my life.
WHEN I do this, I will probably get bitten by a shark in Cayman because that’s kind of how things go around here.

To Larkin, On Your 6th Birthday

Today is your 6^th birthday…actually you officially turn 6 in about 30 minutes.

Lately, you and I have begun to tell old stories, which is entertaining considering that your stories couldn’t possibly be that old, but you’ve started retelling stories that I’ve shared. Some of our favorites…

Why I call you “Chicken”…because when you were a baby (maybe 2-3 months old), there was no single funnier word in the English language than “chicken”. You’d giggle uncontrollably. This is made slightly funnier by the fact that your Daddy calls you “monkey”, so you’re a chicken monkey.

Baaa…One time I was leaning over you in the car, you were just over a year old, and I said aloud to myself “What does your sheet say?” To which you quickly answered “Baaaaaa!”

Lion Limes…You first became interested in gardening at about age 3, so I told you that after dinner Daddy would take you outside to see the limes…to which you replied “Lions!? There are LIONS in the backyard? I wanna see them!”

You regularly wander into our room in the middle of the night and proceed to recount some wildly vivid dream, and then just as quickly head back to bed leaving us confused. You always want to help out…whether it’s standing on top of the refrigerator pulling the tape off after your Daddy painted or planting vegetables. You LOVE washing dishes…I’m assuming this will change in the near future. You make your own PB&J sandwiches.

This year you pulled the Thanksgiving wishbone with your brother…and upon winning said “I wish for a dog”…and then looked around for it as if the wishbone wish was the equivalent of a genie wish. You kept asking when your wish would come true…which is how a month later we ended up with Ronin…your not quite 5 month old Great Dane who is now bigger than you.

You are so smart. And because I don’t know when you’ll read this, I just want you to know that I don’t mean that just as every proud mom, I mean you are really really smart. You read well beyond where you should be, including a Biology textbook for fun, math is just second nature to you, and your grasp of science is most impressive. Your favorite thing lately is to do science experiments at home, complete with generating hypotheses, following the methods section with our help only when necessary, and making your own observations and conclusions. You’re a natural. I hope that love of science, that innate curiosity, never goes away.

You love dance class, especially ballet. You play soccer and love being part of a team. You are always asking to run a race, you’ve run 4 so far, and you have a great ability to pace yourself. I dream of us running a half marathon together someday. You LOVE to sing, and honestly, it comes so naturally to you that I’ve wondered if we should replace soccer with voice lessons…but time will tell. We want you to choose your own path, which is why we’ve recently started playing the piano together after you asked.

You are probably the most compassionate 6-year old I have ever met. I’d say that it developed because of your brother, but it was always there. You stood up for others, you welcomed everyone, you comforted all of your friends. Yet, when autism landed in our house, you rose to the challenge. You continue to surprise us with your ability to connect with Kellen, to make him work, to stand up for him. You are and will always be his greatest teacher. And you are his biggest fan.

We laugh…A LOT. We love to run errands, especially ones that involve Starbucks, Target, or frozen yogurt. You love salads, hummus, and fruit. You’re getting better on your bike, but not quite ready for your training wheels to come off, and just last week you taught your brother how to drive your truck. You love to draw, write, and you leave notes for us all over the house. The first note you ever wrote almost a year ago (which I still have), you stood at the top of the stairs and said Psssst and handed it to us. It said “KELN IN MY RM” …and yes, in fact, it seems that Kellen was in your room when he should have been in his own bed!

You police us all, call us out if we’re grouchy (for which you and your Daddy have labeled me Grinch-Ann…thanks for that), reprimand us for saying bad words (like stupid and hate), and have made us very aware of how we talk to each other. You are also VERY tall…you come up to my shoulder, so we’re on the countdown towards the birthday that you will pass me up…it won’t be long.

You have so many possibilities in this life that I can’t even picture you 10 years from now, 20 years from now…just know that we love you, that we support you, that we can’t wait to see what you do in this world.

(Also know that I went to about 10 different stores trying to find Webkinz since apparently they are discontinued but that’s what you wanted for your birthday!)

Happy Birthday Chicken!