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For James On His Birthday

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To my darling son James,

Nine years ago today, you finally decided to leave the comfort of the womb and join us in the world. You were a week overdue: either you were very comfortable where you were, or you figured that we would need an extra week of quiet before the adventure began.

The day of your birth was incredible, filled with little moments that I will never forget – like the little kid in the hospital coffee shop who was convinced that I was Santa Claus. You can’t blame him: it was Christmas morning and I had a massive belly and a Santa hat. The best moment of all, though, was when you came flying into the world like a cannonball, screaming in outrage. There was never any doubt that you had a very healthy pair of lungs and an abundance of energy.

Since that day, you have filled our lives with a very special kind of magic. You are never afraid to explore and discover not only what is in the world, but what is within yourself. Your massive imagination takes all of us on weird and wonderful journeys, and the front of my fridge is covered with your fabulous artwork. Your creativity combined with your love of animals has given us a zoo of animals that have been lovingly crafted by you. As I write this, you are transforming ordinary cardboard into a set of Wild Kratts creature power disks.

You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. You are one of life’s true givers who experiences absolute joy through the act of making other people happy. Every single day, I am on the receiving end of your spontaneous hugs and little handmade gifts and notes. I see the kindnesses you extend to your friends without even having to think about it. Being a caring person is so much a part of who you are that your school gave you an award for empathy.

The love that you have for your brother is genuine and complete. You do not take anything for yourself without first making sure George has something too. If George’s autism is making things difficult for him, you calmly and patiently do whatever you can to soothe and comfort him. You play with him, you share with him, you protect him. You take care of him so beautifully, and yet you think of him as your hero.

I know that sometimes I cannot keep up with your boundless energy and your constant chatter. But I absolutely love that those things are a part of your character, and I would not change a single thing about you.

I love you, and it is a joy and an honour to be your mom.

Happy birthday.

Lots of love,
Mommy

 

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My Children Are Getting Tall, But…

When I was a child, my mother regularly marked my height and my brother’s on the door frame in the kitchen. Every Christmas morning, we would stand against the frame in our stockinged feet, and she would use a ball point pen to draw a line over the tops of our heads. An initial would be added – P for my brother, K for me – along with the date. By the time I was 15, there were over a dozen blue lines on the door frame, telling the story of how and when we had grown. For years, the kitchen door frame was the only part of the house that never got painted.

I started to follow the same tradition with my kids when they were little, but it became one of those non-essential things that I just didn’t have the energy for. Things were difficult for me back then. My dad had died, my older son had been diagnosed with autism, I was experiencing post-partum depression after the birth of my younger son, we were trying to recover from a financial crisis – drawing lines on a wall just didn’t feature anywhere on my list of priorities.

I may not have my boys’ growth recorded all in one place, but I do have photographic proof that they were once little. Like this picture, taken seven years ago:

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And now the kid who once needed a chair in order to reach the counter is big enough to ride a bike. With no training wheels.

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And the one who was barely peeking over the counter is almost as tall as the fridge. Taller, if you count the pineapple on his head.

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My firstborn son’s hands are bigger than mine now. I can comfortably slip my feet into his shoes, and he is less than three inches shorter than me. My younger son is catching up rapidly. He has outgrown his shoes four times in the last year, and when he falls asleep on the couch, I can no longer pick him up and carry him to his bed. He can sprint around a 300m track faster than I can.

And yet.

They are still my babies, and they always will be. When they come stumbling into the kitchen first thing in the morning, their faces puffy from sleep, I don’t see the teenagers they will one day be, I see the newborns they once were. When they are standing in front of me with tear-streaked faces or scraped knees, I still have the ability to comfort them with a gentle touch, with a kiss, with a Band-Aid sprinkled with magic dust. I can still make them laugh by acting like a goof.

When they greet me with a smile, throw their arms around me and hold on as if they are never going to let go, my heart still explodes with love.

And that is never going to change. Because even when they are taller than me, they will still be my babies.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle. All photos accredited to the author.

 

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Courage Under Fire: Perspectives Of An Israeli Mother

Not long ago, on a really bad day, I told someone that parenting a child with autism was like living in a war zone. When I look at what’s going on in the world around me, I realize that that is a ridiculous and insensitive comparison. I mean, I have the privilege of living in Canada – one of the richest places in the world, a country teeming with opportunity, that truly believes in peace and human rights. There are people who are parenting their children in actual war zones, like my friend and fellow writer Susie Newday. She lives in Israel, and she has graciously agreed to share her perspectives here on my humble blog. Please read, and share, because this is a story that really needs to be told.

courageisfireSometimes I manage an unplanned escape from the reality around me. I manage to forget about the reality in which air raid sirens are going off and depending where you live in the country you have between 15-90 seconds to get to a safe room or a bomb shelter before a rocket might hit. Most of the time we’re lucky, the Iron Dome Missile Defense System blasts the rockets in mid-air and all that’s left to worry about is shrapnel. Not that shrapnel is safe, it was deadly enough to kill a Thai worker today.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m not an old person who can’t run to shelter. I’m not a parent of a special needs child who has a hard time coping with change. I don’t live in the south where there has been a massive barrage after barrage of rockets. There, a whole decade of children have grown up with unexpected yet consistent rocket attacks, even after Israel displaced 10,000 Israeli citizens in 2005 and withdrew from Gaza.

Like many people in Israel, we didn’t really understand what our fellow citizens from the south were living through, until the rockets starting raining down on Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Herzilia, Haifa and many more cities. Just imagine New York City, Paris, London or Ottawa being fired upon with even one rocket, let alone multiple non stop rockets. Would the governments of any of those countries go even one day without trying to wipe out the terrorists responsible? I think not. But for years Israel has not responded, because we don’t want to go to war.

In less than a month, there have been over 2000 rockets fired at Israel from Gaza by Hamas terrorists. Terrorists who hate us more than they love their children. They shoot the rockets from schools and hospitals while their children watch and are being unwittingly used as human shields. They build extensive tunnels originating under mosques, schools and residential buildings. Tunnels that cross underground into Israel with openings right near playgrounds and houses. Tunnels that have been used for terror attacks.

It’s odd how in just two weeks time, sirens and running for shelter or crouching on the ground with your hands over your head, have become routine for me, even when a rocket, not shrapnel lands less than a ten minute drive away. Because I have the luxury of 60-90 seconds to find shelter, when a siren goes off, I am not in a hurry or panic, the way the citizens of the south are.

“I was shaking from fear.” my 8 year old daughter told me about her first experience with a siren. They were rushed by their counselor in summer camp into a safe room and read psalms together.

She started refusing to go upstairs by herself because “what happens if there is a siren.”

And when we finally convinced her it was okay, while she was taking a bath one evening, the siren went off and my husband ran to yank her out of her bath and run with her to our safe room. As soon as we closed the door there were a few loud booms. You are supposed to stay in the safe room/shelter for 10 minutes. We waited impatiently, everyone checking their cell phones for news hoping that there were no casualties or damage. Then my husband remembered that he forgot to shut off the bathtub and he went upstairs to close the water.

And I wonder what kind of world we live in that I need to have a special concrete and metal fortified safe room.

Sometimes when the TV and radio are off and I’m not on Facebook, I can forget the collective unbearable pain of my country and its citizens. So far my heart has stopped 32 times, with the announcement of the death of each soldier.

My second son is in an elite urban warfare combat unit as is my nephew. My other nephew is in a tank in Gaza. But even if my son and nephews weren’t soldiers, the pain would be no less unbearable. I cry for the loss of tomorrow, for the future that will never be. I cry for the over 150 soldiers who have been injured and for the families who will never be the same. I cry for the innocent civilians on both sides who are being injured and killed because of extremist Islamic radicals who only know hate. They don’t care about their own people, all they care about is killing Jews and wiping the State of Israel off the map.

When the television and radio are turned off I can sometimes pretend that I’m not living in limbo and uncertainty. When the sirens don’t go off at work and I don’t have to round up my oncology patients hooked up to their IV chemotherapy and escort them to a safe room, I can sometimes forget the reality that I’m living in a tiny country hated so much by so many. The only democratic country being condemned over and over by people who claim they are pro human rights. As Hillel Neuer, Executive Director of UN Watch said on July 15, 2014:

“If in the past year you didn’t CRY OUT when thousands of protesters were killed and injured by Turkey, Egypt and Libya, when more victims than ever were hanged by Iran, women and children in Afghanistan were bombed, whole communities were massacred in South Sudan, 1800 Palestinians were starved and murdered by Assad in Syria, hundreds in Pakistan were killed by jihadist terror attacks, 10,000 Iraqis were killed by terrorists, villagers were slaughtered in Nigeria, but you ONLY cry out for GAZA, then you are not pro HUMAN RIGHTS, you are only ANTI-ISRAEL.”

And he is right. As Dennis Prager said: “As hard as it is for modern, rational and irreligious people to accept, Israel’s Jewishness is a primary reason for the hatred of it. ”

Yet even with all the pain and uncertainty and fear, I feel proud. Proud to be an Israeli, proud of my sons, daughters and countrymen. I am proud of the ethical and compassionate army we have, the only army in the world who puts their our own soldiers’ safety at risk in order to minimize civilian casualties. The only army that spends days warning civilians to evacuate, dropping leaflets in Arabic and making phone calls. They do all this at the expense of tactical surprise. Bombing strikes are called off when there are civilians in the vicinity, called off leaving the units on the ground with less support than they should have.

I want evil wiped out. I want peace, real peace, not one sided concessions. I want to be able to raise my children in security and without fear. And sadly it seems like a far fetched dream. If someone hates you for your religion or country, how will they ever see past that hate to get to know you as a person? How will they ever see that you are a mother or father like they are?

I pray in my heart that one person at a time can bring about change. I pray that one connection at a time with people different than myself will bring about an ever growing ripple that can and will change the tide of hate and war.

I pray for the day when no nation will want to go to war against another because we will all live in peace.

Susie Newday is a happily married mother of 5. Born in the USA, she moved to Israel at age 21 when she was pregnant with her second child. By profession she is an RN, and now works in outpatient oncology after 15 years as an ER nurse. For fun she loves to take photos, write, drive people crazy on Facebook and of course to write. You can find her musings in many places including on her blog New Day New Lesson as well as World Moms Blog.

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2013: Magic Moments From Around The World

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2013 was not a good year for me. After a reasonable enough start, I lost my job in May, at around the same time one of my best friends passed away. Throughout the summer I fought an uphill battle with depression as life dealt me one blow after another. Fortunately, though, I am a natural optimist. I go through life with the attitude that no matter how bad things are, they will always get better, and there is always something for me to be thankful for. I have my husband and children, a roof over my head, clean running water and autism services for my son. That alone puts me way ahead of many people in the world.

Among all of the loss and heartbreak, there have been some shining moments this year. I had a very enjoyable and much-needed break in Niagara Falls with my family, I ran a half-marathon personal best for my autism run, and after years of procrastination I wrote a book in thirty days.

I posted a message on Facebook asking people to share their best moments from 2013, and I got some great responses. There was a lot of joy going around this year.

My friend Patti, for instance, has been dreaming of going to Europe for a long, long time. This year, she finally got to go.

Margie, who never fails to inspire me with how spectacularly she has turned her life around over the last few years, got married to the love of her life.

In January, Debbie from South Africa became a Grandma! She has also been rethinking her attitude to life by surrounding herself with inspirational people, things and activities.

One of my favourite responses came from liver transplant recipient Bill. He says, “I am alive. Every day above ground is a good day. Everything else is just icing on the cake.”

Noella sent one of my other favourite responses. She lost her beloved husband to cancer – a scary and sad time for her – and yet she is focused on how her needs have been met to the extent that she can help others. Here is what she says: “I am amazed at the outpouring of love and help from my local and internet community. I thought this season would be extremely difficult, but I have felt Bill with me almost every day these last several days, and he says to me, “It’s okay, I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay; it is the way it’s supposed to be.” There was even a moment when I was taking a shower when I remembered him walking in on me and joining me. Made me giggle as he seemed so close like he was doing it again. Gives me great comfort.”

Then there is fellow Canadian Jacquie, an online friend who I had the absolute pleasure of meeting this year. Jacquie is a special needs mom like me. Her younger son is adopted. Jacquie’s highlight was going to an adoption conference and learning that she is not “a bad and crazy mother”. I could have told her that for free, but you know… Adoption is not easy – as an adoptee I can testify to how challenging it was for my mom as I was growing up – and it gave Jacquie great comfort to know that she is not alone.

Kane used to live in Michigan, where there is lots of snow. This year, he moved to Texas, where there is – well – not a lot of snow. His reason for moving? To be with the love of his life. He says, “This is the most awesome I have ever been.”

Tawnya, another fellow Canuck who has been a great source of friendship and support this year, didn’t have a great year. Her husband contracted a very serious lung infection – so serious that doctors told her to call family members. She received overwhelming support from family and friends during a very scary time, and her husband survived.

Finally, my crazy New Zealander friend Karyn (whose initiation as a runner I totally take credit for) shares another story of survival. Her father-in-law had Stage Four bowel cancer. Anyone who knows anything about cancer will know that this is not good. But he got the all-clear, proving that sometimes, miracles do happen.

I am truly grateful to the people mentioned in this post for sharing their stories, and for giving us a slice of happiness to take with us into 2014. I wish the best of years to every single person reading this. If you have your own gem from the last year to share, please do so in the comments!

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle, with input from some pretty awesome people. Photo credit: jenny downing. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.

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I Feed My Kids McDonalds, And 9 Other Confessions

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During the first two days of my firstborn child’s life, as I lay in hospital with nurses bringing me food and taking the baby to the nursery so I could get some sleep, I had daydreams about how the whole parenting thing would go. I would breastfeed for a full year, and as the baby grew older, I would raise him on a diet of nutritious foods. I would interact with him, play with him, talk to him – he would not need to watch TV. I had visions of lovingly picking him up whenever he cried, never letting him sit for long in a wet diaper, reading to him every day right from the time we brought him home…

I mean, good parenting was just common sense. How hard could it possibly be to be a model mom?

It turns out, very.

What I failed to recognize in those early weeks was that there was no way I could completely give myself over to parenting. There were going to be times when I would have to do other stuff, like laundry, vacuuming and personal hygiene. And let’s face it, isn’t parenting supposed to be at least partly about the fun stuff, like letting your kid smear chocolate cake all over his or her face?

So here are some “confessions” – and I put that word in quotes because it implies wrongdoing that I do not believe I am guilty of.

1. I feed my kids McDonalds. Not every day, obviously, but from time to time I let them eat junk food.

2. I often let my kids watch TV because it’s convenient for me. They’re good at self-regulating their TV time so I really don’t care about that “Don’t let the TV be your babysitter” thing.

3. I yell at my kids. It’s not like I’m constantly screaming, but when they drive me insane I just cannot do the Zen-type of parenting that other moms seem to be capable of.

4. I sometimes reward my kids with material things. I’m not too concerned about whether this is teaching them to value the wrong things.

5. If my kids don’t eat the meals that are put in front of them, I don’t give them an alternative meal. If they go to bed hungry, so be it.

6. I don’t play with my kids every time they ask. If I did, I would never get to sit down for a cup of coffee, write a blog post or take a shower.

7. I don’t always lead by example. I’m completely fine with my kids learning that they have to follow certain rules that do not apply to adults.

8. It’s not a frequent occurrence, but sometimes my husband and I have arguments in front of the kids. It doesn’t bother me: on the contrary, they are learning that every healthy relationship includes conflict and the resolution thereof.

9. I love my kids unconditionally, but there are times when I don’t like them very much. Frankly, they sometimes act like little jerks.

10. I sometimes lock myself in the bathroom to avoid having to share chocolate.

Do these things make me a bad mom? Or do they simply make me human? Do you have any confessions of your own to share?

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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What I Hope

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I hope that George knows I will always support him in whatever he wants to do, and that I will never see his autism as an obstacle.

I hope that when I am weathering the challenges of autism with George, I am acting in a way that helps him instead of hindering him.

I hope that James knows I understand how tough it must be, being the sibling of a child with autism.

I hope that James knows how immensely I value him as an individual in his own right, and that he is not defined by virtue of being George’s brother.

I hope that George knows he is not defined by autism, but that autism is just one part of who he is.

I hope that the moments of weakness that I have – those times when my desperation and sense of being overwhelmed spill over – do not undermine my kids and cause them lasting damage.

I hope that my better moments – the laughter and the hugs and the words of encouragement – build up their confidence and self-esteem.

I hope that I can always be the kind of autism mom who never gives up a fight, no matter how hard and scary it can be.

I hope that when I talk to strangers about autism, or when I write about it, I am doing so in a way that will help both of my kids as they navigate their way through life.

I hope that I will have the courage to stand up to anyone who ever tries to hurt my kids.

I hope that my kids know that when autism parenting just gets too hard for me to handle and I need to spend time by myself, it’s not because of them. It’s because of my own fears and insecurities that I want to protect them from.

I hope that my kids know I love them without reservation, without boundaries, and beyond the ends of time.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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13 Signs That Cats Have Autism

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1. They have poorly developed social skills and little interest in playing with other animals.

2. They have great problem solving skills. If they want something, they will find a way to get it.

3. They’re not big on empathy, but they can be very loving towards those who are close to them.

4. They won’t sleep at night if they don’t want to.

5. When they’re not sleeping at night, they’re doing whatever they can to keep you awake.

6. Understanding what they want often involves a combination of guesswork and luck.

7. They can make you laugh when you least expect it.

8. They will lash out and scream bloody murder if you try to cut their nails.

9. They will lash out and scream bloody murder if you try to get them to swallow a pill.

10. If you try to give them a bath, you will often end up with more water on you than they do.

11. They won’t play with the toys you buy them, but they’ll find new and exciting uses for a piece of string.

12. They have a superhuman ability to focus for long periods of time on things that interest them.

13. When they snuggle up to you with absolute love and trust, that is the best feeling in the whole world.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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A Letter To My Sons

 

My boys, my heart, my life

To my dearest boys,

I was going to start this letter by telling you about the things that happened today, but it will be easy enough for you to find out if you are so inclined. Just Google today’s date – December 14, 2012 – and “Connecticut”. I am afraid that if I try to describe the events for you here, I will drown under the weight of my own sadness, and I won’t be able to tell you the stuff that you really need to know.

When you were newborn babies, I held you in my arms and promised you that I would give you the best life I possibly could. I would provide for you, support you in whatever you wanted to do and help you reach your full potential, whatever that might be. I would keep you safe and warm, and I would do everything I could to protect you from the uglier side of life.

But sometimes the uglier side of life kind of forces itself on us. People do things that are so unspeakably terrible that the effects penetrate to the deepest parts of our souls. It reminds us that sometimes we cannot protect the ones we love – sometimes we just have to do the best we can and then go on faith.

Today I feel like the luckiest mom in the world. When I got home from work today, you both came running at me, and I wrapped my arms around you and held you as close as I could. You hugged me back, kissed me on my cheek and told me you loved me. Right now, there are some parents who will never feel the warmth of their children’s hugs again.

We all spent some time romping around on my bed, telling jokes and wrestling with each other. I scolded you when you started jumping on the bed, all the while feeling immensely grateful that you are here for me to scold.

We went out to dinner, the four of us. We went to our usual restaurant, sat in our usual booth and ate the food we usually eat. We were all together – an intact, whole family. I thought of the families who have new gaps at their dinner tables and in their hearts.

As I sit here now, I am thinking about how tomorrow, I will finally get around to putting up the Christmas tree. I will be doing it with you boys, but instead of bossing you around about how to decorate the tree like I usually do, I am going to let you do it however you want.

You see, I get to decorate the Christmas tree with you. I will get to give you the Christmas presents I have bought you, unlike some families who have gifts hidden in their closets that will never be opened.

Right now as I write this, you are both in bed. You are supposed to be asleep, but one of you is trying to play with Lego quietly, and the other has a colouring book and crayons under the blankets with a flashlight. In a little while, I will go into each of your rooms and tell you to go to sleep.

While I am there, I will hug you tightly and tell you I love you.

With all my love, with all my heart, with everything I have.

Mommy

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Teen Series Part 3: Don’t Make Empty Promises

Last week I introduced you to Vicky Rinfreschi, a South African teenager with wise words. She has a close and open relationship with her parents, and her love and respect from them can be clearly seen in her words. Last week she gave advice that can help parents attain that kind of relationship with their teenage kids, and today she is back with more. Without further ado, here are the rest of Vicky’s words, uncut and unedited.

DON’T MAKE EMPTY PROMISES! This is just as bad as lying. My parents aren’t perfect but they are pretty close. Even so this was an area when we used to butt heads quite a lot. Now that I’m older I do understand – but at the time it caused me hours of misery. You have to be aware that a child’s memory is loads better than that of an older person. They remember EVERYTHING! You will say a mindless comment like, “Not now honey just a bit later and I PROMISE I will play that game with you.” Or “Next weekend I PROMISE we will go to that shop and find it”. Everyone has said something along those lines just so you could get a moments rest. But then did you do it? My parents had a track record of 6 out of 10 when it came to doing that thing later (if it wasn’t a priority – such as a board game etc.). I understand that to an adult your child’s little requests aren’t such a high priority, like Kirsten said, worrying about feeding your kids is higher on the list than going to the beach; but to your child , even your teenager (though you might find it hard to believe), nothing could be more important. It’s a cry for quality time. It may even be (as it was for me) that your child wants to distract YOU from your worries and make you smile for a period of time no matter how small. So before you make that statement make sure you can back it up with action and before you blow off that action think about how nice it would be to connect with your child before you’re no longer the centre of their life. That period of time when your child idolises you won’t last long. Enjoy it now and maybe, just maybe they will never stop idolising you. I haven’t. Everyday I strive to be as wise and loving as my mom and as smart, strong and as caring as my dad. Be the parent you wished your parents were, and trust me you won’t go wrong.

Another big issue is MONEY. Be honest about your finances. I remember when I was little I had no concept about money; I just knew what I wanted, when I wanted it and that was often right then and there. Most parents make the mistake of saying no to their kids without giving them a reason – leading that child to believe that “my mommy/daddy don’t love me because they wouldn’t get me that toy/chocolate.”  Don’t make that mistake. My family have been through ups and downs when it comes to finances. Some years money was abundant and birthdays, weekends and Christmases were filled with all sorts of goodies. But some years money was tight (really tight) and we couldn’t afford the little goodies that make children feel loved, but my parents where HONEST about it. Yes I would be disappointed for about 5 seconds but I got over it because IT WASN’T THAT MAY PARENTS DIDN’T LOVE ME – they would have bought me the earth if I so desired it. Don’t think that just because we are young we won’t understand. We perceive a lot more than most adults. Show your kids that they don’t need little gifts for you to prove your love – good old fashioned quality time at home with a soccer ball or board game does the trick ten times over. So give up a little television or facebook time and play a game with your child. Trust me. That’s a foundation that you should nurture from the beginning.

The biggest thing and maybe the main reason why I consider my mother one of my best friends and my father my advisor, is because they never let me forget, not for 1 second, how much they loved and supported me. IN EVERYTHING, NO MATTER WHAT! It may seem frivolous; but to randomly go up to your child and tell them that you love them and that you are proud of them actually makes a huge difference. Especially (even though most won’t admit it) to a teenager. He/she might have had a typical downer teenager day at school and you, with no hidden agendas, telling them how much you love and them, could turn the dark cloud they have been nurturing with self-loathing thoughts, into a fluffy pink one filled with love and confidence. You don’t need a reason to express your love for them. And make sure they know that no action could change how you feel;  yes you might get mad or be disappointed for a bit but that’s because your love runs so deep and so strong that you wish you could take away all the problems and hurt. Let them know that you are a safe place for secrets and advice. DON’T BREAK THAT CONFIDENCE EVER!!!!

In short; treat your children as you would want to be treated, because they will do as you do and not what you say. Trust your kids and they will trust you as long as you show them that they can. And most importantly earn their respect by showing them respect and your relationship will evolve into a beautiful friendship that will last for the rest of your lives.

(Photo credit: Vagawi. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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A Portrait of Two Brothers

For the next week, I will be participating in the WEGO Health “Advocating for Another” blog carnival. As I talk about the joys and challenges of raising a child with autism, I also recognize the contributions – of which there are so many – of my younger son James. All of the posts that I publish here this week are dedicated to him.

Today’s prompt: Portrait Post – Write a descriptive portrait of your child/ren. Share qualities that make them, them – and include an image!

They lie curled up together on the bed, their identical-coloured curls tangled together on a single pillow bedecked in a Thomas the Train pillowcase. The larger of the two boys has his arm thrown casually but protectively over his little brother. These boys are both amazing individuals in their own right, but at times like this, it seems that one would not be complete without the other.

Although only one of the children has a diagnosis, I am an advocate for both of them.

On the left is George, almost nine years old. He is tall for his age: one of those long lanky kids who somehow manages to stay skinny despite eating startling quantities of food. He bears a strong physical resemblance to me: our noses are the same shape, our eyes are the same shade of blue, and when we’re tired, both of our left eyes droop ever so slightly in the corner.

George has autism. He has profound delays in speech and social communication, and he gets anxious – almost panicky – when an established routine is deviated from. He has trouble regulating his emotions, and will bang his head in frustration when he is unable to make us understand what it is that’s bothering him. There are times when I look into his eyes and see the depth of his frustration, his sadness, his desperation to communicate in ways that he is not able to. It’s as if he wishes he could emerge from his world, even if just for a moment.

There are times, though, when his world is a wonderful place. He can see patterns where the rest of don’t even know one exists. He sees beauty in numbers: he is comforted by their consistency and their power, and he has always outperformed typical kids of his age in math. If there’s a problem to be solved, he will solve it, albeit by a somewhat unconventional method. He has a quirky sense of humour along with the most infectious laugh you ever heard. When George laughs, the whole world really does laugh with him.

And he has the most beautiful, pure heart that is just bursting with love. I treasure the moments when he says in his sweet lyrical voice, “Go give Mommy a hug”, and then clambers onto my lap, drapes his gangly arms around my neck and buries his face in my hair.

On the right of the bed is James, who is six going on twenty-seven. He came flying into the world like a cannonball one cold Christmas afternoon, and he hasn’t stopped since. He is a bundle of dynamite who zings his way around life with a seemingly endless supply of energy. His face is bright and vibrant, brought to life by shiny blue eyes that view the world with wonder and curiosity.

It is hard for him, being the sibling of a child with autism. Things happen that he perceives to be unfair, but in spite of this, his love for his brother does not waver. He tells me that he loves George more than he loves me – and I am completely fine with that. When George is having a meltdown, James treats him with concern and compassion. Many times, he will be the first one to know what George is trying to say and what he needs. We sometimes see George seeking out the comfort of his brother – comfort that James is always ready to give.

James shows wisdom and empathy beyond his years. But when he wakes in the morning and sleepily climbs into my lap, his little body melts against mine and I am reminded that he is just a baby. He may be a little brother with a big brother’s role, but he needs to be nurtured, cared for, protected. We need to be make sure that as he grows up, his role as George’s brother is balanced by his identity as James, as an individual with his own hopes and dreams.

I worry about the future for both of my boys. They will each have their challenges to deal with, and their battles to fight.

But now, as they lie sleeping, they don’t have a care in the world. And that’s just the way it should be.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)