Broken Tooth

I have a broken tooth.

I have had it for six months.  It's a wisdom tooth and I keep meaning to make an appointment to get it dealt with but my life never seems to allow me any time to do so.

Healing from dental surgery is more "free time" than I can afford right now. I don't know how or when  to fit it in, nor can I figure out the logistics of how to do it with Jason's work schedule and my work schedule and kids and all the things that seem so much more important than my damn tooth.

But now,  I think it has an abscess.  And it hurts like hell.

So I suppose I don't have much of a choice anymore.

And once again, my plate is so full that the food keeps sliding off.

There is no baseline for me lately. There are only the fleeting moments where I kick up hard enough to catch one big breath of air before falling under it all again.

So that's my blog for tonight, because my head is throbbing and I can't think about anything else.

Anything except the three hours of cooking and cleaning I still have left to do before Monday hits.

Sigh.  Sometimes it can be hard.

They say self care is one of the most important things parents can do for themselves.

Unfortunately,  they don't tell you how to fit it in.

Edited to add: Got my tooth pulled today in an emergency surgery. It took less than two hours total. And so my entire argument of "no time" was a very powerful lie to myself. I'm glad I can be transparent about that in this space and promise to write a better post about it this month.

Rainbow Coloured Walls

Like most parents of Autistic children, I field a lot of the “What is it like?” question.

It’s a particularly obnoxious one since, up until Charlie was born, I didn’t know any other type of parenting. And, even now, the only thing I really know is what it is like to parent my own children. There isn’t really a universal parenting experience- no more for parents of Autistic children than for parents neurotypical ones.

But, I suppose, there are some things about our lives that do distinguish parenting a child with disabilities from the experience of those that don’t. There are some things that we encounter that most of  my friends will never quite have to worry about, consider, or mitigate.

Consider, for a moment, that you are house shopping and you come upon a Magic Genie realtor. He tells you that he can give you your perfect home. It will be exactly the right lay out, exactly the right size, exactly the right location, and in a completely affordable price point…Perfect in every way and exactly the home you have always dreamt of owning.

Sounds like a pretty good deal, right?

But of course, as is often the case with genies (and with realtors), there’s a catch: Your walls can never be painted. They must always be the colour that they are now.

Now, the rookie shopper will tell you: No problem! I can work with whatever.

And they’d be right.  You can make just about any colour work in most spaces, particularly when you can control things like lighting and decorations.

But a more seasoned shopper knows that the colour of the walls is actually kind of a big deal. Not a deal break- again, this is the perfect house- but a big deal, nonetheless.

On top of that, Magic Genie tells you that you don’t get to know the colour of the walls before moving in. And once you are there, you can never move away.

If you can’t agree to these terms, you must walk away from the home completely.

It’s the perfect home, and you are committed to the long-term picture, so you agree.

And in your mind, you start to ask yourself: What will my walls look like?

You think to yourself: Maybe you’ve lucked out and they will be white! White, while not exactly an exciting colour, does kind of go with every thing. There’s an awful lot you can do with white.

In your mind, you start to decorate your white walls.

And you feel secure in knowing that you can work with what you will be given.

But, life isn’t always that easy.

See, there’s the catch: No one gets white.

Every single magic house has a colour of its own, and white is not among them.

Some houses have very pale blue walls. Others have pale sage walls. Others still are pale taupe.

Some are bolder: a vibrant green, a cool lilac, or a serene gray.

Each of these walls has its own personality, and its own flavour. And, despite your best hopes, they will not match perfectly the white décor you had envisoned in your dreams.

But, for the most part, the colour is flexible. After all, there are a wide variety of different colour schemes that work with a butter yellow wall. While you do need to put in a bit of thought and work with the hue that you have been given, you can walk into most department stores and rest assured that you will find a wealth of different options to accessorize and decorate your space.

And, whatever it is, it is a beautiful colour.

***

Now, imagine that your house has a bright red focus wall.

Like it’s more muted and uniformed counterparts, this red wall is beautiful. But it is also extremely powerful. It is extremely present. It is dominant.

And it doesn’t necessary work with as wide a variety of colour schemes.

You will need to think more intensely about how to decorate your space. You will need to consider the particular decorating needs that accompany a strong focus wall.

 Red requires a different amount of mental work to coordinate. It also requires a different amount of mental processing to become accustomed to. It may not be as easy for every one to adapt to a red wall. For some, it may be really jarring and they may try to find ways to minimize the impact of the wall. However, as we all know, a focus wall is called a focus wall for a reason: it’s the focus. Most efforts to minimize the impact will be in vain, and it is generally best to let the wall dictate the tone of the space.

You will want to pick your décor carefully. It will take time to plan out how to best use the space. You may need to seek out specialized shops to find the perfect picture frames and furniture.

But you will find them. But it takes more time, more energy, more thought, and- often- more investment to get the room exactly the way you want it. But you will get there. 

***

Some of us however,  whether through fate or fortune, walk into our new houses surprised to find them painted in extremely unconventional colours.

Lime Green. Aquamarine. Bright Orange. Fluorescent Pink.

And that’s a whole other ball game.

They don’t make a lot of home decorating catalogues dedicated to teaching you how to work with fluorescent pink walls.

Decorating a fluorescent pink space is a challenge like none you’ve ever undertaken in the history of your decorating life. And, at first, you have no idea what you are going to do.

Some people grieve. How could they have agreed to this? They didn’t know! They were fooled! They were lied to! This is not the deal that they accepted.

(And they would be wrong. This is exactly the deal that they accepted.)

These people will spend the rest of their lives trying to figure out how to get out of their contract and either paint their walls or move away.

Others will dedicate themselves to finding ways to work around the pink walls that they find so offensive. They will hang curtains to cover them. They will use blue lighting to try to conceal the colour. But, at the end of the day, the walls are still fluorescent pink, regardless of what they do.

(These people will often wind up frustrated and will never gain a true appreciation for their home or comfort their space.)

Others still will embrace the intensity of the wall colour. They will learn to love fluorescent pink and will spend the rest of their lives working towards trying to perfect that space and find all the accountrements that will enhance the wall’s natural beauty. They become artists, and learn that the pink walls are an opportunity to turn their lives into living canvases.

Is it more expensive? Yes.

Is it more time consuming to decorate? Yes.

Can it be frustrating sometimes, particularly in the beginning when you don’t have an understanding of how to work with the colour? Yes.

Can the intensity of the colour be difficult to manage sometimes and require more energy from you? Definitely, yes.

But…there is a richness and uniqueness and power that emanates from a pink wall.

And the intensity is exactly what makes it so beautiful.

Your home, while unconventional, becomes a life long labour of love, teaching you to open up your eyes to all the colours of the rainbow.

***

Longwinded as it may be, this is the best analogy I can think of to describe the experience of parenting my children.

When I was pregnant, I naively thought that my child would be like a blank white canvas that I could do with as I pleased.

Of course, no child is a blank canvas. They are all bright and colourful personalities of their own, and while you can impact them, you can not change who they are.

Some of their colours are more typical of what we would expect in children. They fit into the moulds we have create more easily and blend successfully with the world around them.

My daughter, Charlie, is not one of those children. Like a bright vividly-coloured focus wall, she is an insatiable force of life that dominates almost every space she enters. Her incredible thirst for knowledge and for interaction is unlike any toddler I have ever met, and she is already one of the strongest people I know.

To parent Charlie is to embrace the richness and boldness of her personality and to build up a world around her that plays to her strengths. It requires a lot of thought and planning, and ultimately, she and I are discovering that her atypicality may not always fit the mould. She is unlike her peers, but she is unlike them in a way that is generally easily accepted- and even admired- by the world. She ‘breaks’ the social mould, but in ways that are deemed socially acceptable.

To parent Sam is to walk into a proudly fluorescent pink house. There is nothing conventional about him, and his beauty isn’t always understood by others. He doesn’t break the moulds- he is apart from them, functioning independently from almost all social expectations.

The difference in time, effort, cost and intensity of parenting Sam in a way that is respectful of his pronounced differences can not be denied. It is not always easy to build up a world around him that compliments and enhances who he is.

And, as amazing as he is, I am always aware that he will never be considered to ‘fit’ the definition of what we consider a typical person to be.

There are people who spend their lives telling me that I must learn to do everything in my power change him, to cover up his differences and try my best to change his colour into one that is deemed more palatable.

But the thing is that I love his colour. I never expected to have an Autistic child, but I have fallen in love with the complexity, the vividness, the unabashed uniqueness of him.

And, like Charlie, while he doesn’t necessarily fit the mould, I am learning to live in a house that is multi-coloured and multi-faceted. I am learning to take the time to really think of who they are, as individuals, in every decision that I make. I am learning that, while the journey is different for both of them, it is phenomenal one well worth the undertaking.

I love my brightly coloured walls. I love that they are outside of the norm. I love that they have made me rethink everything I thought I knew about the world.

I love living inside a rainbow. That is what parenting my children is like. 

They are more glorious than anything I could ever have imagined on a blank canvas.

And that’s what it’s like to parent my atypical children.  

It’s colourful.  

Get Ready...Get Set...Blog!

It's that time of year again: The Summer Blog Challenge.

A blog post a day for 31 days straight. If it sounds easy, trust me, it isn't.

If it sounds entertaining, trust me, it is.

As hard as it is to believe, this will be my fourth summer completing the challenge. That's part of what is bringing me back to it. The first time I did the challenge, back in the summer of 2011, Sam was still barely even a toddler. Now, looking back over the blog entries of the past, I can get a picture of where I have been, how I got there and where I am ultimately going.

Journaling is a fascinating experience of self-discovery.

I won't (and can't!) promise that my posts will be thoughtful or provoking- though I do hope that at least one or two are.  I also don't promise that they will be thorough, well-edited or even spell-checked. I write generally in a free-style on this blog- more with the intention of getting the thought and idea out of my mind than with the intention of doing so with flair, grace, or attention to grammar (though these are things that I am working on, slowly but surely).

What I do promise is that I am going to take the challenge seriously and really push myself to explore some topics that have been nagging at my mind this year; and, trust me, there are a LOT of them.

So hopefully you'll join me on my #SBC2014 challenge and we'll see where the summer winds take us.

The longest response to a comment ever...

A thoughtful comment was made on my last post.

The text of the comment from stillfinditsohard (a blog that I have followed for some time) has been copied verbatim here:

"I wrote at http://wp.me/s2iISl-pardon about this admittedly important but much shorter than it needs to be step. I think it is worth the effort for both your good self and your audience to read what I have to say.

Patting the back of Build-A-Bear when they appear to have only done half a job is not going to do us a favour. Okay, so you have one less (out of thousands) of reasons to fear for your child.

What about those of us who can and do speak for ourselves, and do not live in America? What about us? And that speaks to the most profound division there is between the "parent of a child with autism" bunch and us, the autistic. You get all the attention, we end up suffering because you either jump guns or fail to think through.

Build-A-Bear's severing of ties to Autism Speaks FNA is a good thing. But until they go out of their way to let _all_ of their customers know why, and sever all ties with _all_ anti-autistic hate groups, autistic people everywhere have no reason to celebrate.

The Irish political party that was essentially a part of the IRA had a name that was and still is instructive for the autistic civil rights movement. Sinn Féin, an Irish phrase for "we ourselves". Sam might be a small child now, but there will come a time when he is the same age that I am now.

Thirty years from now, the way in which parental "advocates" behave, the way the movement cheers at a job half-done, and the way the movement fails to understand we are essentially at war, will have people like Sam taking up the same cry. Autistic people want to be spoken for and about by only one group of people.

We. Ourselves."

My comment was too long to post, but I felt really deserved a thorough answer, so I have written it out here.

Hi Dean.

Thank you for taking the time to post. I have read both your comment and your post carefully, and think that you bring up many important points. I really would like to answer them, but first want you to know that your words, feedback and criticisms/critiques are welcome here. I have followed your blog for some time, and have nothing but the deepest respect for your words and opinions.

On to your comment:

You are absolutely right- this is only a small step on Build A Bear's part. I absolutely believe that they owe the Autistic community a public announcement and acknowledgment of fact that this corporate partnership was harmful and wrong.
In my post, I do call on them to do this and, as many others have also done, have reached out them to on their social media platforms and through their email. There is still work to be done.

However, as with all civil rights movements, it is important to acknowledge when steps are made- particularly when these are the results of grassroots efforts. We need to do this both for the offending parties to see that we are sincere in our efforts and genuine in our advocacy. We also need to do this for ourselves. There will always be a much larger fight to fight. But without celebrating the battles, and taking the time to lick clean our wounds, we will not have the resilience it takes to continue working. We have witnessed this with various civil rights movements across the globe. No one oppressed group has fully succeeded in escaping their oppression. Women are still battered and beaten. Racial minorities still discriminated against. The disabled still dehumanized. Rectifying these wrongs and building a better world is a continuous act that occurs in multiple fronts, parallel to each other and working in different ways.

You also raise some points about the Parent of Autistic Child vs. Autistic Person debate. I assure you that I agree with you 100%. It is saddening and tragic that the voices of parents are elevated above those of Autistics of all ages and all abilities. It is my absolutely intention to do everything I can to continue supporting Autistic voices so that mine can fade into the background, where it belongs. I have consulted extensively with my friend Autistic self-advocates on the conflict between wanting to help spread the message of Autism/Neurodiversity Acceptance (I fall heavily into the latter category) and wanting the Autistic message to be resoundingly and overwhelmingly stemming from the Autistic community. I firmly believe in "Nothing About Us, Without Us" and do everything in my power to elevate and amplify the voices of Autistic people when and where I can.

That being said, my son is four. And, like my daughter, I have a vested interest in protecting and defending his rights not only as an Autistic person but as a human being that I love and cherish. I do not (and have never) claimed to speak for him; despite, being non-speaking Sammie is quite capable of communicating for himself and we encourage this communication in any form that it takes.

As I commented on the TPGA page, my blog is a tiny one. I have no idea how to respond to this type of public attention. However, I do believe that if you take some time to read through the rest of my writing, you will find that I am rather consistent in my messaging regarding the role of parents in Autism advocacy. I assure you that I had no idea that my post would be so impactful or so heavily shared, and it was certainly not done so out of a desire for attention. I was simply trying to celebrate a small victory in my community, in the best way that I knew how. Sometimes, the battles matter as much as the war. I do not agree that this was poorly thought out or a 'gun jumping'- rather, it was seizing an opportunity to spread a message of acceptance in the best way I know how to and with the tools at my disposal.

In your post, you also take some pretty strong shots at the entire Boycott Autism Speaks page and group- a page that is run largely by Autistic self advocates who have dedicated their sweat and tears into this movement. I fail to understand what your issue with them is, but can assure you that their efforts have been unceasing. If you believe that there are less passive ways to go about advocacy, I would strongly encourage you to do so. But I would also encourage you to remember that both Malcolm X and Martin Luther King made waves in their movements, using very different messages, mediums and tools. They did not always see eye to eye, but they did both accomplish significant leaps for their community. Advocacy and Activism can take on many forms.

Finally, two points: I am keenly aware that Sam will be an adult one day. I am also keenly aware that I am doing right by him as a parent- I am not perfect by any stretch, but I am raising with love, respect, dignity, and understanding. He is thriving in every sense of the word, and so am I, through his direct influence. We are helping each other to grow and teaching each other wonderful ways of taking in the world. But I have *never* claimed to speak *for* him; not in this post and not ever. In fact, I have been extremely vocal about the fact that Sam speaks for himself. He always has and he always will. I am, at best, a translator- a poor one, oftentimes. It is my sincere hope that I will be able to help him discover tools that are significantly more effective at this than I am. We are currently working on introducing an AAC, and are only engaging in supports that are respectful, consensual and non-harmful.

The final point that I would make is this: I am not American. I am Canadian. We still have a lot of work to do here (and globally, as you pointed out) but thought I would clarify the assumption.

Open Letter to Build A Bear Workshop Founder, Maxine Clark

Maxine Clark, Founder
Build A Bear Workshop



Dear Ms. Clark,

I wanted to take a moment to introduce you to Lili, one of Build A Bear's newest furry friends.

Aside from being an adorable pug, she is dressed up in super hero gear and her heart is filled with courage.

Why is she a super hero?

Because she was built as a reminder of all the daily heroes out there, people who are making change happen in our world just by their very presence. She was built as a symbol of the ongoing crusade for human rights and as a beacon of hope for those who are still battling every day against bigotry, oppression, fear and hatred.

And she was built in celebration; celebration of the news that Build A Bear Workshop has terminated its association with Autism Speaks, an organization that has done tremendous harm to Autistic people across the world.

Autistic people like my son, Sam.

(Edited to add: for an indepth article examining the various issues with Autism Speaks, please refer to this post, written by my friend Michelle Sutton: I will not 'Light It Up Blue'!)

Sammie is a four year old, non-speaking Autistic child who is full of joy, wonder, and total awesomeness from head to toe. :)

And today, for the first time ever, Sam went into the Build A Bear Workshop knowing that he was walking into a space that recognized his humanity and his right to acceptance, dignity, and respect. He walked right in, built himself a bear, gave her a bath, dressed her in her super hero gear, and named her Lili.

As he chose his new friend's furry form, he scanned the wall, carefully taking in the dozens of colourful and interesting furry friends to choose from.

A wealth of options were available, reflecting, in a sense, the diversity of children themselves. Like each custom-made bear, no two children are exactly alike- and it is our differences as human beings that make us unique and exceptional. Each one of us has different likes/dislikes, interests, beliefs, values, abilities, skills, and personalities.

It is this very principle of diversity- that every child should be able to freely choose who their favourite bear will be- that inspired the Build A Bear vision and has allowed it to grow into the successful, international corporation that it is today.

Ms. Clark, your mission statement says it all:

"At Build-A-Bear Workshop®, our mission is to bring the Teddy Bear to life. An American icon, the Teddy Bear brings to mind warm thoughts about our childhood, about friendship, about trust and comfort, and also about love. Build-A-Bear Workshop embodies those thoughts in how we run our business everyday."

Friendship. Trust. Comfort. Love.

Are these not the very foundational principles that human happiness is built upon?

These are the things I want for my child, now and as he grows older.

More than cures, or therapies, or treatments.

I want him to find friendship. True friendship that accepts him for who he is, and encourages him to thrive- not in spite of his difference, but because of them. Friendship that lasts a lifetime and that changes his world for the better. This kind of friendship can not be prescribed. It does not happen by forcing him to be more 'normal'; it happens by creating a world that is more accepting of diversity and differences.

I want him to find trust. This does not happen by violating his personal rights, body and dignity. It does not happen by discounting his voice, and the voice of other Autistics, from the Autism dialogue. It happens by establishing that we, his parents and his community, will keep him safe from harm- harmful therapies and harmful ideas that wound the spirit. It happens by valuing that he has a voice, despite the fact that he does not use words. It happens by respecting that his right to human dignity trumps other people's right to comfort. Trust is an ongoing and fragile process, built upon an established mutual respect.

I want him to find comfort. There are many things in Sammie's life that will make him uncomfortable. There are things that will cause him pain. There are things that will cause him distress. There are things that will cause him fear. My role- my mission as a parent- is to find ways to minimize these difficulties and to help him manage the obstacles that he faces with strength, courage, conviction and a sense of self-worth. This does not mean "curing" him; it means supporting him and strengthening him. It means understanding that disabilities require a holistic approach and that our greatest responsibility is to do no harm- to not cause him or others additional pain in our attempts to "fix" things about him that are not broken. It means helping him become resilient, and always being the 'soft place' for him to land on when things get hard.

I want him to experience love. There are no words that could ever do justice to the amount of love that I have for my children. I will not even attempt to find them. But my vision for Sammie is so much bigger than just me. I want Sammie to find love everywhere he goes. And really, isn't that what most parents want for their children? I want Sammie's heart to overflow with love every minute of every day for the rest of his life. Love of others. Love for others. Love for himself.

And for that to happen, more people need to do as you and Build A Bear Workshop have done. More people need to stand up and say that to love someone is to accept them for who they are. That pouring money, time and energy into trying to find ways to 'cure', 'change', 'conquer', 'defeat' or otherwise 'attack' Autism is to tell Autistic people that they are not worthy of being loved. That they are not worthy of being respected. That who they are as human beings is not valuable.

Ms. Clark, as our family built Sammie's puppy today, watching him choose her name and squeal with joy as he gave her a bath, my thoughts were on you and your organization. On the good that I sincerely believe was in your hearts when you partnered with an association that claimed to be promoting a worthy cause.  Of the betrayal you must feel at knowing that this organization is really promoting harm and is doing so despite the resounding supplications of the Autistic community to change their ways. Of the anger you must feel at knowing that there are people out there who believe that Autistic children aren't worthy of love and acceptance based solely on the fact that they are different.

My thoughts were on this, and on all the work that you still have ahead of you to continue to undo the harm that has been done.

I am so grateful that Build A Bear Workshop has terminated this relationship. I am so grateful to know that the words in your mission statement are true and sincere; that you truly are committed to giving children happiness and joy. I am grateful, and I am hopeful that you will now seize the opportunity to become advocates for friendship, trust, comfort, and love for people of all abilities.

Sammie's new bear wears a superhero cape to commemorate the fact that total strangers can be super heroes in their every day, ordinary lives.

Today, Build A Bear Workshop became part of Sammie's super hero team. I hope you will continue to rise to the challenge and continue to earn your cape.

With deep respect and appreciation,

Sammie's mom.

3 stories, one day.

It has truly been a beautiful day. 

***

I pull up to the school just as the light gray clouds begin to collect overhead and drizzle a cool mist over the windshield of my truck.

They won't be playing outside on a morning like this.

That's a shame. My favourite part of the day is watching him play outside, fully unaware of me- of anyone, really- and completely enraptured in his final run of the school day. Sometimes, he has kicked off his shoes and is feeling the soft grass tickling his toes. Other times, he is darting in and out between the trees, speedily making his way the world in an eternal figure eight.

But not today.

Today, he will be walked out instead. Right at noon. Usually the last of his class, his hand gentle enfolded in the wrinkled hand of his kind aid. She will pass him off to me- his hand into mine- and I will ask him how his day was. I will hold my breath waiting for the smile that signals a day well lived. If it does not come, my heart will sink as I will know that he struggled.

Thankfully, the smiles come most of the time. School is a happy place for him. Sometimes, he is so overjoyed that his eyes ask to meet mine, and within that split second I am privy to all the wonderment and excitement that fill his mind.

His eyes tell me stories that no words could describe.

I see him at the doorway. The picture looks the same as it always has...but there is something different today.

I can't quite put my finger on it.

Yes, he is smiling. But that's not unusual. He is usually smiling. And still, something seems different.

It takes a second to register but when it comes to me, the impact hits me like a ton of bricks:

He is looking right at me. Through my window. He sees me here. He is not just happy. He is happy to see me.

I jump out of the car and make my way towards him, eager to greet him in my usual way.

But I am stopped short. Before anyone can stop him, he has torn his hand free of his aide's, and he is running down the path, arms outstretched, and heartily laughing as he crashes into my knees. He looks up at me, right into my eyes, and holds my gaze.

One second...two seconds...three seconds...

Still looking right at me, he lifts his arms for me to pick him up. And, when I do, he places his hand on my cheek, once again looks into my eyes and kisses my lips.

Hi mom. Today was amazing. I am so glad to see you. I love you.

And then he looks into my eyes again, laughs out loud and climbs into his car seat.

No words were passed between us. None need to be said.

His eyes tell me stories no words could describe.

****

The pool is quiet today. I love when we get to come early. The dinner time hour seems to drag away the crowd and we have the space virtually to ourselves.

I wonder what kind of swim we will have today. Sam has been in an exceptional mood, but seems tired after his short car nap.  Today might wind up being more of a 'swim therapy' day than a 'swim play' day.

That's ok with me. I love watching Sam play, but I do secretly covet those therapeutic sessions where he asks me to help him regulate himself with deep pressure water exercises. What masquerades as a 'joint compression' truly just signifies a whole lot of extra cuddles for me.

But no. Apparently today is a bouncy, stimmy, happy flappy play day.

And he is so thrilled that I can easily bear the pseudo-disappointment.

But there's something different about the pool today.

Today, he is not alone in his Autistic glory.

There is another boy, maybe eight, bouncing his way through the lazy river.

I've come to recognize Autism quickly in children. I suspect the numbers are higher than 1 in 68, and consider this to be a good thing. Neurodiversity is a powerful force of change in our world.

But we seldom see Autistic children at the pool. And never alone. When they are there, it is almost always there with an aide or a parent, cautiously hovering and anxiously looking over their shoulder.

Sam is crashing his way through the waves, soaking up every ounce of comfort and freedom that the water has to offer.

But then, he sees the boy.

He sees the boy.

Not just seeing him as a body to navigate around, but really and truly 'seeing' him.

Sensing his presence. Recognizing in him a peer.

"He is like me." 

And the boy sees him too.

Sam advances towards him, and smiles- a smile of understanding and of acceptance, like a secret handshake between two boys who know a secret that no one else knows.

The boy smiles back, his eyes filled with curiosity at this small child advancing upon him.

Their bodies collide like the waves crashing against the tiles.

They laugh out loud. And splash. And bounce. And flap.

An Autistic dance.

The moment passes, far too briefly, but in those few seconds something transpired that I had never seen before.

Somehow, without words and without help, Sam asked this boy to be his friend.

And in those seconds, they were friends like Sam has never had before. Equals. Peers.

"Social skills" can be taught in a class room, but friendship can only be born from the heart. 

They seperate and go their own ways, the older boy exploring the pool in ways too advanced for Sam to follow. But through it all, I see them watching each other, observing how the other body moves and experiences the world.

I look for the boys parents to introduce myself, but I can not find them. Perhaps it's for the best. Perhaps my child doesn't need my intervention. Perhaps in this brief moment, he has experienced a depth of friendship so intense and so authentic that my interference would do nothing but mar the memory of that moment of love, shared between two strangers who really aren't that strange at all.

***

He is hiding under the towels.

This is the ritual of getting dressed.  The bright fluorescent lights pain the eyes and the echoing chambers of the washroom overwhelm the ears.

The towel is like a barrier protecting the senses.

She doesn't need barriers. She likes to experience things as openly and rawly as life has to offer them. No sensory experience is too intense. Nothing intimidates her.

They could not be more different, these fruits of my womb.

This week, she has really discovered "play". She wants to play with everyone, all the time. Peekaboo, tickle fights, tag, tea parties...games that are far too advanced for what the books all told me to expect.

But she doesn't understand boundaries yet. She is, after all, only a baby.

Usually, he ignores her. Sometimes, he pushes her away.

Get her off me. I do not want her to touch my body.

We spend a lot of time playing referee between her needs and his.

And today, she wants to play. So I brace myself for the worst. It was a wonderful swim, but transitioning out of the pool is never the easy part.

She puts her hand on his body, and I pull her away.

"Charlie, you may not touch Sam's body..."

But from the very corner of the towel, in the shadows, I see his little face peering out.

And he is smiling.

It's ok, mom. We're playing. 

I yank the towel off his face: "PEEKABOO"

He erupts in giggles. He loves this game.

And so does she.

He sees her laugh. It makes him smile even more brightly. He pulls the towel over his head again.

PEEKABOO! I cry out as I tear it off one more time!

The musical sound of children's laughter is God's magnum opus.

My children. Laughing. Together. Playing beside each other. Can this be?

Before the thought can even fully develop, Sam covers his face again. But this time, the game has changed. It is he who yanks it off, with sparkling peekaboo eyes.

And they are looking right at her.

She explodes with joyous glee.

PEEKABOO SAM!

Back and forth, the game continues and I realize that I am no longer a player in it. They are playing alone, with each other, without me...their faces, inches apart. Sharing space. Sharing joy.

PEEKABOO CHARLIE!

As the game draws to its natural end, I help him stand to dress him. She stands too.

Like brother, like sister. 

And she stumbles her way across to him, and wraps her chubby arms around his legs for a hug.

He drops an arm down onto her body. Not pushing her away, but pulling her in.

Hugs.

There is no dream sweeter than the one that comes true.

Love.

***

It has truly been a beautiful day. 

I didn't blog today...

I didn't blog today
Though it was very much my intent
I was too busy actually living
My time was simply better spent
I cuddled with my daughter
As she sleepily rubbed her eyes
I wrestled with my son
One pant leg at...a...time!
I enjoyed cupcakes at the school
As kids' eyes lit up with glee
I wiped icing off a nose
And wound up getting it all over me
I splish and splashed around the pool
And, at the park, I ran for miles
I zoomed too quickly down the slide
And carried on quite like a child
I held his hand at the restaurant
And proudly watched him eat his meal
I tried to muffle her laughter
But had to giggle at her squeals
I watched him tear open his gifts
I became a train engineer
I was captivated by him
He was captivated by the gears
I rocked her gently in my arms
And breathed in her sleeping scent
I stroked the hair out of his face
As he slumbered off, content
And as lie in my husband's arms
And the pillow finds my head
I think "I didn't blog today...
I lived my life instead."