The Family Room

Trans#@!!%&&*itions

So we're back to not going to bed. J's and my quixotic quest to watch all of Foyle's War on successive nights, or, for that matter, to get Isaac to bed before 11, is failing miserably. I know, I know, transitions. Back to school, new routine, and...kerflooey. Does it help that he wakes up in a fine old mood, can now count in Spanish (and, more than that, understands the correspondence between the numbers)? A little, except I'm kinda grumpy, I have to admit.

Last night just generally sucked. J spent an hour and a half, and I came in to close--took me another hour, including at least five renditions of increasingly croaky Edelweiss. This morning, total goofiness reigned. We all sat in bed together and watched YouTube videos on my laptop, while Isaac ate oatcakes (which for some blessed reason he thinks are a real treat) in bed. Crumbs aside, it was pretty great. So here, for your viewing pleasure, some stupid fun courtesy of the Potter Puppet Pals. And thanks to J's students for widening my cultural horizons.

I Want More Mockingbird!

A few weeks ago, Jen Graf Groneberg wrote a lovely piece on ParentDish called Singing to My Children, in which she recounts her gradual acceptance of the power of her own singing voice as a way to connect with her boys. It's such a sweet post, full as it is of her insecurities and how she ultimately shrugged them off as she discovered how much her kids loved music--her music. I sent her a note afterward, a little ruefully telling my own story early on with Isaac. I had decided on day one that I would be a lullaby-singing kind of Mom, and hoped that it would bring Isaac and me closer together and represent a sweet, intimate moment of peace and communion between us before he fell asleep each night. Ahh, romantic sap that I was. Then one night, as I softly sang the mockingbird lullaby ("Hush little baby, don't say a word..."), Isaac raised his head from the pillow, pulled his damp thumb from his mouth, looked me straight in the eye, and softly whispered..."Noooo."

This led to a lullaby recession, in which we focused more on made-up bedtime stories (latest favorite is about a large pink monster with two noses and two mouths, named, according to Isaac, "Very Mad"). But one night a couple of weeks ago he was having a rough time getting to sleep, so I asked him if he wanted me to rub his back. "Yes," he whispered from underneath the covers. So I starting rubbing his back and in a moment found myself singing "Mockingbird." Oh the excitement. "I want Mommy sing Mockingbird again!" A few weeks have gone by and we have added Toora Loora to the playlist. If you don't know it, it's a sweet Irish lullaby that my Mother used to sing to me when I was about Isaac's age. We have absolutely no claim to it, seeing as how not a drop of Irish blood runs through our veins, but we're hoping we can borrow it anyway for at least another generation. It's just lovely, and very, very soothing.

So now I'm on a little bit of a lullaby bender, looking for the next candidate. Jen likes "Edelweiss," which I have always loved, but it has the distinct disadvantage of making me cry nearly every time I hear or sing it. So who knows? We may have to get a little creative. Not long ago, I overheard J. singing Isaac to sleep with "I Want You to Want Me" by Cheap Trick (a sentimental favorite: the first album he ever bought). So while we may diverge from the tried and true, at least I am secure in the knowledge that, just like Kajagoogoo, I am ready for my comeback.

Sleep Strategies for Kids with Special Needs

Here's a presentation that Melissa Willa of Gateway Learning Group recently gave entitled "Strategies to Improve Your Child's Sleep." There's some really helpful information on assessing sleep disturbances, and practical advice on how to deal.

If you would like to download the presentation, click here: Download supportforfamiliessleeppres.pdf

And, if you would like to contact Melissa for more information, visit her website or email her at melissa [at] gatewaylg [dot] com.

Happy sleeping!

Life Imitates Life, Art Imitates Art

Lately everything feels like it's colliding in some way. I got a call from Isaac's school the other day that he was warm, inconsolable and...tugging his ears (yes, I have learned my lesson). When I arrived, he looked up at me, face streaming with tears, and wailed "I want to go HOOOOME!" I felt the tears well up myself, mostly out of love for him and also, I have to admit, out of delight at such a clear, communicative sentence. Being naturally overanalytical AND the parent of a spectrum child is a dangerous combo--it's hard to take things as they come. Should I become more wise or enlightened about this anytime soon, I'll let you know.

In other news, I now have a renewed appreciation of Sigmund Freud. Isaac has lately taken to waking up in the middle of the night, coming into our room and announcing: "I want Daddy to get out," whereupon he jumps into bed and tries to push my dear husband out of bed. We are working on a game plan for this, but it's hard to be all Floortimey and supportive at three in the morning. My suggestion: a 24-hour Floortime house call hotline. There's a market out there, I know it.

Last night, as I walked into the parking garage near my office, I saw a tall young guy wearing a white, floppy wig, black pants, and a black shirt. Didn't think twice about it until I saw another guy, similarly dressed and wearing the same wig, as I pulled out of the driveway. At that point, I couldn't resist, so I asked him what it was about. He rolled his eyes. "The museum is doing a special show, so we have to wear these," he muttered. And as I turned the corner, it all came into focus: a whole reception line of identically dressed, multiethnic Andy Warhols, welcoming visitors into the museum. I can only take that as a sign. Of what, I don't exactly know, but it was a lovely sight.

As we were getting Isaac ready for bed last night, Jesse and I chatted about a media story that had caused a flurry of activity at work yesterday. This was a brand-new word for Isaac, who tends to respond to new words much the way he does to matchbox cars: with a belly laugh, followed by intense exploration. "Me-dee--ahh," he repeated, grinning at us. "Yes, sweetie, 'media,'" we answered, and continued our conversation. And then, after another minute, he crawled up into my lap, looked into my eyes and announced: "I want to say bye-bye to the media." And so we did.

Love, Love [Tough] Love

I've been quiet this week, mostly because we are in a new phase with Isaac; one that involves a) a massive sleep boycott and b) multiple nightly visitations when he wakes during the night. I haven't been too concerned about it, given that he's always been a good sleeper, he's not acting differently otherwise, and it's come with some nice gains in language and engagement--but it's definitely wiping us out over here.

And it's making me face a few facts about myself as a parent: how much unconditional love I give versus, well, tougher love.

There were a few moments at the Jumpstart conference a couple of weeks ago that clued me in to the ways therapists and other professionals view us parents. There was one point In Lynn Koegel's presentation about her "Supernanny" experience when she and Jo (aka Supernanny) were trying to get the boy to ask for something using language rather than grunting and crying. The child was getting progressively more distraught, as was Mom. And there was a ripple of recognition in the audience, one that said: "Yeah, I've been there when Mom (or Dad) caves at the critical moment. Happens all the time." "Okay," I thought, "easy for YOU to watch my child suffer through a milestone that most kids blow past without a moment's thought." But--let's be honest--I know it's not.

So here we are, night number I've-lost-count in Operation "For God's Sake, Go To Bed, Isaac!" We've tried sitting in the room, progressively moving closer to the door: "I want Mommy to get on the floor!" We've tried a kiss and a brief stay in the room: we lost count after putting him back in bed bed 30+ times in one night. Tonight, after 45 minutes in the chair listening to his musings about his favorite shapes and the various characters in "Bob the Builder" ("Mr. Sabatini! EXTREME Mr. Sabatini! I want a triangle!") I finally crawled into bed beside him. He was out in 5 minutes.

Clearly, I can't do this forever. I realize it's as much for me as it is for him--perhaps more. He'll be four this summer, and it seems fairly certain at this point that he'll be an only child. I can't help thinking that I won't have this option much longer--that I have to store it all up now for later, when he's older and we inevitably lose the physical closeness we have now. But we have to get through this phase, and he has to to be more independent at the end than he was at the beginning. And we all have to get some sleep. And I know I have to stop obsessing about whether this is some sort of neurological wake-up-call, and a signal of SOMETHING BIGGER, and just go back to the basic task of helping Isaac get into a new sleep groove, bit by bit. (I was talking about this a couple of weeks ago to some special-needs-parent friends and we decided that you know it's time to kick your kid out of bed when...his stubble scrapes your cheek in the middle of the night.)

So, what's your prediction? Will I cave again tomorrow? Or will consistency and common sense prevail? Tune in for another exciting episode. And please--wish me luck.