Here's what it's like to take an autistic child to summer camp

Dana Rothstein | Dreamstime Stock Photos

You found a camp that you thought would be perfect for him. You hoped it would be perfect for him. After all, it's a subject he loves. After all, HE could be running the camp.

So you took a deep breath and signed him up. You filled out all the paper work. Under the medical information section you wrote high-functioning autism and ADHD. You even listed his medications even though he wouldn't be taking any of them at camp. You wrote it on the calendar, and it sat there like a ticking time bomb weighing heavily on your mind, on your heart.

Camp week arrived, and you spent the night before preparing your child. This is what time we're getting up, this is what time we're leaving. The camp is three days long. Here is what the camp is about. Here is how you appropriately get attention. Here is how you contribute information. Remember how we socialize with other campers? Stay on the conversation web. Here is what time Mom will be back to get you. 

He doesn't sleep at all that night. He is nervous, anxious, excited. He spends the entire night awake thinking, going over situations in his mind. He is exhausted in the morning, and you are nervous for him.

When you drop him off you linger to see what he will do, but he disappears into the classroom without saying good-bye. You go home and wait nervously, hoping - praying - that he has a good day. That the camp counselors don't ignore him. That he doesn't wander off. That the other kids are nice to him - or at least not mean anyway.

When you arrive to pick him up, he is sitting under a table reading a book. He sees you and runs to you shouting, "Finally! Get me out of this train wreck!"

You weakly smile at the counselors and other parents as you and your child walk away. That was rude, you mutter through clenched teeth at your son. He explains to you that the kids were being really loud and wild while waiting to be picked up, and then you understand the comment and his placement under the table.

The next morning when you drop him off, the camp director knows who you are right away. This makes you nervous. Did your child stand out that much yesterday? And so you worry all day.

When you come back, the director says Oh, Mrs. Frog. Your child certainly knows a lot about our subject! You tense. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? He has such enthusiasm. He is just a joy to be around. You exhale and smile. It was a much better day.

So the third day, you hardly worry at all until you come back to pick him up and he is under the table again, this time crying. And this time you are facing the camp director with a different look on her face.

Your child has punched someone in the shoulder. You are appalled and upset. You just want to get him out of there, but he won't come out from under the table. The camp director explains that the other boy said something about your child's mother, and secretly you're proud of your son for standing up for himself - and you!

You know that a detailed discussion is going to upset him more, so you ask him if he knows he made a poor choice. He weepily says yes, and you say Okay then, let's move on. 

The camp director says it's no big deal, but you can't help feeling like you sense relief when you answer her that no, your child isn't coming back to camp next week.

Just like in camps past, you're not sure he got anything out of it. Did he even have a good time? Was it even worth it? You want him to have experiences like other kids do, but is it worth it to worry all day and put him through the anxiety and stress of the situation with counselors who don't know him and don't know how to make him feel comfortable?

But then finally his week comes. The week you've both been waiting for all summer long. HIS camp. A camp just for him and kids like him. The only camp you've signed him up for that he has actually been telling people about.

A camp for kids with autism.

You walk in the first day and the director is there to greet him. She doesn't attempt to touch him or shake his hand but has a huge warm smile for both of you. He blurts out a question, which she patiently answers. Then she tells him about the schedule for the whole day. It includes things like yoga break, fine motor time, and executive functioning skills and warmth spills over your mama heart. Your son says Okay, cool, and starts exploring the room and picking things up off the floor.

He likes to do that, you say. And the director smiles and says Of course, we'll talk about that, too. 

You see other counselors showing other campers quiet places they can go if they need to, and you walk back to your car knowing THIS WILL BE a good day.

*          *          *

Every summer, for years, I have struggled over what activities to place my child in for his break from school. I know that it's important he have "regular experiences," but also that handling some of those regular experiences is difficult for him. Even though I hate to use labels, there are times his label has helped him and his camp counselors have a more positive experience. 

Read my latest on She Knows about how his label has saved some of his summer camp experiences, as well as a review of The A Word, a new show about autism premiering this month on the Sundance channel. 

Leave me a comment below about how you handle summer activities with your autistic child or connect with me on Facebook. 

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6 reasons my kids WON'T be having a free-range summer

morguefile.com

Right after we pulled into the garage on the last day of school, twelve-year-old Slim ran across the street toward some girls who were playing outside. A few minutes later he came back into the house.

“Why are you back inside, Slim?” I asked.

“Oh, those girls saw me coming and ran into their house,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly. “I guess they couldn’t handle my awesomeness.”

Slim has high-functioning autism. Whether he really thought that or realized the girls were trying to get away from him because they think he’s weird remains to be seen. But this is one of the many reasons that, despite what kind of a childhood I had, my sons will not be having a free-range summer.

Alphabet letters. In addition to the ASD, my son also has ADHD. He has one brother who has ADD. These boys need structure this summer. Honestly, all kids need structure. The first two weeks before lessons and camps and activities got started, Slim tried to plan out our entire day minute-by-minute. It was maddening, but I understand his need for order and schedules. Sure, sometimes we’ll wake up and just fly by the seats of our pants; but most days we will have a routine of chores, summer school work, screen time, active time, lessons, camps, etc . . .

Screens. When I was my sons' ages, cable television was a new thing and Atari was just a fuzzy game my brother played that I didn't have any interest in. Once "Fraggle Rock" was over and HBO was showing Nine to Five for the fifty-gazillionth time, I turned off the t.v. Now our kids have so many channels and options and personal devices and gaming systems. If I didn’t set limits, my sons would only emerge from their boy cave long enough to pee and grab more bags of Veggie Straws (Seriously, have you tried them? They’re surprisingly good.).

Competition. Gone are the lazy, explorative days of our childhood. My sons cannot possibly take the summer off from school work, learning how to code, or perfecting their three-pointers. Nowadays, there is a camp, a class, or lesson for everything. If there's not, there is a private tutor or coach waiting to teach your child to be the best. I'd like my kids to at least have a chance. (It's a lot, isn't it? Have you read this article about why most kids quit sports before high school?)  

Nosy neighbors and CPS. When they were in Junior High, my brother and his friend built an elaborate tree fort whose size rivaled a small NYC apartment or one of those trendy tiny houses. No one gave a thought to two twelve-year-olds with tools and nails and boards and anything else they could scavenge. All four of their parents were working; in fact, I was only ten and staying home by myself. Now, the "village" is all up in everyone else's business. I feel like if I don't check on my boys every ten minutes, I'm going to get judged as a bad mother. 

Mean kids. I'll admit that I hover around my kids. The primary reason I do is to make sure they are behaving and being nice to other children. "Catching them in the act" is the perfect time for reteaching and role playing. But I will admit, too, that I watch Slim like a hawk to see how other children are treating him and reacting to him. I've had to stand up for him in the past, but I'm really trying hard to get him to understand what is appropriate in social situations and what is not. While he really wants to be social, he's not always the best at it. 

Fear of loss. I woke up one day seven years ago and my whole life changed. There wasn't a thing I could do about that. But if something happened to one of my boys now and I could have prevented it, I would never be able to live with myself. One day last summer, I wasn't checking on Lil' C every ten minutes outside, and he rode off on his bicycle. We couldn't find him for about twenty minutes, and I was panicking, thinking of every kidnapping scenario and desperately trying to remember exactly what he had been wearing. Just as I had pulled out my phone to call 911, he came riding back, happy as a clam at his adventure. We used to ride our bikes EVERYWHERE, but somehow, I feel like this is a different time. 

I asked my mother once about all this, if she worried about these things, too. There were no cell phones growing up, so she had to trust that we were where we said we'd be. Also, there were no online predators to worry about, though there were actual predators. She said childhood cancer wasn't as prevalent as it is now, but occasionally you did hear of a child who'd died from it. She worried about mean kids and drugs and car accidents and freak accidents and everything we moms today worry about. 

But I still think it was a different time. I think with every generation comes a loss of innocence that we cannot get back. The more we move forward, we the more we lose. 

I guess this makes me a helicopter parent; and you know what? I'm okay with that. They are only little for a short time, and I am going to control things as much as I can. The older they get, the more opportunities for independence they will have. I'm okay with that, too. But right now, at 12, 10, 8, and 4 years old, I think I still have a few things to teach them. 

By the time they are old enough to apply those lessons, maybe I'll be ready to let go, too. 

Do you consider yourself a "free-range" parent? What aspects of their childhood do you control? 

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How to do New York City with Anxiety, Autism, and a Hurricane

I have to admit, the first time I visited New York City I didn't love it. It was the mid-nineties and I had driven up from Washington, D.C. with two of my friends. We were just going to stay a night. My friend told our married friend to leave her wedding ring behind because "people in New York will just rip it off your finger."

So I was already pretty scared of the big city before we even got there. We went to a nightclub where security personnel frisked us at the door and tore through our purses like a junkie looking for a fix. Being "Nebraska Nice" (seriously, that's our motto), I thanked her. She yanked me back and growled, "What did you say?"

"Thank you?" I repeated weakly, and she shoved me on into the club where my friends and I spent the rest of the time clinging to each other and hugging walls while watching transgender women cut in line for the bathroom.

I think we only stayed for 30 minutes before leaving and contemplating getting apple tattoos (thank god we didn't) and visiting the Statue of Liberty before we headed back to D.C.

Fast forward eight years. 9/11 had come and gone - but was still fresh in our minds - and Hubby and I were headed there with two babies in tow to spend two years of our lives in a place we'd never seen with no one we knew. I didn't want to go.

I ended up loving it.

Not actually Long Island where we lived - sorry Long Islanders - because there were lines and cars and people everywhere. And they were blunt and not very friendly, and I am a talker and I like to hold doors for people and tell them to have a nice day and everyone looked at me like I was crazy when I did that.

But Manhattan was different. People were cool and classy and super helpful when we were trying to get our double stroller up the steps at Penn Station. As I walked the route from Penn Station up Fifth Avenue past the Empire State building and Macy's, crisscrossing over to Broadway and Times Square and back over to Rockefeller Center and ending at Central Park, I felt like a native New Yorker. And I loved when people would visit us so I could show off my city skills.

Ten years later and here I am firmly entrenched back in my Midwestern life. I never had the opportunity to return to NYC, but I always wanted to. My two oldest boys have seen pictures of themselves as babies in New York, and I tell them stories all the time. They have been begging me to go back "someday."

Well, someday finally came last October, and I booked a trip for my two oldest boys and me to go on a "big boy" trip to the City. We were beyond excited. The only thing that could dampen our excitement was Hurricane Joaquin.

New York experienced one of the warmest and most beautiful Christmas Days ever, but the whole time we were there in October it was freezing cold and pouring rain. I was so disappointed, but the boys were troopers in their rain slickers and boots. We saw our former home on Long Island, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Times Square, Rockefeller Center, and the 9/11 Memorial and Museum in addition to eating great pizza and sweets from Serendipity.

Besides, the rain afforded us the opportunity to return to the hotel each night, snuggle in our king-sized bed, eat snacks, and watch old episodes of Full House. If it hadn't been for all the rain, it would have been the perfect trip.

Neither boy complained, and Knox actually got teary-eyed and sad the last night stating, "Mom, I don't think you're going to get me on the plane tomorrow. I just love New York so much." It was validation for all the weeks I spent worrying whether the boys would have fun.

I have to admit, I also worried A LOT about how Slim would handle the trip. He tends to wander away in crowds and is inappropriately social in many situations. I spent a lot of time coaching him on how he should act and respond to people. I was pretty sure I had it covered.

However, as is usually the case, he had it covered himself - by being himself. I'd love for you to read the rest of the story right here on She Knows. I'm proud to be sharing our story there, a story of how my son taught me a lesson rather than the other way around.


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Twelve

He forgot his glasses . . . again. He forgets his glasses a lot. When I prompted him to get them, he turned those stunning blue eyes to me and smiled.

His eyes were the second thing I noticed about him. After three months of wondering what his cleft lip would look like (and being pleasantly surprised that it wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be), I noticed his eyes: light blue, striking, all-knowing.

Once he was home from the NICU, I noticed that he was all round, smooth, creamy cheeks, knobby upper lip, and eyes. He was darling.

I would hold him and his eyes would search the corners of the room. "Do you see the angels?" I would whisper to him. I was convinced that angels had to be watching over him. He was so quiet and peaceful.

Until night. Then he couldn't sleep. One night, Hubby and I were up at 4 a.m. cleaning behind our refrigerator because Slim was still wide-eyed and awake (we FINALLY made him "cry-it-out" at eleven months, but a lot of good that did).

There would be tougher times: surgeries, physical therapy, speech therapy, temper tantrums we couldn't explain, odd behaviors, and diagnoses. Maybe those were a relief.

This year he turned twelve on New Year's Eve. I said to him as I gave him his birthday hug and kiss, "Now Slim, you can't get any bigger than this. You must stay like this forever." I am able to comfortably hug and kiss him without bending over at all. His head nestles in a perfect spot near my shoulder.

He pulls away. "But Mom, growing is a natural part of life. I can't just STOP growing." And he walks away.

Ever the realist.

I look at him a lot with new eyes these days. He's different. Well, he's always been different; but he is different.

He eats his food with the gusto of a tween who is, in fact, still growing. He makes polite and pleasant conversation at the dinner table as opposed to his brothers' arguing and refusal to eat what's been put in front of them.

When he is asked to help, he says, "Okay," and helps. No matter what it is - taking out the garbage, buckling his brother's car seat, walking the dog, or emptying the dishwasher. He helps without complaining. Oh, he still may need reminders to follow through with some of the tasks, and he probably always will; but the boy gets stuff done.

We see a boy from his class at the sledding hill. They chat and hang out a little. When it is time for his friend to leave, Slim says, "Hey, we'll talk about this at recess next week, okay?" While I love how normal that looks and sounds, I know there will be no such discussion at recess.

A group of teenage girls walks by with pink sleds and matching hats and gloves. Slim is quick to notice and say, "Hey, ladies! It's a great day for sledding." They smile and 'awww' at him. He walks away with the swagger of someone able to pull off wearing this shirt:

Sometimes I pretend he doesn't have Autism. Sometimes I hold on to those typical moments so tightly and expand them in my mind. I imagine that he is a handsome young freshman, asking a girl to a dance and going with all of their friends. I even go so far as to insert his brother into the equation because, after all, there is no celebrating any of Slim's milestones without wondering how Joey would be celebrating them and what he would be like as a twelve-year-old, too (as long as I am fantasizing about things).

I get an email from the music teacher that contains Slim's audition time for the junior high play. I am shocked, but not at all surprised. "Why didn't you tell me you signed up to audition?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he answers with a big smile and those light eyes twinkling.

I'm not sure if Joey would have signed up for an audition, I'm thinking to myself as I drive Slim to school. "It's so awesome that you're doing this. And you're not even nervous!" I look at him in the rear view mirror.

"Well, I am a little nervous." There it is again: normalcy. Typical behavior.

In so many ways, I think we lucked out. We have this amazing tween who is sweet and loving and confident and helpful and cherishes his parents.

And in so many ways I know the road ahead of us is only going to get harder as he struggles to accept his autism and what that means for him in relationships, education, jobs, and society.

I've wanted to freeze time a lot in the past week. The times when he stands side-by-side with one of his brothers, emptying the dishwasher and talking about Star Wars or Minecraft, laughing at inside jokes.

When he and I walk the puppy together and talk about nothing and everything, I want to keep walking until we can get to a place where his differences don't matter. Where they don't even exist.

I get an email from the music teacher that contains the cast list. I scan it, preparing to be disappointed.

But there is his name:
Old man = Slim Glow

My heart leaps and tears spring to my eyes. He needs this. I need this.

If he were typical (normal - blah, what IS normal??), I'm not sure he would have even tried. But what I am sure of is that he walked into that room, quirky as all get-out with those glasses slipping down his nose, and they saw something in him.

He gets a chance. His chance to shine, and I'm hoping that everyone else sees what we have been seeing lately: this wonderfully sweet, delightfully quirky, typically atypical twelve-year-old boy who has no place to go (despite his mom's best efforts to impede him) but up and up and up.

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Every Dog Needs Some Boys

We have been thinking about getting a dog for about three years now. There was always a reason why we shouldn’t: we had a new baby, we were moving, we had a new home. The list went on and on. 

I frequently added to it when my Facebook friends would post pictures of their muddy pups or a picture of the critter their hound killed and left on their porch.

“Yep,” I’d say, “that’s reason number 827 why WE are NOT getting a dog.”

Well, yesterday, we got a dog.

I’m not really sure how it happened. It just did. Really quickly. Really quickly after three years of talking about it and the boys begging us for one. Really quickly after two summers of the boys participating in Camp Kindness at the Humane Society. Really quickly after over two years of me writing pet articles for a local print magazine.

Really quickly after the six months’ worth of nightly searches on rescue organization’s web pages that Hubby has been doing.

Finally, after the 75^th cute dog he showed me, I said, “Email them and say we’re interested.”

Then really quickly they emailed back and wanted to know about our family and wanted references and wanted to set up a home visit. 

The first dog we looked at was taken; but they said they had another dog we could adopt. They sent her picture, and instantly I knew she was our dog the way parents know that a baby is theirs to adopt. 

The first dog was still available, but this second dog – she was the one. The home visit went well, though they didn’t bring her to the visit. The dog rescue agency had to move on, people were waiting for Hannah. Our Hannah. Our puppy.

So true to our quick decision-making reflexes, three years after talking about getting a dog, we decided to go for it. They said we can return her in 30 days if it doesn’t work out.

I think it’s already working out. 

Ashley Cox for Freedigitalphotos.com 

Click here to read eight reasons why EVERY family needs a dog. 

Don't Forget Average

Sometimes I feel like I have an upper hand in my sons' education because I was a teacher for eight years.

Other times I feel like I have NO clue what I am doing because I was not a special education teacher or an autism expert or a teacher of gifted children.

I was just a regular average teacher of regular average children.

And that's okay. Mostly.

As a mother to four boys, I have a variety of learners in my house. I have one who picks things up quickly, I have one who struggles in every aspect of his education, I have one with autism and as such he is brilliant in some areas and severely lacking in others, and I have one regular average child who does regular average things.

In trying to meet the needs of the first three, the fourth gets overlooked sometimes. While I'm sure he will be fine, it's not always fine to assume that he will.

Regular average children aren't always as they seem. Some, like my son, have hidden issues that they are trying to cover up by being average and fine and regular.

Don't misunderstand me - sometimes that really is just fine. Average is fine and good, but if there is a possibility that I or one of his teachers can inspire him to be more, to try harder, and aspire to be more than just fine and average? I think that's great!

I'm talking about it on Her View From Home today. You can read about it here.


Here is another one of my recent posts there that hopefully gives comfort to those who have lost a pregnancy or baby.

I hope you'll read both and share with someone who may need to hear it.

xo

The Last First Time

It was five minutes until time to leave, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to find them. I reached up on a high shelf and dug my hand deep into the wicker basket. Winter gloves, a pink scarf, and finally - two tiny pairs of shin guards.

I picked the pair with the least amount of wear and tear and put the basket back on the shelf. I walked over to where four-year-old Edgie was waiting patiently but for swinging his bare legs.

"Here you go," I said, putting the guards in place over his tiny little shins. I pulled some white socks over them and tied the cleats that I had pulled out of the tote containing all the brothers' old shoes. "Now you look like a real soccer player!"

He beamed as he hopped off the stool and ran toward the back door where Hubby was waiting with a soccer ball.

I couldn't help both smiling with excitement and sighing with a little sadness as I watched them kick the ball back and forth. I can remember the first time those two little sets of shin guards were put over skinny little shins.

As soon as Joey and Slim turned three, I signed them up for Tiny Tots soccer. I really wanted little soccer players in the family. Soccer was my favorite sport, and the only one I played growing up.

Only, Joey complained about the long grass being itchy and Slim ran screaming from the late summer swarms of bees.

We tried again the next year, playing micro soccer through our church. Joey dutifully ran up and down the field with the other children, while Slim worked the sidelines, yucking up the crowd by telling jokes to the parents.

We had two more tries at micro soccer with Knox and Lil' C. They even played a little longer, but decided this year they would focus more on baseball and basketball. Edgie is my one last chance to have a soccer player.

Which makes me both excited and sad. I have been through five first times of everything: births, smiles, laughs, words, steps, friends, days of school, sports teams. While there are some similarities, they've all been different in their own ways according to the little boy who experienced them.

They each brought their own spin to every situation. I know there are so many more firsts to come. I look ahead to them with such excitement - well, some fear. The sad or scary firsts anyway.

But Edgie is it. He is my one who will have the last first times. He is the one who will have to help me say good-bye.

And so far, it's been pretty tough for me.

Before Joey got sick, I was hoping I would have just one more baby. Lil' C didn't represent the last for me. I didn't know what would happen; I just knew what I hoped.

After Joey's death, I began to realize all the last first times I missed.

I forgot to feel the precise weight of the baby in my arms.

I didn't memorize the smell of my baby's head the last time I nursed him.

I couldn't recall the sound of the baby giggle that sent me into a fit of laughter.

I didn't hold on more tightly when he said, "Stay with me when I fall asleep."

I didn't take extra pictures on the first day of preschool or memorize the song they sang on Special Visitors Day.

Then along came Edgie, my first last chance.

And I held him tighter,
and nursed him longer,
and stayed with him until he fell asleep.

I memorized his laugh,
and his smell,
and the texture of his soft curly hair.

I get another chance to drink in all the last first times because now I know they are coming.

I don't know if Edgie will be my soccer player or not (the way he ran the whole game without complaining and kicked the ball hard more times than all the other boys combined tells me otherwise, though), but I'm so grateful that I got to drink in that last first game. The excitement, the heart-melting cuteness, and the last first experience to compare to all the others.

Some last firsts I can predict - the last first day of high school, for example - but others I cannot. I know life will throw us curve balls sometimes and take those last first times away from us. I know my boys will throw us curve balls and decide on their own first and last times. I'm not foolish enough to think that Edgie will choose all of the same paths as his brothers.

But I think I'm ready now to take notice of all the moments and recognize that they might be the last first times so I had better drink in every sip of their sweetness.

Do these 3 things and your child - and YOU - will have a better school year

New shoes on feet, crisp unstained white polos on body, backpacks full of shiny new school supplies. Pancakes hot off the griddle, hopes riding high, anxiety working overtime.

We were on time to the first day of school three weeks ago. But as the week wore on, we got there later and later; and that 7:20 a.m. goal departure time was getting farther and farther away from the time we were actually leaving, shoes untied with toaster waffles stuffed in sweaty hands.

It built until one day, I blew. Ranting, raving, screaming - WHERE ARE YOUR GLASSES? WHY AREN'T YOUR BOOKS IN YOUR BACKPACK? YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOWN HERE ALREADY! PUT YOUR SHOES ON IN THE CAR!

I felt awful. This is not the way I want to send my kids away for the day. It makes them in a rotten mood; and honestly, it makes me fear a school shooting even more and those being the last words I say to my children.

The house eerily quiet, I could hear myself think for a change. What are you doing, Kathy? You used to be a teacher! You wouldn't yell at your students like that. You would have a classroom management system in place with expectations clearly posted. 

Consequently, I spent the rest of the day prepping my house just as I used to prep my classroom. By the time my boys arrived home, I had graphs and charts and posters hung that clearly stated the objectives.

"I did my job, boys, now you need to do yours," I stated, and washed my hands of yelling for the rest of the school year.

Here are the three simple things I did:

1. I made a morning checklist. 

I hung this in my eleven-year-old's cubby. He is the one usually coming to the car and then going back inside saying he's forgotten something important. Now I don't have to nag and remind. Everything he needs for the day is spelled out and hung right by his backpack. It's in his hands now.

2. Designated a spot for important things:

Again, for my eleven-year-old. He is always misplacing his glasses. They can be anywhere from in the shower, to the floor under the bed, or buried in the covers of his bed. This is the spot where they should always be. We are still working on this, but it helps a lot and is a huge time-saver in the morning.

3. After school expectations:

After school is another time I get tired of yelling at the boys to do certain things. So, I spelled it out for them. Don't laugh at my primitive pictures, but those are for my second grader who is still learning to read. This is where I have seen the biggest difference. I see the boys checking the steps when they get home. Just the threat of losing the screen time - which is clearly spelled out as a consequence - is enough of a motivator for them.

We usually get home at about 3:30-:35. I put in step #6 for Slim because he needs to check the Brain POP of the day. The other boys skip that step and get right to their work, adding that 10 minutes on to their screen time later or to their active time.

As a supplement to these strategies, I'm also employing:

• Consistency. This is something I've had to work on personally. Getting up at the same time, getting the boys up at a set time, and leaving the house at the same time every day no matter what. This helps a ton by getting the boys to school early enough to be ready for their school day. 
• Scheduled homework breaks. Lil' C doesn't have that much homework in second grade and Knox is really good about finishing his fourth grade homework, but Slim has a lot of sixth grade homework that is tough for him to focus on after a while. I let him have 5-10 minute iPad breaks after a certain amount of work - that I designate - is done. Sometimes I will ask him to estimate how long something will take him to do. Then I will set the timer; and if he can beat the clock, he earns extra break time. It really helps to motivate him. 
• Praise and extra mom time. I am always sure to point out what the boys are doing well. I am specific with my praise, "I like the way you sat right down and started your homework without my help." With so many boys to help, I try to set aside extra time to read a special book or play a game with someone whose homework is done. 

I'm starting here; and if necessary, I will add some behavior mapping if people are slacking off and making poor choices. Search Pinterest boards for some ideas on how to create a behavior map. Be sure to put both positive and negative (or expected and unexpected) behaviors and consequences on it. 

Your child does not have to be a special education student, or have ADHD or ASD to benefit from these strategies. We all learn in a variety of ways from visual to auditory to kinesthetic. I bet you have more than one type of learner in your house. Trust me when I say, this will work and save your sanity. 

I'll post more tips as the school year progresses. Do you have an idea that works for your kids at home or at school? We'd love to hear it! Leave it below or post a link. 

Together we can help our kids succeed (and save ourselves from headaches!).

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The letter I really want to send to my son at summer camp

*The theme is summer camp this week. My boys are here, there, and everywhere. I'm having a hard time with a few things. Come join me in my neuroses, will you? 

Dear Son,

It is your first time at sleep-away summer camp, and I'm so excited for you!

Well, I'm also a little sick to my stomach thinking about you being away from home for five whole nights and six whole days . . .but I digress. 

You've been so excited about this all summer and it's finally here! You get to be away from your brothers and spend the whole week with your BGF (best guy friend). And I wouldn't worry if I were you about what the bathroom facilities are like. Everyone poops - I'm sure it will be fine.

Dear god boy, for the love of all that is holy, try to poop faster, will you? I don't think you have 20 minutes every night to get your business done. 

Camp will be filled with so many new experiences - new games and songs and activities you've never tried. You will meet some new kids, too. That will be cool.

I know you just want to hang with your bestie, but try to talk to other guys, too. You never know, you just might meet someone really cool.

It's going to be really hot this week, and I know you don't like the heat. But stick it out. Everyone else will be sweaty and hot and tired, too. That's how you bond.

Seriously, remind me to show you 'Survivor' reruns. 

I put really cool-smelling shower gel and shampoo in your back-pack.

Please shower at least twice while you are there. And BRUSH YOUR TEETH!

It will be nice for you to have an experience that your brothers are not having. I know you're loving the thought of being away from them for a whole week. And yes, I will keep them out of your room and away from your Legos.

Try to find a better attitude while you are at camp, too, seriously dude. You do not need to be snapping at all of us all the time. The summer is far from over. Believe me, it will be a break for us, too. 

I can't wait to hear about all the activities you tried and the food you ate and the friends you met.

Please, please tell me more than just, "It was fun," when you get home. I'm a girl - I NEED DETAILS! And I know the brochure said "all you can eat," but go easy on the buffet, Pal. 

I want you to remember what we talked about regarding good and bad touches and being alone with any of the counselors or guys you don't know. You are smart, so be safe. That is why I put that card in your suitcase with Mom and Dad's contact information. Mom and Dad will always have your back, NO MATTER WHAT. You can tell us anything.

Except if you call us the very first day and say you want to come home. Then we may have some questions for YOU, kid. 

Try to keep an open mind and an open heart. Believe in yourself. Believe that you deserve to have fun and make friends. Believe that you can try new things and succeed. Believe that it won't be the end of the world if you fail or that one jerky kid laughs at you.

Remember what I told you about kids who make fun of other kids? They are not happy with themselves, so they have to make someone else feel miserable just to make themselves feel better. How sad is that? Never be that kid. Be better than that kid. 

The week is going to fly by before you know it, and it will be time to come home.

Who am I kidding? I know we'll both be a little miserable wishing you were home, but this is an experience that not every kid gets the chance to have. We can both stick it out. 

I promise I will write every day so that you will get mail for daily mail call . . .

 . . .starting tomorrow because I already forgot to send something for today. 

I hope you will write me, too.

Your dad promises to hide my red teacher pen so that I don't correct your letter and send it back. 

I can't wait to talk to you at the end of the week.

Remember Kid, DETAILS!

I love you,

 . . .with all of my heart and soul. So much that I feel a little empty without you here. 

Love,
Mom

A Boy and His Bestie

The noises and giggles coming from the far back reaches of my mini-van were hilarious. Nine-year-old little boy hilarious. "My fart noise is funnier than your fart noise" tear-inducing hilarious.

I couldn't help glancing in the rearview mirror every few minutes at my two little passengers. They couldn't be more different - one hulking and big looking quite older than his nine years, and one small and thin with missing teeth looking a little younger than his nine.

Seemingly unlikely friends, but actually the best. 

I remember Knox's first best friend quite well . . . because it was Joey. From the time he could even recognize faces, Knox absolutely adored Joey and vice versa. Wherever Baby Knox was Joey had to be - even if it was stuck under the couch. It was so cute to watch how Joey took care of him, taught him, and brought him along on all his crazy ideas and mischief.

And then one day, all of that just stopped.

After that seizure, after that ambulance ride, it was gone. Mommy came home from the hospital with a different person. Someone who had been changed so much that he was, in fact, just gone. 

Knox was just shy of four years old when Joey was diagnosed with cancer.  That's the age that Edgie is now. Edgie worships the ground Knox walks on, and Knox is so good to him. I would say that I can't imagine what would happen if something changed that, but unfortunately I can. It would be confusing and heartbreaking and life impacting.

I will never know the full scope of how Joey's cancer and death affected his brothers. I can hear it in their voices when they say they miss Joey. I can see it in the occasional tears they shed. I can sense it in their actions, like staying in the car when we are at the cemetery (Knox never gets out of the car).

It's even palpable in the shifting family roles. We lost our oldest son. The balance has now shifted. It couldn't shift to Slim. With his ADHD and autism, we are still working on responsibility and trust with him. So, the natural shift fell onto Knox. The kid who has always been physically bigger than his years. The kid who does what he is told. The kid we can trust to get something done.

The kid who was not built for that role and probably resents it. The kid who really has middle child tendencies and mostly just wants to fade into the background.

The kid who probably wishes sometimes that things could go back to the way they were before. 

Hanging out with his best friend from school affords him that opportunity. Recently, they were together for 36 glorious hours - a two-day camp at our zoo and an overnight at our house. I didn't make Knox do any of his chores during this time and I didn't ask him to watch his three-year-old brother.

But I did stand back and watch what happened.

He was happy and goofy and silly and thought of games and crazy activities to do and even let his little brother hang out with them.

He was heart happy down to his very middle child core. 

Even Hubby said he has never seen Knox like that. And it makes me alternately sad and happy at the same time.

Sad of course when I set five kid places at the table rather than the usual four. Sad to see five little boys all going 'round the buffet gathering their food because, after all, that's the way it should be every night.

But happy, so happy that Knox has found a friend with whom he can connect. They are not 100% exactly alike - not at all actually - but there's enough of a spark that keeps them together.

Knox went to his friend's birthday party a couple months ago, and I stole a glance at the thank you note he sent to Knox. The last line said, " Thank you for being my best friend."

Yes, indeed, thank goodness for friendship. It makes me heart happy down to my grieving mama core.

What my son's teacher did for him (and why we need more like her)

Edgie, my soon-to-be four-year-old, talked excitedly all the way home today about his last day of preschool. They had ice cream treats, did parachute activities, and played a game called "Doggie, doggie, where's your bone?".

"And Mommy, I got a turn!" He exclaimed as we pulled onto our street.

"Wow, that's great," I smiled into the rear view mirror. "Games are more fun when everyone gets a turn."

Isn't that the way life goes? Activities are more exciting when you actually get picked to be a part of them. It's more fun to be on a team when you actually get off the bench to play. It's more fulfilling when your teammates actually pass you the ball.

It's nice to be in the spotlight sometimes.

Slim, my eleven-year-old, almost never gets to be in the spotlight. He doesn't play sports; and if he tries, no one will pass to him or pick him for their team.

For a kid who has personality plus, who knows so much, who feels so much, but who is known to screw up a lot, no one ever gives him a chance. He has never had even a small speaking part in the school musicals, and at school masses he gets the easy reading. He never gets picked to do or be anything.

Slim has definitely had some teachers who have been more willing to see his unique qualities than others. From the kindergarten teacher who treated him with kid gloves because his brother was dying of cancer to the teacher who looked me in the eye and said. "I believe all children are gifts, and I would never make them try to fit any kind of a mold," they understood and cared for him. Still other teachers didn't understand his quirkiness, and he ended up feeling like "the teacher hates me." 

To hear that, is to break a mom's heart.

Since both his ADHD and autism diagnoses, there have been teachers willing to work with both him and us to make him more successful in the classroom; while others wouldn't let go of things such as putting a proper heading on a paper - which he was never going to do - thus setting him up for failure.

Every year the stakes get higher, as does my anxiety about keeping him in his private school. I was really nervous at the beginning of fifth grade. It turns out, he had a wonderful teacher who not only has a master's degree in special education, but a sweet, gentle, loving heart. She looked for opportunities to help him feel no different than the other students.  I just might cry tomorrow as he receives his pass onto sixth grade.

The thing is, the entire fifth grade team was amazing. They understood how to make accommodations for him using his Individualized Education Plan, and they embraced his idiosyncrasies. Rather than always writing how many times he interrupted class on his behavior chart, his social studies teacher would write things like, "Wow, Slim was really excited about the Civil War today!"

I understood what that meant. But the thing is, so did she. Yes, he was interrupting class; but he was interrupting class to add more to the discussion.

You see, he loves history and geography. And true to his high-functioning autistic characteristics, he is obsessed about the details. He reads non-fiction and looks up facts on the computer and memorizes every detail down to dates and names and obscure trivia that others would neither know nor care about.

And this delighted her all year long.

So much so that she promised him he could teach class the last week of school. And not only his class, but the two other social studies classes, too.

When I heard this (of course from a third party source and not Slim himself - boys!), my stomach actually flopped a little in a delight turned to dread kind of dance. OMG, does she know what she's doing? He will ruin class. He will be silly and babble on and the kids will laugh at him and it will be a total joke. 

But then I saw her in the hallway, "Did Slim tell you he is teaching class on Thursday? He's going to do great. We're all excited."

She had faith in him. She didn't even seem concerned that the class would be out of control.

So I helped him prepare a lesson. I talked to him about teaching. We made a plan that included evaluating the class.

And we got cookies. Everything is better with cookies.

I was at school that day volunteering in another grade, but I resisted the urge to be nosy. As the students were walking out at the end of the day, many of Slim's classmates ran up to me and said, "Mrs. Glow, Slim was a great teacher! We want him to teach us again!" The teacher was smiling, "He really did a great job." I stood there fighting back tears as she told me how they evaluated the success of the first lesson and changed some parts around for the other classes.

She never stopped teaching him. This wasn't just a way for her to have a break all afternoon. She saw his potential and she nurtured it. She said to me, "And when he becomes a social studies teacher, he can come and student teach with me."

That's pretty special.

But unfortunately, it doesn't happen enough. Teaching is a very difficult profession. Loving kids is not enough to be a success in the front of a classroom. Because unfortunately, not every child is so obviously lovable.

Having loved school in your youth is not enough to make all of your students love school.

As a teacher, you have to reach deep down to make every day interesting, to make every kid feel special. Sometimes you don't have to reach far. Sometimes it seems easier than it really is, and sometimes it feels darn near impossible.

But, the good teachers, no the GREAT EDUCATORS know that it is possible. They know that every student has potential and worth, and they never stop looking for it no matter how hard and messy and sad and frustrating it might be.

We don't have enough teachers like that, and I wonder if it's because we don't value what they do enough. So much more than "playing school," teaching is nurturing children - YOUR children. We should let teachers know what they are doing right. We should decide what is important and focus on that. We should work together for the best interests of our children. We should give administrators valuable and useful feedback on their teaching staff.

via teacherspayteachers.com

Next year is a new year. A new, scary pre-junior high year. The stakes are so much higher. Slim will have all three teachers for an equal amount of time. My anxiety is a little lower though because of the three amazing fifth grade teachers he had this year. They have laid the groundwork. They have helped him show how special and valuable he really is.

Wouldn't it be great if every kid had that?

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15 Universal Truths About Boys

I knew when I was merely 11 weeks pregnant that I was going to have two – TWO – boys.

Boys? I thought. Aren't they messy and dirty? Don't they like bugs and snakes and sports?

As a girly-girl, I had no idea what to do with little boys. Honestly? They scared me a little.

Fast forward eleven years and five – yes, FIVE – boys later. You can officially call me a boy mom. I have drunk the juice. I laugh at fart humor, have been known to burp the loudest at the table, and can name every kind of construction vehicle known to man.

I have boys, and there’s nothing gross or scary about them.

Well, maybe a few things. But there are also lots of wonderful things about them, too. I have compiled a list for you of the universal truths about boys.

1. Baby boys will pee on you – a lot. In your eye, in your hair, on your clothes.
2. Little boys will pee on your house – a lot. On your walls, on your floor, on the carpet.
3. Big boys will pee anywhere they feel like it – a lot. In the snow, in your yard, in the alley, on the sidewalk, on the floor of the frat house.
4. Your house and car are going to smell like pee. They will also smell like feet, body odor, moldy food, and one more scent you will never be able to identify.
5. Boys destroy furniture. And walls and carpet and toys and cars. If you’re fortunate enough to be able to buy new ones, good for you. If not, surround yourself with other boy parents who have ruined furniture, walls, carpet, toys, and cars. They get it.
6. Boys are tactile. They have to touch everything. EVERYTHING! Just know this before you take them to the store with you or to Great Aunt Edna’s museum house.
7. On the same day boys tell you that you look like you have another baby in your tummy, they will tell you that you look beautiful all dressed up. This is okay. It is the precursor to raising sweet, honest men.
8. Boys will not want you to kiss them in public. Don't be offended by this, because they will have no problem holding your hand and cuddling with you while you watch a movie at home.
9. Boys will always answer “How was your day?” with “Fine.” Just “fine.” But later, when you didn't even ask, they will tell you a detail about their day that will make you smile, laugh, cry, or be extremely concerned.
10. Boys will always want their moms first – for finding something that is lost, for wiping their bottoms, for complaining about their siblings, for making their lunch. They will also want to tell you first about a part of their day that made them proud.
11. Boys grow up to be men who think their mothers are crazy. Because we are. We have spent years worrying about them, when they knew they were fine all along.
12. Boys grow up to be men who still want their mother’s approval. Many a man waited until he had just the right girl to bring home to Mom (including my man).
13. Boys grow up to be men who are humbled by your love and support. They start to let you hug them in public again.
14. Boys grow up to be men who take care of their moms if they need it (you've read Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever, right?).
15. As much as they don't want to admit it, boys love their moms. They love when you cuddle with them and read to them. They love when you play cars or bake with them. They love it when you get their corsage for Homecoming, and they love when you cheer for them at games. They love when you are proud of them and accept their friends. They know you will always be their biggest supporter. Their first female superhero who kicks ass. 

Although I get sad at times that I don't have a little girl to dress up and take to dance lessons and plan a wedding with, I do have boys. I have boys who have shown me a different side of life I never thought I would enjoy.

And plus, I’ll get daughters-in-law. That’s the best of both worlds.

Or a whole other phenomenon to fear.

Happy Mother's Day to all moms!!

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The "Chores vs. Allowance" Debate

"Mom, how can I earn $90 really fast?" My nine-year-old is tall enough to look me in the eyes while he's asking me this.

"Get a job, you bum," I answer jokingly.

"No, Mom, I'm serious," he implores. "There's a super cool new Lego set that I really want to get before the price goes up."

Well, at least he's like his mom: has expensive taste, but shops when there is a sale. 

"That's pretty expensive, Bud," and I let my voice trail off from there. What I'm really thinking is that he doesn't need another Lego set, especially one that is that expensive.

But, how can you tell that to a nine-year-old, Lego obsessed boy who always puts the Legos together and keeps them together?

He goes to Hubby next and asks if he can shovel the driveway for money.

No grass, just mud. 

"All the snow has melted."

Mow the lawn?

"We don't have any grass yet."

Help plant the garden?

And that's when "the talk" begins.

You see, Hubby does not believe in giving allowance. We've been around and around with this discussion. I think it would be nice if the boys had their own money. I make chore charts and lists and schedules with special job codes for each boy to follow.

Hubby thinks that everyone should just "pitch in and get it done." His way people argue about why they have to vacuum the floor after dinner again because they just did it last night, and why does so-and-so never have to vacuum? In my way, you do it because it's your job this week.

Yes, in Hubby's way, things do get done faster sometimes; that is, when little boys aren't sneaking away hoping we won't notice they didn't actually do anything to help. In my way, we are frequently waiting on someone to finish his meal first so he can finish his job first so someone else can do his. But it's fair and equal. I believe in fair and equal (although I don't believe they are the same thing - post for another time).

While we were trying to sell our old house, we had to clean quite frequently for showings and open houses. When we all pitched in, it wasn't so bad. So we decided to let our cleaning lady go and clean the new house ourselves. Each of the boys has his own room and shares a bathroom with one other brother. Their weekend chores look like this:

• Bedrooms: Tidy up, put clothes away, change sheets, bring down dirty laundry (including sheets and towels) and sort into baskets. Vacuum your own room and hallway outside your room. Dust dresser, desk, shelf, and nightstand.
• Bathrooms: With help from Mom or Dad, wipe own counter and sink, clean toilet, and wipe floor. One person will do powder bath.
• Media Room: One person vacuums, one person dusts, and one person “fluffs” (straightens movies, games, pillows, throw blankets, etc…) There is a chart indicating who does what which week.
• Basement: Everyone helps pick up toys. 

We're going on the third month in our new home. They still moan and groan about it. You'd think it would be routine by now, but it's not. 

However, it will be because in a way, I agree with Hubby: everyone should do chores and contribute to the run of the house. Hubby is a very generous dad. He takes the boys lots of places. They get nice gifts for their birthdays and Christmas and Easter, and sometimes on no special occasion at all. And he does give them money every now and then when they do special chores with him that require a lot of hard work (like raking leaves or fixing something or carrying boxes). That being said, I know we agree on one thing: we don't want our sons to grow up being spoiled, entitled jerks. 

Both Hubby and I grew up in families with parents who worked really hard, not only at their jobs, but in our homes as well. The sooner we teach them to take pride in their home and their possessions, the better. So here were Hubby's suggestions to Knox on how he could make money:

• Learn how to mow and trim bushes. Charge the neighbors for your services.
• Rake leaves.
• Plant a garden and go door-to-door selling the leftover produce. 

This is their grand plan. So when he gets older, I am hiring him out for lawn work. However, this fall, supposedly we will have a bumper crop of produce in the empty field next to our house. If you need some, be sure to visit our stand. It will be the one with the unorganized rows of produce, the sign that is falling off, the workers who are arguing about what their exact job is and how much money they should get, and probably will be the cart that is eventually abandoned by said workers. Free produce for everyone!

Chore to allowance ratio? Not learned yet, but we're getting there. 

Do you give your kids chores? Do they earn an allowance? 


feature photo: shutterstock.com