Being Neighborly

There are so many different blog posts swimming around my head, vying for a place at the front of the line. It's almost to the point of being distracting. But I think we have a clear leader this evening, and it's not one I was prepared for.

Recently, a new family moved in to the house next door to ours. They have three children ages 6, 8 and 10. Boo has politely introduced himself to them and then quickly fallen head over heels for them all. As an added bonus, they have a huge trampoline in their back yard! He has been to play in their yard, and they in his. A couple weeks ago they came over and hung out for a few hours in our house and Boo did an amazing job of sharing his things and of cooperating with the way they play and going with the flow of what they wanted. I was truly in awe.

Ever since that day, he has been itching to join his new friends again. He keeps an eagle eye on their house and their driveway, and whenever he sees the car is there he thinks they need to be together. We have been on such a busy schedule lately that we haven't been able to play with them for a while. But today when we arrived home I really had no reason to say no. Sure enough, Boo spotted the car in the driveway and announced "P is home!" (their mother) He wanted to go over and jump on the trampoline, but I reminded him that it is impolite to invite yourself to someone else's home. So we agreed he would invite the kids to his house to play. I discussed with him the possibility that the other mom's answer might be no and the fact that it would be inappropriate to throw a fit if that was the case. He assured me that he understood and that he would be ok no matter what she said. We walked to the door together and he rang the bell, but no one answered. He fell instantly into despair. We walked back home, my arm around his shoulders, his chin on his chest, and him sobbing about how sad he was.

For a kid on the spectrum, Boo is blessed with an exceptional ability to understand and verbalize his own emotions. And I am constantly baffled by the oft-repeated litany of "symptoms" of autism which includes difficulties understanding and expressing emotion. If anything, Boo is an over-achiever in that department! He doesn't feel anything a little bit. There isn't slight happiness, a touch of sadness, or mild amusement. When Boo has an emotion, it is full-on, go-for-broke, no-holds-barred. Sometimes that is the most challenging thing for me as a parent. When he is inconsolable because we are temporarily out of the regular flavor of fruit smiles, or when he is doubled over with laughter over the sound of a word, it's easy to feel annoyed by the sheer ridiculousness of it. We call him our little drama king, because it sure seems like he is putting on an act. But I have to remind myself that he is not. He feels his emotions with an intensity I've never seen before, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. This is part of what terrifies me so much about him growing up and moving out into the world and away from the protective shelter of his immediate family.

Which brings us to tonight. After finding the neighbors not at home, Boo and I sat on our porch for a while crying and hugging, then transitioned into listening to the birds, then playing some t-ball. (incidentally, I noticed he is WAY overdue for a taller set. The ball on this one sits about waist level. WHEN did he get so tall?) Next thing you know, here come the neighbor kids riding up the street on their bikes. He ran to them excitedly and announced, "Hey, I invited you to my house!" Their mom was walking close behind them and agreed it was ok for them to play together. Then came the big question; at whose house shall we play? He announced he wanted to go to their house and P happily agreed. I exchanged phone numbers with her and asked her to give him at least a 10 minute warning before she needed him to leave in order to help him transition. The kids all trooped out to the trampoline, and I went to my back yard and feigned interest in my garden spot, pulling a few stray weeds and listening for the portents of an oncoming meltdown. I heard nothing but laughter. And then they all went inside the house. I was a WRECK! I couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, couldn't mediate, couldn't intervene, couldn't head off problems at the pass. In short, I couldn't stand it.

It's not as if this was the first time he's been away from me. He's had babysitters before, he goes to school, to Mammo's house, he has stayed with our Pastor's wife and with his Sunday School Superintendent for entire days. I wasn't even sure what it was that had me so tied up in knots. Why did this event feel so different? Why was I anxious about him being there? I trust P. I've had long conversations with her, and her children are sweet and well-behaved. The only thing I can put my finger on is this: I haven't told P about Boo's diagnosis. I've come close. I've eluded to it. I've referenced his therapy at school. But I walk a tightrope all the time between wanting people to "get" him, and wanting to protect his privacy. I don't want to hang his diagnosis around his neck like a sign. I don't want him to be labeled or placed in a box. But I sometimes feel like I want anyone who interacts with him to read some sort of terms-and-conditions statement, and to click "I agree" before they can continue. Because there are certain circumstances and situations that are just REALLY difficult for him to handle. And to the casual observer his resistance looks like defiance when it's not. In public he often looks like a good ol' fashioned spoiled brat. Even I can sometimes have a hard time distinguishing his typical four year old behavior from his autistic behavior.

I spent 45 solid minutes stewing and waiting and wondering. When I finally called to ask P to go ahead and give the 10 minute warning, she already had, and was down to 5. She was going down minute by minute, which is exactly what I had really wanted her to do in the first place, but thought it too demanding to ask. She told me that he had taken the warning in stride and didn't seem bothered. I said, "wait till you get to zero." Soon I stepped out the front door expecting to hear cries of resistance and to have to go retrieve Boo. Instead, I see him happily walking up the driveway hand-in-hand with P. HOLDING HANDS! This child vehemently refuses to hold hands in any other circumstance, but he was chatting pleasantly and P reported that they'd had a wonderful time, and he'd never given her a moment's trouble or argument. We said our goodnights and parted ways. Boo came back in the house as nonchalant as if this were any ordinary day. Which I realized, it was. And that itself was a victory.

Thinking and Being

I spend a lot of time reading about autism. I read blogs, articles, facebook pages, you name it. Sometimes it irritates my family when they see the housework going undone and me sitting with my laptop. And I can understand that feeling. Sometimes I even get irritated with myself when I sit down to read one thing right quick, and a dozen links later I realize that I have let several hours get away from me. But there is a reason for it. Every once in a while as I am reading, there is a spark, a click, something snaps into place and I see things differently. I put one more piece of the puzzle into place, and it helps. It helps me, it helps the world, and it helps Boo.

Yesterday I found myself reading this blog post written by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, a writer who has autism and who wasn't diagnosed till she was 50. The point of the post was about the fact that people with disabilities who have the ability to overcome them and "pass" for a period of time, become expected to be "normal" all the time, or are believed to be "making up" the disability in the first place. It was both moving and fascinating for me. But in the midst of it, I read a line that stopped me in my tracks. In explaining the amount of energy and concentration required for her to "pass" as a neuro-typical person, she said, "I sprinted to keep up with rapid-fire conversations, despite my auditory delays, my inability to use nonverbals, and my need to translate all of the words flowing like an endless caption in my head to speech."

I hit me upside my head like a 2x4. I thought about Boo's speech patterns. I thought about the way that he uses 57 words to explain or describe something when 3 would do. The phrase "all of the words flowing like an endless caption in my head" hit a nerve. I remembered the descriptions I'd read about the way in which many people with autism "think in pictures." I considered that while my thoughts are language-based, showing up in my head as words, Boo's thoughts often seem to be conceptual or associative in nature. Something he has to translate, much as one might translate sign language into spoken words. You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? Imagine thinking in pictures and being expected to translate those thoughts into as few words as possible. I thought about the way that he gets so frustrated when he gets interrupted or when the words don't come out just right and it causes him to go back to the beginning and start all over. I thought about how frustrating it is for me to listen to it day after day. How often I attempt to somehow get him to abbreviate the soliloquy. I realized that I have been doing exactly what this woman was describing; forcing him to "pass." To behave as though he doesn't have autism. To appear as though his brain works like mine.

For the first time I realized the weight that is placed on my little boy's shoulders. I considered that what I have been doing with him for the past 14 months, though it comes from a heart of love and a desire for his long-term well being, was adding to that weight. I have been trying to "fix" him, to a degree, without realizing it. Though I understand on an intellectual level that autism can't be cured or fixed, that his brain is wired in a different and unique way that is never going to be altered...

My son is an amazing person. He is full of sweetness, tenderness, love, compassion, joy, laughter, curiosity, and intelligence. He has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known. He inspires me daily. But the struggles he deals with also scare me. I fear for him because he is so tender, and because he so deeply craves relationships with others, just as we all do. I fear for him because he is different and kids are cruel. When I see his more difficult "symptoms" rear their ugly heads, I don't see today...I see tomorrow, next year, five years from now. I see him sitting alone at a lunch table. I see him chosen last when teams are picked in P.E. class. I see him listening to his friends on Monday talking about the fun they had over the weekend while he sat home alone uninvited. And when I try to teach him to behave more "normally" I am trying to spare him that future pain. To teach him to "pass." But in trying to spare him pain tomorrow, I am causing him pain today.

I remember how I worried so much last year when Boo first began attending preschool. That first year he went two days a week, just three hours at a time. And he excelled. He soared! He appeared so "typical" that his teacher seemed confused by the IEP and scoffed when I started talking about having him diagnosed. But what no one else saw was how he completely fell apart when he would come home from school. Even then I surmised that it was taking so much out of him, that he was trying so hard to fit in, that he used up all of his emotional reserves to do it. And it broke my heart because life shouldn't be so hard for such a little guy. He should just be able to be himself and that should be good enough for the world. They should recognize his awesomeness just the way he is.

I have been thinking about this all day today. Considering and stewing. And what I have determined is this: My job as Boo's mother is not to help him fit into the world. My job is to help him capitalize on his strengths and maximize his abilities. And my job is also to help the world accept him for who he is. He shouldn't have to pretend to be what he isn't. And that is a part of what this blog is all about. I have been learning so much this past year. I have learned from others who have been there and done that for much longer than I have. April is Autism Awareness month and I've contemplated what that means to me. I've thought of the many people who have become my friends even though we've never met or spoken. People who have educated, informed, inspired, cheered, and enlightened me. The Autism Community is an amazing thing. I still feel like an outsider often times, like someone standing on the outskirts and feeling my way around. Most of the time I have no idea what I'm doing and I go on instinct. But there are people out there who have thrown me virtual life-lines. I want to introduce you to a few of them. Please take the time to visit Mom-Not Otherwise Specified, Diary of a Mom, Running to be Still, Try Defying Gravity, and Stimeyland. This is just a drop in the bucket of the blogs and resources I have learned from, but it's a good jumping off point. The great thing is that you can pick one and then start following links and learn so much more than you ever dreamed there was to know about Autism and the people who live with it!

My goal is to help to create a world where Boo doesn't have to work so ridiculously hard just to be Boo. If you haven't been personally touched by Autism, you should open your eyes. Because I can promise you there is someone in your life who is living with it. A relative, a friend, someone at work, someone at church, the person who rings up your groceries, someone in your child's class at school, the person on the next treadmill at the gym, or the mother you passed by while you were shopping. Someone whom you encounter is touched by Autism. And I want you to begin to learn what that means. What it looks like, what it feels like. I want you to be equipped to be a friend, a teacher, a helper in whatever capacity you can. And I want you to raise your children to be compassionate and understanding and accepting. I want you to help me create a world in which Boo can just be Boo, and that will be enough. Won't you join me?

Tenebrae

Tonight I took Boo to the Good Friday Tenebrae Service. If you have never attended one of these, I highly recommend it! It is possibly my most favorite service of the entire year, right up there with Christmas and Easter. The goal of this service is to punctuate the seriousness of our sin and the importance of Christ's sacrifice, as well as communicating the emotional state of Good Friday. It is certainly not a joyous feel good service, but it is one of the most moving. It stirs me to the depths of my soul.

One of the main aspects of a Tenebrae Service is the quietness with which the service is conducted. And at the conclusion everyone is supposed to leave the sanctuary and the church in silence, without greeting one another. This was quite interesting because telling Boo not to talk is like telling him not to breathe! When he is awake he is almost constantly talking. He prattles incessantly. At church the best we can usually do is to get him to whisper, but even that is more of a stage whisper. Normally this is not an issue, as his sound is drowned out by all that is happening in church. But tonight, the stillness and the silence and the darkness in the sanctuary was an altogether different experience.

The alter and pulpit were clothed in plain black, and all the beautiful golden crosses and adornments were absent. The large wooden cross which stands at the front of the church during lent was draped in black and topped with a thorny crown. At the start of service there were lit six simple white candles and in the center one larger candle to represent Christ. Near the end of the service, Pastor began reading the Passion story from the book of John. The reading was split into seven sections, and after each section, the congregation sang a verse of the hymn O Sacred Head Now Wounded and then one candle was extinguished and part of the lights were turned off. After the last reading, all the lights were off and the center "Christ Candle" was removed from the sanctuary. Everyone sat in silence considering the story they had just heard. Then a loud noise reverberated through the sanctuary, symbolizing the sealing of the tomb. After a few moments, the Christ Candle was returned and just enough lights turned on to be able to see our way out. Everyone rose and left the church in silence. That silence was more piercing than the loudest sound I ever heard. I left the church with the most solemn and reverent feeling.

The post that I had planned to write for today seems somehow unimportant. My heart and mind are focused on the bitter sacrifice of my Savior. My sincere plan for you this Easter weekend is that you would have not only a knowledge of the events we celebrate, but by the Grace of God that you would have a saving faith. Jesus gave himself up for us, even when we were still in our sin, that we might have a relationship with God and be granted his Grace and Salvation. Only by faith in Jesus can we receive this free gift. Let us focus our hearts on the Love of the Lord this weekend. Because bunnies and eggs are fabulous fun (and we shall enjoy them) but empty tomb of Jesus that first Easter morning is the greatest joy that has ever been known to mankind.

Hallelujah, He is risen indeed!

Family Night

Boo has been anticipating "family night" at school. The preschool does two of these a year, one at Halloween and one at Easter. The premise of tonight: bring your own eggs, the school provides the dye and takes care of the clean-up. Then all the kids have an Easter Egg hunt in the classroom/church. This event involves both the three year old and the four year old class plus siblings.

Boo was thrilled at the idea of dying eggs. He was happily helping Mammo boil them this morning as I left for work. When I arrived back at her house this evening to pick him up, instead of being met with the usual disappointment (he's NEVER ready to leave) he declared "It's TIME!" We arrived at the school and he darted up the stairs to the fellowship hall. He quickly surveyed the room and to no one's surprise, chose to sit next to Little Britches. As they dipped their eggs together side by side, Boo spontaneously announced "I love you LB." And LB replied "I love you too Boo." They made quick work of dying the eggs and were thrilled with the results. After the dying was done the kids grabbed their baskets and Mrs. K announced the rules of the hunt. She did a quick head count, pulled out her calculator, and told us that each child was allowed to pick up 11 eggs. And with that, 18 screaming munchkins with baskets streamed down the stairs followed by grinning parents with cameras.

The low-hanging fruit was plucked quickly. After a brief search of the first room, Boo had no eggs. He ran into the next room with a huge grin on his face and watched other kids grab the obvious eggs before he had the chance. He suddenly started moving toward despair, exclaiming that he couldn't find any. There was distress in his voice and I knew I'd better step in before the meltdown started. But before I had the chance, in stepped Little Britches. He was calm and reassuring. "Don't worry, Boo, I'll help you." LB already had five eggs in his basket. He walked around the building finding eggs and selfishly handing them over to Boo. After they each had five, they continued to work together to find more eggs. I was in awe once again of this sweet little boy and the instinctual way that he loves Boo and keeps him on an even keel. Our plan is for Boo to attend a private parochial school when he starts kindergarten this fall. My one major misgiving in this is the idea of separating Boo and LB. I only hope that our efforts at maintaining the friendship are successful, and that we find another friend at the new school as wonderful as LB has always been.

Being Aware

In the past I have always sort of inwardly groaned about "awareness" campaigns of various sorts. Breast Cancer awareness, AIDS awareness, and the like. I always thought, really? Is there anyone out there who isn't aware of AIDS? Do we really have to wear ribbons and fill the news with sad stories on a particular month or day in order for people to be aware of this disease?....That was then.

Today was Palm Sunday. The day we celebrate the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. The beginning of Holy Week. When I picked Boo up from his Sunday School class his teacher Mrs. W told me that the children would begin the church service with a palm leaf processional and the parents were invited to join as well. She said they had not practiced this, but had told the children of the plan. As we walked down the hall I showed Boo the stack of palm leaves and asked if he knew what they were and if he knew what they would be doing with them. He had no idea and I was certain he had not been listening in the part of the morning when the plan was introduced. So I made a quick explanation and he seemed very excited by it.

We went to the fellowship time, or "the eating place" as Boo calls it, and had our snacks. Then he went to the nursery room to play with the other kids till it was time for church to begin. When I told him that they were handing out palm leaves he was excited. But then everyone lined up in the back of the church to wait for our processional to begin. This was a process that took several minutes longer than the length of Boo's patience. By the time we were ready to walk up the aisle he was ready to loose it. We made it through just fine and back to our pew without incident. But it didn't take long for me to see that this unexpected change in the church routine had taken its toll on Boo's coping skills. Before long I had a sobbing boy who was nearing meltdown level. I picked him up and carried him out of the sanctuary, down the hall, and sat with him in an armchair and just let him cry it out and tell me how sad he was. It took several minutes to calm him. He was also upset that I had forgotten to bring his backpack with his snacks in it. I decided to take him to the kitchen and allow him a couple extra cookies. I am still worried that this may have set a precedent that will be very difficult to break, but I felt it would be most compassionate to allow him some leeway since we were out of routine and I know how hard that is for him.

We got through the rest of the service without incident and left with a happy boy. He had been given a sticker with a red heart and a cross on it. He likes stickers and likes to put them on his shirt, but after only a minute or two they bother him and he usually removes them and gives them to me. So he took this sticker also and affixed it to the back of my hand. He told me that this is to show that I sinned but God still loves me. I wore it proudly all day!

After church began the countdown to the much anticipated event of the week: H's birthday party! Boo has been preparing for this for days, talking incessantly about Sunday at 1:00. Yesterday he excitedly helped me wrap the gift he had chosen, and carefully wrote out and signed the card, then taped the pinwheel and the card to the gift and placed it on the entryway table. He told everyone in church today, including Pastor, about the party. We arrived and Boo was thrilled to join his friends playing. There seemed to be children everywhere you looked. Classmates and cousins and siblings as far as the eye could see. It was blissful child chaos, running, yelling, laughing, and squealing with delight. Some of the parents dropped off their children and I was assured that it would be fine for me to do the same. I'm glad I opted to stay. I was concerned about Boo's tolerance to the level of noise and disorder. He was already a bit out of sorts after the morning's events. But he took it in stride, smiling joyfully. AND THEN....

Boo spied one of the holy grails of toys in H's room; a race track! It was the coolest thing ever. Four lanes, and something that seemed to be a sort of launching device. He carried it to the living room and asked me how to make it work. I told him that he would need to ask H because I was unfamiliar with the toy. Soon the kids had found four or five track pieces and the room was filled with preschoolers trying to assemble this track. It was the consummate example of too many chiefs. Everyone was working at odds with one another and the track was not coming together looking like anything a car would actually be able to race across. The sections were not level and it just wasn't going together correctly. Boo was becoming more and more distraught and I sensed that he was approaching his limit. He began wailing to the other kids "That's not right! It won't work! You can't do it like that!" I entered the fray trying to calm him, but to no avail. I only made things worse. The other kids were called away to eat lunch and Boo's meltdown escalated. I was on the floor with him trying to talk him down but he would hear none of it. He refused to allow me to even speak to him, throwing himself on the floor, kicking, flailing and screaming. I reasoned, cajoled, cooed, spoke sternly, tried to hold him (at my own peril), and finally told him that if he could not get under control we would have to go home. Several times I threatened to take him and leave and he did NOT want to go but he was unable to calm down. I finally picked him up and held him against me as best I could amid the kicking legs, arched back, and flailing arms. Meanwhile, the adults in the room, family members of the birthday boy whom I had never met, looked on in what appeared to be shock and maybe even horror, though my perception was admittedly altered by my own embarrassment. I walked Boo to the front door and someone kindly opened the door for me. Over my shoulder I said "I think we'll be back." I'm not even sure anyone could hear me.

Outside Boo continued to wail and scream that he did not want to leave the party. I told him that if he wanted to stay he would have to get control of himself. He finally sobbed that he just wanted to go home. I walked him to the car, my own tears welling up in my eyes. As I placed him in his seat I told him that we did not have to go home if he did not want to. He finally calmed down enough to realize that he would rather stay at the party. I told him he could only stay if he stopped throwing a fit. He was still crying, but under control, and he told me "it's just so HARD Mom!" We were finally able to rejoin the party inside. As we entered the front door I saw a couple adults disassembling and removing the race track. They glanced up at me and I read their expressions as condemnation for bad parenting, but I realize now that I was just projecting my own insecurities.

As we were going back in the house, I saw Boo's BFF pull up in the driveway. This thrilled my heart because Boo and Little Britches (as I call him) have such a unique and special bond that I rarely worry when they are together. LB seems to have a calming effect on Boo, and also seems to sense what he needs and intervene as needed. He and his mother, whom I have dubbed "The Boo Whisperer" are truly some of the best blessings God has brought to us. As The Boo Whisperer entered the room where I sat with the other adults, I announced to her that she had just missed one of Boo's epic fits. "Oh really," she asked. I explained that there was a race car track that wouldn't go together correctly and I said "and you know what that does to him!" She replied emphatically "oh yes, I do." What bothered me most about this exchange was that I was completely aware that I was in essence putting on a show for these other adults in the room. I wanted them to understand that my child was not simply a brat and that I was not simply a bad parent. I didn't use the "A" word because I don't want to constantly use his diagnosis to brand him or label him. I don't want him walking around with a blinking neon sign over his head that says "I'm different." And yet, at the same time, I want people not to judge. I want others not to think less of him when he reaches his breaking point and has outbursts, or when he behaves oddly, or when he speaks in a strange, repetitive, unnatural way. I don't want other kids to steer clear of him. I want the same things for him that every parent wants for every child. Understanding, love, and acceptance.

But in order for that to happen, the population at large needs to have an awareness not just of the fact that autism exists, but of what it is, what it looks like, and that the people who have it and who deal with it daily want and need the very same things that they do. At the party today the kids were playing house and one girl announced "I'm the mom!" A boy declared "I'm the dad!" And Boo stated matter-of-factly "I'm a four year-old kid." And in the end, that's exactly what he is. He's not an autistic kid. Not even a kid with autism. He's just a four year-old kid.

So we are joining with many of our friends around the world tomorrow in the effort to "light it up blue" for Autism Awareness. Our porch light will be blue. Our shirts will be blue. Even my fingernails will be blue. And I urge you to take some time to do something to raise your level of awareness. Go farther than just listening to the "experts" on TV. Contact someone you know who has a family member with an ASD diagnosis. Read some blogs by parents dealing with it. Get a real sense of the people behind the label. Let's turn awareness into action and understanding.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

Recently a family with three children moved in next door to us. These are the first children that have lived on our block in several years and they are a really sweet family. The children are 6, 8, and 10. Just a few weeks ago Boo was invited to their yard for the first time. They have a full size trampoline in the back yard and he had been aching to jump on it. He was thrilled beyond measure! Since then he's been to their yard a few times and they have been to ours a few times. Last night when we got home he wanted to invite his friends over but he was devistated to find them not home. It took us a while to recover from the tears. I assured him that they would probably be home the next day and he could invite them then.

This morning he woke me up around 7:30 and almost the first words out of his mouth were asking if he could go see if his friends were home. I told him that it was much too early and that it would be rude to ring their bell so early. I told him he would have to wait. For the next two hours he came to me at regular intervals asking if it was still early. I finally let him watch Stuart Little 3 and told him that he could not go next door until the movie was over. He still kept asking if it was early. Finally the movie was over and I had to consent to allow him to go ring the bell next door. He was elated. I was anxious.

This was a major first for Boo. He has asked other parents to set up playdates before, but has never gone to someone's door and asked them to play. I was nervous. I wished I'd had a way to clear this with the other parents first. I imagined what would happen if they had other plans and they said no. I envisioned a meltdown on their front porch. So I made Boo practice with me first. I asked him what he would say when they answer the door, and how he would respond if they said no. He was having a rare moment with absolutely no anxiety or reservation about doing something new and my heart was SOARING! (And beating pretty fast and hard)

I escorted Boo across the yard and we saw that the kids' dad was standing on the front porch. I told Boo "look, their dad is already outside." He approached undaunted till I suggested that he go ahead and ask the dad the question he had practiced. He took one look at the dad, whom he had not met previously, and retreated with his back turned, refusing to speak. I knelt down and asked him what was wrong but he said "I don't want to TELL you." The dad was grinning and asked if he should go and get the mom. I asked Boo if he would rather ask the mom and he said yes. The dad went inside to retreive the mom and she emerged with all of the kids. Boo was so excited he was chattering nonstop and stuttering quite a bit. (Stuttering is common for him when he is nervous, excited, or upset) He finally managed to get his question out, "Can your kids come out and play?"

The family was planning to go to town together to buy seeds to plant in their garden. Boo was so distraught. It took a little convincing, but we finally got him to agree that they could come over later in the day. A few hours later the doorbell rang and two bright young faces smiled up at me asking, "Can Boo come play now?" I agreed and watched him happily traipse across the yard with his friends...without me! It was bittersweet. My heart was both breaking and soaring. This was quite a milestone for my sweet boy.

Not long after Boo went next door, the children all decided they would rather play at our house. First they played outside for a while, then they came indoors. They were here for several hours and we couldn't have had more fun! There was never even a mention of tv or computer games. They painted pictures, made crafts, played store, house, cars, trains, and doctor. Not once did I interrupt a fight or argument because there simply weren't any. It was everything I always wanted a Saturday at home to be.

The neighbor kids have gone back home now, and while it was very hard for Boo to see them leave, I am counting this day as a huge win in our book. I think this is the beginning of something great! You couldn't pry the smile off my face right now!

TEN MONTHS!

I absolutely can not believe it's been ten months since I have posted here! It's kind of hard to even imagine what all has happened for us in almost a year! Boo is now in his second and last year of preschool, and boy is the year flying! We are now preparing for his fifth birthday in a little over a month and I can't believe how much OLDER five seems than four. Boo is excited about starting kindergarten in the fall. He will be going to school all day for the first time, which makes me a bit antsy, but he is excited about it. His biggest complaint about preschool is that sometimes they run out of time to finish what they are working on and this REALLY bothers him. Sometimes to the point of a breakdown. So when I told him that at kindergarted he would get to stay all day, and even eat lunch there, he was THRILLED! He exclaimed, "You mean I get to stay ALL day, till it's DARK outside!?" No, Dear, not quite THAT long. LOL

He has a thirst for knowledge that seems unquenchable and an intelligence that astounds me. He knows so much about how the world works, the rules that govern both the natural world and society. Thanks to his acute powers of observation, and his intense study of tv shows such as Sid the Science Kid, Wild Kratts, How It's Made, and World's Toughest Fixes, he routinely blows us away with the stuff that comes out of his mouth. Also, he is an astute reader. I have to be careful about this. Sometimes I forget that he can read and it gets me into trouble. Other times even without forgetting it causes an issue.

We have been invited to a classmate's birthday party this weekend and Boo is so excited he can hardly stand it. Every day he asks me if it's party day yet, though he knows full well that it is not. A few days ago we made a trip to Walmart to select a gift, which was surprisingly easy, and a card, which was surprisingly tough. I took him to the section of birthday cards aimed for boys around his age and directed him to choose a card for his friend. He began picking up and reading cards that looked interesting to him. The problem came when he became attached to a few cards that I considered inappropriate but which he thought to be the height of hilarity. We came toe to toe over one with a picture of a dog dressed as a pirate with this text: "It's your birthday, Matey. I left you a present on the POOP deck." Boo was cracking up over this card, not even understanding the pun, but loving the idea of shouting the word POOP multiple times in public. I told him that he needed to choose another card. It almost got ugly, but he finally chose a card with penguins which had a sheet of stickers inside. Except, he wanted to put some of the stickers on his shirt. I told him that the stickers were for the birthday boy. He assured me that he would leave some of them for his friend. No, sweetheart, ALL of the stickers are for your friend. Who ever thought that choosing a card would be the tough part? SHEESH!

Our Grams (my grandmother) was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, which came as a huge shock to us all, considering she is in her 80's! It has been a long and stressful journey from mammogram to biopsy to lumpectomy. During the process I bought her a card to give her a much needed laugh. The front said something to the effect of: "Much later you will look back on this with the wisdom that time bestows and you will think," and inside it read: "Wow. That SUCKED!" Grams cracked up laughing and of course Boo had to find out what was so funny. He read the card too. Now once in a while he randomly announces in a loud voice, "Wow, that sucked!" and then laughs wildly.

Boo has made great strides in his social abilities, thanks to some very hard work this year from his speech therapist. He is learning more about the importance of reciprocity in his interactions. He is learning about turn-taking and how to be a good sport when he looses. He is still working on dealing with the disappointment when his friends don't do what he wants or expects. Most of his play is still based in scripting from his favorite tv shows, but I have seen more and more instances of truely creative imaginative play. It always warms my heart.

I am not going to bore you with ten months worth of catching up. We'll just pick up from this point and move forward. Besides, I'm so tired right now I can hardly think, let alone type.