I love to garden....in theory. Don't get me wrong. I love to look out my front window and enjoy the way my flower beds look when they are freshly weeded and mulched and bursting with color after a long grey winter. I just find that the hardest part, as with so many other projects, is just getting started. But seeing as our house is directly across the street from the local junior high and just around the corner from my older son's elementary school, I was feeling the tinge of embarrassment that comes from everyone in town noticing that our property resembled something akin to the Munsters house.
So, with shovel and hoe in hand, I set out to tend to the weed patch...er, I mean flower garden. A task made all the more difficult as Justin had the day off from his school and was my "helper" on hand.
Luckily, there's something to be said for perseverative behaviors. Justin has always had a love of water-play and I found that I could keep him occupied by filling the big watering can and having him water the flowers. At one point, however, I filled the can a little too much.
Justin: "It's stuck!" (translation: it's too heavy to lift off the ground).
Me: "Is it too heavy?"
Justin: "Wanna help?"
Me: "Sure. Let me pour some water out for you"
Justin: "Oh Thanks!"
Me: "You're welcome."
It was at some point during this that I realized I was actually having a conversation with my son. Nothing fancy-shmancy, but indeed a genuine reciprocal and appropriate exchange of words with my highly echolaic son.
Cool.
Truth be told, we've been having more and more of these "magic moments". Moments where he'll look at me and say, "Look!", while pointing at something. Moments where he'll initiate games (if you consider wrestling a game) with his brother. Moments where he'll see his brother and the neighborhood kids playing in the backyard and he'll get his shoes on and say "Outside?" Moments where I'll catch him staring at me, studying my face, almost like he's seeing me for the very first time, and he smiles.
The thing is, when you tell another mother how awful it is to not have your child respond to you, I think they get it. They understand how heartbreaking it is to never have your precious child look at you and call you "Mommy". But I don't think that anybody can truly comprehend the joy that comes when these moments finally happen. It feel like nothing short of a miracle. Because you never forget how hard won these moments were. You never forget the months of speech therapy just to get him to say the word "cracker". You never forget the PECS, and the sign language, and the ABA, and the reinforcers, and the three steps forward and two steps back. You never forget the moments where your faith wavered and you thought, maybe he'll never talk.
And then he does. And it's magic.
So, with shovel and hoe in hand, I set out to tend to the weed patch...er, I mean flower garden. A task made all the more difficult as Justin had the day off from his school and was my "helper" on hand.
Luckily, there's something to be said for perseverative behaviors. Justin has always had a love of water-play and I found that I could keep him occupied by filling the big watering can and having him water the flowers. At one point, however, I filled the can a little too much.
Justin: "It's stuck!" (translation: it's too heavy to lift off the ground).
Me: "Is it too heavy?"
Justin: "Wanna help?"
Me: "Sure. Let me pour some water out for you"
Justin: "Oh Thanks!"
Me: "You're welcome."
It was at some point during this that I realized I was actually having a conversation with my son. Nothing fancy-shmancy, but indeed a genuine reciprocal and appropriate exchange of words with my highly echolaic son.
Cool.
Truth be told, we've been having more and more of these "magic moments". Moments where he'll look at me and say, "Look!", while pointing at something. Moments where he'll initiate games (if you consider wrestling a game) with his brother. Moments where he'll see his brother and the neighborhood kids playing in the backyard and he'll get his shoes on and say "Outside?" Moments where I'll catch him staring at me, studying my face, almost like he's seeing me for the very first time, and he smiles.
The thing is, when you tell another mother how awful it is to not have your child respond to you, I think they get it. They understand how heartbreaking it is to never have your precious child look at you and call you "Mommy". But I don't think that anybody can truly comprehend the joy that comes when these moments finally happen. It feel like nothing short of a miracle. Because you never forget how hard won these moments were. You never forget the months of speech therapy just to get him to say the word "cracker". You never forget the PECS, and the sign language, and the ABA, and the reinforcers, and the three steps forward and two steps back. You never forget the moments where your faith wavered and you thought, maybe he'll never talk.
And then he does. And it's magic.
1 comment:
i keep this quote taped to my computer (and etched in my heart)
“We must pray for miracles, work like crazy for miracles, expect and demand miracles, and for goodness sake, we must see them for what they are when they happen.”
true - not everyone will get what makes a miracle. but some will, and they'll be there to rejoice in them with you.
magic, indeed!
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