Spectrummy Mummy

Asperger's, Allergies, and Adventures Abroad

Posts Tagged ‘Jewelry

Something Blue

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It happened on this night.  After I was done crying, and Spectrummy Daddy had talked about ways we could make things easier on me, I went upstairs to bed.  Sitting on my bed was a small jewelry box, the kind that usually contains rings or earrings.

My first thought was that he’d had my wedding and engagement rings fixed after I’d had them cut off.  Which was odd, because my ring finger still bore a groove where the rings had become stuck.  It will actually take a few more weeks until they’re fully back to normal, though they aren’t as swollen as they were back then.

That meant it had to be a gift.  Very frequently, I’m aware that I don’t feel what I’m supposed to.  Perhaps something else I have in common with my girl.  I didn’t feel happy or grateful.  I was actually a little annoyed that he would think I could be bought from my sombre mood by a trinket.  I was also thinking of the many things we need over and above jewelry for me.  I thought about telling him to return it, we just couldn’t afford it.

For a while it sat there, unopened.  Then I let out a few more breaths, and decided not to turn a nice gesture into something that would hurt us both.  I opened the box.  Inside was a beautiful blue-violet tanzanite ring.  Now I knew we couldn’t afford it.  I tried it on the ring finger of my right hand, and it fit perfectly, like it was meant to be there.  Now there was no question of returning it- I didn’t even want to take it back off!

Spectrummy Daddy came upstairs and filled me in on the story.  While I’d been inside the jewelry shop having my rings cut off, he’d been trying to keep the children occupied outside.  Pudding had picked out this one, and Cubby concurred.  I have to say- those kids have got great taste!

It was supposed to be for my birthday and Mother’s Day, but Spectrummy Daddy told me he felt that I needed to see right then how much I meant to all of them.  I haven’t stopped wearing it since, though I remove it a few times a day for some of the grubbier tasks that come my way.

Rings, while expensive, can be replaced, or fixed, or new ones can be bought.  I’m the thing our family can’t afford to be without.  I’m just as precious to my family as they are to me, and right now I need to treat myself as something fragile and valuable.  Now I have something blue to remind me of that always.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

April 6, 2012 at 2:17 pm

My Beady Eyes

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Things have been going well with Pudding.   She has come so far.  I was in a bubble of contentment about her progress.  The OT handed me her evaluation to review during the session, and I felt it go pop.

She is at the very bottom percentile for fine motor skills.  In one month’s time she will be 4 years old, and she has the grasping skills of a 13 month old baby.  Ouch.  It hurt.  It really hurt.  I’d been rejoicing about her developing fine motor skills.  I was comparing her to how she was a year ago, and with all the concentration and effort she’d put in she had made progress.  Huge progress, worth celebrating.  I hadn’t thought about how she’d compare with other kids.  I’d forgotten all about how typically developing kids just keep on typically developing.  It’s what they do.  And while they keep on typically developing, the gulf between those kids and Pudding gets bigger and bigger.  That little voice that I try not to pay attention was whispering, it doesn’t matter how hard she tries, she’ll never catch up.

I had my own private pity party right there in the occupational therapist’s office.  Cubby attended, but he didn’t really get involved.  There was a juice box and snacks, and that was all he was interested in.  I gave myself a few minutes, ate a chocolate bar, and then let it go.  Really, I let it go.  I can hardly believe it myself.  This isn’t last year, I can take a disappointment without hope dissolving away.  This is going to keep happening.  Every once in a while, I’m going to be reminded that the world doesn’t see Pudding through my eyes.  That when you compare her with others, she doesn’t do so well.  It is okay, really.  Because I look at her through my eyes, and I see a girl who works so hard, and masters tasks in spite of the challenges I can’t even begin to comprehend.  She beats the odds stacked against her.  I see qualities that can’t be measured on a scale.  Qualities that are rare and exquisite.  That is what I love about my girl, she is unique.  It isn’t fair on the other kids for me to compare her to them.

I thought back to that day when she threaded the beads, and I ruined them, and she threaded them again without losing her composure.  I have to keep my composure.  I need to just keep threading the beads because it needs to be done.  Just keep stringing, just keep stringing.  I can be distracted by how quickly other people make their jewelry, or I can just enjoy the beauty of my own.  I’m going to keep threading each bead with patience and love.  There is a serenity there.  Instead of looking around, I’m going to carry on concentrating on my unique treasure.

I’m just sorry that not everyone gets to see it through my eyes.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

November 3, 2010 at 8:41 pm

Stringing Beads

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Very recently, we have seen an improvement with Pudding’s fine motor skills, and patience.  The combination of this results in a new found ability to string beads.  Yay!  Now that she can do it, she wants to do it all the time.  Pudding is great at practicing an accomplishment she has already mastered, so after an entire year of trying to get her to string beads with no success, she now wants to do it all the time.

I remarked on this oddity of perfectionism to my parents, who quickly informed me that I was the exact same way as a child.  Not for the first time, I thought about the many traits we have in common.  If I’m honest (and what would be the point of this blog if I’m not?) I still shy away from things that are difficult for me, and spend too much time on things I enjoy being able to do.  I guess the only difference is that these days I know I have to do things I’d rather not.

Of course, I’m doing all I can to encourage this new found love of beads.  Grandma and I went shopping last week to the craft store, which was a bold move with Little Miss Touch in tow.  We chose a variety of beads, some regular beads, and some that came in jewelry-making sets.  I sent all but the largest beads back with Grandma to give to her for her birthday or Christmas.  I’m scared of getting her frustrated by progressing too quickly and destroying her enthusiasm.  I needn’t have worried, because she is threading those beads with ease, I don’t need to help in any way.

Yesterday she came to me and asked if she could make a necklace.  I was all for it, especially as I was making dinner at the time and an occupied Pudding means less trouble for me.  She sat down, and diligently strung several beads on her string.  It took her about 15 minutes of concentrated effort to complete her task.  It is the longest I’ve ever seen her focus on an activity, and the fact that she was working those little fingers?  All the better.  I marveled at the effort she put into what is a difficult and frustrating task for her.

When she finished, she brought the beads for me to tie around her neck.  I admired her work and then, HORROR!  My fingers slipped as I went to take it, and the beads scattered all over the floor.  I almost wept, thinking of the wasted effort.  I knelt down and told her in my serious voice how sorry I was to have ruined her necklace.  My tone of voice initially scared her, so I reiterated in a lighter tone that I was sorry for breaking her necklace.

I expected anger, tears, a meltdown, instead, I got…..laughter.  She giggled, jumped up and down, happy and flappy, and said, “Mummy dropped it!  Mummy spilled the beads!”, as though this was the funniest thing that could have happened.  She helped me to collect the beads, then she sat back down on the floor, and began stringing them again, just as sweetly patient as the first time.

Here is where she and I differ.  Had that been a 3 or 4-year-old me?  I’d have had a tantrum.  I’d have been angry even though it was an accident.  Even the other day when I spilled sauce on my freshly cleaned floor, I went mad.  Just as there have been many, many times when I’ve tried and failed to see what could provoke a tantrum in Pudding, I’m just as puzzled by the absence of one here.  I guess she didn’t inherit all of my traits.

Once in a while I wish I could inherit some of hers.  Just not all of them.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

October 21, 2010 at 7:17 am