Spectrummy Mummy

Asperger's, Allergies, and Adventures Abroad

Posts Tagged ‘parenting

Comfort Zone

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In case you hadn’t dropped by lately, this blog has been pretty quiet this year. For someone who normally has an overabundance of words, I’ve hidden behind pictures.

The day after Christmas, I lost one of my closet friends. Even as I type know I feel a pain that I can’t find the words to describe. Rachael was truly one of the best people I have ever known. I’m mad that she was only in my life for twenty years, but I cherish every moment we shared.

She made a disability advocate of me years before parenting would take me that extra step. The world was a better place for having her in it, and I will miss her for the rest of my life. She would have been 35 tomorrow. In the midst of grieving, we had another sudden death in our Consulate community. I’m once again lost for words, and without my outlet, I find it hard to process all this loss. I can’t make sense of the senseless.

Without writing, I am out of my comfort zone. I turned to the next best thing- my camera, and tried to content myself with viewing life through a lens. But there is always more going on outside of the frame.

In the midst of all this, Pudding has truly found her place. She is reaping the rewards of all the support and effort that goes into teaching a different thinker. My girl is reading! Not just odd words and signs, brand names and adverts. She is reading books, and learning to write her own stories.

My biggest wish for her- that she can narrate her own life story- just took a huge leap forward. She will have words. They will delight her, they will inspire her. They will give her comfort when needed. And she will own them. She will own her story.

Last week I met with the Director of Teaching and Learning at Pudding’s school. She asked me if I would take part in the conference they are holding about inclusion in international schools.

I was overwhelmed with anxiety. I can’t do public speaking. I express myself best through the written word, I couldn’t even imagine talking in front of that many strangers. This is way out of my comfort zone.

But how can I not? How can I not persuade other international schools embarking on a journey of inclusion that they need to develop programs for children like mine? They need to open up their doors.

They need to get out of their comfort zone, and so do I. I sought permission from my boss, and he went one better- he offered me his support. He reminded me that what might seem like weaknesses can be our biggest strengths.

I don’t mind stepping out of my comfort zone, if it means helping to persude more schools to do the same thing.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

January 25, 2013 at 1:04 pm

Mother Like Me

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After yesterday’s post, I had some people question why I didn’t react more to what happened during our flight.  It is a valid question, and one that had whirled around my own head ever since Saturday.  You see, my instinct was to protect my children.  Adrenaline was coursing through my system, and my body felt like it needed action.  My brain even pictured the various actions which would have satisfied it- all were physical, and all of them would have landed me in trouble with aviation security.  But I wasn’t thinking about that.

I was thinking about what the children would do if I raised my voice, or had a physical altercation, or even moved to argue face to face with the man in front.  Pudding had already had a meltdown over the change of seats.  A meltdown during which she became violent, briefly clawing at my face with her fingers.  Pudding is not usually an aggressive child, but she already felt threatened, and was lashing out. And this was with me being calm.

If I get worked up, if I raise my voice, if I give in to strong emotions, it is absorbed and reflected back at me by two people who need me to stay in control.  That isn’t to say that I never get angry, or I’m always in control of my emotions, but I do know that when I explode, so does everyone around me.  And I really didn’t need that.  Nor did the rest of the passengers crammed on to that painfully full flight.

Well, all apart from one, that is.

Before I actually confronted him, calmly, I’d spent several hours with Pudding and Cubby sleeping on me, peacefully oblivious to the barely-contained rage I was feeling.  Any parent who knows this forced calm- and I’m certain there are a few of us with children on the autism spectrum- know that this inertia is a hundred times more difficult than acting on our feelings.

We do it, because we can.  They can’t.

We can take a deep breath, calm ourselves down, refuse to let things escalate.  My kids don’t know how to do that yet.  They are learning, and like with many of life’s lessons, they need them modeled time and time again.  Even when there are jerks within hitting distance who totally deserve it.

Now, maybe you have children who don’t follow your every move, hear every word you say (even if they conveniently don’t pay attention at times), or detect every change in your pitch.  That way you don’t risk the same consequences.  Maybe you haven’t had years of learning to show Zen when you feel anything but.  I’m glad for you, and I’m jealous of you.  You don’t have to hold it all in until you find a suitable outlet.

Believe me, it gets hard, when you mother like me.  Certain situations are just harder.  But at least when the gory fantasies (I’m always like Buffy the Vampire Slayer in my daydreams) I had of what I could do when the plane touched down and the kids were handed off to the husband didn’t get to come true, I can always write about it here.

Because some how, some way, this stuff has to come out, if you are going to mother like me.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

January 8, 2013 at 6:01 pm

No Distance

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For the last week or so, our family has been on vacation.  So when the tragedy in Newtown, CT took place, I followed the aftermath through my phone on Facebook, and occasional news headlines that made it through to South Africa.  I wasn’t able to blog, and refrained from a brief statues update when that couldn’t possibly convey the range of emotions I was experiencing- both upon hearing the news, and then observing the media reactions.

When you live a life like ours, this feeling of distance is always present.  I’ve been a US citizen for five years now, which is often deemed not American enough by some to comment on news or politics- even when, as a federal employee, it affects me more directly than most.  And then again, if I mention something happening in my native UK, I’m dismissed as someone who hasn’t lived there for years.  If I try to explore what is happening in South Africa, the country where I now live, I’m told I can’t possibly understand.

I don’t belong anywhere.  I feel for everywhere.

Like so many on hearing of the shooting at Sandy Hook, I thought of my own children.  Pudding is also in kindergarten.  It could have been her.

We don’t know why Adam Lanza killed the children and staff of Sandy Hook, but this hasn’t stopped intense speculation.  The media suggested that the shooter had Asperger’s Syndrome, and within days this association of violence, murder, and ASD was disseminated through news networks and across social media.  It didn’t matter of there was a formal diagnosis or not, here was a cause that people were willing to accept.  Blog posts have sprung up with family members outing their autistic relatives as potential mass murderers, and before long we have something like witch trials.  Facebook pages full of hate speech, designed to intimidate autistic individuals and those who love them.

Adam Lanza may have had Asperger’s Syndrome.  We don’t know.  But violence is not a criteria for that diagnosis.  Autism was not the cause.

I read many interesting rebuttals during the last week, but they still didn’t always sit well with me.  Many wrote that this didn’t happen because of autism, but rather mental illness.  Long before I became the mother of a child with Asperger’s Syndrome, I worked as a carer for adults with various physical disabilities and mental health problems.  I can honestly say that spending as much time as I did with people with such diagnoses as schizophrenia or bi-polar disorder, I felt no fear.  As is the case with autistic individuals, those with psychiatric disorders are much more likely to be the victims of violent crime than the ones carrying them out.  What’s more, both are far more likely to be the victims of violent crime than are neurotypicals.

On social media, I saw many parents who said they now feared to send their children to school, and were calling for armed guards.  I live in a ‘critical crime threat’ country, where my children do go to schools protected by armed guards.  Believe me, it doesn’t make me worry any less.

We do know that two of the child victims at Sandy Hook were diagnosed on the autism spectrum.  I can only imagine their parents’ heartache trying to come to peace with their devastation as innocent individuals are demonized for their autism diagnosis.  I’ve read several account of friends with autistic children fearing to send them to school- not because of the risk of gun crime, but the very real threat of bullying as a fall out from all of this.  There is potential for so many more victims here if we aren’t careful.

While I don’t want to get into a gun control debate, I have lived in a country where they were banned following a similar incident, and one where shootings are commonplace.  I know where I feel safer.

Perhaps having a more global perspective changes the way you view things.  One thing is certain though- I’m completely unable to distance myself from what happened last week.  I don’t know why this happened, but I know that unless we are careful with where we lay the blame, there is vast potential for many more innocent victims.

Sometimes you can only dispel myths with truth, hate with love, and the ugly with natural beauty.  Some friends created the Autism Shines Facebook Page as a way to challenge these misconceptions of autism.  I urge everyone to check it out, and perhaps contribute as an autism advocate or ally.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

December 22, 2012 at 1:05 pm

Bye, bye, balloon

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IMG_2806We’d gone to the mall to get balloons for Pudding’s party.  Spectrummy Daddy had another chore to do, so we divided the kids with the aim of meeting back at the balloon shop.  That was Spectrummy Daddy’s first mistake, because with no voice of reason, I happily purchased 28 helium balloons.  You read that right- 28 helium balloons.  And just one car, with four passengers.  I never was good at maths.

But before he got back with the sensible question of how we were going to get them home (I voted for Up style to float our car home), Pudding had

IMG_2844

spied a big Hello Kitty balloon, which just so happened to be wearing the same outfit as the Hello Kitty on her outfit.  With nobody to tell me otherwise, I knew it was meant to be.  I tied it to her Hello Kitty bag so it wouldn’t get lost on the way back to the car.

Spectrummy Daddy and Cubby returned after it was too late to do anything about the number of balloons.  There were so many that I got bored waiting for them to be filled, so I offered to take the kids back to the car while he waited for them.

Which also meant that he was the one who got to look like a clown as he walked through the mall.

We got to the car, I unlocked it and opened the trunk (boot).  Pudding deliberated putting her Hello Kitty in the front, and then I suppose decided that keeping it in the trunk/boot was a safer option, so she carefully laid it down in the trunk.

As I went to help, the car key in my hand stabbed Hello Kitty in the back of the head.  There was a loud pop, then we watched Hello Kitty fold into herself.  Laid out like that, it looked like a corpse in the car, taken out hitman style.  I imagine.

But Pudding didn’t go into hysterics- just calmly told me that we had to fix it.  She’ll make an awesome gangland boss one day.

If Spectrummy Daddy disliked carrying the balloons through the mall, he even less enjoyed trying to stuff 28 helium balloons into our sedan.  We all squashed in, and there was barely room to breathe, which was just as well because you know our voices would have come out like Mickey Mouse.  At least if we’d had an accident, there’d have been extra air bags.

Cubby, ever the master of understatement, pointed out that we had a balloon car now.

Later that day, I’d done my best to salvage the balloon with tape.  Cubby was sleeping, so I offered to stay at home while Spectrummy Daddy went to try a refill of helium.  Of course, it didn’t work.  I’d done far too good a job on my hit.

Spectrummy Daddy knew he couldn’t return home without it, so he tried to buy another.  But that was the last one of that kind.  They only had, of course, an EVEN BIGGER ONE.  So big, it has to have special weights put into the feet!

There was nothing he could do but buy it.  This massive Hello Kitty, bigger even than Pudding, who was the World’s Tallest 5 Year-Old, and hasn’t shrunk since turning six.

He had to walk all the way through the mall looking like Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, and feeling dodgy thanks to the trail of little girls who were suddenly trailing him.  It was, I’m told, worse than 28 balloons.

But he got home, and it was worth it.  This balloon is so big it ‘walks’ of its own accord.  We have to keep it in the safe haven so it can’t set off our alarm.

But big is beautiful- just ask the newest Tallest Six Year-Old On The Planet!

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

December 6, 2012 at 4:13 pm

The Germinator

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If I was a graphics queen, there’d be an image of a Phineas and Ferb germinator right here.  Sorry, all I’ve got is bad puns.

 

I haven’t done a Cubby is Funny post in a while.  Not because he is any less funny, but because there is a whole lot of other stuff going on that pushes it to the back of my mind.  And really, we all need the funny.  It needs to be right at the very front.  Life is just easier with a smile on your face.

Poor Cubby is ill right now.  He has a cough, runny nose, fever and tummy ache.  We’re waiting to go to the doctor in a couple of hours.  Meanwhile, he and I have taken the opportunity to just relax together.  Okay, I’ve taken the opportunity to relax.  He has bursts of hyperactivity, then gets foetal on the floor.  He is only one for cuddling on his terms (he gets that from me!) so I’m begging him to come to me like a needy girl does her bad boyfriend.  This doesn’t appeal to him at all.

What he will do is sit on the sofa with me to watch Phineas and Ferb.  As we watched Dr. Doofenshmirtz makes his latest evil -inator, I asked Cubby what kind of -inator he would make.

A Germinator.

I had to laugh.  Then I wondered, so…is this to take away all the germs that are making him sick?

“Yes…and then SHOOT them at people!”

He really is my boy, what with that sick sense of humour.  Watch out, Heinz Doofenshmirtz, you’ve got competition.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

November 27, 2012 at 9:37 am

Her Way

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We had our first parent-teacher feedback session since Pudding started Kindergarten.  When we’d first sat down, educators and parents at a large conference table, this was the time we’d earmarked to evaluate our experiment.  Because even though inclusion is commonplace in the US, what we are doing with Pudding is something different here.

So when we’d originally hashed out our plan, this was to have been the day we’d decide if it was working or not.  And if not, it would have meant removing Pudding from this school, and placing her back in a more restrictive environment.

But we knew it was working.  We knew without even seeing her work showing her progress.  We knew from her enthusiasm for school.  We knew from the care and dedication of her teachers that she was in the right place.

Pudding’s teacher told us (as we know) that there are days when she is bright, sharp, and switched on.  And also (as we know) that there are days when she can’t focus at all.  It is hard for a teacher to evaluate- is that progress?

Progress is hard to define in kids like mine.  Tests and measurements rarely show her potential, just her level of interest in being tested at that time.

Pudding started the school year by opting herself out of class most of the time.  She would start a group activity, then go to work one-on-one with the learning support teacher.  She was saying when she’d had enough.  She was advocating for herself by saying, in her own way, that she was overwhelmed.  And then as the weeks have gone on, she is choosing more often to be part of the group activities.  Inclusion, but her way.  I couldn’t be more proud.

And then there are the tangible ways that inclusion is helping.  Her teacher told me that, working in a group of three, Pudding had paid close attention to what her two friends were doing.  She’d coloured and cut out shapes just like her friends.  Not because she was told to.  Not because doing things the same way is right or rewarded.  Because she wanted to.  Inclusion, but on her way.

There were anecdotes galore about the ways Pudding interacted with her school friends, educators and environment that were just so her.  I could write a post for each of them, and maybe I will when I carve out some time.

But for now, I just want to show you this:

This is how we know she is making progress.  We know that where she is happy and comfortable, she will learn.    We know that once she was turned away, and now she is a poster child for inclusion.  The possibility of her leaving wasn’t even mentioned.  We know that she is where she is meant to be.  Now, that is progress.

Pudding’s teacher thinks so too, here is an email she kindly allowed me to share (possibly because I bribed her with french goodies)…

Dear Spectrummy Mummy and Daddy,

As I had a cup of tea and a macaroon, (thank you so much, they were delicious!) I reflected on my day of conferences.  It occurred to me that my conference with you felt a little different from the others.  Was it because I had seen 11 sets of parents before you and felt a little weary or was it because I felt more like a mini celebration?  I think it’s the latter.  Our last meeting together was when we put all our plans in place last school year.  I think we were all a little unsure of how this year would turn out for Pudding and it had a slightly sombre tone.

Today, 3 months down, I felt such a sense of relief when you walked in and looked happy.  I have felt intuitively that  Pudding was doing well and making progress.  It is so hard to do all the formal assessments with her that I do with other children and that hard data is so easy to report to parents.  Often the way I teach Pudding has to come more from a gut feel than from a book or program and as soon as I think I have her figured out and think something will work, she does the exact opposite.

All I know is that Pudding is learning, that she is happy and that she is loved at school.

Yes, she is.  And all because she did it her way.

 

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

November 13, 2012 at 4:57 pm

Talking Politics

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Really, I’m going to talk politics, after I only just said that I don’t have a political agenda?

Power to the purr-ple

Yes, I’m contrary like that.  Anyway, I’m not really talking politics, but talking about how we talk about politics, or don’t.

You see, Spectrummy Daddy and I can’t talk about politics at work.  Under the Hatch Act, we are expressly prohibited from sharing our political preferences.  This makes a lot of sense.  More than most people, the government decides our work and where we live, so we might feel strongly about one form of government or another.  But we go to work no matter who the President is, and support United States Government interests no matter who is running the show.

This election season has certainly been heated.  In a sense, it is good to see that people feel so strongly about their civic duties.  I, for one, have grown a little tired of just how heated things have become, but Spectrummy Daddy pointed out the ways in which listening to other perspectives can only be a good thing.

Embassies and Consulates around the world celebrate democracy by holding Election Night parties, or due to the time difference in our case, an Election Breakfast.  There was truly a buzz of excitement from our South African guests at our event.  In this country, where there has been 46 political killings in the last two years, it is even more important to reflect the stability of a peaceful democracy.

I was musing this over yesterday evening, and I thought about how we hadn’t really talked to our children about politics.  Obviously, they’re both very young, but they are ambassadors too, and one day they’ll also be voting citizens of the world.  They will have to learn the meaning behind the rhetoric.  They’ll have to learn to speak up for themselves, and for those who don’t have a voice.

They are also little sponges, and I was interested to see how much they’d absorbed of our world these last few days.

So I asked Cubby who he would vote for President: Romney or Obama?

Steve.  (I assume he means Steve Rogers aka Captain America– the only person he thinks should be running the country.  After all, who would uphold American ideals better than his idol?

I asked Pudding the same question, and if you can’t guess her response, you’ve obviously never been here before.

Hello Kitty.

In fairness, it wasn’t as absurd a response as you might expect.  Hello Kitty was indeed running an election campaign for the Friendship Party.

Maybe they are learning something after all.  They don’t sacrifice their ideals for the sake of the popular vote.

I have to hand it to both kids- they at least vote in their own interests.

Dancing Teapots

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I decided to take the kids out for an early dinner.  Today is one of those perfect Jozi spring days.  The Jacarandas are blossoming, but they’re not quite at their vibrant peak yet.  On a Friday afternoon sitting outdoors at a cafe in Sandton, you could be in Europe, only with better weather.  This is an unexpected treat for us all.  I was supposed to be having dental treatment, but the water was out- sometimes water and power outages are the only sign that this is still a developing country.  Developing being the right word, for all its economic slump, there is a lot of construction going on here, and sometimes the wrong pipe gets hit.

I sipped at my capuccino with cream, and enjoyed the moment of perfection, knowing it couldn’t last for long.

Pudding was content.  She’d had the Halloween Parade at school, which she’d loved.  She ordered herself a bacon and avocado sandwich and apple juice by herself.  Yes, it is the same thing she always ordered, but I’m pretty sure it is exactly what she feels like eating.  She isn’t just doing okay, she is doing really, really well lately.  She seems more comfortable in her own skin than I’ve ever seen.  The wind picked up and she turned her face to it, enjoying the caress to her skin.

Cubby was out of sorts.  I knew he hadn’t napped, and was too hungry and too tired to know what was wrong.  Normally very expressive, he was down to grunts and shouts.  He couldn’t decide what to eat, even if he wanted to eat.  A siren in the distance hurt his ears.  He was in and out of his chair.  Putting his hands in his drink and smearing it over the table.  Then he began playing with his spit when the drink was confiscated.  Finally he turned to tormenting his sister for entertainment.  The wind picked up, and he shrieked in pain as it whipped at his skin.

Watching the two of them was a study in contrasts.  Pudding, at peace; Cubby intent on disturbing it.  This was her two or three years ago.  This disorder and chaos.  Feeling something was wrong, and not knowing how to put it right.  How far she has come.

Then I let my mind wander further back.  I remember holding infant Pudding.  Apart from when she was nursing, (which I naturally did a LOT) she was screaming.  Arching her back, red-faced, furious at me for not fixing what was wrong.  And I’d go through everything I thought I knew about babies, wondering what I must have missed to make her thrash around like this.  She pulled at my hair in her rage.  The screaming made my head throb, and I wanted to run away from this tiny creature who put all her trust in me.  And though I wanted to shout and scream, I pulled her in closer, and kissed her downy head, and held her until we breathed together, just rocking and kissing, until the screaming was done.

I picked up Cubby and cradled him.  He resisted at first- pushed away, then caved in.  His floppy body curled into mine and I kissed his face.  “I’m a baby.”  He said, like he does so often.  I didn’t correct him this time.  I kissed his fingers and his arms.  He twirled his hands through my hair, just like his sister always had.  I kiss the soft nape, and when I close my eyes, I forget where I am, or when I am.  It doesn’t matter- I am mothering instinctively.

Three year-olds can only be held for so long, so I release him, and he dances for a while- trying to catch the eye of the waiting staff.  I turn back to Pudding, with her wry, contented smile.  I see what’s catching her eye: some paper teapots attached to the ceiling are fluttering in the breeze.  “Dancing teapots”, I say out loud.  “Dancing teapots”, she echoes.  We watch them together, and her hand creeps up into my hair, but in comfort, not in rage.

In that moment of calm, I feel all the many joys she has brought me.  All the dancing tea cups that I would otherwise have missed.  I know, if I have to, I can do it all over again.  Even if I still feel more rookie than veteran.  We’ll grow, and develop, and get there together.

Fan

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Back when we first started planning our trip to England, I wasn’t working.  By the time the trip came around, I was employed, and things were busy.  Not only was I new to the job, but the last couple of months are the busiest time of year, and then because of certain organizational changes, and certain people visiting, things were even busier.  There wasn’t time to think in those last few days, let alone pack, prepare the kids, and prepare the office.  Which means it was perfect timing for things to go horribly wrong.

In the week leading up to our departure, Cubby was ill, followed by myself and Spectrummy Daddy in quick succession.  We all recovered, and were feeling well by Friday, the day of departure.  I hadn’t been in the office for long when the call came from Pudding’s school that she was ill.  I raced out to get her, and out to the doctor.  She was feverish, and looked miserable, which was just how I felt.

Pudding was much more defensive than she usually is with the GP- a sure sign that she was ill.  With much patience and coaxing, the doctor managed to assess her, and promptly diagnosed Tonsilitis and a chest infection.  I must have looked how I felt, because the doctor told me she’d give Pudding some medicine, and she’d be fine to travel.  Really?  Yes, because I was her patient too, and she knows how much I needed to get away.  Pudding could be treated, and would soon be back to full health.

I asked our Regional Medical Officer for a second opinion, and he concurred.  The trip was still on, we just had to get the medication inside her.

That was easier written than done.

Pudding refused all medications, both tablet and syrup forms.  We tried mixing it into drinks, we tried bribing her, she refused.  She was not going to take that medicine!  And I wasn’t, I mean I just wasn’t going to put her through that flight without medication.  I couldn’t.  I didn’t voice it out loud, but I mentally prepared myself for not boarding.  Time ticked on, and we were sent to the gate, still without Pudding taking her medicine.

And then I saw it….a Hello Kitty fan!

Now, Hello Kitty is the tops for Pudding in terms of special interests.  But fans are the most stimtastic things for Pudding.  She learned at just a few weeks old that if she screamed if the fan was turned off, we’d turn it back on for her.  I remember Pudding not engaging in most of the assessments during her evaluation because there was a fan in the room, and she just had to keep telling us about it, and staring at it, and spinning like it.  Fans?  Fans are big.  Hello Kitty fans?  Colossal.  I instructed Spectrummy Daddy to furtively buy one.

And moments before boarding, I showed it to her.  She could have it, but she had to take the medicine.  And this time, no fuss, no fight.  She took it all.  Her temperature started to drop immediately.  And for the first time that long day, she was all smiles.

As we passed through the entrance to board the plane, one of the ground staff asked Pudding if it was her magic wand.  And of course, Pudding corrected her that it was a Hello Kitty fan.  She was right, but it was my magic wand.  And to England we did go by the grace of that Hello Kitty fan.  We ended up losing it a week or so later in some motorway services in the north of England with some other Kitty paraphernalia.

I like to think that some magic rubbed off to whoever was lucky enough to hold it next.  Because in spite of that truly turbulent start, the rest of the flight was smooth…and Pudding recovered quickly, and well, I’ll tell you some of the rest of our magical adventures another time.

 

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

September 26, 2012 at 5:19 pm

Starting School

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Pudding has started at her new school.  You’re probably wondering how it is going.  I could have written that things were going well after the first day, but I didn’t.  Nor at the end of the first week (half-week, really).  Only now dare I actually say it.

Things are going well.  I daren’t jinx it.  I want it to keep going well.  I want that more than anything.

I want her to continue to have the same enthusiasm for school that she does right now.  Where she is mad at the weekend, because she just wants to go to school that much.

Her whole team has been pleasantly surprised with the ease of the transition.  Last week, she started going until 12.30, which means she is now dealing with leaving her homeroom and attending art and music classes.  All this she is taking in her stride.  Our girl is blossoming, just like we knew she would, if she was planted in the right soil.

Just in case you think we’ve swapped Pudding, she still proves herself to be just as she always was.  Her teacher has been kind enough to send home photographs so we can see for ourselves how she is doing in class.  One photograph was of all the class: children and teachers.  I asked Pudding to name everybody in the photo for me, and she dutifully obliged.  And when I asked who her favourite kid was, she responded with “Pudding.”  She is who she is, and we love her for it!

But don’t just take my word for it, this is what her teacher emailed to me today:

Hello (I want to add the word Kitty!)

 

Pudding* had such a wonderful day at school today.  I wanted to share her Journal writing with you.  On previous mornings she has drawn for me and been done…. But today she wrote more than most of the kids in the class.  Her phonemic knowledge is very good and I use her to help find letters when we are working on a whole class writing piece.   

I am also getting her to use computers more and she is very good at navigating her way through to programs that she likes.  Pudding has also found where I keep my ipad and enjoys some of the alphabet apps on it. 

I just want you to both know that Pudding has wormed her way into my heart and I am really enjoying learning with her and about her.

 

Best email ever.  She had me at the first line.  Seeing the picture almost had Spectrummy Daddy and myself in tears.  I’m going to save that for tomorrow.  It won’t be a Wordless Wednesday, because there is a whole sentence in it!

So there you go- this is almost a straight up, unqualified, things are going great kind of post.  Almost.  Because in less than two weeks we’ll be pulling her out of school for R&R, and she might really not want to miss school for that long.

But I’m not about to start complaining about a child who wants to go to school, nor a school that wants to have my child there!  I’m just going to enjoy Pudding starting school.  I’m the luckiest of all spectrummy mummies to get to do that.

 

*Nope, she doesn’t call her that, in case you were wondering.

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

August 20, 2012 at 8:36 pm