Spectrummy Mummy

Asperger's, Allergies, and Adventures Abroad

Posts Tagged ‘Sibling

Wordless Wednesday 19 Mar 14

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Image

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

March 19, 2014 at 9:36 am

Wordless Wednesday 06 Nov 13

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November 6, 2013 at 5:31 pm

Wordless Wednesday 11 Sep 13

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tender

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September 11, 2013 at 7:06 am

Wordless Wednesday 17 Jul 13

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Cubby Cars

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July 17, 2013 at 1:29 pm

Wordless Wednesday 10 Apr 13

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holding hands

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April 9, 2013 at 7:46 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

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.

Wordless Wednesday 17 Oct 12

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Somebody can’t wait for Halloween!

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

October 17, 2012 at 5:06 pm

Wordless Wednesday 29 Aug 12

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August 29, 2012 at 9:14 am

Where We Belong

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We’re running our own race here

There is nothing like going to a local community event to make you realize that we’re not your average ordinary family.  Today was Sports Day at Cubby’s school.  The 18th annual sports day for this preschool, and most families have been coming here to cheer on the kids for years now.  This was our first time.

Most of the other families have lived around here for a while, and they know each other.  A couple of faces were familiar to me from morning drop-offs, but we were definitely the outsiders.  One mother, hearing my accent, asked where we were from.  Did she mean my country of birth, my husband’s or the kids’?  I could have given her three different answers for a fairly simple question.  We don’t belong here, but you can’t tell that just by looking at us.

Nobody really noticed that Cubby wasn’t trying to win.  He was more focused on what the other kids were doing than what he was supposed to do.  And probably nobody noticed that his muscles tired a little sooner than the other kids his age.  He wasn’t first, he wasn’t last, he did what he needed to do.  He passed.

But those sitting close to us probably soon noticed the five-year-old who is the size of a nine-year-old who was constantly squirming and repeating the same phrases over and over, and twirling hair.  Indeed, when twirling her own hair and mine wasn’t enough, Pudding moved on to the long braids of the lady sitting next to us.  But she doesn’t want to twirl a stranger’s hair, so she asked her name.  “It’s an African name,” replied the lady with a smile.  “Hello African,” responded Pudding.  You can’t make this stuff up!

Pudding doesn’t really pass any more.  Her differences are too apparent, too inappropriate for her perceived age.  Even her actual age.  But if she has realized that, she hasn’t expressed it yet to me.  There is solace in that- I’d rather have my girl unaware than hurting.

This sports day required actual participation from the families too.  There was a mum’s race (I came fourth!), dad’s, grandparents, teachers, brothers, and-yes- sisters.  The groups were divided up into big sisters and little sisters.  Even if Pudding was up against kids her own age or younger, racing isn’t something she really understands.  She has no competitive streak that makes her want to be first to the finish line.  She only “runs” while holding my hand, and even a few years of OT and PT haven’t changed that gallop into a running gait.  There were many reasons for Pudding sitting this one out, but none of them mattered; because I asked if she wanted to run with the other sisters, and she said yes.

She was on her marks, she got ready, but she didn’t go at the same time as the other girls.  I encouraged her and she set off, then twirled around, then galloped on a pace or two.  The race was already won, but for us it wasn’t over.  I could hear the cheering and applause, and I heard it die down.  Pudding wasn’t even half way through.  But she kept going, and I kept cheering.  By the time her gallops took her across the finish line, the next racers were already lined up.

But it didn’t matter.  Pudding was pleased with herself.  I spun her around in victory, and we returned to Cubby and Daddy and we all cheered her on as if she’d just competed in the Olympics, and won.  And right at that moment, I thought about how all of you would be cheering too.  There is a place where we celebrate triumphs that most people don’t even recognize.  Where we don’t stop cheering until every child makes it to the finish line, in their own way, in their own time.  And that is where we belong.

 

 

 

 

Written by Spectrummy Mummy

July 21, 2012 at 6:33 pm