Autism Answer: Allow, but also Push - aka Old Lady Wisdom

 

Me trying to show my age but also using the vignette feature to try and make the photo look cool and not just like I'm trying to show my age :D

 

Ever since I was a little girl I've enjoyed the feeling of picturing myself as an older woman. 

 

More specifically, I'd imagine myself as a wise older woman with a smile, an approachable kindness, and a life alone in the woods. I would push myself in that direction. No rush, of course. I like enjoying all the states I'm in while I'm in them. But I would imagine my older self with a happy anticipation. 

 

Interestingly, I never imagined myself feeling older. 

 

Now, as I'm enjoying my 50th year, I am noticing that the feeling older is something worth paying attention to. No, I do not want it as badly as I want to look older, but I also do not want to hate it. I want to allow my age while I push in the direction of feeling great in my mind and body. 

 

I want the privilege of being older and I want to embrace it holistically. 

 

Which means celebrating the appearance, cultivating the wisdom (which my little girl self, with her lack of wisdom, had assumed simply happened when you got old), and focusing on the way I feel. 

My focus on how I'm feeling is to better understand others and to have more of those spectacular, "Oh, now I get it!" moments I continually crave. I freaking love stepping into a new understanding.  

Also, though, it is related to my desire to be an active participant in my own evolution. I want to feel myself age while I explore what that means for me, and while I challenge what it could mean for me. I want to be strong in my refusal of certain elements while being brave in my acceptance of others. I want to decide where to be strong and where to be brave as the evolution continues. I want to do this in real time, not predetermined. Not unthinking. Unaware. Unkind.

It is a valuable skill, knowing how to both accept and push against. My mom exampled this fantastically with my autistic siblings: they were to be accepted and allowed to be themselves while also pushed in healthy directions, growth, and skill acquisition. 

 

Each of my mom's children (there were eight of us) were unique. Which meant there had to be flexibility and understanding of where one could be pushed while another ought to be accepted. We grew up in a home that knew we were all equal but not the same. We knew not to judge each other for which skills we chose to work on, which feelings we insisted on finding, which challenges we chose to accept and rise to meet.

 

So, yes! I will allow age to enter me everywhere. The little girl in me claps with appreciation over how far we've already come and bounces with excited anticipation over what awaits. (Although she might be a little disappointed at how long it's taking the wisdom fairy to give us our old lady wisdom magic. tee hee!)

 

As I allow I will also insist. I will insist on pushing toward my own version of how age feels in my body.

 

Push, but also allow. Allow, but also push.

 

Because I am old I am wise enough to know this is worth doing.

 

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: Parenting is a Journey, be a Good Traveler

 

My son walking with his cousin

"A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving." ~Lao Tzu

 

Parenting is a journey you cannot fully plan, and if you try to stick religiously to a plan, you put yourself and your child(ren) in harms way. It is dangerous to watch the plan more than the people. 

 

Of course, goals and plans and places you are heading are a valuable part of the parenting journey. Without them we are at risk of simply wandering the path of least resistance regardless of how unhealthy it might be, or for people with an "it must be hard work to be worthy" personality, you might choose the path of most resistance, again, regardless of how unhealthy it might be. 

 

"A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving." ~Lao Tzu

 

The journey of parenting has no *fixed* plans. But plans, dreams, ideas, goals, pictures imagined and heading toward, these are wonderful. These give us passion, purpose, and help us see our progress, recognize our arrivals. 

 

"A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving." ~Lao Tzu

 

As a parent, there are many arrivals. There are many moments to celebrate and recognize. Don't miss those! 

 

But also, in the journey of parenting, there is no ultimate arriving. If our children are fairly regular, fairly irregular, dead or alive, close or far, the travel can last as long as it is right for it to last, so do not be intent on arriving. Notice the arrivals along the way, celebrate and remember them. But travel to wherever and however and for whatever time it takes.

 

“Remember, the timetable is arbitrary. There is no point at which a child must be done and done is an illusion.” ~Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad 

 

Happy Tuesday, friends!!!

Enjoy any and all travels you are in the midst of!

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

 

Autism Answer: Our Example Is More Than What We Do While Our Children Watch

 

One of my granddaughters sweeping

 

 

Our kids do learn from our example. I know they do. But.... 

 

Working hard while they watch doesn't mean they're learning to work hard. Reading great literature while they climb all over us on the couch doesn't mean they're learning the value of great reading. Maintaining a comfortably clean environment in their presence doesn't mean they are learning to do the same. 

 

Our example is more than what we do while our children watch.

 

It is also how we include them in what we're doing, it is how we explain our reasons for doing what we do, it is the ways in which we guide them to try, to join us, to tell us their reasons. 

 

It is our own attempts at meeting them half way that help them more honestly notice us and our example.

 

Regardless of our children's abilities, styles, basic personalities, they are learning from our example. But that does not mean we can simply do things we think are good while they watch. Because what they are seeing when they watch is not actually the thing we are doing. 

 

What our children see is themselves. Particularly our children with sensory issues and social challenges. They are contending first with themselves, and what they see of our example grows out from there. 

 

If I keep a clean house but don't show them why or how, my children will not likely learn to keep a clean house but, instead, will likely learn (from my example) that they should expect a house to be kept clean for them. (Don't worry, I did not do that. A clean house? Ha!!) 

 

So, yes. It's nice to know that if we work at always being a good example for our children they will learn from it. But it's important to know that what they will learn is always up to them, and that the only guaranteed bonus of setting a good example is that we ourselves will be someone we believe is a good example, and we will be able to remember having done that for ourselves and our children. 

 

Our children do learn from our example.

 

Even if what they learn is to throw my books away because when I am reading great literature on the couch I am not doing a good job of paying attention to them.

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

 ADDENDUM -

An example of what learning from example can look like from my own childhood: 

 

My mom raised a lot of kids. I am the oldest of eight and not only did mom raise all eight of us on her own, she often allowed for others to live with us while she helped them raise up as well. People with disabilities, people who were severing themselves from abuse, people who were simply unhoused, mom was always open to finding ways they could help each other. In this environment, mom expected us to all pitch in. Us kids were often delegated to the work of keeping the house going; cleaning, lunch making, putting brothers to bed. In the meantime, what I saw was my mom doing the important work. The work of helping people with challenges, writing articles or shows meant to change the world, finding work that was inclusive and would pay enough to feed, house, and clothe our family. Mom also did most of the housework, but I didn't actually notice that. I wasn't watching that. I was growing an opinion that housework can be done by anyone but the important work, the stuff that matters, is done by someone special. Someone who sees what others don't see. My opinion was bolstered by the fact that I did not see what my mom saw, until I listened to her explain and teach it, and then - yes - I would see her insights exampled in the results. 

I know she was not exampling "people who spend time cleaning the house are not special people with wisdom and important ideas" but as time went on I began to develop that belief from her example. I grew to feel less than when I would clean, I started to think mess was a sign of brilliance, but I also did not have the courage or even the ideas for the other work my mom did. For a lot of years, I just sort of stayed in mess and played with my kids and worried I was not wise or important. Luckily, I also learned from mom's example that being a mom who is all in, a mom who is entirely into the role and willing to do the work of becoming better along the way, is important and wise. So, ultimately, I grew beautifully. In part because of mom's example and in part because of how I saw myself while learning from it.

Autism Answer: Sweet Serenity

 

Serenity in my arms at her first birthday party

Serenity: the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled.

 

"Mom," my oldest son looked at me, concern surrounding him in a thick fog, contributing perhaps to the slow moving demeanor he appeared to have, "are you going to be okay? I have to take her to the hospital, are you staying or coming with us?"

 

Oh, I wanted to go. I wanted to be with him and his wife as their second daughter was born, but by some terrible twist of fate I was dizzy, pasty, unable to stand. Practically passed out on the couch as my son ran from one room, taking care of his labouring wife, to another, asking questions of his unexpectedly faint mother. 

 

"Maybe get Dramma. She can be with you and I'll stay here with Nevaeh." My mom could go with them to the hospital, and I would stay here, sleeping alongside my oldest granddaughter who was oh so soon going to be a big sister. 

 

My son ran up the stairs to wake my mom. I stood shakily up from the couch and went to my daughter-in-law, rubbed her back a bit while she lumbered wide legged out of the tiny downstairs bathroom. The roaring noise in my head was overwhelming and I was grateful it could only be heard by me and was unlikely to wake the baby in the other room. Even the labouring mom was moving with more grace than I could muster, and though the sound in my head was distractingly loud I could tell she was doing a good job of keeping quiet. 

 

Quickly, my mom and son came down the stairs. Again I was asked if I was okay, and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, but again I opted to stay home with Nevaeh. They promised to keep me in the loop, photos and updates would be sent, and away they went.

 

With effort I moved my body toward the bedroom where Nevaeh slept. I saw her, there at the end of my fuzzy tunnel vision, tiny and sleeping on the big bed of her mom and dad's. A little baby, only one year old, about to become a big sister. 

 

Silently and carefully I crawled in beside her. I didn't want to wake her, but I had to feel her in my arms. I placed one arm over her and waited, she didn't move. I scooted my body closer to hers, I softly kissed her forehead, I felt myself drift peacefully to sleep. 

 

My phone was beside me on the bed, and I would open my eyes periodically to peek. Is she here? Is everything okay? It seemed things were moving along well at the hospital, and with each text or image that brought me closer to Serenity, I felt my body move closer to it's regular untroubled self. No longer feeling faint, simply bruised from it. 

 

Then, as Nevaeh stirred in my arms, in the wee early hours, I felt a true calm. I felt peaceful. I felt Serenity. My phone dinged.

 

There she was. Beautiful! Here! Born in a room I where I was not but where my mom and son were. Beautiful!

 

Nevaeh opened her eyes and looked at me with uncharacteristic softness. She is a sweet girl, but rarely is she calm and soft. She's almost always spunky and sassy. However, in that moment, she was serene. I showed her the picture and quietly announced, "There she is, Nevaeh. There's your baby sister, Serenity."

 

Nevaeh reached out and touched my phone with all the softness in the world. Her tiny fingers traced the cheeks on my screen. They moved slowly, softly. Soft small sleepy fingers touching the screen displaying her sister. I was overcome with love for these girls. These sisters. I was grateful, oh so grateful, to be there in that room. In that moment. Watching big sister trace tiny fingers over baby sister, happy and calm. Peaceful and complete. 

 

I put the phone down as Nevaeh snuggled into me to fall back asleep. Dreaming, possibly, of her baby sister. Feeling, in my arms, like a gift. A gift on her sister's birthday. 

 

Serenity: a beautiful baby, a sister, a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, born four years ago this day.

 

Once morning arrived in earnest I brought Nevaeh with me to meet Serenity in the hospital. 

 

Serenity. There she was. It was a gift for me to share this moment - the moment of meeting Serenity - with my oldest granddaughter. The two of us having snuggled waiting for her, and now she's here. 

 

But I am also selfish. And I couldn't wait until my own moment, alone with Serenity. A moment I would get that night in the hospital.

 

It was my turn.

 

My son went home, my mom went home, Nevaeh went home, and I stayed. I chatted with my daughter-in-law, and walked the baby that night. Serenity woke up many many times, and I was fully there. Not faint. Yes, a bit tired, but oh so there. 

 

Serenity: my granddaughter, a child who helps me feel untroubled by the distance between us, calm in the certainty that we are not distant.

 

It is my fate as a grandma to only sometimes be there. The day Serenity was born was my first time choosing so clearly not to be there. It hurt, but became beautiful too. 

 

Today Serenity turns four. Once again, I am not there. Oh, I want to be with her! I want to hold her, sing to her, talk about how stronger she is with her. (When I saw her last month she woke me up every morning to show me how stronger she is. ) 

 

But it is also beautiful where I am, who I am with. Hence, it's okay. Serenity knows I am there when I can be, and when it's the right choice for us. Well, she doesn't know, she's only four, but she feels it and I hope one day it will grow into a knowing. 

 

In the meantime, I will always be here for her. Wherever my here is, wherever her here is, she has me.

 

Happy birthday sweet sweet Serenity!

I love you!

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

 

"We write to taste life twice; in the moment, and in retrospect." ~ Anais Nin

Autism Answer: Chatting about Love with my Granddaughter in a Dream

 

A pic my granddaughter took while we were video chatting

In my dream I was chatting with my oldest granddaughter, Nevaeh, who is four, almost five. 

 

She was looking up at me from the water of our swimming pool, standing on the stairs holding onto the rail. I was sitting on the edge leaning back on my hands, my legs straight out along the side and not in the water because, even in my dreams, I don't want to remove my roller skates. 

 

We were chatting about love.

 

"But, grandma," she was asking, "is it okay that I still love grampa?" 

 

"Of course! It's wonderful that you love grampa. And your grampa will always love you." 

 

She smiled at me with that special smirk of hers. "I know he'll always love me. But if you aren't still married to grampa do I still call him grampa? And what do I call the new grampa? Is he new grampa?" 

 

The dream was so vivid I swear I could feel the weight of roller skates on my feet. A weight that gives me the gift of moving in a way that feels weightless. 

 

"Grampa is your grampa and you can always call him grampa. Ian is grandma's love and you can figure out with him what to call him. You know what, Nevaeh? That's a cool part about love. There are so many kinds! And the more you love the more kinds of love you'll find." 

 

And suddenly, as happens in dreams, so many of our different loves began to come and go in ghost like form, appearing on the edge of the pool in a variety of snapshots that nearly came into focus and then disappeared, all around the pool they came and went and we pointed and talked about different kinds of love and what it can look like. Also, what maybe it shouldn't look like. 

 

"Look!" Nevaeh cried out at one point, turning her head and pointing her still slightly chubby fingers toward the deep end, "Look! There's my Tia! I love her but different than I love Serenity." 

 

"Right!" I said, laughing and feeling such joy to be spending this time with my granddaughter, who I love. "And even though you love Serenity, you fight with her sometimes. So love can have fighting in it." I said that because, to be honest, it was kind of a new learning for me. I'd been thinking about the times I fought with my mom as a child and how my willingness to fight with mom stemmed from my absolute certainty that she loved me and that I loved her. How it had often grown out of my certainty that we could push and pull at each other without ever breaking. 

 

But my granddaughter looked at me with confusion. "Like how mommy and daddy fight?" Oops.

 

"No, that's different," I had to admit. "When they fight it isn't coming from a place of love. I think they are fighting because they want to hurt each other and, even if it is some kind of love, it isn't a safe or healthy love." 

 

The dream wanted to turn dark, and for a moment snapshots of my son's wife screaming at him threatened to materialize, but I spoke with the intention of diverting the dream back to a lighter feel. 

 

"Love can have fighting in it, but love isn't full of fighting. Think about how it feels when you love. How it feels when you snuggle Dramma or when your daddy plays with you. Are you feeling it?"

 

Her blue eyes were closed and she was hugging herself, her bathing suit danced with colors and her small body swayed happily. "It feels good!" 

 

"Does it feel safe?" I asked. 

 

"Yes! I feel safe with Dramma snuggling me!"

 

"And do you feel like you and the person you love both matter?"

 

"Daddy matters! He's playing with me because I matter and because it's fun!" 

 

"Who else do you love? Different from Dramma or Daddy?"

 

Nevaeh did a jump for joy, "Uncle Dar! I love uncle Dar!" 

 

"That's a really good one! You love uncle Dar even though he doesn't play or talk in a usual way."

 

"Because Uncle Dar matters and I matter! And he likes to be on the swings! Wait, grandma! I know something!" She looked at me with such force I almost reached out to hold her but stopped myself. In my dreams, sometimes the attempt at touch wakes me up and I was not ready to wake from this. Neveah continued, "Sometimes when Uncle Dar is cranky Dramma talks to him in a fighting way. But it's because she loves him and wants to help him calm down. It's like they're working together. That's the kind of fighting love can have!" 

 

We talked a little more about different kind of love. About the crushes she had, the kinds of love we can feel for things like swimming and roller skating, the love we can have for the world. (Gotta love the attention span of my dream granddaughter! Giggle!) 

 

Just as I felt myself begin to wake - I admit I fought it because it is only in my dreams I can spend this kind of time with my grandchildren who live in California while I live in Quebec - we returned to the love she has for her grampa. 

 

"So you won't be mad if I keep loving my grampa?"

 

"Sweet, sweet, sweet Nevaeh," I was able to tell her in the dream, "I want you to keep loving grampa. I love your grampa, just not as my husband. Ian is my love that way. But it isn't because your grampa is not someone to love, it is because Ian is my someone to be in love with. So, yes! Love all the grandpas you want!" 

 

I could feel my eyelids begin to open, I stayed as long as I could in that world between two worlds, my granddaughter in the pool and Ian in the bed beside me, I wanted him to see Nevaeh and let her know it was okay to love him and my ex-husband. I wanted Nevaeh to see him and know how much he feels like home to me. How comfortable I am being all of me here. I wanted her here. 

 

When I could no longer keep myself in that space, where I was everywhere at once, I whispered to her, gathering as much love as I had time to gather before the dream was completely unreachable and packing it into that whisper, "I love you, Nevaeh." 

 

For the next two days I went in and out of that dream. Talking about love with my oldest grandchild. Remembering that as we adults teach our children we are never done learning and shifting and changing ourselves, so we will always have new and different kinds of love to talk about. And to example. 

 

My son and his wife are struggling to change their situation in order to become better examples for their children; in order to be better (and happier) people themselves. 

 

At the same time love is evolving, growing stronger or simply different, with everyone else in our family. 

 

And I had the pleasure of discussing the ever evolving love in our lives with my four year old granddaughter. Yes, it was in a dream. But it is also in my memory. A memory of discussing love with my granddaughter in a dream. 

 

Which is also a memory of the very real love I have for my granddaughter. 

 

There are so many kinds of love.

That is something I love. 

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

 

INVITATION TO PARTY WITH MY FAMILY: Today is my mom's birthday!!! I invite you to join our family party by watching this fun video of mom, my brother Dar, and the great-grandkids playing together. And to make it extraordinarily pertinent to mom on her birthday, which is also World Autism Awareness Day, you get a tip for engaging in play with your autistic loved ones while encouraging social skills. It's a perfect party celebration and I love that you're here with us!

Autism Answer: Chandelier

 "I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, the chandelier..."

 

She's so inside it. Serenity, my two year old granddaughter, is so inside the song. She loves the way she feels inside the song, swinging herself around the room. She sings the lyrics as she understands them, she smiles and twirls, looks down at her little legs poking out from under her shirt - scratch that, under her sister's shirt. The one she's borrowed that is a bit long on her and feels pretty as she looks down and spins. She spins again and the song continues to play from my phone which I have strategically placed on the windowsill. There is a bouncing of sound from that spot, a trick that gives us more than we're actually getting. 

 

"I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist, like it doesn't exist..."

 

My oldest granddaughter dances and sings, too. Nevaeh, big sister, little lady, speaker of opinions. She sings and dances with me. My heart is swelling while I'm dancing with my oldest granddaughter but Serenity, my younger granddaughter, is alone in this world. I recognize that place. The song has swept her away and she's flying. 

 

"I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry..."

 

I can hardly hold onto my heart as it wants to fly with her, alongside her, forever be with her. Serenity swoops down low and then brings herself up, fills her lungs with air and sings out: "I'm gonna swing from the chandelier..."

 

But, suddenly, a crash. A smacking of toes into the wall, cut by the vent. Where was this? Where did this come from? We were flying, we were everywhere and filled with such joy when BAM! 

 

I swoop down, Nevaeh runs over to her little sister, Serenity is crying crying crying out. She's bleeding and hurt. It isn't going to require medical attention but it needs attending to. And now, drastically, the song sounds obnoxious. Cruel, even. Holding my sweet granddaughter in my arms, her sister cooing, "It's okay 'renity, shhhh, we're here. It's okay." I reach up to the windowsill and silent the vehicle of this pain.

 

"One, two, three, one, two, three..." pause.

 

I think about this as we stop dancing and start finding distractions from her pain: I think about how much joy she was immersed in, how filled up with fantastic feeling Serenity appeared to be and how, had she been more present, less letting herself be taken away into the place she had been taken away to, she may have been more careful. She may not have gotten hurt. And we would still be dancing away, silly and safe in the bedroom. 

 

Yet it is in that place, that allowing of abandon I saw on her, where I feel my most free, my most connected to the world, my most awesome. Do I want to say, "Be a little more careful, sweet Serenity. Don't let yourself get so carried away,"? Or do I want to say, "It's okay, little love of mine, you will feel better soon. And the joy of letting yourself be so free is worth the bumps and bruises,"?

 

I think about this and I know both answers are right. I know I want my grandchildren to throw caution to the wind with courage, kindness, and curiosity; I also know I want them to think things through and choose carefully, with eyes open. 

 

I want Serenity to sing her heart out while moving to the music, untethered by distractions inherent in paying attention to the world around her. But I also want her to watch her toes. Her sweet little feet matter to me more than I can express, even understand. 

 

The song, Chandelier, sings to us from a woman "just holding on for tonight, on for tonight," and claiming she's "gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist, like it doesn't exist."

 

But I want Serenity to succumb to abandon because tomorrow does exist, because flying like a bird through the night can bring a feeling of connection and awesomeness and perspective and joy that is not easily felt or celebrated in everyday activities. 

 

So, I think about this. 

 

About Serenity's song and the joy it brought her, a joy that was entirely felt because she let go of looking at the world around her in order to fall into the feeling, how then she was - necessarily - unprepared for the edges that hadn't disappeared. 

 

When we decide to be brave, to follow our heart, to step into a life we are called to but have no experience with, to be swept up in emotion, it makes sense to be careful. When I dance, for example, I move furniture, I wear my knee brace, I choose a fairly safe environment. But then, I dance and disappear and close my eyes. 

 

When I've done what I can think of to set myself up for success, I let go. Invite abandon in. 

 

That's what I want to tell Serenity.

Set yourself free.

 

When you swing from the chandelier hold on, for more than only tonight, and if you fall there are so many of us who will be here to attend to your wounds. 

 

As Nevaeh sweetly said, "It's okay 'renity. We're here. It's okay." 

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

If you want to check out the song that brought Serenity such joy, here ya go: https://youtu.be/2vjPBrBU-TM Just, please, watch your toes. :D 

 

Autism Answer: I Haven't Met You Yet (A letter to my granddaughter)

 

                                                                                                              March 11, 2021

Dear Aislinn, 

 

Tomorrow you will be one week old and I still haven't met you. 

 

Oh, you spent some time here with me and Ian before you were born. I had the pleasure of singing to you, of feeling you shift around in mommy's womb. You were here with your dad, mom, and big sister, Clarke. My heart - my heart! - when I remember your sweet sister here calling out, "Gweema!" and letting me wrap grateful grandma arms around her itty bitty body. 

 

I love you, Aislinn. I just haven't met you yet. 

 

You've been born into a world swirling thickly with ideas, desires, needs, and beliefs that splash and clash and dance, diminish and expand, hurt and heal. (I don't only mean us grown-ups tend to argue and debate, I'm also referring to the balance of nature itself which is brilliant, bold, and assertive.)

 

Your cousins and sister were born into this same world, too. We all were. But you, Aislinn, arrived at a time when this swirling world is keeping me away. There are travel restrictions and a virus whose spread we're trying to limit. Unlike any time in my life, Aislinn, the world is working on the same problem at the same time. There are a surprising number of sides to this story little one, and I am just one grandma with a few thoughts, no big answers or fighting words, but my relationship with you begins in this moment no matter how few or big my thoughts and words are.

 

I love your cousins, I love your sister, and I love you. You are all singular and extraordinary. I crave your spirits and care more than feels manageable about your hearts and souls. All of you.

 

You are all special to me. But you, Aislinn, are newly special. A love of my life that I cannot hold in my hungry arms. They ache, Aislinn, with the lack of you. I held your sister, not long ago, for hours and hours and hours. My arms ached with her weight, with my desire to meet her needs as she slept ever-so-lightly. Do you sleep ever-so-lightly, sweet snuggle bug? My arms do not know. My arms ache to know.

 

So you and I are starting off learning each other in this new way. 

 

I do get to see you. Pictures, videos, and video chatting are not substitutes for the real thing but they are real. I can sing to you and watch you with your sister. Watch you with your mom and dad. Hear your little voice as you cry out. (Although, I have not yet heard your little voice. Do you have a loud cry? Do you demand attention from the world or simply call out to those close to you? I don't know these things. I want to know these things.) 

 

I love you too much not to learn this with you. This way of getting to know each other. And, do you know little pumpkin pie, that we are not alone? There are millions of others unable to gather or snuggle or show up. So many others who cannot lean on their usual ways to connect with each other and celebrate life. So, like us, they are figuring it out. 

 

I hope that we are all stretched to be better because of this. With you being born I have so many reasons to care about using this moment well. Not only because you and your sister and cousins are in this world and I want it to be a place where we use moments well, but also because I am trying to use this moment well and I'm noticing a few things.

 

Surprisingly, I feel myself resisting. I want to hold you and sing to you, I wanted to be there with you and your sister from the beginning, be the helper-self I know me to be for your mom and dad, so I catch myself resisting the joy of this new way. This being apart way. Partly because this new way is temporary (I will hold you and be with you, Aislinn, I just don't know when) but mostly because I know how much I love the other way and I don't want to lose that. Silly grandma! I can love both ways. And this is the way we have right now. 

 

Also, the world is sort of smaller but also sort of bigger. Because we are unable to travel and visit much, we are practicing new ways of being together. And if we practice being honest and authentic and vulnerable in these new ways, we can grow in unexpected directions. I'm sorry to tell you little love bug, but even before the travel and visits were limited people struggled to connect in meaningful ways. This is something I can't wait to discuss with you as you grow, but for now just know that we - as a world, but also you and me - have been almost forced to contend with this. To explore where we've been lacking and make changes. 

 

So, sweet snuggle bug, we are building something new together. Well, new to me I guess. You are learning this from the beginning. 

 

More reason for me to do it well. 

 

Aislinn, you matter so much to me. You and your sweet cheeks and full head of hair have my heart. Yet I am no one to you; I know that. But I will build something with you. 

 

You are singular and extraordinary to me. 

 

We will navigate this new relationship together and build something unexpected and unrivaled.

 

I love you, Aislinn.

I just haven't met you yet. 

 

Love,

Grandma 

 

 

P.S. "Haven't Met You Yet" is a song by Michael Buble, a singer your Uncle Declyn likes. I have been singing that hook in my head since you were born and, this is something I can tell you about me, I like that it has an upbeat tempo. It's a fun song. I like using it to remind myself to be happy and remember that I will meet you, it just hasn't happened yet. I love using song lyrics to feel things. Oh, and I can be annoyingly positive sometimes (ask your dad, he's comfortable saying I'm annoying sometimes. tee hee!) but mostly I'm just normal positive, not annoying. Positive.

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

 

Photo Credit: Obviously, not me. I haven't met her yet! This pic was taken by baby's mom, Aly. Beautiful!

 

Autism Answer: Fort Building with Big Box Play

My oldest son, Jory, is famous among family and friends for being the most elaborate builder of forts. (He called them a "base") No furniture, blanket, or heavy item for holding things in place was overlooked when he was in base-building mode. He would take over the entire house building a base that had two floors, a tv room, a game room, you name it! 

And now that he's a dad (two daughters and a son due in weeks!) his base building has grown into something equally as beautiful - connection building. 

He connects with his kids and remains playful. Also, he uses all the furniture and we have nowhere to sit and sip coffee.

So it almost felt like coffee time in our family home was being offered a rescue when I was given an opportunity  to try out a BigBoxPlay system! It's a cool fun way to build a base without using all the furniture and blankets! ;D

From Disabled World: "Disabled World was offered a BigBoxPlay for free from www.BigBoxPlay.com in consideration for an honest product review article. Like all review products Disabled World receives, the item was donated to a third party."

Insider Info: I was that third party!

 

Simply Put: A Big Box Play modular system is a cardboard box style of fort building with previously prepared easy to build pieces and parts. It's meant for kids between the ages of 2 and 8 (my granddaughters are 2 and 3 so we were perfectly matched!) to have a little fun with building, playing, imagining, and creating. 

I put it together - with a little help from the girls - according to the directions. And then my son, their dad, come along and got creative reusing and re-imagining a few parts and pieces to make something a little different. It was perfection! And precisely what the BigBoxPlay company encourages. 

We have had the castle fort built for over a week now and it is still standing strong (despite having gotten a little wet from our sprinklers, we keep it outside) The girls like it, and so does the dog.

I offered to review the system and figured it would be nice to share my thoughts with you, too! 

"BigBoxPlay is an indoor playhouse that you build with your children. My granddaughters (aged 2 and 3) and I chose to build it outside because, well, it is quite big! Hence, "Big" box play. ;D

My granddaughters are a bit young (and impatient) to help out much in the building process, but they did help. And we had fun. Mostly, though it was her dad and uncle and me that built it. It is fairly simple and modular. So when my sons decided to get a little creative with what went where, they were easily able to. Which resulted in a cardboard box style castle for my grandaughters that is custom made for them! The system is durable, fun, and can be decorated with crayons, stickers, paint, etc. (I drew a heart on it and my granddaughter got mad at me because it is her castle. giggle!) 

It takes up a lot of space, so we keep ours outside. We were concerned that it wouldn't last since it is made out of cardboard, but the cardboard is surprisingly durable and it still stands strong! After a week of rough play and even getting a little wet from our sprinklers. 

If you are looking for an indoor playhouse that can be built as a family, reimagined and reshaped, drawn or written on, and is likely to bring out the playful side of you, then I recommend BigBoxPlay!"

I'd like to add, as I think the Big Box Play website itself mentions, the tunnels and spaces inside the system are particularly attractive to kids who seek small spaces. This is common in children with sensory challenges and may offer a safe space to spend time in. Of course, it may not. I just felt it would be pertinent to mention.

So now we have a fort outside and our furniture is safe from Jory's base building. Coffee time in our family home is now complete with comfortable sitting space! 

I hope you are able to do something similar with your kiddos this summer. Something hands-on and together, fun and creative, and something that protects your coffee time! ;D 

I know we are all still in a strange place in the world. Things are uncommon and bringing up important but sensitive discussions and new ideas. In the meantime, we can get down with our kids and connect. No matter what happens, being connected with our children (I love doing it through play) will help us make the most of it. Build a fort, get inside, and play. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)  

Link for  BigBoxPlay
Link to all articles, news, and reviews on Disabled World