Squishy Eyes

We went swimming on Monday. We had all been doing too much sitting! So I announced to Melissa that we would go to the pool. She does love to swim, and started getting her towel and suit together right away. She was even tolerant of James who chatted away as we drove to the pool. As we pulled in to the parking lot, I saw the cars filling each space, and wondered why the big crowd? After we hiked to the front counter from the far edge of the parking lot, toting towels and dodging raindrops, we discovered that we were an hour early! My stomach knotted...I glanced at Melissa, who only a few years ago would have had a melt down at that news. "Oh well," I said. "We'll come back. What shall we do for a while? Do you want to go to the Goodwill?" "Sure." she said, a perfect model of patience and flexibility. Wow. How times have changed.
We browsed the bookshelves of Goodwill and killed some time, then returned to splash and soak and float and stretch our cooped up bodies in the water. Melissa smiled the whole time, spraying James with the noodle tube and tossing a ball with me, happy and having fun. It was so good to see her out of her room. Even if I  have put on some Thanksgiving dinner pounds and don't look like a swimsuit model...it's just the neighborhood pool, I'm just watching James jump off the diving board a zillion times, just hearing the echo of 'Marco - Polo" from the kids as they play.
So we were done, and we got out and hit the showers...Melissa singing "We Are the Champions!" as she changed, curious choice of a theme song, but I guess she was feeling on top of the world. When we arrived at home, she said "It sure was nice to spend some time with you!" and then she did something she hasn't done since she was four. She leaned her forehead into mine and gazed straight into my eyes...and laughed. We used to play this game all the time when she was so much tinier. "Squishy Eyes!" I remember saying to her as she sat on my lap, face on my face in a mommy and daughter hug. What a great way to end the day, relaxed from my swim and reconnected with my Melissa. We are the Champions, my friend.

Invited to View The Rainbow

Our new house has stairs. This is cool for the kids, since they haven't had them before. Melissa especially likes how her room, up the stairs at the end of the hall, is quiet and secluded from everyone. Most of the time, she is up in her room, and if I intrude she is quick to remind me "I'm okay, you can go now." The clinically cold DSM-IV uses the term "lack of shared attention" and it was one of the things I noticed about how different it was to raise Melissa. She was always happy to be viewing the world from a private box, never needed to show me what she was watching, never bringing me into her space.

But yesterday, in the middle of a quiet rainy afternoon, a voice came down from the stairs above, a voice sent to me. "Mom!" Melissa said. "I see the rainbow! Come here, come look out my window!"

I ran up the stairs to her. We looked out the window together, and we shared the view. "That is so beautiful!" I said. She smiled at me. "And so are you." I thought to myself, as I gave her a hug and was not pushed away.

Finger Painting From Her Heart

Mornings are mornings...a scramble, a juggling act of packing lunches, finding jackets, hugs, backpacks, checking faces, checking hair....Mom on duty. Melissa often escapes this by hiding in her room or heading on out to the morning mist to wait for the bus. When I found this after all the hustle and bustle was done, after the bus had rolled away and I stood outside with my coffee and my keys...I stopped dead still and felt it in my heart.

Good Bye Dr. Greenspan, and Thank You

On April 28, while I was preoccupied with my own life, an important person in it died. Dr. Stanley Greenspan, a brilliant and encouraging psychiatrist who wrote this book. ---->
His approach, known in special ed circles as simply "floortime", gave me some of the most important first insights into how to reach Melissa when I was at the beginning of this journey. Dr. Greenspan's book gently guided me to assess my daughter and her strengths, which is where we started working, a welcome contrast to the many voices which were shouting her weaknesses. He was so respectful to identify how very individual all children are, and how special needs children are never easy to classify. This helped me, since Melissa stumped the experts for several years who wanted a "label".

The simple goal of increasing the number of "circles of communication" between Melissa and me gave me something to do daily. "Does she want outside? I'll stand in the way. She'll have to shove me with her body. That's a circle of communication! Hooray!" Much better for my mental health than "I think she wants outside...why doesn't she ask me to help her...why doesn't she look at me? What is WRONG!"
I have pulled this book out of the bottom of my pile and am glad to read it again, in Stanley's honor, and with gratitude.