The 'youmightbeanautismparentif' blogs are going around hot and heavy in the autism parent blogosphere, and while I don't particularly feel like participating, I'll add this little tidbit as it relates to Lily's sixth birthday: You might be an autism parent if you have to practice "how old are you" questions before every birthday so she gets the answer right.
"How old are you,
How old are you?
I am six,
I am six,
Lily is a big girl
Lily is big girl,
six years old,
six years old."
six years old."
Or something to that effect. Yeah, I know it's not Shakespeare, but she'll have the song memorized today or tomorrow and be answering "How old are you, Lily?" hopefully with the answer "I am six."
This morning it was my turn to wake up the birthday girl. That made me happy, because I remember last year she woke up by herself and my wife got her and brought her into bed with us to watch TV while we got ready and I was sleepy and forgot to say "Happy Birthday" to her until after my wife had said it, and that made me feel guilty and sad, like hers was the forgotten birthday.
This morning I turned down the bed rail and sat on her bed. She looked so pretty and peaceful, with her long lashes warding closed eyes. I ran my fingers lightly through her hair and said, "Wake up, sleepy head, it's your birthday." Then I softly sang "Happy Birthday" and pulled back the covers so i could scratch her back.
Her eyes softly fluttered open and I softly but excitedly told her she was six, a big girl. She didn't reply, content to suffer the backscratch with heavy lids.
"Time to get up, birthday girl," I told her, and picked her up, laying her against my chest, her head resting against the crook of my neck. I put her on the potty, congratulating her again on how big she was getting, and how proud we were of her. I left the bathroom and went into the hall, listening for sounds of her relieving herself before returning to hold her hand and walk her down the steps.
The rest of the morning passed more or less as we might have expected. We sang to her again at breakfast. She said, with her adorable little speech impediment, "Wiwee is six!" when prompted after the song.
The rest of the morning passed more or less as we might have expected. We sang to her again at breakfast. She said, with her adorable little speech impediment, "Wiwee is six!" when prompted after the song.
After her poptart (eaten pretty well when the carrot of "iPad" was dangled from it) she sat down on the couch to open presents and play with her iPad. She has never "liked" opening presents, or even the presents themselves. It's not that she dislikes them. She just has very little use for them. Again, I don't know what she knows or doesn't know about that cheerfully decorated box, and whether the sort of theoretical thought that has to go into the process escapes her. She sees a wrapped box. Does she know there's a present inside for her? That she must unwrap it to see? That it will be hers when she opens it? We don't know. We tell her. She doesn't seem interested.
Ironically, Lily, who has always loved ripping paper despite our thousands of pleas to "Be gentle with books, Lily", must almost be commanded to rip it when it adorns a box holding her birthday present. Then she grudgingly rips only little bits before she losing interest and wandering off. Eventually the suspense ends up killing her older sister, Emma, who volunteers to help Lily open presents, and we, seeing how little the process actually means to Lily, acquiesce.
Leslie brought up the idea of not even wrapping Lily's presents this year, but I couldn't agree. I guess I keep thinking as much as she loves to rip. . . it's a win-win. But like many other things I have to learn to make my peace with the idea that she just doesn't care. How much of the process is me projecting my love for opening packages on her?
She pushed the packages away from her and onto the floor, and after some coaxing and cajoling, we instead finished getting ourselves ready for work and school before returning to complete the process.
We sang "Happy Birthday" as a family. At the end Lily said, "Cha cha cha", the fruits of her kindergarten learning thus far, to chuckled response.
Toys are hit or miss with Lily, but she'll be getting a Barbie Mermaid (she seems to love all things mer-folk) a military grade protective case for her (my) iPad, clothes, gloves, and shoes. Sometimes the toys we buy her are partly to satisfy ourselves, partly to satisfy Emma, and partly in hope that the toy du jour will "take". But honestly, Lily would be just as content playing with her old books and toys as anything new we might think to get her.
She was happy and cheerful. She played nicely with the iPad. We sang her song again. My wife went to work. Emma helped get Lily's coat on her as I gathered up their backpacks and snack bags (for Lily's kindergarten birthday party), violins and lunchboxes, and warmed the car.
We drove to daycare listening to "Rhythym of Love" by the Plain White T's, and "Breakeven" by the Script, songs she enjoys and with which she'll sing along.
When we reached daycare, I gave her my hand and helped her from the car. "Come on out, birthday girl," I said! "How old are you?"
"I'm three," she replied.
And I chuckled and corrected her and took her hand, perhaps a little sadly as I walked her to the door. She has come so far in the three years since that answer would have been correct, but in many ways when I look back at old videos or read old journal entries, it seems as if she hasn't progressed at all. It can be frustrating, and tiring, and yes, a little sad.
But today is about celebrating those things that HAVE changed:
Her vocabulary continues to grow,
She sits down in school and pays attention to the teacher,
She asks appropriately for many things,
She sometimes feeds herself with a spoon,
She can pull her pants down to potty and pull them back up when she's done,
She will ask to go potty at school,
She tolerates taking turns,
She allows musical choices other than her own,
She allows TV programs other than her own.
And also celebrating what I hope never does:
She is genuinely happy.
Happy Birthday, Lily. Happy birthday, big girl. You are six!
 |
| Thanks, guys, but they're in the way of the iPad |
 |
| *crash* There, that's better. |
She pushed the packages away from her and onto the floor, and after some coaxing and cajoling, we instead finished getting ourselves ready for work and school before returning to complete the process.
We sang "Happy Birthday" as a family. At the end Lily said, "Cha cha cha", the fruits of her kindergarten learning thus far, to chuckled response.
Toys are hit or miss with Lily, but she'll be getting a Barbie Mermaid (she seems to love all things mer-folk) a military grade protective case for her (my) iPad, clothes, gloves, and shoes. Sometimes the toys we buy her are partly to satisfy ourselves, partly to satisfy Emma, and partly in hope that the toy du jour will "take". But honestly, Lily would be just as content playing with her old books and toys as anything new we might think to get her.
She was happy and cheerful. She played nicely with the iPad. We sang her song again. My wife went to work. Emma helped get Lily's coat on her as I gathered up their backpacks and snack bags (for Lily's kindergarten birthday party), violins and lunchboxes, and warmed the car.
We drove to daycare listening to "Rhythym of Love" by the Plain White T's, and "Breakeven" by the Script, songs she enjoys and with which she'll sing along.
When we reached daycare, I gave her my hand and helped her from the car. "Come on out, birthday girl," I said! "How old are you?"
"I'm three," she replied.
And I chuckled and corrected her and took her hand, perhaps a little sadly as I walked her to the door. She has come so far in the three years since that answer would have been correct, but in many ways when I look back at old videos or read old journal entries, it seems as if she hasn't progressed at all. It can be frustrating, and tiring, and yes, a little sad.
But today is about celebrating those things that HAVE changed:
Her vocabulary continues to grow,
She sits down in school and pays attention to the teacher,
She asks appropriately for many things,
She sometimes feeds herself with a spoon,
She can pull her pants down to potty and pull them back up when she's done,
She will ask to go potty at school,
She tolerates taking turns,
She allows musical choices other than her own,
She allows TV programs other than her own.
And also celebrating what I hope never does:
She is genuinely happy.
“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”
― John Lennon
I saw that quote on a blog page just today, and thought it was a great quote, and very appropriate given the post I just wrote. If nothing else we want Lily to be happy. And she is.
And as frustrating and tiring and sad as things sometimes can get, they are more often rewarding, enriching, endearing, broadening, loving and yes, happy.Happy Birthday, Lily. Happy birthday, big girl. You are six!
