 John and I were both out of commission this weekend due to a terrible cold we caught from Vince. Vince, for his part, was much better (yay!), but for John and I, the cold was just hitting its stride. As a result, we spent the entire weekend either in bed or on the couch (typically rotating who was where so Vince had at least one set of un-drugged eyes looking after him). I felt bad that we couldn't do much beyond a few minutes of floor play with him. We were both just so sapped of any energy that it was a challenge just to drag ourselves from bed. It was such a beautiful weekend, and our poor son had to spend it cooped up in the house. What do you folks do on days like this? I hate to admit it, but we definitely resorted to the television. It was on non-stop with barely a break or two in there for board games or play-fighting with swords. I admit, however, that we both enjoyed giving each other "stamps" by way of magic markers. I'd draw a happy face on his hand, then he'd drawn one on mine. I'd draw a star on his leg, he'd draw one on my arm. This went on for quite a while until it looked like we'd gotten ourselves into a messed up tattooing contest. I actually had to scrub him down a bit with wet wipes before my husband thought he'd caught a wild disease. *Grin* There have to be some good activities that will keep him occupied, help him spend some energy, and not have me terrified he's off playing with knives. ;)  Photo of our stamps. :)
0 Comments
Thank you all so much for your prayers for my sister and nephew! I'm so blessed to report that they're both doing well. I'm sharing this photo with you because I have no doubt your prayers helped buoy them in this time of fear and uncertainty. They certainly gave me a lot of comfort! And look at the result. This beautiful little peanut was born - screaming - and weighed in at 2lbs, 6oz. He took a few breaths on his own, and his body is functioning just as it should. Maria, my sister, is resting and should recovery nicely. God is good, and He was especially good to us tonight. Thank you so much again for all those prayers! 
 I’m not sure where to begin with this entry, so I guess I’ll just start at the beginning. Many of you are aware that Vincent was practically deaf for the first two years of his life. I had to fight long and hard to get him approved for the surgery that would finally allow him to hear the world around him clearly. That surgery was completed the day after his 2nd birthday. Since that time, he’s seen both occupational and speech therapists to help him “catch up” to the verbal / comprehension level of his peers. Test after test has proven Vincent is intellectually at level (or above) for things like reading / math, but when it comes to actually speaking and following directions, he’s still lagging significantly behind other kids his age.  Well, about a year ago, his case worker decided that he needed to be tested for Autism. I immediately rebelled. I’ve taught plenty of children on the spectrum. Vincent doesn’t “fit” on the spectrum. Plus, I knew that if he was tested by the district, they would be obliged to share those results with every public school in the area, and I absolutely refused to allow my not-yet-3 year old son to be labeled. They argued that they wouldn’t continue services without the test, so I showed them the door. I was so angry. I remember that final meeting clearly. I told them in no uncertain terms that they could take their theories and shove them. I would NEVER allow testing of my 2 ½ year old son for autism given they hadn’t even taken into consideration the 2 years he spent in a mostly soundless world. I was so sure they wanted to slap a label on him and be done with it that I could’ve torn their heads off. So I not-so-charitably told them to find the door and let it smack ‘em on the way out. Children should never be so carelessly categorized. I explained the situation to my mother and best friend (mom’s a kindergarten teacher and Mary has her Masters in psychology). I asked if I was just being a blind parent. Were they seeing something that I was just refusing to? They assured me I wasn’t being blind and they, too, were surprised the district was pushing so hard for such testing.  Fast forward a few months. I noticed that he was still having difficulties with eye-contact and comprehension. Speech had gotten significantly better, but comprehension was still lagging. I was consistently finding him off by himself as opposed to playing with his peers. I admit, flags were going up, but I still didn’t believe Autism was the answer. As the months progressed, and signs of Vince being slightly “off” piled up, I began to have doubts about my read. Was I too close to him to really be objective? Was I allowing some sort of fear to inoculate myself against the prospect of Autism? I again brought the issues forth to Mary and my mother. Both of them assured me – again- that I wasn’t ignoring anything and I wasn’t trying to convince myself that he was perfect. However, both of them agreed there might be some underlying issue that none of us could put our fingers on. So that brought us to his first day of preschool I’ve been excited about for the last two years.
After speaking with the principal (and the teacher - both of whom, by the way, are complete rock stars), I decided it would be best to come in to observe Vincent, myself. I took the day off and just watched him. Sure enough, everything they said was spot on. He was defiant, aggressive, and he screamed at both his teacher and the aid. I was dumbfounded. The principal, his old daycare teacher, and myself had a bit of a pow-wow to discuss what was happening. His old teacher was just as surprised as I was to hear about the extreme change in Vincent. He was, after all, one of her favorites. She’s pregnant, and she noted Vincent was always very careful with both her and the baby he knew was inside her. He was friendly with the other children, and he never screamed or acted defiant.  Hearing this, I think, made the principal hopeful that Vince was just in the middle of transitioning to a new place. As a result of this conversation, she agreed to give me two weeks to help him make the transition. I agreed that, if at the end of the two weeks he was still a handful, we would make other arrangements. Well, here we are two weeks later and Vincent is in a new school. *Sigh* This was a very difficult experience for John and I. It was especially difficult for Vincent. I still feel terrible that we put him through such stress. I feel terrible that we put his teacher and classmates under such stress. However, I’m grateful to God that we endured it because without it, I don’t think we’d finally be on the right track with getting him the help he so desperately needs. You see, in my quest to deal with Vincent’s sudden changes in behavior, I reached out to everyone and anyone for help. In my search, I began getting suggestions for Autism testing again. My friend suggested he was oppositional defiant. My mom suggested Autism testing for Asperger’s. I still refused to entertain the notion because my experience with teaching Autistic children shouted at me “No.” There was something else, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. So I kept looking. I kept asking. I kept praying. That’s when I ran into Cam’s post entitled “Mae’s Journey.” Suddenly, the last two weeks of chaos and confusion began to come into crystalline focus.  Cam = Super Mom You see, Cam did something incredibly brave. This isn’t surprising given that she’s been known to tackle some pretty big issues. However, this particular topic is different in that she publicly acknowledged that her precious little girl might not be “perfect” by society’s standards. Of course she’s perfect in God’s eyes, because she is exactly as He wished her to be, but no parent likes to paint anything but the rosiest picture of their darling children. I’m the same way. I think most parents are. Cam, however, took the incredibly brave step of noting the struggle she’s had trying to help Mae grow and learn. She, too, heard talk of Autism. However, she also heard talk of something called Sensory Processing Disorder or “SPD.” Those three little letters jarred something within me.  This folder is almost 3 inches thick I quickly grabbed his therapy notes off the shelf and combed through them. Sure enough, I noted the various “SPD” notes littered throughout. I remember asking his therapist what those letters meant. She, at the time, explained them as activities they did or techniques she used (weighted vest, hand combing, etc). I just accepted that the “SPD” was a code or something that they used to help keep track of the various exercises they did. So once I realized “SPD” actually stood for something, I reached out to his therapist. We’re still friends via Facebook because she wanted to be able to keep up with Vincent even though he was no longer in her care. I confronted her with the notes. She admitted to me she had always been believed Vince to be a Sensory Seeker (a type of SPD). She wasn’t legally able to tell me because I guess she’s not a psychologist. Point is, she agreed to come over and observe him, herself, now that he was older. She came and observed, confirming she believed him to have SPD. The next few nights found me pouring through material online. The more I read, the more Vincent’s behavior made sense. I finally felt like my confusion was being answered.  This might sound weird, but it’s that feeling you get when you try on “the dress” for your wedding, I guess. Everyone who suggested something to “fit” Vince felt wrong. Autism, Asperger’s, ADD, ADHD, ODD… none of them felt right. As soon as I read up on SPD and compared my research to Vincent’s erratic behavior, all the pieces of the puzzle lined up and I began to see my baby in a new light. I’m currently waiting to hear back from the child-psychologist on when we can start therapy for him, but in the meantime, I’ve been doing my best to research ways to help him cope with new environments. Unsurprisingly, the various techniques I’ve learned via Pinterest and Google really have helped tremendously, even in such a short span of time. This just highlights for me that I’m on the right track. Thank God! And thank you, Cam, for being such a brave mom to post such a personal struggle online. Without that entry, I don’t think I would’ve been able to put the pieces together for my own son. Stuff I Found Helpful:Free online seminars, webisodes, classes, etc. GREAT library on SPD-specific information.
http://www.spdfoundation.net/elearn/ Great jumping off points for folks curious to know how Autism is related to SPD. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-autism-advocate/201003/what-is-sensory-processing-disorder-and-how-is-it-related-autism http://sensoryprocessingmadesimple.com/are-autism-and-sensory-processing-disorder-sensory-integration-dysfunction-the-same-thing/ Hugely helpful, this article is a blog entry by a mom with an SPD son who is very similar to Vincent. http://www.averageparent.com/our-word/spd/ SUPER helpful because it's written by a woman who, herself, struggled throughout childhood with SPD and has learned to cope as an adult. She, too, shares many similarities to Vincent. http://aspiegrrl.wordpress.com/2011/12/14/what-is-it-like-to-have-a-sensory-processingintegration-disorder/  Please shoot a prayer (or 10) up to Heaven for a very special intention. My younger sister is pregnant with her 2nd child, a little boy. She's about 28 weeks pregnant right now, but her little one is only weighing about 2lbs. She's been admitted to L&D, and the doctors are doing all they can to both stave off labor while building up the baby's lungs through various shots. My mom is currently with her. I wish I was there, too. Please offer prayers for her and her baby boy. We want him to stay put - no labor! We also want him to start gaining weight - and fast! This is a really scary situation for all involved. God help us. I don't want to see Maria suffer a miscarriage. I want to meet my nephew. I want to see Arianna grow up with her little brother. I want to see Vincent teach him basketball. I want to spend Christmas and Halloween and Easter together. So please - pray for a happy resolution. All is in the Hands of God. May He bless us with a healthy, happy baby. My thanks. Our Lady of Perpetual Help, pray for us.
 Here is a photo of the offending slippers.
I was looking for dainty little slippers for my goddaughter's upcoming baptism. I've already got the outfit picked out. I've got her little headband, and her little onesie set is ready to go. I just need her slippers. So I was looking through little slippers for her when I came across these. They're adorable, fuzzy, soft, pink and have tiny rosebud flowers. They're girly and cute. If they had rhinestones, her mother would likely be willing to kill a man to have them for herself (if you're reading this, don't even bother denying it - ha!). Anyway, when I saw them, I felt like I'd been smacked square in the chest. I immediately thought of Myla. I wondered if she'd've been super girly. Lord knows if she was, I wouldn't have known what to do with her. I probably would've tried to dress her in all the cute dainty things they have for girls, but I was suddenly caught by how little I knew about her personality. She was taken away before I'd ever unwrapped that piece of her. I was instantly angry, then. Again, I silently screamed up to Heaven, "Why Myla? Why did you have to take her away? I want her. I will always want her. So many other parents don't want theirs and force them to endure painful abortions. Why not whisk one of those little souls away to Heaven before they meet such cruel ends? Why take Myla?" Then I get upset with myself for thinking that way. Those children who are aborted are loved just as much as Myla - they're wanted just as much - by God. True, He wants to see all children born to a life of love, but it is not His fault this cannot be. Knowing this doesn't make it any less frustrating. Knowing that Myla's in Heaven and working hard to get us up there with her doesn't lessen my sadness and hurt. I hate this. I hate having a Pandora's Box in my heart that can be opened without warning. Pink slippers. How they gained the point of a knife, I will never understand. Mommy loves you, Myla. I miss you every day. I'm sorry Vincent, Daddy and I have to wait so long to meet you. {hugs and kisses}  Since this past week has been so frustrating and difficult for Vincent, I wanted to take him somewhere completely different to give him a chance to really run off some steam. There is a massive playground a few towns over that he hasn't been to since he was very, very small. I decided that would be the perfect spot to forget the stress of his new environment and just have fun. Vincent knew he was going "to the park" today, but he figured it was the one we regularly go to right around the corner. When we didn't make a right-hand turn off our street, he knew something was up. He started to whine, "No, Mommy. I want to go to the park. Turn right, Mommy. Turn right!" I said, "Vincent, no whining. Mommy IS taking you to the park. We're going to a special park for you today. You're going to have SO much fun!" He, however, was having none of that. He started to cry. I guess the poor kid was expecting his routine playground, and when his expectation for "normal" was once again smashed, he got upset. I looked at him through the rear-view mirror and said, "Vincent, did Mommy tell you she was going to take you to the park today?" He said, "Yes. I want the park." "I'm going to take you to the park, Vincent. We're going to the park now. It's a BIG park with LOTS of fun things. You're going to like it, so stop crying, okay?" His crying slowed to silent grumpiness. Clearly he did not trust Mommy to bring him to this big, awesome park that supposedly was better than his trusty old one. I was confused as to where this distrust in me came from. I'm his Mom. When I tell him I'm gonna take him fun places, I take him fun places. Was the trauma of school really so much for him that he now thinks I've only got challenging things in store for him? I drove on, but since this playground is a few towns over, it took longer than he's used to. He began to whine again that he wanted to go to the park. I admit I was starting to get annoyed. Then I felt this little knock on the head and an inner voice chuckling, "How do you think I feel when you do the same thing to Me?" Oh boy. I really DO whine the exact same way when God tries to lead me down roads I want no parts of. I don't trust that He's leading me to goodness. I want to stick to my comfortable life of sin. What could Heaven possibly have that I can't find on my own down here on earth? Vince's whining painted that picture better than any homily ever could. I was the crying kid who wasn't trusting her Father to take her to joy. How OFTEN I am that crying child. And why? What has He ever done to cause me to doubt His goodness? Nothing. Some experiences have been tougher than others, sure. But all of them have helped me to grow when I've allowed them to. Heck, even when I've tried NOT to. Point is, how often are we whining little children in the backseat of God's caravan? We need to trust our Father to drive us to Heaven. It might take longer than expected. We might go down roads we're unfamiliar with... that might be a bit bumpy. But in the end, He's the very best driver there is, so we'd do well to trust Him. By the time I'd finished that meditation, I was pulling my car into the parking lot of the playground. Vincent was in awe of how massive the structures were. It was pretty funny to see him go from whining to flipping out with excitement. I imagine that's how we're going to be when we finally get to Heaven. In the end, we'll realize just how worth it that caravan ride really was, and we'll likely want to kick ourselves for all that pointless whining. Here's a slideshow of Vince enjoying the playground. :) 
Before we'd left for the Bahamas, I'd convinced John to go horseback riding with me. It's been something on my bucket list since I was a little girl, and riding on the gorgeous beaches of Nassau is the best way to do it. He agreed and I booked us the excursion. Surprisingly, this ended up being one of John's favorite parts of our trip. Definitely mine, too! Anyway, we ended up getting a private ride. The other two riders who were supposed to come with us ended up turning back. We had the guide to ourselves, and since we were riding int he early morning, we had the beaches to ourselves, too. It was amazing! I hopped on and rode around like a pro. The trainer asked if I had any riding experience. I said that I had not, and he clucked his tongue in approval. He said I should look into getting a horse "at home" to practice my posture on since I shouldn't let equestrian talent go to waste. Maybe he says that to all the ladies. I don't know. I beamed with pride regardless, because I feel like I've imagined myself doing it for so long, it really WAS natural to me getting into that saddle! The guide gave us a few brief instructions and we were on our way. I was last in line, so most of my photos look like this: 
The trail to get to the beach was beautiful. We took this narrow, worn path through blooming foliage. There were berries and fruits you could pick right off the trees and bushes. Our guide would point things out while John's horse, Buggs, stopped to chomp on some grass. As we made our way through the trail, we trotted across a miltary complex where Bahemian marines were training. We saw them running down the street with their gear on their backs. I was surprised to see that! I just barely snagged this photo as we made our way across the complex. 
When we rounded the corner and began to see beach, I was almost sad to leave the trail through the forest because it was so nice. John voiced the same thing, but we were still excited to ride along the waves. We passed by fishermen as they prepared their lobster cages for the day. They all waved and greeted us as we passed. Again, all of the people we came across in Nassau were incredibly gracious and welcoming - even the busy fishermen who took a moment to stop and wave to us as we trotted by. All the while, our wonderful guide, Wayne, entertained us with stories of previous riders he took out. Since his was the only ranch in the Bahamas, they got a lot of traffic from celebrities who vacationed there. It was fun to hear some of the stories he shared! Soon, though, we were at the beach. The weather was PERFECT and we had a clear view of a few tiny islands dotting the horizon. It was magnificent. 
Wayne was nice enough to steal my camera and take a few shots for John and I which was great. 
I took my chance, here, to scoot off for a bit and "test drive" Sunny, my horse, without the guide. While he was busy taking shots of John, I trotted Sunny away from the group. I then led her back and actually had her completely encircle John and Buggs. Wayne laughed and told John, "Yeah, you see? You're lady's got control over her horse. She's a real rider!" Again, I beamed with pride! I felt comfortable and confident in the saddle. They obviously trained these horses really well, but I was still proud of myself for controlling her when I could feel her trying to go off her own way. Finally, we had to go back. Again, I was in the back. I still had one more thing I wanted to do since it was unlikely I'd ever get the chance again. I wanted to run her. At least get a small gallop going. So since I was in the back, I sort of pulled back the reigns to slow her down. I allowed a fairly good stretch of distance to pile up between John and myself. John was directly behind the guide, so Wayne didn't realize I was falling back that way. John was so focused on Wayne's story that he didn't notice, either. When I felt like I'd given myself a good distance, I gave Sunny a quick "Giddy-up" heel and boom - we took off galloping towards the boys. It. Was. AWESOME. My butt hurt like a sonofagun, but it was TOTALLY WORTH IT. :) Wayne just looked back to make sure I was there, and I was. No one noticed a thing. Well, maybe John did, but he didn't rat me out. It was so much fun! We finally rode our way back to the stables. We took the same trail back and hit the streets for the rest of the way. 
It was such an unforgettable experience. I highly recommend this place for anyone planning a trip to Nassau. The stables are called "Happy Trails Stables" and is run by a wonderful woman named Sue. Wayne is her adopted son (REALLY!). They have such a sweet relationship. A man named Duke also works there and is phenomenal with the horses. They just know so much and really love their animals. It's great. So to top off the trip, we tipped Wayne and asked him to take a photo with us. Here was our last impression of this wonderful, incredible experience: 
 After a great day developing a partnership with Vince's teacher and principal, a call today threw me for a complete loop.
Vince had eaten something that didn't agree with him, and as a result, he had an accident. I got a phone call asking me to come for him immediately. Apparently they do not help children wipe themselves, adjust their clothing, and they certainly will not change a child's clothing after an accident. I was beyond floored. I began to argue, but realized I wouldn't get my point across and didn't want Vince being forced to wait any longer than he had to for help. Sitting by himself in soiled clothing is not only unhygienic, it's embarrassing and upsetting. I told the teacher I'd speak to her and the principal later as I wanted to contact my husband (who was much closer) so he could come for Vince. After calling John and making him aware of the situation, I got onto the computer and sent the following letter: Dear Mrs. X and Principal X, Obviously I'm contacting you regarding your wiping policy. Given I'd written to you this morning about the issue, I'm not altogether surprised it reared its head in this manner after lunch. However, I'd like to make very clear that I am incredibly disheartened by this policy. As an educator who has been in this situation and changed children ranging from Pre-K through 3rd grade, I am surprised that you don't have some sort of plan in place in the event of an accident- even if that plan is the school nurse, a trusted health care professional. I understand the basis for your policy. You're worried about legal repercussions should a child claim inappropriate behavior. However, fear should never be a substantial reason to allow a child to suffer an embarrassing, harmful health situation - and that's exactly what this amounts to. His bowel movement was an abnormal occurrence precipitated by something that didn't agree with his belly. As such, even if Mrs. X was unable to dedicate time to handle the situation because she had to attend to the class, there was an aid present. If the aid was also wrangling the class (given girls and boys use separate rooms), the nurse can surely be sent for. But to leave a child for an indefinite amount of time in a soiled state because you're afraid of being sued, especially after I've made every effort to let you know that I do not view you as enemies, but as partners in my son's development, I'm just floored. I've been in your situations. Both of you. I've been the teacher juggling 20 kids while trying to clean up the one who had an accident, and I've been the principal trying to protect her teacher from any sort of legal worry for being in close proximity to a child's genital area. I understand FULLY where both of you are coming from. Now please understand where I am coming from. I know full well that a child's fine motor skills (necessary for properly wiping himself) are not fully functional until they are between 4 and 5 years old. Vincent is not yet four. If you need me to, I can get a letter from his pediatrician. That being said, I expect that should he ever be sick and have an accident like this in the future (which should rarely happen, if it ever happens again at all), he be sent to the nurse's office with his change of clothes. After all, why else would you request them unless you expected to use them in cases like this? I am doing everything in my power to make this transition to school possible for Vincent. I am his willing advocate and I will gladly do everything in my power to fall in line with requests you make of me. This, however, has me baffled. You are effectively asking something of my son that is simply physically impossible for him at this point. He's able to use the bathroom and has some ability to wipe himself, but should he have an accident, there is no preschooler that can handle cleaning him or herself up without the help of an adult. So as I mentioned above, if you need a letter from his pediatrician, I'd be more than happy to comply. I received an e-mail from his teacher about an hour or so later, and just as I responded to her, I got a call from the principal. I was spot on with my analysis regarding why they wouldn't touch him, but given the points I made and the obvious willingness I've shown in working together in establishing a partnership with them, the principal agreed to allow the nurse to help Vincent should this problem ever arise again. However, it was clear that she still expected Vincent to be farther ahead regarding his bathroom capabilities. I'm still surprised by that given all of my experience with children Vince's age (and even older) has set my expectation that kids that age are going to have accidents and will sometimes need help wiping. Have my experiences just been wildly different from everyone else's? What age were your children able to properly wipe themselves? Button their pants? Tuck in their shirts? I dunno. I'm glad that his teacher agreed to help him when necessary, and I'm glad the principal agreed to have the nurse could help with this situation in the future, too. I felt like it was finally something I did right for my son. I'm all for challenging him, but setting an expectation so high that he has no chance of touching it seems excessive. It's all due to these ridiculous laws put in place to "protect" children. All of this fear of pedophiles... we are our own undoing. The sins that we left fester have given us this as our legacy... stupid policies that end up hurting more than they help. Ugh. We're able to teach kids to masturbate and use condoms, but we can't help them with basic hygiene. What kind of world are we living in anymore? God help us. I love his teacher and his principal. I really do. They are beyond what I could have ever expected for Vince. Observing them only made me love and appreciate them more. They're in my prayers double-time for all the wonderful things they're doing for Vince and all the frustration they're putting up with on account of his difficulty transitioning. But this was just unacceptable to me, and I'm glad it was addressed sooner rather than later. Really, I'm just glad I finally feel like I did something right for my kid. Seems I've been doing a bang up job of screwing things up lately. It's nice to have a victory every once in a while for him.  Breakfast before school I took a personal day Thursday so I could stay at Vince's school and silently observe him to get a better feel for what was going on. His principal kindly rigged a little veil over the door for me so I could peek in without being detected. I learned a lot that day. First and foremost, I was given confirmation that I'd made the right decision about where to send him. His principal and his teacher are rock stars. I know they are both dedicated to their kids and willing to go above and beyond to make sure they get the necessary care and attention they need. That is extremely gratifying, and I am incredibly thankful that I found such a wonderful place for him to grow. Secondly, I got to see my son in a wholly new light. He was just as disruptive as they warned me he was. He was screaming in ways I'd never heard him scream before. That being said, I noted that much of his reactionary behavior was, as I had anticipated, completely understandable. For example, he kept getting in trouble for not sitting where he was supposed to sit on the carpet. His teacher assigned a back spot for him, and he refused to stay there. He'd either get up and go to the table, or he'd try to sit closer to the front (typically squishing other kids in the process). I immediately understood why he was doing that. First of all, his hearing is still not 100%, so he wants to sit closer to hear the stories better. Secondly, his job at his last daycare was "page-turner." He'd sit on the lap of the instructor and turn the pages of the book. He's probably confused as to why he's not turning the pages anymore, and might think that he's done something wrong to cause him to lose that privilege. So he keeps coming up over and over again to try to be where he thinks "his spot" is. No one explained to him that he doesn't have the job of page-turner anymore. No one explained that since this is a new school, he has a new spot to sit and new "jobs" to do. When I explained that to his new teacher, a light bulb went off over her head and other little things like that fell into place. Especially given how Vincent says how much he misses his old school and his old teachers, this really makes sense. He likely doesn't understand why he can't be with them anymore, and he certainly doesn't understand why he can't do all the things he used to do. 
Vince with his beloved daycare teachers
Then there were the transitions. It seemed to me that he was behind by 1 transition throughout the day.
For example, when it was time for circle, he'd be at the table. When the kids moved on from the circle to the library, he'd finally get in motion to move to the circle (and so on and so on). He is so slow and unwilling to transition that he was actually holding the class back from certain activities. The teacher and aid did their best to redirect him and get him on board in a timely fashion, but Vincent's frustration would kick in and he'd just shut down and ignore them. I think that's the area I need to work on most. Transitioning has been one of the hardest things for him to feel comfortable with, and it's been an ongoing issue since he was a small child. It's why I've always been such a stickler for his schedules. Consistency really is key for my little munch, and now that his regular schedule is being transformed into something else entirely, he's confused and frustrated. I'm hoping as this new schedule becomes more routine, he feels more confident and less confused. That, in itself, will help quell much of his frustration. After I finished observations, I gave feedback to his new teacher and took feedback in turn. We shared a lot of good ideas and I'm implementing a few changes at home to help Vince keep the same level of consistency here as well as in school. She, for her part, will try some of my tricks for keeping Vince's focus and coaxing him into transitioning better. At the end of the day, I felt as though a lot of progress had been made. I felt much better in Vince's chances for success there, and I hope his teacher and principal understood just how dedicated I am to getting him on the right track. Keep those prayers coming, folks. I appreciate so much all the notes, ideas and comments you've sent. <3 School Daze, Consequences, Parental Guilt and Marital Love - Just Another Day in the Life of Mom9/11/2013  First day of school! It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this much of a failure as a parent. I got a call from Vincent’s principal this morning. My soon-to-be-four year old son was sent to the principal on his 3rd day of school. Regardless of the situation, how can any parent say “Not my fault.” On some level, it’s my fault. I did or didn’t do something right that caused him to act out in a negative way. Friday afternoon, I was stopped by Vincent’s teacher and warned about his behavior. He was acting out by swatting at children and screaming at his teacher. He refused to follow directions and insisted on going off by himself over and over again. When she said that, my heart practically tore itself in half. “Going off by himself over and over again.” Immediately images of him playing by himself in a room full of children as I picked him up from daycare flooded my mind. You guys have heard me talk about this before. I can’t help but feel responsible for my son’s social immaturity. Aside from the fact that he was hearing-impaired his first two years (which stunted his speech and comprehension), he didn’t have much interaction with children his age outside of daycare. Why? Because he was never given a sibling. I feel so angry and so guilty for this. When I heard the teacher cite the same exact symptom I was so keenly aware of every time I’d pick Vince up from daycare, I knew in my heart just how disadvantaged Vincent was made by the situation between my husband and I. I immediately became livid. After putting Vince into the car, my blood pressure must’ve soared as I had visions of tearing into John for his selfishness… his thoughtlessness. How could he not see the damage he was doing to Vincent? All I wanted to do was scream and yell at him, myself. I wanted to punch and kick him. I wanted to do everything that Vincent had done as if John feeling it would somehow make him realize how incredibly wrong he was. I quickly realized I needed to cool down. I almost felt like I wasn’t in my right mind. On a logical level, I fully understood that my rage was simply masking the root of my emotional maelstrom. I felt guilty and depressed; sad and hopeless. All of visions I had in my head of creating the perfect family environment for my children was taken away from me and I’d let it happen. I never provided Vincent the sibling I wanted him to have. Little Myla, the sister he has in Heaven, slipped away under my watch. All of the anger and rage that I was directing at John was simply a bait and switch. If I was able to focus on him, I didn’t have to realize how much of the blame I shouldered for his deficiencies.  Self portrait Logically, I fully understood all of that. Emotionally, however, I didn’t give a hoot. I wanted to call him and tell him that if he was home, he should leave. Maybe find a friend to spend the night with ‘cause I didn’t want him home with me. I wanted so much to lash out in the most spiteful, angry way I could to make him feel just a fraction of the hurt I carried. Thank God my logical side fought back, because my emotional side was gunning for separation. It really, truly was. That is not, however, the Christian way of handling problems, and I really have tried so hard to grow myself into a better example of what it means to be truly loving in my actions, especially with John. Plus, in my heart, I know that’s not the answer. It’s not fair to John who is not entirely to blame. So I forced myself to calm down. I forced myself to refrain from spewing lava the moment he walked into the house. However, he could quickly tell I was upset. I said we’d talk after Vincent went to bed, and he backed off. Somehow, by the grace of God, he actually backed off. Normally he will push until his curiosity is satiated, but in this instance, he did not. That gave me enough time to collect myself and slowly vent, alone, until I was ready to discuss things in a manner that was fair to both of us. So after Vince went to bed, he asked. At first I didn’t know how to delve into it. I was really worried I wouldn’t be able to restrain my tongue. I wanted to be fair, but I was still emotionally raw. I have no doubt I didn’t handle myself perfectly, but I can say I made the right decision. I’m glad that I waited until Vince went to bed, and I’m glad that I resolved to talk things through with John rather than remain dedicated to heaping blame and anger on him without his knowledge. I explained what the teacher said. I explained my experiences picking Vince up from daycare. I then explained that I truly believed Vince wouldn’t be as socially behind if he had a sibling. I felt guilty for not providing him one, and I was angry that John couldn’t see how damaging that was to him. I explained why I didn’t say anything earlier, and I also explained how incredibly angry I was on the way home. However, I also explained that I understood anger is my self-defense mechanism, so it’s the emotion that crops up most strongly when I feel sad or guilty. In fact, it’s pretty safe to say that the angrier I am about a given situation, the more upset I am about it. Anger, to me, is a controlled force. I feel empowered and in-control when I am angry. I’m able to speak eloquently and my mind is razor sharp. However, the second I allow the sadness, guilt or despair creep in, my eloquence goes out the window, I feel as if I’ve lost control and I am left weak and vulnerable. Doesn’t that seem strange? But it’s true. Angry Gina is like a brilliant lawyer poised to tear into a guilty convict. Upset Gina is the babbling convict who wants to cry in the corner. Very, very seldom does Upset Gina come out to play. So through my conversation with John, I felt a tug of war going on between these two sides of myself. I knew that in order for John to understand that I didn’t hate him or fully blame him for everything, I had to be honest about my feelings of failure and guilt. However, in order to get my thoughts across in a clear manner, my words were edged with anger – not to reprimand John, but to help me keep my composure. To my surprise, John did not defend himself or try to make me understand that my view of siblings was wrong. Instead, he apologized. He said that he understood I was in a terrible situation. He sympathized that I felt guilty for having failed Vincent in this manner. He did point out that there were other ways of giving Vincent the experience of other children his age, but he didn’t counter me when I said the experience of siblings is without equal. He just apologized and said he wished he could change his mind on the matter. I waved him off, not because I didn’t appreciate it, but because I was still caught between Anger and Upset.  The upset side of me wanted to reassure him that I didn’t hate him for how he felt. That side of me fully understood where he was coming from and wanted to let him know that he didn’t need to “wish” he could change his mind.
The angry side of me realized it was about to lose its edge and decided bypassing that statement altogether would be a safer course of action than responding, because how can anger respond to love? That is, after all, how John answered me. He listened to me, really heard me, tried to understand my point of view, and sympathized. He didn't agree, and he didn't have to. You don't have to agree with someone's perspective in order to sympathize. THAT is the response I've been waiting for. I never wanted to force John to change his mind. I'd like him to, sure, but that was never the crux of my frustration. It was always his stubborn refusal to even give my point of view air time. I was wrong, and that was that. This is the very first time I felt as though he'd not only heard me out... he'd allowed himself to accept that my point of view wasn't entirely off-base. That doesn't mean he agrees with it, and that's okay. However, it does mean that I'm not the outright manipulator that I think he felt I was regarding children. Thus, the conversation petered off. John apologizing for his part in my sadness, me accepting that I was stuck trying to figure out a way around this for myself and my family. As a mother, I have to figure out a way to help Vincent grow into a more socially adept little boy. I accept his current difficulties on account of his verbal / comprehension deficits, but I do not accept that these are permanent limitations. They are certainly not excuses for bad behavior. So today I vowed to work with both the teacher and the principal on getting Vince better transitioned into his new environment. I’ve enlisted the help of his previous teachers, and I’ll be talking to my mom (a kindergarten teacher) later this afternoon. Obviously I also talked to John and we both agree that we’re giving this at least two weeks before throwing in the towel. Maybe we find out that Vince really is just too young to begin. I, for one, will not make that decision without giving it a real try. Two days is not enough to judge a child’s ability to meet the expectations of an entirely new environment. The principal agreed with me, and we’re going to see what the next two weeks bring us. Keep us in your prayers, folks. It’d be much appreciated. This entire experience has been so much more challenging than I’d ever imagined. UPDATE: Since I was asked - Vincent was practically deaf for the first two years of his life. Given that therapy only got him so far, he's still behind his peers when it comes to communicating his fear or frustration. As a result, he relies on physical outbursts sometimes. Physical outbursts include swatting at others or stamping his feet. Both are negative behaviors that could potentially hurt someone, so they are serious. However, he's not maliciously threatening anyone and is reacting, in my mind, as a child of his cognative level would respond. Our job, as parents, is to teach him new coping skills and help him develop beyond physical response. We also need to work more on his willingness to share the attention of adults with other children (again, something a sibling would've helped with). He consistently demands the attention of the teacher, and if he doesn't get it, he simply shouts louder and louder until she's forced to give him attention (even though it's negative attention). My background is education. I fully understand the dynamics of what is going on and why my son is acting out in the manner in which he's acting out. It makes sense, but my difficulty is how I can help re-teach him better behavior. Anyone have any tricks or tips?  This beautiful little church is the Church of the Annunciation. How could I NOT stop in a church painted "Blessed Mother Blue"? I've always wanted to go to a Greek Orthodox Church, so when I stumbled upon this one, I knew I'd found my chance! In I went. I was greeted at the door by a very laid back, but super friendly, individual. The vibe in this church was much different than the Cathedral up the street. It felt very quiet and very, very reverent. It's not that those in the Cathedral weren't reverent. It's just the close quarters and extremely ornate architecture / artwork made for a very mystical, awe-inspiring experience.
From there, I silently moved my camera around. The church was very small - seating maybe 50 people. However, what they lacked in size they made up for in beauty. Oh, how wonderful was their artwork! I've always known Greek Orthodox kept their sanctuaries screened, but wow. Seeing one in person was unreal! The screens were magnificent! Edging my way closer, I was taken in by the massive 3-tiered chandelier made entirely of gold.  It reminded me of the many visions of the 3 tiered "Heavenly Jerusalem." The lighted candles and the brilliant light pouring in through their cupola was just... my breath really was taken away. It was so, so beautiful. Then, of course, was their stained glass windows. These, too, were very beautiful and thoroughly educational in nature.
Since it was early yet, I felt brave enough to snap a few photos of the iconostasis. I mean... just... it was incredible. Those icons were so beautiful. I almost felt it unfair that they were trapped in a tiny church away from public view. 
 Again, please forgive any blurriness. I was taking these photos without my flash so as not to disturb those who were praying. Lighting in some areas was great, but not so great in others. However, I hope you're able to get even a slight idea of how beautiful everything was. After going ga-ga for the sanctuary screens, my eye caught the priest's chair. It looked like a bishop's chair! It, too, was beautiful in its own right. Across from his chair was what I believe could've been a credence table. I believe the large, ciborium-looking cup was, in fact, some sort of chalice (those little handles looked like spigots), but given I've never participated in an Orthodox Mass, I really wasn't sure what I was oogling. I snapped a photo anyway because I thought it was beautiful and wanted to share with you fine folks.
Finally, I turned my attention back to that magificent cupola. I wanted to stare at the images all day, but knew I'd miss my bus should I stay for much longer. I peered up to capture a few last images to keep with me. I'm so sorry they aren't as clear as they could be. I almost feel like those old men from the Old Testament who wept upon seeing the new temple. Distraught that the new temple was not nearly as grand or beautiful as their original one, I feel frustrated that these photos do nothing to capture the divine sanctity of that place. I could have happily stayed in there for hours at total peace.   The Triune God surrounded by the symbols of the Gospels. Does it get any better than this? I was invited to stay for their services, but I politely declined. I think I would have had I not had John waiting for me at the hotel. To experience an Orthodox Mass has always been of interest to me. However, that can wait for another day.
I snapped a few photos of their small outside garden (containing the grave of their founding pastor) and made it back to the jitney with about 30 seconds to spare. All in all, I'd recommend the jaunt for anyone in Nassau. So, so worth it. <3 I really hope you enjoyed all the photos of this church and the Cathedral of St. Francis Xavier. Both were splendid little gems of Christ. I'm so happy to have had the blessing of being there!  Choir getting up to sing the entrance Sorry it’s taken me so long to write this follow up post. With the start of school, things have been super hectic! However, I’ve been absolutely itching for this entry, so I’m sneaking a few moments in so I can jot down my thoughts. For the most part, Mass in the Nassau Cathedral of St. Francis Xavier was exactly what you’d expect to find in a Mass up in the States. There were a few marked differences, though, and I chuckle to myself as I recollect them. Some of you more conservative folks might turn your nose up, but please try to keep in mind that this is an entirely separate culture from what we’re used to. One of the first things I noticed about the parishioners of this parish was their style of dress. I really felt like I was witnessing Southern Baptists on their way to Easter Sunday Mass. The men were in suits (or really nice slacks and shirts) and all the women wore colorful dresses or dress suits. More than a few had the big, colorful hats (which is probably why I was immediately reminded of Easter). I, myself, was in a long maxi dress with a shawl, but I felt a bit underdressed given the beautiful outfits of everyone else! Anyway, at the open of Mass, the cathedral was probably just over half full. People were sorta scattered all throughout the nave. However, as the Mass progressed, more and more people entered the church and found a spot in the pews. They continued coming in long past the homily. It wasn’t until the Sign of Peace that I think everyone had finally gotten to their seats. It was strange, because I had started out towards the end of one pew and was slowly “pushed” inward as more and more people joined the pews.  The homily was given by the deacon and lasted a good 20+ minutes. I was very surprised by the length of his homily, and I began to wonder if that was why folks tended to push off coming into the church for such long periods of time. I didn’t mind his homily at all. He spoke on virtue and why it is important to know true virtue stems from humility. The way he explained things (and how repetitive he was) at first irritated me. Then I began to get a sense that he was really breaking things down as best he could because he wanted so much to educate everyone. Once I got the stick out of my butt, I softened up and didn’t mind the pains he took explaining the Gospel story. The next surprising thing to happen was during the Sign of Peace. I kid you not, this particular experience legitimately swept me off my feet. When the priest asked us to share Christ’s peace, it was as if the entire congregation sprang to life. It was CHAOS. People started swarming the aisles as they got out of their pews to greet parishioners from the other side of the church. Folks were coming downstairs from the 2nd floor (there is seating upstairs, too) to greet folks on the 1st floor. I saw a man make his way from one side of the church to the other to greet a choir member. In the wave of people moving in and out of the pews, I was sorta forced to “go with the flow” which landed me off my feet at one moment. Ha ha. At first I was put off. I was half expecting a mini-coffee hour to be set up because I saw no end to the loud chatter and movement. Did these people not realize the Sign of Peace is not a time for saying “Hi” to everyone you know? Then I realized I was witnessing a very Bahemian tradition. These folks obviously all knew one another intimately. I really did feel as though I had stumbled into a family gathering. When they hugged one another, kissed, or otherwise “gave the sign of peace” you could tell that a real light of love existed between them. Who am I to judge their signs of love? Who am I to judge their wishes for peace? So I refrained and kept to myself beyond the customary handshake I’m familiar with (though a kiss on the cheek is customary for me if I am with family). I simply enjoyed watching this massive spiritual family erupt joy after joy as they blessed one another with a sign of Christian love.  Eventually (about three minutes or so later), the choir took up the Agnus Dei and by the end of the prayer, folks had settled back into their seats. During the Eucharistic prayer, I noticed a gorgeous little boy of about 10 months waddling up the center aisle. It was obvious he’d just learned to walk, and I was smiling at his cubby little face. His parents saw him leave and did nothing to stop him. I kept my eyes trained on him in case he fell, not sure why his parents would just let him slip away like that. Finally, the baby made his way back to my area of the cathedral. He sorta looked around, trying to decide who he wanted to go to. He waddled up to an usher and raised his hands, the universal plea for “Pick me up!” The usher happily obliged without thought. He walked around with the baby for a few minutes, bouncing him and showing him the statues and windows. The baby, for his part, was happy to have such a nice man to play with. Finally, however, the usher brought the child back to his parents. It made sense, then, why the parents didn’t mind that their son had wandered off like that. They really did see everyone in the parish as family. They trusted all of us implicitly. Given I grew up in Philly where you didn’t trust anyone with anything (parishioner or not), this concept was so different for me. It absolutely threw me, but I relished the idea that a Catholic community existed like this. It was such a “family vibe” that I just can’t put my feelings into words. I was readily accepted into this family because of my faith in Christ. All Catholic communities are supposed to make you feel as welcome – as united. We’re all family in Christ, after all. But of all the parishes I’ve ever been to (and I’ve been to a lot, people), this one takes the cake. That’s not saying that I feel unwelcome at other parishes. I loved my previous and current parishes. It’s hard to explain, I guess. This parish just had a very vibrant, living movement of the Spirit that unequivocally united everyone present. It was pretty incredible. During the Intercessions, the priest had all the children present come up for a blessing. He and the deacon handed out marble copybooks (since their school year began the next day). As the children were coming up, the choir sang Whitney Houston’s Greatest Love song. I seriously almost fell out of my seat. I love the song. It’s a beautiful song! The cantor did a great job singing it. However, it’s NOT a song for Mass! Plus, the lyrics went directly against everything the readings and homily spoke of! Ah well. I guess they figured the first few lines were worth the rest of the song negating the message of the deacon. *Sigh* At least the children had a nice blessing that also reaffirmed the importance they should place on education. During the Eucharistic Procession, a super talented musician played Amazing Grace… on his SAXAPHONE. I could’ve sworn it was Kenny G playing until I spotted the musician breathing out the melody. Musically, these folks were super, super talented. I just felt that some of it was a little out of place given the circumstances of, ya know… the Mass. None of these are huge issues, though. Truth be told, their Kyrie was beautiful. I’d never heard one like it. Most of their music reminded me of the Spanish Masses I’d set up for when I worked as a sacristan. Finally, at the very end of Mass, the pastor called forward those with birthdays or wedding anniversaries in September. I guess they celebrate these as a parish on the 1st Sunday of each month. They had roses to give away to the women which I thought was sweet. At the end of Mass, many of the parishioners stayed long past the procession to sing or pray. Yes, I said sing or pray. Some folks continued singing after the choir had completed their musical services. Not everyone was singing the same thing, either. Some folks stayed in their pew to pray and others made the usual bee-line for the door. Everyone was talking excitedly, and at the main entrance / exit of the cathedral, there was a gentleman holding up a very large Catholic Charities Appeal sign. I almost snapped a photo to take back to my coworkers (who work on the CCA here in Philly), but thought better of it. Heh. As I walked down the hill to get back to the bus stop, I saw the Greek Orthodox Church to my right. I couldn’t resist. Stay tuned for my first experience inside a Greek Orthodox Church!   While John and I were in the Bahamas, I got my first chance to attend a Bahemian Mass. I had contacted the Diocese of Nassau before leaving and found out the closest church to my hotel was the Cathedral. How lucky was that? I decided to attend the early Mass on Sunday (8 AM). I woke up at about 6:45 to get ready. I was told to hop on the jitney (their local bus system) by 7:15 so I get to the Cathedral on time. I dutifully walked to the bus stop by myself. Normally I'd be a bit nervous to do this in a foreign country all by myself (John was still sleeping), but given the laid back, super friendly nature of Bahemians, I wasn't concerned for my personal safety. In fact, I was pretty confident that locals would go out of their way to help me out given the high importance of tourism. They don't want bad publicity via rumors of tourist muggings, so they are generally super, super nice to foreigners. When the jitney came around, I found myself alone on the bus with the driver. I sat directly behind him so I could hear him call out my stop. Silly me, though, he took it upon himself to become my personal taxi-driver! When I climbed onto the bus by myself, he exclaimed, "By yourself? Where is your partner?" I laughed and said, "He's still in bed sleeping. I'm going to Mass at St. Francis Cathedral. Are you going there?" He said, "Yes, baby (all women, to men, are "baby" in the Bahamas). I go by there just fine. Your partner didn't want to come with you?" I laughed again and said, "Nope. He's not Catholic." He said, "What is he?" I said, "He's agnostic, I think. He doesn't really believe in or care about God." The driver seemed slightly perplexed, but let the comment roll over him. He said, "Well, did you get breakfast yet?" I said, "No. I'll eat when I get back." He said, "Are you sure? I can drive to McDonald's or something." I shook my head and said, "No, it's really okay. Just to the church." He then chuckled, "Oh yeah. You Catholics don't eat before you pray, right?" I laughed again and confirmed he was right. To my surprise, he told me he'd just drop me off at the entrance of the Cathedral. That was about two blocks from his route. Not super far, but it was still out of his way and could have cost him passengers. He told me not to worry about it because it was early yet on a Sunday. He thought he was lucky to get me let alone other passengers along the route. What a nice guy! So he did drop me off directly in front of the Cathedral wall with directions on how to get back to the real bus stop when Mass was over. Upon exiting the bus, I walked through the archway and immediately saw a statue of Elizabeth Ann Seton.  I wondered why they chose her. The little placard explained that her order, the Sisters of Charity, founded the very first school in the Bahamas and are still active on the island to this day. How wonderful is that? Anyway, since I was still very early, I snapped a few more shots of the outside grounds. Forgive the blur - coming off the air conditioned bus and into the humidity of Nassau fogged my lens up something fierce!
Once I snapped these, I decided it would be best to get my bearings inside. I couldn't wait to see their artwork! I entered the Cathedral and, to me, it looked very different from the pictures posted on their website. I was expecting a Protestant looking church, but it was, in fact, very Catholic. Upon entering the Cathedral, I was greeted with the Baptismal font, ambry and the entrance bell (one of the prettiest I've seen!).
I was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic usher who handed me a voting slip for parish council. Ha ha! I thanked him and asked if it would be okay to snap a few more photos before the rest of the congregation began showing up. He gave me the go-ahead, and off I went. I figured it'd be less intrusive to get my photos over with sooner rather than later when more people were trying to focus on prayer. The first thing that struck me was the tabernacle. It was missing from the sanctuary. In its normal place behind the altar were three chairs (I assume for the bishop, priest and deacon). Every now and again I see a church up here do that, but never with the tabernacle completely gone from the sanctuary. When I found the tabernacle, I almost couldn't believe I'd missed it! Without a doubt, their tabernacle is the largest one I've ever seen in person. It was off to the right of the sanctuary, and I wonder if its size was the reason for its placement. This massive, golden tabernacle... it was beautiful, but wow. It was HUGE. The picture below doesn't do it justice. I took the photo from the middle aisle without the zoom. It's just... WHEW. The sheer size blew me away.  From there, a statue of the Blessed Mother caught my eye. She and the Child Jesus were carved from wood and hand painted. St. Joseph was hanging out on the other side of the church also carrying Baby Jesus.
Then, of course, I snapped a few photos of the Stations as well as the stained glass. 
Next, as I was getting into the pew, I noticed the beautiful carvings that seemed to alternate between these two patterns:
Finally, here's a shot of the main altar. As you can see, there was a massive floral spray in front of it. Behind were the Nassau crest and symbols of the 4 Gospels. You can see the back of the Bishop's chair poking up.  Stay tuned for Part II where I tackle the surprising differences in liturgy that legitimately knocked me of my feet - TWICE!
|
Top Rated EntriesMy Darkest Secret
Do Animals Have Souls? 10 Things a Parent of an SPD Kid Wants to Say Fun and Easy Lenten Crafts Tattoo Taboo Blessed Mother as Intercessor Loss of Life Women Priests II Animal Sacrifices Render Unto Caesar Veiling The Godparent Poem Broken Friendships Miscarriage Reflection NYT Anti-Catholic Ad Categories
All
Pages I StalkA Woman's Place
Dymphna's Road Having Left the Altar Fr. Z @ WDTPRS Spirit Daily These Stone Walls St. Joseph's Vanguard Catholic Sistas Catholic Icing Liturgical Time Traditional Latin Mass Shameless Popery Life Victorious Catholic Dads S'aint Easy Truth, Beauty and Goodness The Way Out There Written by the Finger of God Little Catholic Bubble So You're a Church Musician There and Back Again Make It - Love It St. Monica's Bridge Seeking Renewal 
Archives
June 2017
 |
RSS Feed
Copyright 2023