Today Gavin and I were sitting in the playroom going through our usual daily routine and I prompted him to say "ba, ba, ba...like ball." Until this afternoon such a prompt has always ended with me giving him a few seconds to respond then moving on to a different game because he is frustrated by the difficulty of speaking.
But we didn't move on today, because today those few seconds of waiting were not silent. Today Gavin responded!
Yeah, that's right; he said "ba, ba, ba."
At first I thought he was just making funny noises with no real intentionality behind them so I used the same prompt again. Lo and behold, same response. Then I used a different prompt and got no response. Then back to the first prompt...success again!
O my goodness the excitement that filled the playroom today then overflowed into the kitchen when I showed Gavin's mom our new sound.
So much joy filled that moment. Today was a success. Today Gavin grew a little. And today I have good reason to smile as I fall asleep.
And the source of so much happiness...nothing more than a simple letter "B."
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Never Good at Goodbye
As I drove to work this morning the sun was shining and the temperature was rising all the way to forty-something, so I did what any self respecting southern sunshine lover would do. I rolled down my window and listened to country music.
Some poor country man was singing about his girl leavin' him. He was pretty sure it was the last time he'd see her again, because she'd gotten "good at goodbye."
Among the long list of things I'm no good at is goodbye. I've always been so frustrated with myself over this little hang-up because tough goodbyes are so inconvenient for someone who travels around a good bit. I mean goodbye happens A LOT in my life, so you'd think I'd be able to get through it with fewer tears and a smaller knot in my stomach...but nope.
I still need a shop-vac to suck all of the waterworks out of my car each time I leave somewhere old to go somewhere new.
And I've decided that I want it to stay that way. The day that I get good at goodbye is the day that I have ceased to care about where I am and who is there. That's the day that I stop enjoying new places for the community and love they hold and start simply traveling for a pretty picture.
I love to go new places, to feel hard core in my adventures, and to be independent and strong.
I also love the familiar feel of an old friend's house, the knowledge that a hug will await me at the end of a terrible day, and stories that involve people experiencing life together.
Letting go of these things should be hard. It should make us cry. It should feel like a piece of us has been yanked out.
If it doesn't, then I am of the mind that we didn't actually spend real time with real people in the midst of real life.
Some poor country man was singing about his girl leavin' him. He was pretty sure it was the last time he'd see her again, because she'd gotten "good at goodbye."
Among the long list of things I'm no good at is goodbye. I've always been so frustrated with myself over this little hang-up because tough goodbyes are so inconvenient for someone who travels around a good bit. I mean goodbye happens A LOT in my life, so you'd think I'd be able to get through it with fewer tears and a smaller knot in my stomach...but nope.
I still need a shop-vac to suck all of the waterworks out of my car each time I leave somewhere old to go somewhere new.
And I've decided that I want it to stay that way. The day that I get good at goodbye is the day that I have ceased to care about where I am and who is there. That's the day that I stop enjoying new places for the community and love they hold and start simply traveling for a pretty picture.
I love to go new places, to feel hard core in my adventures, and to be independent and strong.
I also love the familiar feel of an old friend's house, the knowledge that a hug will await me at the end of a terrible day, and stories that involve people experiencing life together.
Letting go of these things should be hard. It should make us cry. It should feel like a piece of us has been yanked out.
If it doesn't, then I am of the mind that we didn't actually spend real time with real people in the midst of real life.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Naomi
There is something invaluable and indescribable about some people in life. My friend Naomi is one of those people. I can't tell you exactly how our lives became so intertwined. All I know is that sometime in college we started hiking together.
Then we went backpacking.
Then we went road tripping.
Then we flew over the ocean to see each other.
And somewhere in all of that adventuring we each gained a lifetime friend. I'm not talkin about just a "hey how are ya" friend. I'm talkin about the kind of friendship that continues despite the fact that right now Naomi is in the Philippines and we have only had one real conversation in the past six months.
How does this work? I honestly have no idea. You'll recall in one of my first posts about adventure (and if you don't then you should go back and read it!) I wrote about the rawness of relationships while on excursions. Looking back, I think this is what makes Naomi such a special person in my life. Conversations with Naomi are always completely honest, non-PC, raw moments in time. I love this about my friend.
Because of this vulnerability that makes her so wonderful, I know that Naomi is having a tough time where she is right now.
Whenever you are thinking about people in your life, please think of this person in mine as well.
Her heart will know.
Then we went backpacking.
Then we went road tripping.
Then we flew over the ocean to see each other.
And somewhere in all of that adventuring we each gained a lifetime friend. I'm not talkin about just a "hey how are ya" friend. I'm talkin about the kind of friendship that continues despite the fact that right now Naomi is in the Philippines and we have only had one real conversation in the past six months.
How does this work? I honestly have no idea. You'll recall in one of my first posts about adventure (and if you don't then you should go back and read it!) I wrote about the rawness of relationships while on excursions. Looking back, I think this is what makes Naomi such a special person in my life. Conversations with Naomi are always completely honest, non-PC, raw moments in time. I love this about my friend.
Because of this vulnerability that makes her so wonderful, I know that Naomi is having a tough time where she is right now.
Whenever you are thinking about people in your life, please think of this person in mine as well.
Her heart will know.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Just Keep Walking
My little friend Gavin had a major breakdown today. When I arrived to take my shift with his program his parents were both out running errands, which apparently did not settle very well with Gavin...at all. About ten minutes into our day together Gavin just plopped down on the floor and started crying uncontrollably. He doesn't use words and therefore can't tell me what makes him sad, so I was a bit confused about what I could do to stop the crying. As instinct required I immediately picked Gavin up and just held held him while rocking and singing. This actually worked...for about five minutes.
Then he jumped off my lap and lunged across the room to a different chair where he continued to cry and scream. So my aching heart followed him across the room and tried to comfort him again.
This pattern of
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown
continued for just over an hour.
In many moments of that hour I thought it was the end. I thought, multiple times, that Gavin and I were done.
Finished.
Over.
But now it is a new day and we are still friends.
What's over is the breakdown.
What's over is the feeling that I'm not making a difference in Gavin's life.
After a long period of what felt like totally ineffective soothing of a very distraught little boy, the crying stopped. By the time we had a snack at three Gavin was smiling and laughing as if nothing terrible had ever happened.
Healing.
This seems to be a fairly common theme in life. Things are rollin' along just fine until something triggers inside of us and all of a sudden we feel alone. So we shut down. We scream, cry, drive all through the night...just because we don't know what else to do. And despite the fact that the majority of us can adequately use words, in those moments of breakdown none of the words we know will quite describe what we are feeling. No one can truly fix our problem, whatever it may be at the moment, because we aren't exactly sure what the problem is.
But comfort, love, and healing do come along after the breakdown - as many times as they need to. Right now Gavin is happy. I have not doubt, however, that we will experience another unusually difficult day together. But that day will end. And he will once again find comfort.
I guess what I'm getting at is that it's okay to breakdown now and then as long as we remember that the breakdown isn't the end of the pattern. There is a light at the end of that crazy-dark tunnel we're in, but we have to go through the tunnel to reach it.
So just keep walking friends. Just keep walking.
Then he jumped off my lap and lunged across the room to a different chair where he continued to cry and scream. So my aching heart followed him across the room and tried to comfort him again.
This pattern of
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown
continued for just over an hour.
In many moments of that hour I thought it was the end. I thought, multiple times, that Gavin and I were done.
Finished.
Over.
But now it is a new day and we are still friends.
What's over is the breakdown.
What's over is the feeling that I'm not making a difference in Gavin's life.
After a long period of what felt like totally ineffective soothing of a very distraught little boy, the crying stopped. By the time we had a snack at three Gavin was smiling and laughing as if nothing terrible had ever happened.
Healing.
This seems to be a fairly common theme in life. Things are rollin' along just fine until something triggers inside of us and all of a sudden we feel alone. So we shut down. We scream, cry, drive all through the night...just because we don't know what else to do. And despite the fact that the majority of us can adequately use words, in those moments of breakdown none of the words we know will quite describe what we are feeling. No one can truly fix our problem, whatever it may be at the moment, because we aren't exactly sure what the problem is.
But comfort, love, and healing do come along after the breakdown - as many times as they need to. Right now Gavin is happy. I have not doubt, however, that we will experience another unusually difficult day together. But that day will end. And he will once again find comfort.
I guess what I'm getting at is that it's okay to breakdown now and then as long as we remember that the breakdown isn't the end of the pattern. There is a light at the end of that crazy-dark tunnel we're in, but we have to go through the tunnel to reach it.
So just keep walking friends. Just keep walking.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Thank You
This afternoon I noticed a good ole country boy in a good ole country truck as I passed him on HWY 25. Apparently he noticed me too, because as I looked in my rear view to re-notice him (yes, I did) I saw that he was waving at me. This frightened me a bit. There's something sacred about being able to notice someone without having to actually interact with them...ever...and he broke that by waving at me.
Then he caught up to me. Then he started making hand motions toward the hood of my car. That's when I realized that he was not actually noticing me...he was noticing that my hood was open. Something is broken with the latch which causes the hood of my car to constantly flap about an inch above where the hood of a car should be calmly resting. This broken something leads me to discover quite a few nice people in the world who are genuinely concerned that my hood is going to fly up in my face as I drive down the road, and good ole country boy was one of them.
After motioning about my hood he rolled down his window, as did I, and we had a conversation during which I explained that my hood is always open so there's no need to worry. He replied with a deep southern drawl "Well, your car may be out of whack but at least you look good."
So he was noticing more than just my broken car.
Now I generally respond terribly to spontaneous flirting from random people,and country boy had broken my right to a non-interactive noticing moment...twice. So what did I say to his...er...compliment?
"Thanks." Then I sped away, hood flapping in the wind.
Thank you country boy. Thank you.
Then he caught up to me. Then he started making hand motions toward the hood of my car. That's when I realized that he was not actually noticing me...he was noticing that my hood was open. Something is broken with the latch which causes the hood of my car to constantly flap about an inch above where the hood of a car should be calmly resting. This broken something leads me to discover quite a few nice people in the world who are genuinely concerned that my hood is going to fly up in my face as I drive down the road, and good ole country boy was one of them.
After motioning about my hood he rolled down his window, as did I, and we had a conversation during which I explained that my hood is always open so there's no need to worry. He replied with a deep southern drawl "Well, your car may be out of whack but at least you look good."
So he was noticing more than just my broken car.
Now I generally respond terribly to spontaneous flirting from random people,and country boy had broken my right to a non-interactive noticing moment...twice. So what did I say to his...er...compliment?
"Thanks." Then I sped away, hood flapping in the wind.
Thank you country boy. Thank you.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Some Days
On the occasional drive home from work I search the old ipod for a Dixie Chicks song entitled Some Days You Gotta Dance. I then proceed to crank up the volume on my thumpin sound system in the little Civic and sing along in a terribly loud, somewhat purposefully out of tune voice. Driving, listening, and singing is without a doubt freeing, but only one action appropriately accompanies a song of this magnitude.
Dancing. In a car. Car dancing.
It's one of my favorite things to do, and had you been on the road this afternoon you would have witnessed it for yourself. The Dixie Chicks and I had quite a lovely afternoon date as I drove to the store for ingredients to blend with my homemade yogurt (that's right...HOMEMADE YOGURT!!! so excited about this!) for the creation of chip dip.
On the way home from the store I left my date, however, and moved on to other singers. To be honest I don't actually know who they were. I just turned the dial to 92.5 and held on for the ride. Then I rolled the down the one window that still works, cranked up the feet heat, and proceeded to sing loudly and dance ridiculously all the way home...and even for a little bit after arriving at my humble abode.
Some days are really stressful.
Some days (like today) are totally carefree and satisfying.
Regardless of which day you are experiencing...please remember...
Some days ya just gotta dance!
Dancing. In a car. Car dancing.
It's one of my favorite things to do, and had you been on the road this afternoon you would have witnessed it for yourself. The Dixie Chicks and I had quite a lovely afternoon date as I drove to the store for ingredients to blend with my homemade yogurt (that's right...HOMEMADE YOGURT!!! so excited about this!) for the creation of chip dip.
On the way home from the store I left my date, however, and moved on to other singers. To be honest I don't actually know who they were. I just turned the dial to 92.5 and held on for the ride. Then I rolled the down the one window that still works, cranked up the feet heat, and proceeded to sing loudly and dance ridiculously all the way home...and even for a little bit after arriving at my humble abode.
Some days are really stressful.
Some days (like today) are totally carefree and satisfying.
Regardless of which day you are experiencing...please remember...
Some days ya just gotta dance!
Friday, February 5, 2010
O My
Some of you already know that at the moment I am working as a nanny/therapist for a little 7 year old boy who has down syndrome and autism. We will call him Gavin. This precious little boy presents me with many challenges.
He does not speak. Sometimes he is very upset and can't tell me why. He cries and thrashes his body around. He inserts his limbs into the toilet bowl every time I take him to the bathroom.
One of the things Gavin and I are working on is learning to follow physical directions. Two weeks ago I tried very hard to teach him to touch his nose. When he finally did it on Thursday, I shouted and laughed with so much joy and pride I think even the neighbors heard. Gavin laughed too. So we did it more. And more. And more. Each time he touched his nose I made a huge stink about it.
So this past week I moved on to new directions. Every time I ask Gavin to reach up, or open his mouth, or touch the floor...he very proudly touches his nose.
He does not speak. Sometimes he is very upset and can't tell me why. He cries and thrashes his body around. He inserts his limbs into the toilet bowl every time I take him to the bathroom.
One of the things Gavin and I are working on is learning to follow physical directions. Two weeks ago I tried very hard to teach him to touch his nose. When he finally did it on Thursday, I shouted and laughed with so much joy and pride I think even the neighbors heard. Gavin laughed too. So we did it more. And more. And more. Each time he touched his nose I made a huge stink about it.
So this past week I moved on to new directions. Every time I ask Gavin to reach up, or open his mouth, or touch the floor...he very proudly touches his nose.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Not On Our Own
Until yesterday I was quite proud of my immune system for blocking out all of the crazy illnesses that are so rampant in the world of a "kid watcher." Then came, quite literally, the wake up call. For the sake of your ability to eat later today I'll spare the details. Just think stomach bug and I'm sure you will understand exactly what has been going on...since late Sunday night/early Monday morning.
My mom was spending the night at my house so I could drive her to the airport early Monday morning and she went into supermom mode at the first sound of, well, you know. Despite the fact that I felt terrible, it was really quite a treat to have my mommy around for the worst part of it. Sometimes in my quest for self-sufficiency I lose sight of how truly wonderful it is to be taken care of.
All through the night my mom would wake up each time I did and she was right there to help with all the dirty details. At 5:45 AM my friend Eric drove her to the airport for me. Later in the day my friend Jane donned a pair of plastic gloves and proceeded to clean the remnants of my sickness that had been left on our front porch.
These people took care of me yesterday, and it was lovely.
It's odd though, because although the actions of these three people touched me deeply, I still spent the majority of the day feeling sorry for myself. A usual response when one is improperly disposing of everything previously eaten I'm sure, but yesterday I was not feeling sorry only about the fact that I was sick. I was feeling sorry about the fact that I was sick and alone. Yesterday I was at my weakest physically, and the one thing I truly wanted was company.
I didn't care anymore about being self-sufficient. I didn't care that someone would see me in a very gross state. I just wanted someone to be there. I felt like a little kid all day long. A little kid who was home alone (please pardon the unintentional movie pun).
My point in telling you this? Sickness led me to weakness, which led me to feel like a child, which led me to desire strength surrounding me, which led me to Christ. There it is. Yesterday I had such a need for something that no one could provide (and those who could didn't want to because, let's face it, who actually wants to comfort someone with a stomach bug at the risk of catching it themselves?). Yesterday I was incredibly weak. And yesterday I realized that my nasty sickness was a tiny display of how disgusting, helpless, and sad we are when left to our own devices.
How grateful I am that we don't have to be left on our own!
Today will provide ample opportunity to think about that, as I am feeling a bit better but made a mutual decision with my employer that we should allow one day for a buffer of the sickness to keep it from entering her home through me. So today I am, once again, alone (but not on my own:-).
My mom was spending the night at my house so I could drive her to the airport early Monday morning and she went into supermom mode at the first sound of, well, you know. Despite the fact that I felt terrible, it was really quite a treat to have my mommy around for the worst part of it. Sometimes in my quest for self-sufficiency I lose sight of how truly wonderful it is to be taken care of.
All through the night my mom would wake up each time I did and she was right there to help with all the dirty details. At 5:45 AM my friend Eric drove her to the airport for me. Later in the day my friend Jane donned a pair of plastic gloves and proceeded to clean the remnants of my sickness that had been left on our front porch.
These people took care of me yesterday, and it was lovely.
It's odd though, because although the actions of these three people touched me deeply, I still spent the majority of the day feeling sorry for myself. A usual response when one is improperly disposing of everything previously eaten I'm sure, but yesterday I was not feeling sorry only about the fact that I was sick. I was feeling sorry about the fact that I was sick and alone. Yesterday I was at my weakest physically, and the one thing I truly wanted was company.
I didn't care anymore about being self-sufficient. I didn't care that someone would see me in a very gross state. I just wanted someone to be there. I felt like a little kid all day long. A little kid who was home alone (please pardon the unintentional movie pun).
My point in telling you this? Sickness led me to weakness, which led me to feel like a child, which led me to desire strength surrounding me, which led me to Christ. There it is. Yesterday I had such a need for something that no one could provide (and those who could didn't want to because, let's face it, who actually wants to comfort someone with a stomach bug at the risk of catching it themselves?). Yesterday I was incredibly weak. And yesterday I realized that my nasty sickness was a tiny display of how disgusting, helpless, and sad we are when left to our own devices.
How grateful I am that we don't have to be left on our own!
Today will provide ample opportunity to think about that, as I am feeling a bit better but made a mutual decision with my employer that we should allow one day for a buffer of the sickness to keep it from entering her home through me. So today I am, once again, alone (but not on my own:-).
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