College Park Patch: Leaving the Nest for College

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

Recently I had one of those moments, when as an adult you feel “old” or maybe it’s the first time you confront the realization of how old you actually are. What sparked this? Was it the fact that I have 2 kids in elementary school? Nope. Was it when I sat at the dinner table and didn’t have to cut anyone’s food before my own? No, not that time either.
It was when I attended my cousin’s graduation party. Kevin, also known as “Cuddles”, graduated high school. This is a kid that I remember changing his diaper! I remember when he was a baby and not in that “I’ve looked at pictures so many times that I think I remember” way…no I remember him being a baby. I can recall how he would cuddle up next to me in the nook of my arm as we sat on the couch together, feeling as though he could never be close enough. I can recall how his chubby cheeks felt when you kissed them and how his eyes would light up when he would see me return from college for a family visit. And now he is graduating high school!
I feel old. Though I can’t imagine what his parents must be feeling! I have this rush inside of me to share everything with him before he leaves for college. To tell him the lessons that looking back I wish someone told me, to give him the guidance, the understanding to freely go out into the world and discover who he is. I recognize that the words will be wasted, eighteen year olds aren’t that interested in the knowledge of an older family member. But just in case, here is what I will say:
Run! 
As fast as you can! But look back every once in a while and visit us.
Now is the perfect time to reinvent yourself, don’t be scared to do it. It doesn’t matter what you think your parents will say or do if they find out. Just do it, but be smart about it!
Follow a band around for the summer.
Backpack Europe.
Inhale.
No one expects you to be the same kid who left for college. Each of us anticipate seeing you change, developing into an adult. No one expects you to not fall. So just fall. There is knowledge in the falling. Enjoy the experience of learning, of being around like-minded people and yet at the same time a completely diverse population. The people you meet in college will be your lifelong friends. Grow. Change. Gather ideas and awareness at lightning speed. Don’t worry about not being accepted when you return. College is like a metamorphosis. We are all looking forward to seeing what you will become. Now go, RUN!

College Park Patch: Boys Will Be Boys!

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

Driving in the car, the boys are strapped in their booster seats in the middle row of the minivan. We are discussing our plans for the week and enjoying the view of our neighbor's beautiful yards. There is a lull in conversation as we pass one house with kids enjoying a trampoline in their front yard, and I’m half expecting one of my children to begin begging to have one for our yard. But instead I hear…
Z in a hushed voice, "Punch me in the face. Come on I won't tell!"
L responds, "No, Mom is here. I'll do it later. You're just trying to get me in trouble.”
Z, “No I’m not!”
Fast forward to later in the evening. L has clearly kept to his promise, and Z comes to me pretending to cry.
“L punched me in the face!” he said.
I’m amazed he thinks this is actually going to work.
 “I heard you ask L to do it earlier,” I respond calmly.
“But not that hard!” he said.
Boys. I just don’t understand them.
Gun fascination aside - I’ve accepted that I will never understand that aspect of them - why do boys insist on physical violence to entertain themselves?
You get a group of boys together, and at some point there will be shooting and punches.  Both of which start out as pretend. Then someone takes it too far, and we have a full-on fight.
As a child, I remember the boys in my neighborhood doing the exact same thing.  And now as a mom to two boys of my own, I’m experiencing it again, this time up close and personal.
We don’t have a coffee table for fear of someone cracking their head open during a wrestling match, which has happened and resulted in a trip to the ER. The throw pillows that I took such care in choosing for the décor of the house are often weapons of choice. A family get-together with grown men who still put each other in headlocks and punch each other in the arm is proof that I need to be the one to readjust - clearly things won't be changing with age. It's obviously in their DNA.

Routine

 

It's been a while since I've posted a routine picture. This is my dog, Dharma. 

When the boys aren't in their booster seats she sits in them.

College Park Patch: Inflatable Happiness

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope.

We spent more time in line for the moon bounce than it actually took for the kids to get through the giant maze of bouncy goodness. After he appeared at the end, L took off running for the front, not realizing that in order to go through it a second time, he would have to stand in the long line again. When I informed him of such, his spirit deflated and immediately tears began to take shape.
My partner and I choose festivals based on whether or not they have moon bounces. Festivals are so hard for us to attend as a family; the large crowds are overwhelming for L to deal with. To make things worse, there are typically musicians that are not only playing loudly on a stage but sometimes, like at NASA’s open house yesterday, the music is then being pumped through speakers all over the area.
Festivals more often than not result in tears. They are sensory overload for a child on the Autism Spectrum. But if there is a moon bounce, it is our personal saving grace. As long as L can go through the moon bounce, all is well in the world and we can enjoy other activities at the festival. If we know in advance that there will be a moon bounce, we talk up the excitement of it.
“What kind do you think it will be? One of those big square ones or one like a maze you have to climb through? Or maybe it will have a slide at the end!”
I’ve often wondered what it would be like if we had one in our backyard. Would the neighbors complain about the constant hum coming from the generator? Maybe we could become an attraction on the block and charge a fee to the entire neighborhood. The money we make from the neighbor kids might put my kids through college! Or if nothing else, instead of being labeled by his peers as “weird,” maybe he might be that cool kid who has the moon bounce in his backyard.
For me it’s a moment in time that doesn’t happen often. He is engaged in an activity with other children instead of playing by himself on the perimeter, being an observer of life. It’s a moment where L would appear as any other “normal” kid to a passerby. And some days, I’m willing to buy a moon bounce if that simple moment can last a little longer.
Is there something you wish you could buy in order to help your child overcome an obstacle?

College Park Patch: Learning to Let Go and Say Goodbye

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

I was raised in a house full of pets. We had birds, and it seemed that as soon as one died we had a replacement in the cage, their color being the only differentiating characteristic.
Each one learned how to sit on the edge of my dad's beer mug or perch on my mom's finger and sing. I wasn't that interested in them, and I was immediately turned off by the mess they created. My sister had a floppy eared rabbit that was gigantic, as large as a beagle. He also had a fear of heights. Picking him up resulted in scratches covering your forearms. But we did it anyhow.
When I was 13, a friend's dad was closing his pet shop and needed to unload some baby turtles. I begged and pleaded with my parents to let me have one and eventually, they caved. I had never expressed interest in turtles before, and they must have fully expected the "I told you so" moment when I would invariably become bored of such a pet.
That day never came. Sam, the turtle, was a fixture in my life. She was a boring pet; turtles in their nature are not very exciting. But for whatever reason, I loved her.
She went to college with me, and afterwards we moved to NYC together to launch a struggling acting career -- me, not her. She made the cross country trip to Seattle sharing a backseat with a terrified cat and a whiny six-week-old baby. She moved from house to house on the West Coast, never aware of the change of scenery beyond the glass walls of her tank. Again she endured the cross country trip back to the East Coast, this time on a plane, each of us coming full circle in our lives.
My boys were fascinated with the unusualness of her as a pet. I think they enjoyed the bragging rights surrounding having her tank in their room.
One day last week I returned home and found Sam dead in her tank. The boys were with their dad at the time, thankfully. My heart felt like it literally dropped in my stomach. The tears flowed for hours. I never would have imagined that I would feel this much emotion surrounding the death of a turtle. But she was my turtle, my "I told you so" pet for 22 years.
I am sure the passing of one of our dogs will be more traumatic for the boys than Sam's death. Then again, their room looks pretty dull without the glow coming from Sam's tank. Maybe they will miss her, but undoubtedly not as much as I do.
How have you explained the death of a pet to your children?

College Park Patch: The Weekday Race

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

Brownies are in the oven.
I volunteered to bake a snack for 25 people for Teacher Appreciation Week at L’s school. I chopped up leftover mini peanut butter cups, stolen from the kids’ Easter baskets, in order to make the brownies looked a little more “fancy” and less…from a box.
This week has been a complete test of my endurance. I thought training for a triathlon was hard! At work I’m planning a charity event for 200 people and organizing four fundraising walks in three different states. After my hour-long drive home, I’m baking brownies while calling out spelling words over my shoulder to L.
“Dishes- mommy wishes you would wash the dishes," I say, drawn-out so that he can really hear the word "dishes.”
Our weekdays speed by, each one blending into the next, a PTA meeting being the highlight this week. Once the kids are picked up from Aftercare the race begins: walk the dogs, eat dinner, do homework, clean up dinner, get kids in the bath, out of bath, 30 minutes of TV time, read stories, in bed.
And then I collapse.
I’m struggling with finding the balance of spending quality time together as a family day-to-day. Currently I feel as though we are treading water, trying to stay afloat, living for the weekend - and it makes me sad in my heart. I want to be more Buddhist-like and enjoy each moment as it comes. Instead of racing on to the next…looking ahead…checking the calendar…planning out the month… and not seeing what is right in front of me.
I know I’m not alone. I know there are other parents like me in this weekday race.

How do we get out of it? How do we stop and smell the roses without our little piece of the world crashing down around us?

College Park Patch: Let's Google It!

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

“Mommy, what is mucus?”
“You know when your nose is all snotty and runny? That's mucus.”
My five-year-old son is full of questions right now. He is past the “why” stage of 2-3 year olds and has properly moved into asking what certain words, like mucus, mean.
We were at a birthday party recently, and the little girl received a Barbie doll. In the back of the room one parent said to another, “Barbie looks different.” The other parent replied in a hushed tone, “I think she got a breast reduction.” The parents within earshot all laughed quietly, trying not to draw attention from the birthday girl.
My son, who was not anywhere near this conversation, did not miss overhearing the exchange. At bath time that evening he asked, “What is a breast reduction?” I answered him honestly, and afterwards came the “why” type of questions. Explaining cosmetic surgery to a 5-year-old is not exactly the easiest thing I have done. I’ll take asking for a raise any day of the week over that!  
While I’m delighted about my son's vocabulary expanding, many times I feel like I'm in front of the cannon. I consider myself an intelligent person with a well-rounded vocabulary, but often, he stumps me.
It isn’t because I don’t know what the word means. It’s just a challenge to explain to a child the definition without using yet another word he doesn’t understand. There have been more times than I would like to admit that my reply has simply been, “I don’t know. Let’s Google it.”
“Mommy what is areola?”
“Uhm, where did you hear it used?”
“In the airplane book from the library.”
I am left sighing with relief with the realization that our anatomy conversation will be continued for another day.
“That would be aerial,” I tell him.
Have your children put you in front of the cannon by asking questions that are harder to explain than you realized?

Entertaining Kids in the Car

We have a long rode trip ahead of us for family vacation which means I have spent a good portion of my morning surfing the web for resources and ideas to keep the kids entertained. We have never really done a long road trip in a car. When I lived in Seattle and would fly to the east coast once a year to visit family and I would create travel bags to keep the kids entertained on the flight. We do have a DVD player in the car and the boys also have DS games to play but at some point they will tire of both of those items. Shocker, I know! But it's true.
I'm creating car travel bags for each child. Filled with travel games they can play with each other (Sorry, Uno, Go Fish, Trouble), new books to read and little toys to keep themselves occupied.
I found this wonderful resource while surfing the web, MomsMiniVan.com, it is full of ideas to keep kids entertained on a road trip (some are a bit dated...who plays a gameboy anymore?) .
I always create personalized coloring books. Printing pictures that I know interests each individual child, I three-hold punch the pages and insert into a report folder and pair with a set of brand new crayons.
National Geographic Coloring Pages
Superhero Coloring Pages
Printable Worksheets- Yes I assign homework on vacation!
Superhero Powers Matching Game- with answer sheet for the parents.
We are going to the beach so this word search is perfect!

Also on hand will be pipe cleaners, these are my go-to "I'm bored-Mommy!" saver.
Audio books FREE from the public domain- I'm really hoping the kids get into this. I'm going to try Tom Sawyer and The Road to Oz.
I bought these lap trays for the car so they each have a work area to write and do puzzles and to keep track of their stuff.
Do you have any tips or tricks that made a long road trip fun for your kids? Please share in the comment section.

College Park Patch: To Tell or Not to Tell...That is the Question!

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 
I am torn on this matter.  My son is very high functioning, and thankfully doesn’t have as many public meltdowns as he did in previous years. Nor does he have any behavioral issues. But would his instructors benefit from knowing that he is on the Autism Spectrum?
I don’t know. In some instances, I have told the instructor and I’ve noticed that because they are aware of his difference they treat him differently; they allow him to get away with laziness. They don’t push him to try hard or to participate, and I am left on the sidelines feeling frustrated that I just paid good money for him to pick paint off the wall while the other children are participating in the class and learning something.
When we first moved to Maryland, we were living in Anne Arundel County. I signed L up for t-ball with the hopes that he would meet new friends. When I told the volunteer coach, also a father to one of the kids on the team, that L was on the spectrum, he didn’t seem to know what to do with that information, and wound up treating L exactly as he did the other kids. He was the type of coach that yelled and demanded t-ball be taken seriously with crunches and pushups before every practice. Needless to say, L was not a fan and would often be in the field running away from the team.
A friend of mine who is a dance instructor came to me asking some advice on how to deal with one of her students, who was showing clear signs of OCD and may also be on the spectrum, given some of her other behavioral issues. My friend thought that if the child was diagnosed, that the parent would have said something to her since she is the child’s instructor.
It made me think … what would I do now?  We haven’t had any new experiences recently where I have had to deal with this issue. It's a really fine line. I honestly don't tell people unless I feel that it would better serve L or make his experience better.
Maybe your child isn’t on the spectrum. Maybe your child has an ADD or ADHD label, or maybe your child is just a runner or screamer or is in a biting phase.
Do you wait until a situation presents itself to say something, or are you honest and up front about it from the beginning? Are you worried that he/she will not be treated equally?

FREE Bowling for kids all summer at AMF!

This summer, your kids can bowl for free at your local AMF Bowling Center. Sounds too good to be true, right? It’s not! All you have to do is register your children, and you’ll get weekly coupons via email for two free games per child per day all summer long. Children love bowling; it’s fun, active, social and local and – best of all – it’s FREE! That’s how AMF does summer! 

Register your kids today !

College Park Patch: A Smile Changes Everything

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

 This was our last night in the apartment, the apartment that marked our new life changing from a family with a mom and a dad all living under one roof to the kids living in two homes.
At that time we read every book from our public library about divorce and different styles of families. On this night, with moving on the horizon, my oldest son, who is on the spectrum, begins to tear up.
I ask what’s wrong and he just pulls me into a tight hug as I tuck him in for bedtime. I try to pull away slightly so that I can see his face, read his facial expressions. He just pulls me in tighter.
We remain in that pose for a few minutes. I quietly whisper in his ear all the things he is going to love about the new house. We’re only moving 5 minutes down the street. He’s going to remain at the same school.  We will still shop at the same stores. Not much is really going to change in the grand scheme of things.
I can sense his breathing becoming steady, and as I pull away, I ask him again what’s wrong.  And he simply says, “I feel sad.”
I nod. I understand his sadness. He doesn’t like change, and the feeling of not knowing what is coming next creates a lot of anxiety for him.
The next day as I drop him off at Before Care at school, I kneel down and ask, “Are you feeling okay about everything? About the move?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Why were you feeling sad last night?”
“I don’t know…we had a lot of fun at that house. I liked you there.  You smile a lot there. Are you going to smile a lot at the new house?”
My eyes begin to tear up. I muffle out a “Yeah, I’m going to smile a lot at the new house too.”
He gives me a quick hug and then turns to join some kids playing with beanbags.  I call out, probably too loudly, “I love you!”
“You too Mom,” he says over his shoulder.
As I walk to my car I think about how children and their observations once again amaze me. Though my ex-husband and I never fought in front of the children - we aren’t the yelling and screaming type to begin with - the kids saw more than we thought we were protecting them from. A simple smile gave it all away.
Have your children observed more than you were aware of?

College Park Patch: What's Wrong with Being Average?

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

 I poured a glass of wine and put on a pair of comfy yoga pants. Only then did I feel ready to tackle the box in front of me. I never did unpack it from my last move a year ago.
Inside were documents I knew I needed to hold on to, but that I also had to take the time to organize - letters to Santa mixed with outdated voter registration cards.
The box also included a 4-inch stack of testing results, evaluations, progress reports from speech therapists, occupational therapists, pediatricians, and neuropsychologists.

Ah yes, the year of diagnosis. I remember you well.
I skimmed the papers, smiling to myself at certain moments, “L came into the testing room carrying a Spiderman and wearing a Superman costume.”   I had forgotten the year he only wore pajamas, all the time…everywhere. Then came the realization that we have been living in the Superhero phase for almost 4 years now!
One of these reports lists his developmental age based on the results from the testing. At the time he was 4-years-old, and the psychologist conducting the test determined that he was developmentally 2 ½-years-old. Keep in mind these tests are conducted in a strict regimen very much like standardized testing in the public schools. But hearing that your child is 2 years behind feels like someone just punched you in the gut. It didn’t help matters that I also had a normal developing child exactly that age.
After many years of early intervention, fast-forward to today. L is in a mainstream classroom and on grade level for all of his subjects. But it’s quite remarkable to look back and see how far L has come since first being diagnosed on the Autism Spectrum.  I celebrate every time the teacher reports that he is on grade level. I feel so proud of him.
Recently it seems as though every conversation that I have with another parent includes the subject of TAG testing.  Everyone is obsessed with thinking that his or her child is exceptional, and should be learning above grade level.  Why is there this pressure that children should be reading 2 or even 3 years ahead of their developmental age? What happened to being an on-par first grader and that being okay? Is this pressure created by the administrators? Have the parents done this to each other?  Are we “keeping up with the Jones’s" in terms of our children’s education? Who created this standard that each child should reach so that they can be labeled “gifted”?
Don’t get me wrong. There are children who are naturally exceptional learners and need to be challenged beyond their developmental age. As fate would have it, my younger son is one of those children.  But it can’t be possible that 9 out of the 10 parents that I’ve talked to recently believe their child is “gifted”.
The worst part is that the people who are hurt the most are the kids who are reading on grade level and behaving in a manner typical for their developmental age.  These children, like my oldest son, are left feeling ashamed for not being above grade level.
What is wrong with being average?

College Park Patch: Wearing Your Heart on Your Sleeve

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

 My youngest son is 5.  He’s a typical boy -- he gets dirty, plays rough and can hardly sit still. But he has a soft side to him as well.
He requests cuddle time daily -- it’s as if his body needs the physical contact with another human being in order to survive. Just being held is as much a priority to him as air, water and food. He seems to be drawn to tears faster than other kids his age, and his feelings get hurt easily.  I overheard an older gentleman, a grandfather of one of the kids on the playground, say to his wife while watching Z begin to cry for the third time in the last 45 minutes, “that kid needs to grow a thicker skin.”
Many times I’ve sat on the park bench and could overhear other mothers commenting on my older child, who is on the Autism Spectrum, doing something irregular.  Like refusing to get out of the plastic tube or sitting under the slide.  I’m becoming used to strangers commenting on L but it takes me aback when strangers feel the need to remark on my “sensitive” boy. As if it’s not okay to be a boy who actually expresses his emotions.
“I don’t think I’d like Z to grow thicker skin, it’d be gross!”, L says since he was sitting on my feet and could easily overhear the grandfather talking.
He’s looking up at me, making eye contact and I’m the one to look away first while I try and gather my thoughts.  I struggle with this one though.  I don’t want to send the message to my children that it’s not okay to cry or to show your emotions.  I don’t want to raise boys who hide their true feelings and bury it deep within.  Those aren’t the men I want in the world.  That being said, I will be the first to admit that Z can go a bit overboard on the crying.
“Umm ... when that man was a little boy, a long long time ago, he wasn’t allowed to cry.  It was considered a sign of weakness---” I said.
“Like green lantern and the color yellow.”
“I don’t know… I think so.  But I like that Z feels comfortable expressing his feelings don’t you?”
I will admit that there have been times when I may have rolled my eyes, when Z wasn’t looking, because of his crying outbursts.  That has more to do with my particular level of patience at that moment and nothing to do with the belief that boys are not allowed to show their emotions in our society.
I want all of our children to be able to express themselves and not feel ashamed of their feelings.  How do you tell your children that it’s okay to cry?  That it’s okay to hug their friend.  And that men who “wear their heart on their sleeves” can do great things in this world.

Autistic Children and Flying

We use to live in Seattle WA and we would make many trips throughout the year to the east coast to visit family.  Both of my children know their way around airports.  When we get to the security check they each grab a bucket like seasoned pros and deposit their shoes and jackets.  But it wasn't always this way.  In the beginning I was that parent who got looks from bystanders as Logan had a complete meltdown because his special toy, Shawn, had to go through the xray machine.  Or when I would beg the TSA to let me through with gluten free snacks in my bag for Logan because I knew the airport would not have any of the 5 things he eats for sale.  (this was when you weren't allowed to bring food into the airport, thankfully that has changed!) 
 
CNN's Susan Candiotti reports on a Philadelphia hospital program that helps autistic children handle flying and is teaching the staff at Newark NJ airport to have a sensitivity to children on the spectrum.
 http://cnn.com/video/?/video/health/2011/02/26/candiotti.autism.flight.cnn

College Park Patch: The Boxes Labeled Fragile

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch as part of the weekly column by Gretchen Schock, Parenting on a Tightrope. 

One of my favorite authors, Robert Fulghum, wrote an essay about his daughter, who once gave him all that she held dear -- love in a paper sack.  If a robber came into the house, that person would see the contents in the torn, taped, brown paper lunch sack and discard it.  But if the house were on fire, this would be the first thing Mr. Fulghum would grab before running out the door.
As I pack the contents of my house for our next move, I have a few boxes that I want to label "Fragile," though nothing in them could be broken if the box was dropped.
I’m even tempted to move them over to the new house myself because I don’t trust the movers not to damage them.  Within these boxes are the items I hold dear, the small pieces of my children’s baby and toddler years, including the scrapbooks that I have spent countless hours creating to document every milestone of their lives.
Many of the items are what mothers and fathers for centuries have held on to -- the outfit each baby came home in from the birth center or hospital, a curl from the first haircut, the very first time they each wrote their name.  I’m not the type of person who holds on to too much.  Recently when my office moved locations, my boss told the staff not to let me in her office for fear that I’d throw something away. Some people hoard. I purge with a vengeance.
There have only been a handful of times when I have regretted giving something away. In general, I have a theory that if it’s broken or doesn’t have more than one purpose…then I don’t need it taking up space in my life.  There are a few exceptions to this rule, of course. For example, the crystal vase my childhood music teacher bought for me as a wedding gift. I am since divorced but she died two weeks before my wedding and I can’t seem to let go of this last piece of her.  She wouldn’t be pleased to know that I use it to store cleaning brushes under my sink.
Another exception to this rule is Shawn. We use to live in Seattle, WA and on a trip to the East Coast to visit family, I convinced my mother to clean out her attic with my help.  My mother leans toward the hoarding side of the scale.  Within the contents of the attic were many toys from me and my sister’s childhood, and L found in one of the boxes a Ken doll.  As in Barbie and Ken.  On the cusp of 2-years-old, he immediately claimed it as his own and rightfully declared his name to be Shawn. There was no turning back, and the best part was he insisted that Shawn never wear clothes.  Now imagine the looks I got as I boarded the plane 8 months pregnant with a toddler in tow carrying a naked Ken Barbie doll.
Shawn never left L’s side for many years.  Shawn went everywhere from doctor’s appointments to playgroup to the grocery store, he became characters in L’s imagination and could easily turn into a sword at a moments notice.  He was his faithful confidant.  Shawn now is forgotten.  His legs don’t stay on so well and whenever one of the boys pulls him out from the bottom of the toy box to play with, he’s the toy that looses his head first in battle.
Anyone else would throw Shawn away. But into the box labeled "Fragile" he goes, still naked. 
Is there something from your child’s baby or toddler years that you hold dear?