We were walking home today when B said, "Chinese, Draggy, Lees, Fern and Lucy went with me to school today."
I presumed that those were the names of his new circle of pretend friends. I'd heard him talking to them up in his room the last couple of nights. So I let him talk, enjoying his creative energy.
B continued, "We walked there together and they sat on the carpet--- like this." And he proceeded to show me exactly how they sat, right there on the muddy sidewalk.
As Homer Simpson would say, D'oh!
Later on, this new circle of invisible friends took care of him as he went to the bathroom, which he had previously designated as a "spooky" place in the house. (FYI, as far as B is concerned, "spooky" is anywhere on the first floor of the house when the whole family is on the ground floor, no matter what anyone says.)
Intrigued by his newfound confidence in the "presence" of these creatures, I asked B, "Who are these friends of yours anyway? Where did you find them? Did you read them in a book or did you think them up in your head?"
"Oh, Nanay," he replied, "they're not my friends. They're animals. Chinese is a dragon, Draggy is a monster, Lees is a crab, Fern is a girl elephant and Lucy is a chicken. I didn't read them in a book. I rescued them from the forest and the tunnel and the seaside and the countryside and from the farm! Because I wanted them to be part of our family."
"We're very lucky then that they don't each much, huh?," I joked. "And how do you spell Lees' name? Is it L-E-E-S?"
"No," B explained. "It's L-E-Y-double S- and silent E."
Ohhh, I thought. Leysse. Not Lees. Where does he get these names? He has a backstory for each of these characters, too, I bet.
Someday, when B grows up, if computers and the internet don't go obsolete first, he will read this blog and see all these wonderful things you are reading about him.
Oh, B, what a gift you have! The worlds and colours and characters inside your busy little mind-- they astound me. Nothing I've ever thunk has come close to what you are creating.
As your Nanay, let me say that I'm so very proud of you.
And as a fellow dreamer, let me just say, I like your style.
Go on, B. Dream. Create. Imagine.
26 June 2006
24 June 2006
According To B
"You know, Nanay," B said as we were walking home this evening from anticipated Mass. "Jesus has a judging book."
"A judging book?," I replied. "Is that where He puts the good boys and girls on one page and the bad ones on another page?"
"Yes," he said. "We're all in Jesus' judging book... That's what we learned in school. And also in church."
"That's marvelous, B," I said, and my thoughts went back to last night's bedtime routine.
Last night, as we got him ready for bed, B had spontaneously sung me two songs they had sung in church that morning for the Feast of the Sacred Heart, and I had silently praised God for putting B in such a good school, with good academic teaching, but also with a great spiritual ethos. Today, reflecting on how B pays attention at Mass and what he had just shared with me, I thanked God yet again.
Then I decided to pursue the matter a bit further. "But what does it mean to be good, B? What should good boys and girls do to get into Jesus' judging book?"
"It means," B declared without hesitation, "being polite."
Well, I did try to convince him that loving and caring and sharing also had something to do with being good, but now, as I reflect about his answer, I'm inclined to think he got the basics right. After all, when we are polite to God and to others, we think of not hurting their feelings. We try to put their needs first before our own. We try to say nice, encouraging, positive things. We try to make them feel good and safe and at ease, we are hospitable and friendly, we pay attention to them and not take them for granted.
You know, in his own simple, childlike way, I really do think B has got it right.
"A judging book?," I replied. "Is that where He puts the good boys and girls on one page and the bad ones on another page?"
"Yes," he said. "We're all in Jesus' judging book... That's what we learned in school. And also in church."
"That's marvelous, B," I said, and my thoughts went back to last night's bedtime routine.
Last night, as we got him ready for bed, B had spontaneously sung me two songs they had sung in church that morning for the Feast of the Sacred Heart, and I had silently praised God for putting B in such a good school, with good academic teaching, but also with a great spiritual ethos. Today, reflecting on how B pays attention at Mass and what he had just shared with me, I thanked God yet again.
Then I decided to pursue the matter a bit further. "But what does it mean to be good, B? What should good boys and girls do to get into Jesus' judging book?"
"It means," B declared without hesitation, "being polite."
Well, I did try to convince him that loving and caring and sharing also had something to do with being good, but now, as I reflect about his answer, I'm inclined to think he got the basics right. After all, when we are polite to God and to others, we think of not hurting their feelings. We try to put their needs first before our own. We try to say nice, encouraging, positive things. We try to make them feel good and safe and at ease, we are hospitable and friendly, we pay attention to them and not take them for granted.
You know, in his own simple, childlike way, I really do think B has got it right.
21 June 2006
B at 6
"Stop panting, Nette," Dra Z instructed me. "Time to start pushing with the next contraction. Okay?"
She had barely finished saying this when the next wave came, and I pushed.
"Not quite good enough, Nette. But it's crowning. You need to push harder."
O was by my side, supporting my shoulders, camera in hand. I mustered up all my remaining concentration after 12 hours of slow labor and focused on my breathing, my diaphragm. And when the next contraction came:
"That's it, Nette. This is very good. Very effective. Keep pushing! Almost there!"
And then-- a pop! A whish! And a cry!
And suddenly, O and I were faced with our first baby-- a boy. Upon hearing our voices, he immediately stopped crying and looked into my eyes. It was a blessed eternity. A beautiful child. I loved him even before I saw him, but when I finally did see him, I loved him even more.
When we got back to our hospital room, O and I started crying and bawling out of sheer joy. We hugged each other tightly and praised God for His gift of life. The life of B. A life to be filled with miracles and surprises, with victories and triumphs, with sweetness and light. A life of purity and joy, of affection, touch and laughter. A life just beginning, but which has already touched so many others. A life of learning, and of sharing lessons learned.
We prayed for him as he woke up this morning, and he said, "Am I six now?"
And I smiled and said, "Yes, you have six-year-old eyes, six-year-old hands, six-year-old feet!"
Happy sixth birthday, our dearest, beloved B. Nanay and Tatay love you so much. Muah!
She had barely finished saying this when the next wave came, and I pushed.
"Not quite good enough, Nette. But it's crowning. You need to push harder."
O was by my side, supporting my shoulders, camera in hand. I mustered up all my remaining concentration after 12 hours of slow labor and focused on my breathing, my diaphragm. And when the next contraction came:
"That's it, Nette. This is very good. Very effective. Keep pushing! Almost there!"
And then-- a pop! A whish! And a cry!
And suddenly, O and I were faced with our first baby-- a boy. Upon hearing our voices, he immediately stopped crying and looked into my eyes. It was a blessed eternity. A beautiful child. I loved him even before I saw him, but when I finally did see him, I loved him even more.
When we got back to our hospital room, O and I started crying and bawling out of sheer joy. We hugged each other tightly and praised God for His gift of life. The life of B. A life to be filled with miracles and surprises, with victories and triumphs, with sweetness and light. A life of purity and joy, of affection, touch and laughter. A life just beginning, but which has already touched so many others. A life of learning, and of sharing lessons learned.
We prayed for him as he woke up this morning, and he said, "Am I six now?"
And I smiled and said, "Yes, you have six-year-old eyes, six-year-old hands, six-year-old feet!"
Happy sixth birthday, our dearest, beloved B. Nanay and Tatay love you so much. Muah!
18 June 2006
Peace and Happiness
A week ago, we visited with a family who are long-time members of Antioch, the ecumenical community we are part of here in England. Both of their children have specials needs, and the older one has Aspergers, which is what B is suspected to have.
It was refreshing to be with people we didn't have to explain ourselves to. They knew how it felt to be told that one's child has an incurable pervasive developmental disorder. They had felt the same grief, faced the same fears, withstood the same pain. But they also shared our hope, our joys, our toil, our gratitude to God for His unending miracles. We have been loved and consoled by family and friends, yes, but it is different to be with parents who share what we go through each day. There is so much to be said, but also so much that need not be said.
As we swapped stories, we watched the four children playing in the garden, bouncing on the huge trampoline, sliding onto a paddling pool, playing football and riding kiddie cars. We could see nothing wrong with them, really. They played with each other really well. They did pretend games, talked, laughed, got silly with each other and shared toys. It was amazing. It was as if they somehow KNEW they were akin to one another, that they BELONGED together, that they could relax and not be afraid of being teased or of being different, that they were meant to be FRIENDS. It was an astounding thing to see.
And we shared our reflections on God's power in our children's lives, how He had really proved textbooks and doctors wrong, how our experience of ASD/Aspergers had affected our whole paradigm towards parenting and what really matters, what we REALLY want our children to learn from us. We were inspired by this family, this couple who trust God with their children's future, no matter what. They have a peace that just diffuses from their faces. They just quietly shine with a glow that says, We will not be moved, we shall not be shaken, there is nothing that is too big for our God to handle. Their peace moves me. When my world is shaken again, I hope I will be lucid enough to remember this couple's serenity, and to draw strength from their witness.
Some weeks ago, B was visited by an educational psychologist, a Mr Ashton-Jones. Among other things, he assessed B's emotional status, how B perceives himself emotionally at this point in his life. Mr A-J showed us a drawing of a tree with several stick-figure children on it, doing different things, in different parts of the tree, with different facial expressions or body positions. He had asked B where he was, who he was in the tree diagram, and B had readily pointed to a child standing halfway up the tree, not at the top, not at the bottom, but right smack in the middle of the vertical axis. The stick-figure he chose was standing on a stable ledge, with both his feet securely planted on a level surface on the tree. It was happy, with a smiling face. Mr A-J said it meant that B saw himself as right in the middle of the group as far as his peers are concerned, not at the top but not at the bottom, either. And that he saw himself as standing on safe ground, stable and secure. And that he was happy with his life, happy in school, happy with himself. This was more than enough to move me. I felt tears welling up but I managed to keep them in.
And then he told us that he had asked B which child he wanted to be in the picture. He wanted to know what B wanted for himself, what he was hoping for. Mr A-J showed us B's choice: a child happily, crazily swinging on a swing which was tied to a branch of the tree. And he told us, B just wants to have fun, he wants to be happy, he simply wants to enjoy his life. My heart just swelled with joy upon knowing that at his age, B knows what's important-- it is not to be at the top, or to be famous or popular, or to be really good at everything he does. He just wants to have fun, like a child on a swing, no fears, no cares, no complications. He wants to go through life laughing, with joy and abandon.
I fought to keep my tears at bay, but had no such luck.
It was refreshing to be with people we didn't have to explain ourselves to. They knew how it felt to be told that one's child has an incurable pervasive developmental disorder. They had felt the same grief, faced the same fears, withstood the same pain. But they also shared our hope, our joys, our toil, our gratitude to God for His unending miracles. We have been loved and consoled by family and friends, yes, but it is different to be with parents who share what we go through each day. There is so much to be said, but also so much that need not be said.
As we swapped stories, we watched the four children playing in the garden, bouncing on the huge trampoline, sliding onto a paddling pool, playing football and riding kiddie cars. We could see nothing wrong with them, really. They played with each other really well. They did pretend games, talked, laughed, got silly with each other and shared toys. It was amazing. It was as if they somehow KNEW they were akin to one another, that they BELONGED together, that they could relax and not be afraid of being teased or of being different, that they were meant to be FRIENDS. It was an astounding thing to see.
And we shared our reflections on God's power in our children's lives, how He had really proved textbooks and doctors wrong, how our experience of ASD/Aspergers had affected our whole paradigm towards parenting and what really matters, what we REALLY want our children to learn from us. We were inspired by this family, this couple who trust God with their children's future, no matter what. They have a peace that just diffuses from their faces. They just quietly shine with a glow that says, We will not be moved, we shall not be shaken, there is nothing that is too big for our God to handle. Their peace moves me. When my world is shaken again, I hope I will be lucid enough to remember this couple's serenity, and to draw strength from their witness.
Some weeks ago, B was visited by an educational psychologist, a Mr Ashton-Jones. Among other things, he assessed B's emotional status, how B perceives himself emotionally at this point in his life. Mr A-J showed us a drawing of a tree with several stick-figure children on it, doing different things, in different parts of the tree, with different facial expressions or body positions. He had asked B where he was, who he was in the tree diagram, and B had readily pointed to a child standing halfway up the tree, not at the top, not at the bottom, but right smack in the middle of the vertical axis. The stick-figure he chose was standing on a stable ledge, with both his feet securely planted on a level surface on the tree. It was happy, with a smiling face. Mr A-J said it meant that B saw himself as right in the middle of the group as far as his peers are concerned, not at the top but not at the bottom, either. And that he saw himself as standing on safe ground, stable and secure. And that he was happy with his life, happy in school, happy with himself. This was more than enough to move me. I felt tears welling up but I managed to keep them in.
And then he told us that he had asked B which child he wanted to be in the picture. He wanted to know what B wanted for himself, what he was hoping for. Mr A-J showed us B's choice: a child happily, crazily swinging on a swing which was tied to a branch of the tree. And he told us, B just wants to have fun, he wants to be happy, he simply wants to enjoy his life. My heart just swelled with joy upon knowing that at his age, B knows what's important-- it is not to be at the top, or to be famous or popular, or to be really good at everything he does. He just wants to have fun, like a child on a swing, no fears, no cares, no complications. He wants to go through life laughing, with joy and abandon.
I fought to keep my tears at bay, but had no such luck.
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