While happily consuming his cereal,
He notices
All the fine crumbs left,
Sitting,
Dispersed along the bottom of the bowl.
"Mommy", he cries with delight,
"It's a little bit of pixie dust.
If I sprinkle it on my head....
I can fly!"
The End.
Da Boys
Eating Old Fashioned Candy on the Banks of the Mississippi
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
How.....do I tell him?
In the whirlwind that follows the diagnosis of Autism,
Much occurs.
Time passes quickly.
There is little time to breathe,
Even less time to live.
In the sea of appointments,
On the other side of the revolving door of therapists,
One little boy stands alone,
Wondering why all this attention is directed toward his brother.
He stands...
Not understanding why these ladies are not here to see him,
When he talks.
He performs.
He socializes.
How do I tell this child?
What do I say?
Autism...a hollow word to a five year old.
"Why", he asks. "Why can't I talk with the ladies."
My heart breaks for him.
He lives for communication.
He craves conversation.
He devours attention.
"My, Gio," I say cupping his beautiful face my hands.
In a split second, as if all time has stopped,
I ask God for clarity on what to tell his child.
He hears my request and swiftly gives me the gift.
"My, Gio. The ladies are here to help your brother," I try to explain.
"Why?" he begs, "Why aren't they here to see me?"
"Your brother cannot talk and play like you. They are here to help him."
Tears well up in his soulful brown eyes.
"Oh, no!", he cries, "What's wrong with Alessandro?"
The wisdom I prayed for floods out from my mouth supernaturally,
Overriding the torrent of emotions that I want to let loose
When I see my baby boy cry.
"You know, what happens when your trains tracks are not set up right?", I ask.
He looks at me with a mixture of delight because I am talking about his favorite subject and confusion because he really doesn't know how this applies to this conversation.
"Yes." he says waiting for me to explain my reasoning.
"In your brain, " I tell him," You have little tracks, just like your train tracks and all your messages follow these little tracks."
He smiles and follows my thought.
"Your brother....", I pause," ....well....your brother's messages are not on track. The tracks are broken and the ladies are here to fix them. They know how to fix his tracks and even though they like you...when they come to see us, it's their job to help your brother get his messages back on track...just like when you fix your train tracks. So they cannot spend all their time talking to you."
He begins to draw a similarity to a Thomas the Tank Engine story.
"Yes," I say smiling, "Just like that."
"And someday when his tracks are all fixed,
He will be able to talk with and play with you."
He happily accepts this explanation. From this day forward
He will tell everyone he meets about the ladies that come to his house
That help get his brother's messages on track.
He knows the language of trains.
He knows his brother is getting help
And
at the tender age of five,
He knows what Autism is...without ever having to mention the name.
Much occurs.
Time passes quickly.
There is little time to breathe,
Even less time to live.
In the sea of appointments,
On the other side of the revolving door of therapists,
One little boy stands alone,
Wondering why all this attention is directed toward his brother.
He stands...
Not understanding why these ladies are not here to see him,
When he talks.
He performs.
He socializes.
How do I tell this child?
What do I say?
Autism...a hollow word to a five year old.
"Why", he asks. "Why can't I talk with the ladies."
My heart breaks for him.
He lives for communication.
He craves conversation.
He devours attention.
"My, Gio," I say cupping his beautiful face my hands.
In a split second, as if all time has stopped,
I ask God for clarity on what to tell his child.
He hears my request and swiftly gives me the gift.
"My, Gio. The ladies are here to help your brother," I try to explain.
"Why?" he begs, "Why aren't they here to see me?"
"Your brother cannot talk and play like you. They are here to help him."
Tears well up in his soulful brown eyes.
"Oh, no!", he cries, "What's wrong with Alessandro?"
The wisdom I prayed for floods out from my mouth supernaturally,
Overriding the torrent of emotions that I want to let loose
When I see my baby boy cry.
"You know, what happens when your trains tracks are not set up right?", I ask.
He looks at me with a mixture of delight because I am talking about his favorite subject and confusion because he really doesn't know how this applies to this conversation.
"Yes." he says waiting for me to explain my reasoning.
"In your brain, " I tell him," You have little tracks, just like your train tracks and all your messages follow these little tracks."
He smiles and follows my thought.
"Your brother....", I pause," ....well....your brother's messages are not on track. The tracks are broken and the ladies are here to fix them. They know how to fix his tracks and even though they like you...when they come to see us, it's their job to help your brother get his messages back on track...just like when you fix your train tracks. So they cannot spend all their time talking to you."
He begins to draw a similarity to a Thomas the Tank Engine story.
"Yes," I say smiling, "Just like that."
"And someday when his tracks are all fixed,
He will be able to talk with and play with you."
He happily accepts this explanation. From this day forward
He will tell everyone he meets about the ladies that come to his house
That help get his brother's messages on track.
He knows the language of trains.
He knows his brother is getting help
And
at the tender age of five,
He knows what Autism is...without ever having to mention the name.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Vingettes of Boy Conversation
Walking in the newly cooled air, along a pathway cleaned by the afternoon rain, two little boys and their mother pass by a dying bush of flowers. All that remain, are the bald heads of what were once the center of bright, cheery flowers.
The oldest boy steers clear of them as if they were a mange ridden animal and quickly warns his mother in a heroic effort to save her from harm.
"Um.... Mommy", he says, "I think those flowers have bee germs."
His Mother's laughter can be heard from the other side of the fields.
"Yes, son," she manages to compose herself long enough to speak. "I do believe ALL flowers have "bee germs"."
The End
The oldest boy steers clear of them as if they were a mange ridden animal and quickly warns his mother in a heroic effort to save her from harm.
"Um.... Mommy", he says, "I think those flowers have bee germs."
His Mother's laughter can be heard from the other side of the fields.
"Yes, son," she manages to compose herself long enough to speak. "I do believe ALL flowers have "bee germs"."
The End
Friday, July 2, 2010
Confessions of the Only Girl
When my second son was born,
I became the only girl stuffed into a house
with three guys.
I upped my eye makeup
By using heavier applications,
With more and more colors...............
As a silent protest.
The End.
I became the only girl stuffed into a house
with three guys.
I upped my eye makeup
By using heavier applications,
With more and more colors...............
As a silent protest.
The End.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Why is she watching?
Since I decided to start taking care of myself last year, I have been walking everyday..unless it's 100 degrees like this week into town with Da Boys. We always hit one of our two haunts. Einsteins.... for large sugared sprinkle cookies...or my personal fave, Starbucks....so I can get a peppermint mocha...and the kids can get whatever treat they have in the case that day.
This is the story of a trip to the latter.
86 degrees but with a breeze. "That's workable" she thinks. With two ABA (applied behavioral analysis) sessions down she starts to prep two curly haired boys to take to the streets. With cool clothes, layers of sunblock, canteens of water and fantastic sunhats they leave out their backdoor all excited to get out of the house and looking dang stylish while doing it! The trek is oppressive even with the little breeze that encircles them every few feet. The two curly haired boys don't care, they are ready to run, ready for adventure and ready for a good hit of sugar! She keeps asking "Are you okay?" with concern in her voice. She doesn't want a trip to the ER due to heat related illness. The oldest says "Yes, Mommy." The youngest...well...he's still trying to break free of her tight grip to run up and down the hills on private property. He loves green grass and cares not who owns it.
They finally make it to their destination. As she begins to order she leans down and tells them, "Go sit." They giggle and go do what she says while pulling off their bright colored bucket hats and exposing their sweat drenched curls to the cool air.
But something is amiss.
Someone is sitting in "their spot"!
They stop!
They don't know what to do!
They look back at her confused!
She looks up from paying for their goodies and realizes that this could be a problem. And quickly...it does!
Though the place is filled with people, it's sooooooooo quiet. As if they had stepped into a library, not a coffee house. The people are all involved in their laptops, their books, their java and all of them are at least 20 to 30 years older than these loud and now confused curly, haired boys.
All of the sudden.... she feels insecure. "Just sit over there", she says pointing to a table by the window and trying to keep her voice low but loud enough for her little ones to hear. They don't get it and try to sit right next to all the people trying to focus. The oldest one decides he does not like the chair arrangements and begins dragging the heavy wooden chairs across the rough tile floor.
Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak!
Groaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!
The chair bellows as his little hands pull.
In an instant, he is the center of attention. Everyone looks up from their projects...
At him then....
At her! She feels herself dying a little inside.
She gets their goodies and while trying to keep her composure, quickly gathers the curly haired boys like ducklings and scurries them over to the table by the window.
They voraciously devour their treat. She thinks all is well, until the little one decides that he needs to run again.
Again the chairs......
Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak!
Groaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!
One lady leers from her cell phone conversation. "Oh God!", their mother thinks as her cheeks flush red. The lady looks away and resumes her conversation.
The little one is restless. He's acting like there are wings attached to his rear but he still comes over every time his mother asks and tries to kiss his way out of trouble as if to say..."Ma!....it's all good!"
But she is so worried that their presence is disturbing the rest of the store that she grabs him and sits him on her lap. That doesn't hold him... all 2 1/2 years and 33 lbs. of juicy-ness! He flings backward on her lap in hopes of getting tickled and peels of laughter echo in the rafters.
The lady sitting next to them gets up. Puts her laptop in her bag and walks over to the table.
"Here it comes!", their mother thinks. You can physically see her brace herself to the chair.
The lady speaks.
Their mother's mind...........Runs!
"I'm going to have to justify his behavior. I'm going have to tell her that he has autism... I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I'm gonna........."
The lady's words finally permeate through the scenarios simultaneously playing in her head.
"I just had to tell you," she said, "your children are just gorgeous! They look like angels. Their hair!!!! just like in a painting!"
The curly haired boys' mother sits dumbstruck but manages to get out the words "Thank you" ,as the lady walks away.
The adventurers finish their treats and with their fabulous hats leave to trudge back home. Their mother has a long walk back to think about how she shouldn't judge before she knows what is going on and more importantly....how she should never justify to anyone the joy and happiness of her two curly haired boys.
This is the story of a trip to the latter.
86 degrees but with a breeze. "That's workable" she thinks. With two ABA (applied behavioral analysis) sessions down she starts to prep two curly haired boys to take to the streets. With cool clothes, layers of sunblock, canteens of water and fantastic sunhats they leave out their backdoor all excited to get out of the house and looking dang stylish while doing it! The trek is oppressive even with the little breeze that encircles them every few feet. The two curly haired boys don't care, they are ready to run, ready for adventure and ready for a good hit of sugar! She keeps asking "Are you okay?" with concern in her voice. She doesn't want a trip to the ER due to heat related illness. The oldest says "Yes, Mommy." The youngest...well...he's still trying to break free of her tight grip to run up and down the hills on private property. He loves green grass and cares not who owns it.
They finally make it to their destination. As she begins to order she leans down and tells them, "Go sit." They giggle and go do what she says while pulling off their bright colored bucket hats and exposing their sweat drenched curls to the cool air.
But something is amiss.
Someone is sitting in "their spot"!
They stop!
They don't know what to do!
They look back at her confused!
She looks up from paying for their goodies and realizes that this could be a problem. And quickly...it does!
Though the place is filled with people, it's sooooooooo quiet. As if they had stepped into a library, not a coffee house. The people are all involved in their laptops, their books, their java and all of them are at least 20 to 30 years older than these loud and now confused curly, haired boys.
All of the sudden.... she feels insecure. "Just sit over there", she says pointing to a table by the window and trying to keep her voice low but loud enough for her little ones to hear. They don't get it and try to sit right next to all the people trying to focus. The oldest one decides he does not like the chair arrangements and begins dragging the heavy wooden chairs across the rough tile floor.
Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak!
Groaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!
The chair bellows as his little hands pull.
In an instant, he is the center of attention. Everyone looks up from their projects...
At him then....
At her! She feels herself dying a little inside.
She gets their goodies and while trying to keep her composure, quickly gathers the curly haired boys like ducklings and scurries them over to the table by the window.
They voraciously devour their treat. She thinks all is well, until the little one decides that he needs to run again.
Again the chairs......
Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak!
Groaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!
One lady leers from her cell phone conversation. "Oh God!", their mother thinks as her cheeks flush red. The lady looks away and resumes her conversation.
The little one is restless. He's acting like there are wings attached to his rear but he still comes over every time his mother asks and tries to kiss his way out of trouble as if to say..."Ma!....it's all good!"
But she is so worried that their presence is disturbing the rest of the store that she grabs him and sits him on her lap. That doesn't hold him... all 2 1/2 years and 33 lbs. of juicy-ness! He flings backward on her lap in hopes of getting tickled and peels of laughter echo in the rafters.
The lady sitting next to them gets up. Puts her laptop in her bag and walks over to the table.
"Here it comes!", their mother thinks. You can physically see her brace herself to the chair.
The lady speaks.
Their mother's mind...........Runs!
"I'm going to have to justify his behavior. I'm going have to tell her that he has autism... I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I'm gonna........."
The lady's words finally permeate through the scenarios simultaneously playing in her head.
"I just had to tell you," she said, "your children are just gorgeous! They look like angels. Their hair!!!! just like in a painting!"
The curly haired boys' mother sits dumbstruck but manages to get out the words "Thank you" ,as the lady walks away.
The adventurers finish their treats and with their fabulous hats leave to trudge back home. Their mother has a long walk back to think about how she shouldn't judge before she knows what is going on and more importantly....how she should never justify to anyone the joy and happiness of her two curly haired boys.
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Cowboy
After a disruptive night's sleep, the cowboy mosies on up to the table for his morning grub in preparation for a long day on the range.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Soup Du Jour
So intent he is,
running into the kitchen.
In a second she'll notice something is missin'.
He quickly leaves and quiet ensues
She fears that sound.
She's seen what it can do.
"Where are you?", she cries.
But hears nothing back.
Yeah... she knows
This could be really bad.
To his favorite haunt
She immediately flees.
Her mind racing with
Thoughts of what it might be.
She brushes back the door
and in an instant
Time
Stands
Still......
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!"
She screams.
He looks up from his concoction
Pleased with himself
his smile beams.
Into the bowl everything went
To replace everything much money was spent.
Rollers and makeup,
Toothbrushes and sponges
Thrown into the mix
With exuberant plunges.
Stirred with her spoon he
he pilfered from the kitchen
Remember... I had said
Something was missin'?
He feverishly stirred it all into the pot.
This dish got it's own kind of hot!
Seasoned by the trimmings of those
Who had gone before.
Somehow she wishes
She never had opened that door.
But he is all proud of his work.
Thinking he is a great chef
he gives her a smirk.
Though she is grossed out
by this nasty goop,
He happily serves her his
Toilet Bowl Soup!
running into the kitchen.
In a second she'll notice something is missin'.
He quickly leaves and quiet ensues
She fears that sound.
She's seen what it can do.
"Where are you?", she cries.
But hears nothing back.
Yeah... she knows
This could be really bad.
To his favorite haunt
She immediately flees.
Her mind racing with
Thoughts of what it might be.
She brushes back the door
and in an instant
Time
Stands
Still......
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!"
She screams.
He looks up from his concoction
Pleased with himself
his smile beams.
Into the bowl everything went
To replace everything much money was spent.
Rollers and makeup,
Toothbrushes and sponges
Thrown into the mix
With exuberant plunges.
Stirred with her spoon he
he pilfered from the kitchen
Remember... I had said
Something was missin'?
He feverishly stirred it all into the pot.
This dish got it's own kind of hot!
Seasoned by the trimmings of those
Who had gone before.
Somehow she wishes
She never had opened that door.
But he is all proud of his work.
Thinking he is a great chef
he gives her a smirk.
Though she is grossed out
by this nasty goop,
He happily serves her his
Toilet Bowl Soup!
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