(This is a post about my older son Graham.  I have written about him before both here and here.)

The kindergarten train will be leaving the station in the fall and we are trying to figure out how best to get on.  The rules, boundaries, and schools have all changed just this year in our neighborhood of Seattle.  A year ago we could have applied Graham to at least 4 public schools close to us and, if he had been accepted at any of them, the district would have bussed him there.  Our fair city is trying to implement a new plan in which children go to their neighborhood school instead of having multiple options.  I definitely agree with this philosophy.  Why have neighborhood schools at all if the kids are going to be bussed elsewhere?  It is a waste of time, resources, and gas.  But.  What if your “neighborhood” or “reference” school doesn’t actually exist?

This is the conundrum that we face.  Our school is called McDonald and it will not actually be a school until the day after Labor Day.  It is being created as I type.  Not only that, this as yet non-existent school will be housed in a temporary location until the current location (which is a short walk from our house) has been renovated.  In two years.

If I had just a regular old kid, this situation would make me a little nervous.  Kindergarten is huge.  Going to a technically non-existent school ups the anxiety.  Where are the teachers going to come from?  Who is going to be the principal?  Add into the mix that our child has some special needs and I am consumed by thoughts of kindergarten.  Will my child really get the services that he has rights to by law?  I have become that mom.  Well, not entirely.  I’m not going to meetings or writing letters to the governor.  I’m just worrying about Graham.

So, we’ve done some homework.  We’ve looked into several private schools – none of which seemed right – and we have asked a lot of questions about the public options.  Basically, there are three. One is to just go to McDonald.  One is to apply to our “option” school which is an alternative school and if he gets in, he would get bussed there.  The third option is that he will, as a special needs student, automatically get applied to a very special place called the EEU.  This is a mixed classroom of special needs and typically developing children and it has a tremendous reputation.  Acceptance is by lottery.  Seeing as there are ten slots for over 200 children, we are not holding our breath.  Plus, the EEU is kindergarten only, so we would be facing this whole problem again in a year anyway.

This is where it is a blessing to be a mellow person.  Given the choice between worrying and not worrying, I usually choose not.  Especially about things that are still off in the future and over which I have little control.  I do keep reminding myself that we are not locking in to a school until the end of time.  If we make a mistake, we can always correct it.  We have been on top of his issues since he was about 22 months old.  We will not let him slip through the cracks.

Some very good news that I can share is that during a teacher conference at the end of January, Graham’s developmental preschool teacher says that he is doing really well.  So well, in fact, that she without question recommends that he attend a “regular” kindergarten.  There are special programs in a few schools around the city which are known as “transitional” kindergarten classes.  They are for children who are technically old enough but not ready enough to join their peers.  At the end of a year, they either go on to first grade or they go to a regular kindergarten.  His teacher thinks that is not the place for him.  That with the services he is entitled to, he can function, and perhaps even thrive, in a regular class.

(I cannot tell you how amazing it is to sit before your child’s teacher and his speech therapist and to have them tell you, several different times, what a nice kid – what a great kid – you have.  To hear the hope and certainty in their voices.  To know that there are two more people rooting for him.)

More good news is that Graham learned to ski.  I wondered about this.  He is kind a timid kid and his biggest challenge is with receptive language.  His hearing is fine but he doesn’t process language the same way you and I do.  He does best if someone is right on his level talking to him.  So, I wasn’t sure how ski lessons were going to go.  We considered doing private lessons for him but they were prohibitively expensive.  Thankfully, the week we were in Sun Valley things were very quiet.  We signed him up for group lessons for two days and he had the teacher all to himself.  He went on the chairlift and was full on going down the mountain in snow-plow form in 2½ days.

Before the holidays, a teacher in Graham’s other preschool pulled me aside.  She brought out this drawing that Graham had done.  She told me she was looking at a ruler with him and that he wanted to draw it.  Graham has always been fascinated by letters and has known his alphabet for a long time.  He has been able to write his name for over a year.  But, while he knows his numbers, I’ve never seen him write them.  She told me she watched as he traced the ruler and then carefully copied down what he saw.

If you have read my earlier posts about Graham, I probably don’t have to tell you that tears came to my eyes when I saw this ruler.  Only some of the numbers are backwards and he fit them all on.  Sometimes I wonder what is going on in that little head of his.  I wonder what is going in and what is sticking.  I wonder why he can’t seem to grasp very simple concepts and yet can write numbers from one to twelve (and beyond) on his first shot.  I think about all the millions of things that he needs to learn before he is launched out into the world.  I worry how he can go to college if he can’t learn to tie his shoes.  Or he can never make sense of the concept of brother and sister and he calls most women “him”.

But this ruler.  He just looked at it and it all clicked.  I was reminded that, during his testing, he was able to identify numbers that he had never seen before.  They asked him to find “84″ and I watched his face as he scanned his choices and mouthed “eight four” and chose correctly.  I never taught him that.  At that point, he couldn’t count past 20.  These amazing things he does from time to time give me so much hope.  We drove by a small museum in Seattle the other day and he said, “Remember – we got pictures there.”  Yes, we did some family photos with a friend who is a photographer and we parked right in front of that museum.  We did those photos for Spencer’s first birthday.  That was two years ago.  He not only remembered something that happened when he was barely three years old – he knew exactly where it happened and recognized it.

And one more thing.  When he was done carefully filling in all the numbers on the ruler, he told his teacher he thought it looked like a whale, so he filled in the fins.  Kindergarten, we’ll see you in September.

Oh no.  It can’t be.  You can’t be three.  Three is a big boy (as you are fond of telling me).  Three is not a baby anymore.  You will still give me snuggles and kisses but mostly only when you are tired or sick.  You are busy and happy and a complete and utter delight.  You are strong willed and funny.  You are never without a truck, digger, or car, and sometimes all three.  You say “hepadopter” for helicopter and it makes me laugh every time.  Sometimes you say, “I wuv you Mama” and it makes me want to cry.  You say “mommy” or “mama” about 2,000 times a day which sometimes makes me want to scream.  You love breakfast and snacks but you can take or leave dinner.  You are soothed by playing with the seam of your mattress.  Every single time I put you in your crib this is our exchange.

You:  “I play with my seam?”
Me: “Yes my sweet angel.”
You: “I put my thumb in my mouth?”
Me:  “Yes, my sweet boy.”
You:  “You said angel.  That’s silly.”

Oy.

But you can’t be three.  Wasn’t it just yesterday that you were this person?

Oh yes, and just another plug for vegetarianism.  Those thighs came from a diet of breast milk only.  Vegetarian mama breast milk.

Here in the Dana Treat household, we have big celebrations on both Christmas Eve and Christmas.  I am Jewish, so that may seem strange.  But friends of my parents starting including us in their Christmas dinner when I was just three years old and, aside from a few years when I was out of town, I have gone to their house ever since.  There are many traditions that I look forward to – champagne cocktails, Marilyn’s cheeseball, and a wonderful dinner that is essentially the same as our Thanskgiving feast.  I always sit next to Tom, Marilyn’s husband, because when I was a little girl, I thought he was the greatest (he is pretty great).  After the dinner is over, Marilyn opens up the windows and the guys smoke cigars while the women try to escape the stench.

Over the years, we have started our own Christmas Eve tradition.  It is my parents’ anniversary (42 years!) and I always cook a big meal for them since they have never really been able to go out to celebrate.  Yes, hotel restaurants are usually open but they long ago decided they would rather eat a meal that I have cooked.  Because that night is one of the only times we can all seem to get together in the month of December, that is when we open our presents for each other – regardless of when Hanukkah falls.  We have taken to calling it Hanumass.

Our dinner was good – I made it a point to use some of the bounty from our CSA so we had dishes featuring beets, parsnips, and brussels sprouts.  I made two desserts and ice cream because I am crazy that way.  We ended up only eating one of the desserts (a Pecan Gingerbread tart that I thought wasn’t much good) and my mom took the Eggnog Poundcake for us to share tonight.  I do all the cooking in our house but I have to say, Randy sets a mean table. 

One of the things that Randy brings from his family tradition (in addition to requesting sauerkraut at both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner), is the spirit of hospitality.  And for parties at our house, that means a well-stocked bar.

Most of our friends are beer and wine drinkers, but Randy always sets it up anyway.  I tease him about it but the truth is, it makes me happy.  We both love to entertain and nothing says party like a bar.

I hope you and your family are celebrating with one another and enjoying the season.

Listen.  Do you hear that?  Crickets.

I know things have been a little quiet here at Dana Treat.  Every so often I do so much cooking and planning that I have trouble getting back in to the kitchen.   Our Thanksgiving went over very well as I hope it did for you and your family.  I remember washing dishes at the end of the last year and thinking, “I never want to do this again”.  Aside from the turkey grease that seems to still be lurking around and the lingering smell of cigars in our dining room, I was happy to have hosted and I look forward to next year.

In addition to the holiday, this was a big weekend for us.  The 26th was the anniversary of the day Randy and I met nine years ago.  The 27th was my mom’s birthday.  The 28th was Graham’s fifth birthday and my wonderful friend Lauren’s 40th.  I made two huge layer cakes for Lauren’s party and bought Graham’s cake.  Bad mommy?  No, I just know what I can and can’t do well.  Graham wanted a bus cake.  I don’t do bus cakes.  Lauren wanted two big yummy cakes.  Those I can do.

But Graham did have a big party with his buddies where we made pizzas and terrorized the poor patrons of California Pizza Kitchen.

Graham did a great job making pizza (I couldn’t help myself and had to get my hands in there).  I was proud of him for choosing pineapple and black olives for his pie and saying no to the pepperoni because “that’s meat”.

As you can see, it was all about hugging the pretty girls, the cake, and the presents for my boy.

A few months ago, I wrote a post about my son Graham.  I was blown away by the response I got and the lovely supportive comments and emails that followed.  At the end of that post, I mentioned that we were waiting on the Seattle school system, waiting to see whether a) doing the right thing for our children or  b) bureaucracy would win out.  I’m happy to tell you that this one went to the good guys (and gals).

About a week before the developmental preschool program was set to start, I got a call from a woman who told me she would be Graham’s teacher.  We set up a meeting at his new school and were introduced to his teacher, the room assistant, the speech therapist, and the director of the entire program.  We agreed on an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for him with goals for the next few months.  We were assured that the (now updated) results of his testing will follow him for the next three years, so his status as a student with special needs does not change as we approach next fall and the utter confusion that is kindergarten in North Seattle.  We were assured that they would help us navigate those waters.

Graham’s new schedule started on September 21st.  He goes to school from 1-3:30 four days a week and also continues to go to his old prechool 9-12:30 three mornings a week.  On Monday and Tuesday, he is essentially in school from 9am-4pm.  This is a lot of a yet-to-be five year old who was still taking a 2-3 hour nap almost everyday up until the schedule change.  The first few days, when I got on the little school bus to help him off, he was totally passed out.  Evenings became really tough for him as the exhaustion set in.  We re-organized.  We set his bedtime much earlier – the same as his younger brother – and things improved.  Now he seems to be adapting to his new schedule.  And he is very happy at his new school.

Graham comes home singing songs I have never heard before and talking about parts of his day without prompting from me.  He brings home art projects he is extremely proud of and he finally – finally – potty trained.  I was starting to wonder if he was going to go off to college in diapers when his new teacher suggested that we tell him the rule at the new school was underwear only.  Within four days he was completely trained with not an accident since.  It was yet another lesson for me in not underestimating the wonder that is Graham.  When the light switch turns on it is on.

Our new routine is as follows.   I pick up the boys at morning preschool, drive to the “new school” which is, thankfully, only a few blocks away.  I park the car, gather up the boys, and then we begin one of the sweetest 1 block walks I will ever know in my life.  Yes, it involves shivering and/or getting soaked these days, but to hold two little boys’ hands – one of them wearing a backpack almost as big as he is – as we approach a real live big boy school…  It’s almost more than I can handle.  Nostalgia for what will not be someday overtakes me and I sometimes just have to stop and watch them.  I know it’s just the blink of an eye before they will stop holding my hand and then just another blink before they don’t want to talk to me at all.

Graham turns five years old at the end of this month.  I had thought about writing this post in honor of his birthday but I had an experience while at Jen’s yoga retreat a couple of weeks ago.  Not to sound too woo-woo on you here, but I always dedicate my yoga practice to Graham.  Some yoga teachers will invite you to set an intention at the beginning of a class and it is always his beautiful face I see at that time.  No thoughts, just his face, and the hope that my practice will send some extra energy his way.  He is my intention, my dedication.  Just like every time I catch the clock at 11:11 or I throw a penny into a fountain, I think of him – wish something for him.

In Jen’s peaceful serene yoga room, I poured out stress and toxins with my breath and my sweat.  At the end of two hours, I felt utterly spent and exhausted in the best kind of cleansing way and laid happily on my mat for shivansana.  In the first few moments of that rest, Jen turned on some of the music from The Mission – that glorious, heart-stirringly beautiful piece of music that can bring tears to my eyes even when I am not feeling overly emotional or exhausted.  And in a moment, I had tears streaming down my face, mingling with the already drying sweat from the class.  In that moment, the following thought came to my mind – almost as if someone had whispered it in my ear or I had seen it written on a blackboard – “Why Can’t It Be Enough?”

The day before I had spent the morning with Graham.  He had a very low grade fever, with no other symptoms, and I decided to keep him home from school.  I still had errands to run and he happily came along with me.  Before we went to pick up his brother, I took him to lunch at one of his favorite spots.  We were sitting there, waiting for our lunch, and I was over-conscious of the fact that we weren’t talking.  It’s not as though we were silent, but there was very little back and forth conversation as there would be with a typical child of his age.  I wanted that, the flow of conversation, so badly.  I asked him questions on topics where answers could come easily for him, and I would get my one or two word answer, then – quiet.   I just kept running my hands along the baby-soft skin of his cheek, or bringing my face to the top of his head for a kiss and inhaling the intoxicating smell of clean little boy hair.  I told him I loved him.  I told him I was proud of him.  He kept looking at me and smiling, unaware that I was longing for more.

In my shivasana moment, I saw that scene again with new eyes.  And therein lies the question – “Why Can’t It Be Enough?“  Why can’t who and where he is right now be enough?  Why must I always notice who and where he is not?  This is not new territory – it is my biggest challenge with him.  And what I really mean by that is the challenge with myself.  Choosing to celebrate all the many varied things that makes him wonderful instead of pointing out (in my own mind) all the ways he is not like his friends is just that.  A choice.  And here is where a mom in a movie would suddenly change her entire her attitude and embrace her child wholeheartedly.  Everything would change and happiness would prevail until the credits rolled.

Obviously, this is not a movie and life is more complicated.  I am not one of those people who can wish something and just make it so.  I wish I was more peaceful about having a child with special needs and I work hard at it every day.  Sometimes I am so thankful for him that I can hardly believe my luck.  I watch a child on his preschool playground haul off and hit another child and I wonder, “Is that what I want?  A typically developing bully?”  Of course not.  I’ll take my speech and cognitively delayed sweetheart any day of the week.  My baby who thinks life is nothing but fun and happiness  – as every almost-five-year-old should.  My baby who who touches people’s lives.  When he leaves morning preschool, there is a chorus of “Goodbye Graham!” from kids and teachers alike.  Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what lesson I am being taught by the challenges he brings.  I struggle.  But lately I keep coming back to that big question and it makes my vision blur every time.

(I love this picture of him.  It is pure Graham.  Smiling and in motion.)

I don’t have an answer here and I certainly don’t have any advice.  This will be my journey with my older son.  My journey with Spencer will be different.  Randy asked me if I ever make a wish for Spencer or dedicate my practice to him.  Nope.  That boy will present other challenges but he does not need my yoga energy right now.  Every parent travels down a path with a child.  Sometimes that path is clear and easy and sometimes it is twisted and complicated.

When we first settled into speech and classroom therapy with Graham, about three years ago, his teacher handed out an essay that a woman with a special needs child had written.  It’s called Welcome to Holland and it compares awaiting the birth of a child to planning a trip to Italy.  You buy your tickets, you book your hotel, you anticipate the food you are going to eat, the sights you will see, the people you will meet.  On the flight to your long-awaited destination, the flight attendants tell you to prepare for the landing in Holland.  Holland?  Windmills, canals, wooden shoes – what?  At first you are floored by this change in your itinerary – your entire world is thrown off.  Your arrival takes a huge adjustment.  This is not at all what you signed up for.  And then, slowly but surely, you do learn to adjust.  There are wonders to behold in Holland.  It is different than Italy but it isn’t any less special.

I never thought I had expectations for my children.  I would be fine with them being a railroad engineer or a physicist.  They could go Ivy League or state school, or no college at all.  They could be an athelete like their dad or a thespian like their mom.  I guess I just always assumed they would be “normal” and I think that is why I got Graham.  My favorite comment from my last post about him actually came from the director of his morning preschool, herself the mother of a child with special needs.  I’m paraphrasing here, but she said that these children come to us not necessarily to teach us a lesson or because we can handle them or we “deserve” them.  They come to us because we as parents are strong and we can advocate for them.  They need us to fight for them.  I hold onto that thought everyday because it is such a strong and powerful way to think about life with Graham.  I got him because he needs me and because I am lucky.