NYC Moms

The Magic of Victorian Gardens

This Saturday I ignored dire predictions of afternoon thunderstorms and took the boys off to that tiny jewel of an amusement park that wings in to perch in Central Park’s Wollman Rink for the summer  (Memorial Day through mid September): Victorian Gardens.  We’ve been taking the boys there a few times a summer since they were three, and though they are nearly too old, too big for the pint sized thrills therein to be found, we’re squeezing one, maybe two more summers out of the place, because there’s some sort of magic there for the boys and I’m not ready to let it go yet.

I remember the first time we went, it was the whole family, all four of us: me, my husband, and the boys.  They were still tiny, not yet quite three, and we rode all the rides with them, grown ups with our bent knees approaching our ears. They loved being on the really little kiddie rides, which were just right sized droplets of thrill for them.  By the next summer, at four, our services were only required for some, not all rides (just the "really scary" ones), and my husband and I stood by in trepidation as Ethan took charge of his twin brother Jacob, making sure he stayed safety belted and didn’t try to climb out mid-ride.  For you see, Jacob is on the Autism Spectrum, and at four was still very un-awake to the rules of the world, needed a minder at all times. 

Momsomnia strikes again

Maybe it’s those peri-menopausal hormones (the 3 month countdown to 50 has begun), or the to-do list not done, or all the coffee that gets me through the day, but I have been up in the middle of the night waaaay too much lately.  I thought when my father passed, things would finally ease a bit, that some of it the insanity would finally release, but that seems to have actually ramped things up instead.  Everything I put on the back burner to care for him and support my mother in his final, faltering, increasingly dependent months is now aflame.  My children really need me present and I am swimming back to them slowly through the muck of feelings long pushed underground to just grind through those last gruesome, awful days.  Two months since he has died and I have really just begin to mourn him. 

The biggest flaming pile in my life is that my son with special needs, the one on the Autism Spectrum does not have a school for next year. Yes, you heard that right, it is now MID-MAY and I have no idea where he is going to school, nor how it will be paid for.  We are transitioning in the middle of elementary school, which is none too easy.  Friends ask “Can’t he just stay where he is?” and I want to bang my head into the wall (wait, who’s autistic now?)  Hindsight is always 20-20.  No, he can’t, he’s in a school that only goes K to 2, forcing a change at this point.  We had been hoping that he’d be ready now to go to his twin brother’s public elementary school, which has wonderful CTT classes (for the laymen: Collaborative Team Teaching by a Special Ed and regular teacher, kids w/ IEPs integrated into the regular classroom), but no such luck.  He still needs more support and a less chaotic environment. So here we are in limbo.

Bring on the Broccoli

There is a subtle war going on in my house over those green things on the plate.  You know: vegetables.  When you have children, even if you’re all modern and psychological minded, it’s still hard to not somehow expect them to be little carbon copies of you.  Well, in my case carbon copies plus a y chromosome here and there, since I have two boys.  I was a child with wide and adventurous tastes in food.  I loved vegetables.  Asked to name my favorite foods, alongside the requisite M & M’s, burgers and peanut butter, I would have put artichoke, avocado and asparagus on my list.  And that’s just the top of the alphabet.

My twin 7 year old sons, however are another matter.  Food is a complicated issue in our house.  Before they were born, (OK everyone groan now, we all remember the things we swore we would NEVER do that we find ourselves doing on a daily basis for survival) I just knew I was going to feed my children only healthy foods: lots of vegetables and fruit, no sugar or chemicals, etc. etc.  Not quite a member of the anti-junk militia, lets just say that I’m no stranger to the organic section at Fairway, and my local little health food store is near and dear to my heart, and wallet.

When they were babies and I could control every bite that went into their mouths (the occasional purple crayon notwithstanding), it was 90% organic and all good: lots of veggies, low sugar, low sodium, no artificial anything, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Though it was clear that one twin, Ethan, had a sweet tooth, greatly preferring the fruits to the vegetables, the sweet to the savory, they still pretty much ate what was offered, hungrily and happily.  But then life happened.  They became two year-olds.  With opinions.

The “S” word is Stupid!

It’s really funny, but when you have a kid with special needs like I do, behaviors that would be questionable from your typical kids become things of joy when your autistic kid does them.  Case in point:

This afternoon, my 7 year old son Jacob was in the living room with his wonderful 1 on 1 therapist Becca, who comes three afternoons a week to push, push, push his envelope. They were playing with Mr. Potato Head, working on those pesky prepositions that give Jacob such trouble. When you’ve got language processing issues, the more abstract a concept, the harder it is to really wrap your brain around.  Prepositions are all relational, while other attributes are absolute.  Jacob has no problems with absolutes.  You see, the blue shoe is always blue, but “on top of”, “next to”, that can change on a dime. Becca’s trying to get Jacob to ask specifically for the parts he needs, and he’s doing a great:  “I want the 2 white hands that are in front of the green hat.” Jakey is rockin’ it!  Mr. Potato Head is being assembled, and I am so happy listening in on them from the room next door.