I recently got back from a week at the beach. It really is my happy place. Sun, sand, water sparkling, time on the boat, family meals, my child and his cousins playing in the surf, even dolphins playing not far off the shore one day.
One of my best friends lives near the beach, so I got to spend some time with her and see her new beautiful "beach" room. Part of the decor were shadow boxes with shells, shark teeth and coral she has collected over the years. Her kitchen is overrun with shells at the moment! We talked about the collection of shells and how our boys like to help, if by helping we mean pick up 10 shells/coral/rocks/trash to our one, and choosing the biggest things on the beach to add to the bucket.
I took my son shell gathering that afternoon, and sure enough, he picked up three or four times as many shells/coral/rocks as I did. Many of his choices were rocks (or maybe coral) or shells with holes in them. Not artistic, pretty holes that you could use to make the shell into jewelry or a Christmas ornament - no, big gaping holes with raggedy edges. But to him, they were the coolest shells on the beach. I found myself gravitating toward shells with lovely colors and stripes, shells that had been worn down until they were smooth and shiny. They weren't perfect shells, but ones that had a little personality!
I get a little introspective when walking on the beach looking at shells. It is peaceful (even with my sweet son talking up a storm beside me) to hear the waves and feel the sun on my skin. As I looked at the shells, I began to think about life. While we might choose to project an image of our lives as being perfect, we all are those broken shells. Life has shaped us, polished us, caused some holes, but also made us into the beautiful creatures we are.
My life certainly has changed this year. Last year when I was at the beach with my family, I had just interviewed for a position as a school library media coordinator (otherwise known as a school librarian). I found out at the beach that I got the job. I was SO anxious about taking the job - I hadn't even finished grad school yet, had no experience in education, and knew it was going to be a challenge. But I took the plunge and accepted the job.
And it was a challenge - I worked hard all year to develop lesson plans, and learn classroom management skills, and figure out how to manage a school library. While I have always respected teachers, I now know they are superheroes in disguise. Yet, I realized that this was not the job for me, and decided not to come back this year. Instead, I will finish my degree and spend some time in both public and academic libraries to see which type feels like a good fit for me. It was the right decision, but it was a hard one to make.
When I went to my 20-year high school reunion a few years ago, I was talking to a group of former classmates, and, as I normally do, was gesticulating with my hands and (probably) talking a little fast. One of them laughed and said that I hadn't changed a bit since high school - still hyper and talking too fast and waving my arms around. I choose to see that as my strength, that when I am passionate about something, you can tell, because I wear that passion on my sleeve.
While on the beach, looking for shells, that conversation at my reunion came to mind. What am I passionate about? Books, talking to people and helping them find what they need, teaching people how to use new technology, being a resource, and making a difference. Can I see myself doing those things in a public library? Definitely yes. In an academic library? Definitely yes.
One of the doors opened by the closing of the "school librarian" window is a chance to take a class on Community Informatics. Next semester, I will be learning about how public libraries serve as a hub for their communities and offer vital services, especially through information and communications technologies. Since my "first" career was in Communications/Public Relations and I worked mostly with non-profits, this feels like a natural fit for me. When I registered for classes this spring, I was excited about the opportunity to take this class, and the chance to volunteer (probably at my public library) as part of this course. I feel a bit like the baby bird in the classic children's book, Are You My Mother? Is the public library going to be the right fit for me? My guess is, yes, but I will have to see.
Then, as your mind does when you are being introspective, my mind jumped to another topic, how all of those life experiences shape how we view the world and how we interact with it. I thought about all of my friends, and what I would list as their defining characteristics. Strong, fighting for the underdog, kind, funny, dedicated to family, supportive, irreverent, silly, loyal, service-minded - those were the adjectives that applied to them all.
My friend making the shadow boxes has been through what I would imagine is one of the worst things that could happen to you, the loss of a child. She is an introvert, a lover of books and comfortable clothes and animals. But since her son's cancer diagnosis two years ago, she has gotten out of her comfort zone and spoken at fundraisers and on the radio, in hopes that children's cancer research can find a cure and keep another family from having to go through what she and her family did. Another good friend lost her father to early-onset dementia, and she, too, speaks and acts as an advocate for increased research funding for Alzheimer's and other dementia diagnoses. Both continue to be a positive force for change in this world, and I admire them for it.
Several of my friends are relentlessly fighting for public school funding both on the county level and the state level. They are not only fighting for their own kids, but for kids who do not have the advantages our kids have. They want every school to have the resources they need, classrooms and bathrooms that are clean and in working order, and teachers who feel supported and appreciated. It is easy to fight for your own school, and your own child or children, but to fight for every child takes dedication and a heart for serving others.
I have friends who wear their hearts on their sleeves, and others who have a harder exterior, but are softies inside. I have friends who foster animals, volunteer for political campaigns, raise money for nonprofits that are dear to their hearts, and give of themselves, even when it hurts. Are they perfect people? Of course not, but they are trying to give others a hand up in a world that values cut-throat behavior over being a good person.
And my friends make me laugh. They know the value of a hug, a smile, a night out without the responsibilities of jobs or families weighing on us. We support each other and love each other and I can't imagine what I would do without them.
Broken, worn smooth by life, but still shining. That is what my friends are. That is, I hope, what I am. Now, what to do with that grocery bag full of seashells in my garage...
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
Monday, June 5, 2017
Little Milestones
Every special needs mama knows about little milestones, things that other parents, parents of neurotypical children, barely celebrate at all.
Little things, like the first time my child walked on a parking space barrier (I am sure there's a word for those I don't know, but I'm talking about those concrete things at the end of a parking space that keep you from going into the next space, or onto the curb) and then stepped onto the sidewalk. For most kids, this is something they can do by preschool. My son was 6 or 7, I think.
I don't have much to complain about. My son may have his challenges, but I know he will get there, wherever "there" is, at some point. While it is frustrating, and sad, at times, to watch him struggle to do something that comes naturally to other kids, I also try to remember that there are parents who are hurting even more, knowing their child might never reach a milestone like climbing up the ladder at the playground.
My son is 9, and still can't swim. Some of this is due to his gross motor skill delays, and some of this is sensory (he doesn't like the sensation of water on/over his head, in his eyes, etc.). Every summer, we've gotten a little further. Last summer, he let me put goggles on him, and he would hold my hands and dip his head under water. He would "swim" holding a pool noodle, and would float on his back if I kept a hand under him. But he refused to try to swim without the noodle.
Well, today is our first day of summer vacation, we went to the pool, and he actually tried to swim! He perfected the glide forward, and then added some kicks and strokes with his arms that actually kept him afloat for a few seconds. None of this was with his face completely in the water, but his face was very near the water and got wet each time, which is better than his turtle impression last summer.
Little things, like the first time my child walked on a parking space barrier (I am sure there's a word for those I don't know, but I'm talking about those concrete things at the end of a parking space that keep you from going into the next space, or onto the curb) and then stepped onto the sidewalk. For most kids, this is something they can do by preschool. My son was 6 or 7, I think.
I don't have much to complain about. My son may have his challenges, but I know he will get there, wherever "there" is, at some point. While it is frustrating, and sad, at times, to watch him struggle to do something that comes naturally to other kids, I also try to remember that there are parents who are hurting even more, knowing their child might never reach a milestone like climbing up the ladder at the playground.
My son is 9, and still can't swim. Some of this is due to his gross motor skill delays, and some of this is sensory (he doesn't like the sensation of water on/over his head, in his eyes, etc.). Every summer, we've gotten a little further. Last summer, he let me put goggles on him, and he would hold my hands and dip his head under water. He would "swim" holding a pool noodle, and would float on his back if I kept a hand under him. But he refused to try to swim without the noodle.
Well, today is our first day of summer vacation, we went to the pool, and he actually tried to swim! He perfected the glide forward, and then added some kicks and strokes with his arms that actually kept him afloat for a few seconds. None of this was with his face completely in the water, but his face was very near the water and got wet each time, which is better than his turtle impression last summer.
This gives me hope that by the end of the summer, he will be swimming. I don't care if he is using the proper strokes or even if he chooses to swim without his face in the water most of the time; I just want him to be safe in the water, and able to play with friends and feel comfortable jumping in the water and going under.
Sometimes you have to celebrate the little things with those who will understand just how big this "little thing" really is. Today, I am proud as punch of my big kid for conquering his fear and lifting those feet off of the ground.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
A Christmas Wish
Recently, my mother lent me a book to read (Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead, if you are interested). Between two pages, used as a bookmark, I would guess, was a sheet with my mother's writing.
It was her rough draft for two thank you notes that she had written after her birthday to two dear friends.
Written in cursive, with words and phrases struck out and new ones inserted in, it reminded me of all of the thank you notes my mother had asked me to write growing up. I had always hated writing them. But now, looking at her rough drafts, I realized how special it is to receive a thank you note, especially one that is hand-written. What she wrote was so gracious and loving.
So my Christmas goal was to write handwritten thank you notes to my friends, to thank them for being there for me, and to tell them what I admired about them.
Didn't happen, of course, and now that my son is out of school, I doubt I will get around to it.
Instead, I am going to write my thank you note here.
To My Friends:
I see you, struggling to meet the demands of your children, your job, your family, and the expectations put on you by others. I see you feeling worn down and unappreciated. I see you volunteering your time to help others, and working long hours to make sure that your students/clients/coworkers/family get what they need. I see you trying to figure out how to live a "balanced" life when we all know that is pretty impossible to achieve. Your life isn't easy right now, but you keep going on, putting one foot in front of the other.
Yet, you smile at a friend. You offer encouragement to others. You keep going, even when times are tough. You offer sunshine, even when you feel like you're under a dark cloud yourself.
You are strong, and beautiful, and kind, and loved. Your friendship means the world to me. My life would be a little less colorful without you in my life. Without even knowing it, you made me feel better on a dark day. I love spending time with you, even if that "time" is just a series of emails or texts, or shared groans while we work out, or a quick gab session while dropping our kids off somewhere.
It is my Christmas wish that you feel love and peace and happiness this season, and that you know your light has been seen and appreciated by others. Thank you for being my friend,
Love,
Mary Beth
Saturday, October 22, 2016
Being a Kid Again
As I enter my 42nd year, I find myself acting more and more like a child. Some examples:
My new glasses - Not only are they very colorful and fun, they are ACTUALLY kid's frames. Yes, my face is so petite and narrow that I need kid's frames to fit it. My last glasses always felt too big for my face, and now I know why. I need to shop in the kid's section.
My running shoes: I bought pink wings to dress up my shoes. They're called Shwings. They are awesome. Do they make me go faster? Probably not. But does that really matter? My shoes have WINGS.
The Spider War: My son and I are engaged in a spider war. Last year, I bought a bag of cheap black spiders for his birthday party/Halloween. He decided to put them everywhere this year, including one in the shower. Every morning, I move the spider to somewhere else to scare him, and then he moves it to scare me, and so on. Some examples of places the spider has found itself:
I am still working on my Halloween costume, but suffice it to say it involves purple legwarmers, a headband with a bow, cheap bangly bracelets, a pair of leggings and a sweater. I am going back to my childhood for our church's annual Trunk or Treat, and I can't wait to dance around to my '80s music (and embarrass my child completely).
I have always liked the term "childlike." To me, it means trying to be as awed by life as a child is, to enjoy each day, to take nothing for granted, to be happy because God is good. It doesn't mean ignoring all of the bad things in the world, or hiding from them, but rather accepting that they are there, but so are all the wonderful things that make me smile.
Being in my 40s has freed me, in a way. I am going to do what makes me happy, even if it seems silly to someone else. Because, what frankly, who cares what they think?
Life is good today. I am going to enjoy today with all I have. That's what children do, and we could learn a valuable lesson from them.
 |
| Purple and turquoise are my colors! |
 |
| I am Superwoman! |
My running shoes: I bought pink wings to dress up my shoes. They're called Shwings. They are awesome. Do they make me go faster? Probably not. But does that really matter? My shoes have WINGS.
The Spider War: My son and I are engaged in a spider war. Last year, I bought a bag of cheap black spiders for his birthday party/Halloween. He decided to put them everywhere this year, including one in the shower. Every morning, I move the spider to somewhere else to scare him, and then he moves it to scare me, and so on. Some examples of places the spider has found itself:
 |
| On top of the shampoo |
 |
| On the showerhead |
 |
| On his washcloth |
I am still working on my Halloween costume, but suffice it to say it involves purple legwarmers, a headband with a bow, cheap bangly bracelets, a pair of leggings and a sweater. I am going back to my childhood for our church's annual Trunk or Treat, and I can't wait to dance around to my '80s music (and embarrass my child completely).
I have always liked the term "childlike." To me, it means trying to be as awed by life as a child is, to enjoy each day, to take nothing for granted, to be happy because God is good. It doesn't mean ignoring all of the bad things in the world, or hiding from them, but rather accepting that they are there, but so are all the wonderful things that make me smile.
Being in my 40s has freed me, in a way. I am going to do what makes me happy, even if it seems silly to someone else. Because, what frankly, who cares what they think?
Life is good today. I am going to enjoy today with all I have. That's what children do, and we could learn a valuable lesson from them.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
Hero Worship
The featured speaker was Glennon Doyle Melton, writer of Carry On, Warrior and the just-released Love Warrior, author of the wonderful blog Momastery, founder of Together Rising, a non-profit that works to improve the lives of women in crisis across the nation and the world, and mom to three kids, who have had to get used to their mom being the open, truth-telling woman that she is.
If you are a mom of a certain age (and possibly also certain political leanings), Glennon is well known to you, and possibly adored by you. If you haven't heard of her, visit her web site today and see what the fuss is all about. In a nutshell, she is a woman who unapologetically tells her truths, who addresses bullying, sistering (caring for your friends in good times and bad), how hard marriage is, how hard motherhood is, how hard LIFE is, and who still has hope for the world and love for all people.
Right now, her life is a bit of a mess (like many of us). She just finished her book, Love Warrior, about her husband and her's fight to save their marriage and working through the rocky parts. After finding out about his infidelity, they decided to see if their marriage was worth saving, and they stayed together for several years. But right before her book came out, right before she went on this book and speaking tour, she decided it was time for them to separate and divorce.
As you might guess, the publishers and other powers asked her, "Do you want to keep this news close to your chest? Do you want to wait until after you've finished publicizing your book on MARRIAGE to share that your own marriage is now over?" And she said, "No." Not only would her integrity be shot if anyone had found out, which in this day and age, someone probably would have, but that wouldn't have felt right to someone who believes so strongly in telling the truth, even when it hurts.
Glennon coined the word "brutiful," which is a combination of beautiful and brutal, to explain how the world is to her and to others like her. There are those of us who are just more empathetic than others, who feel the world's pain more than others, and she is a shining example of how to get through the painful parts to get to the good parts.
Right now, she is promoting her book, and being as open as she can be about her marriage, because even when truth needs to be told, life also demands that one be mindful that your children are listening and other people's children are listening and learning from how you treat one another. From what she has said, (and the cute Instagram photo her ex-husband put on his page to celebrate her book release), their separation and divorce is an amicable one, but even if it wasn't, there is nothing to gain from being hurtful and petty and saying things that feel good in the moment but not so much afterwards.
Glennon turned this love for others into a growing non-profit, Together Rising. It began very small - one sister reaching out to Glennon to tell her about one of her sisters who was going through a rough patch and needed help to make the holidays a happy time for her children. Glennon asked for help on her blog, and sisters answered. Now Together Rising still helps women and families in need during the holidays, but the non-profit also helps throughout the year when a sister needs something life-changing immediately (a family vacation for a woman dying of cancer, accessible vans for two women who were sick and needed transportation, and service dogs for children with Type 1 Diabetes, autism and Down Syndrome). She calls these requests for help Love Flash Mobs. Women give just a little ($25 or less- you aren't allowed to give more!) to help those who need it, and the community always comes through to help. The non-profit also receives funds from companies, big and small, who believe in what they are doing. What's more, Together Rising also helps schools who are trying to serve special needs children in the U.S. and refugees in Europe through several organizations who are providing food and shelter and medical care.
I love this quote by Mother Teresa - "We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop." That is what Together Rising is doing, being that all-important drop in the ocean. And that is why Glennon is my hero.
I have another hero right now, too. Her name is Adrian, and she has four children. You can learn more about her story on her blog, Tales of an Educated Debutante. Her youngest, Amos, has special needs. He will turn three soon, and can only say Mama. He had surgery in the last few months to "free" his tongue. You see, his tongue was attached in a way that made it impossible to move. This is so unusual that no doctor or therapist had noticed or thought to check. But Adrian is a Mama Bear (you have to be, when you have a special needs child), and has kept exploring options, trying to find answers for her child and for herself. Until you have a child with special needs, it is hard to fathom how frustrating it can be to find answers. Then you question, when do we stop? When we do say, this is how he is and the why isn't so important, so let's just focus on what he can do? Every day, you question whether all of the frustration of seeing another specialist, trying a different test, is worth it. Every day, you try to enjoy life and not let the uncertainty get you down.
Right now, Adrian is fighting with her insurance company. Every policy has certain limits on the number of visits to therapists. Even when the doctors say that this therapy is vital to a child's development, there is a limit each year. Which means that parents pay out of pocket, because who is just going to walk away and say, well, we'll pick up again next year and let our child stagnate for several months. Except some parents cannot pay, and that is their only option. (But that is a whole other story.)
Adrian wants to change that. Yes, for her son, but for all of our sons and daughters. She wants that limit removed so all children can get the help they need, whether they need physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, or all of the above. Imagine if your policy said you could have 26 visits a year - that means that after a couple of months of therapy, your insurance company would no longer pay. Each of those therapists charge a fee per hour. I know from our experience that OTs in our area charge between $100 - $250 per session. If your child needs even one session a week, that adds up quickly. Amos needs several sessions a week (between PT, OT and speech).
Adrian has studied her family's plan. She has three other children, herself and her husband, all of whom do not need those therapy sessions. If the limit cannot be removed, then why can't her youngest son use his siblings' and parents' allowed therapy sessions?
Beyond that, the insurance company has denied several of her claims for needed medical equipment or treatments, saying they aren't "necessary." He can grunt and point and make some noises, so he doesn't really need adaptive equipment that could help him speak through a computer, the insurance company says.
This issue is a serious one for all parents with special needs children, because who makes the decision about what is medically necessary? It often isn't a doctor or nurse or medical professional (or so I've heard). The medical professionals understand the need for therapies, adaptive devices and treatments, but their opinions are not being sought or honored.
Recently, Adrian got a chance to apply for a study with the Undiagnosed Disease Network. Through Duke University Hospital and other hospitals across the country, the National Health Institute (NIH) funds research and treatment of patients with no known diagnosis. If Amos is accepted into this study, it will mean one week of tests from specialists, anything they think might unlock the mystery of his developmental delays. No fighting with health care companies, no waiting for approvals, just the best health care that the hospital can provide. What a blessing that would be! So Adrian is waiting for what she calls her "golden ticket" to arrive, and I know there are many, many people who are hoping that their invitation to participate comes. We also hope that there are answers for her and her family at the end of the week.
Here is a mom, doing all she can to improve the life of her child. Here is a mom, spending hours on the phone with the insurance company each week (sometimes each day). Here is a mom, pursuing any avenue that might give her son a chance to thrive. Here is a mom, who is conflicted sometimes about how much of her time is spent on her youngest child, who obviously loves her three other children, too. Here is a mom, trying to enjoy life with her family, and not be run down by all the hoops she has to jump through to get the services her son needs.
Those are my heroes - women who are truth-tellers, who hold onto hope, who live life with joy and love, who fight for what they believe in. Thank you, Glennon and Adrian.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Walking a Day in His Shoes
I think that some parents with "neurotypical" children look at my child, who (for the most part) looks "normal," and wonder what the fuss is all about. Why does he need occupational therapy, and what is OT anyway? Why does he need special accommodations in the classroom? They think, my child doesn't like seams in her socks, or hates the texture of Jello, or doesn't like loud noises - that is just part of being a kid. Why do you make such a big deal about it?
You could say the same thing about anxiety, or depression, or a host of other invisible diseases and disorders, and the answer is the same. Yes, everyone has bad days, and every kid has things that bug them, whether it is tags on clothing or certain sounds or a type of food. But when it interferes with daily life, that is when it becomes something more, a disorder.
Therefore, I wanted to let you walk one day in my son's shoes. He has Sensory Processing Disorder, or SPD, or, as I often put it because it sounds easier to understand, sensory issues. For the most part, his SPD is mild, and that adds to the whole "he looks normal" issue.
First, a quick definition or two. SPD is a disorder where a person's senses do not communicate with brain in a normal manner. Their wiring is different. This can manifest in different ways - either a child is under-reactive (it takes much more stimulation than normal for a child to feel anything), or over-reactive (everything is too loud, too itchy, too much). Some kids are under-reactive or over-reactive in every sense, and some are over-reactive in some senses and under-reactive in others. There are the five senses we all know - seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing and touching - and a few others - proprioceptive (knowing where you are in space), interoceptive (the body's sense of what is going on internally) and vestibular (your sense of balance and how to move your limbs and trunk to achieve motion).
A Typical Day in the Life of an SPD Child (Well, MY SPD Child)
6:30 a.m. - Wake up. Run to the bathroom, because there is very little time between feeling the sensation of needing to go and the actual going. Start talking and singing to yourself, because you need the stimulation of sound and your mind is constantly going.
6:45 a.m. - Breakfast. Eat the same thing every day, because routine is important, and only certain foods are acceptable. Because of your sense of taste is over-reactive, strong tastes and unfamiliar tastes can make you gag. You certainly don't want anything spicy, or anything with a certain texture, like rice.
7:00 a.m. - Pack a lunch. Again, you eat the same thing most days. This year, you've gotten more adventurous and tried school lunches several times. You tried pizza for the first time in 1st grade and hamburgers, chicken sandwiches (it's just like a giant nugget on a bun, you said) and hot dogs for the first time in 2nd grade.
7:10 a.m. - Shower. You often just stand in the shower and sing, because you get easily distracted, and you aren't a big fan of water on your head. But every few days, your mom makes you wet your head and she washes your hair. Often, you get angry and you end up stomping your feet when your mom tells you to hurry up. You brush your teeth gingerly. You will only use one brand of toothpaste - any other leads to a meltdown and major gagging, so your mom makes sure to buy two tubes every time so you don't run out. Your mom also insists on brushing your teeth every few days, to make sure they actually get clean. She is trying to give you more independence, but still has to help sometimes.
Your hair has to look a certain way, or it really upsets you. You don't like it when you can see your hair. For Crazy Hair Day one year, your mom tried to put hairspray on your head and get it to stick up, but you screamed, "Get it out! Get it out!" the second she sprayed your hair, and you had to hop back in the bathtub so she could wash it out. Your mom isn't worried you will ever have an earring, tattoo or doing something crazy with your hair - it would bother you too much!
7:25 a.m. - Getting dressed. Luckily, you are not that bothered by clothing texture. Many kids with SPD are. You put on whatever your mom has laid out for you. At least, you start putting them on. But then you realize you need to tell your stuffed animal something, or a book or toy catches your eye, and your mom fusses when she walks in three minutes later, and you only have your pants half-on and you're playing instead of getting dressed. She tries to stay patient, knowing that your distractibility is part of your SPD, and not something you're doing to drive her crazy.
You get ready to walk out the door, but reach the back door leading to the garage and stop. You need to coordinate opening the door and holding it open while you walk out and down the steps. For "normal" kids, this is automatic, but it is not for you. You have to actually think through the steps and figure out where to put your hands on the door for balance. As you get older, this "pause" to figure out how to move is shorter, and will eventually go away. You've even managed to climb the stairs holding things in your arms. But when you step into a new place, you almost always stop to orient yourself to make sure you don't fall.
7:50 a.m. - School. There is a morning routine in your classroom, and you try really hard to remember all of the steps. Sometimes, your teacher has to remind you or move you along when you get distracted by someone's new shoes, or how the white board is flickering. You sit down to write the Morning Message in your notebook. Since you get to read when you finish, you do it quickly, and your handwriting is illegible. You can write legibly, but it takes a lot of concentration, and you usually don't bother.
If anyone questioned why you needed accommodations in the classroom, all they would need to do is watch you. Even when you're engaged in something, some part of your body is moving. You flap your arms when you are excited, or nervous. You bounce up and down or jiggle your legs. Your eyes don't stay on one thing for more than 5 seconds (unless it is a screen or a book).
Because you constantly need to move, you sit on a inflated cushion on your chair. It helps you wiggle a bit without actually really wiggling enough to distract others. Sometimes your teacher has to remind you not to talk to yourself during a quiet time. Sometimes, she even has to move down your color for talking, because it is not fair to move others down for talking and not you. Luckily for you, you aren't a child who is bothered by being moved down. You get a little upset, knowing that means no dessert for you that night, if you don't move back up, but you don't have a meltdown.
When it is time to work on an individual assignment in class, you often have trouble focusing. If it is something that interests you greatly, you will find it easier to focus, but even then, the tapping of a pencil, or someone walking by in the hall, or your classmate's colorful pencil might catch your interest. Every input you get from one of your senses is given the same weight in your brain - you have no back burner or background noise. You can learn coping mechanisms to make this better, and you are improving. But it is a slow process. Your teachers learn that in small groups, you need to be in the center of the group, right in front of the teacher. In fact, sometimes when she is teaching the whole class, she has you sit on the carpet in front of her so she can keep your attention on her. But you don't always complete independent work. Your teacher understands why, most of the time. Sometimes, she sends work home with you. Whenever possible, if the work involves writing on a worksheet, the teacher will let you type on an iPad (using a great app called SnapType) so you don't get too frustrated with trying to fit things in boxes. You are not good with spatial relations when writing.
Sometimes, even when you're not looking at the teacher, you're still absorbing what she's saying. You're just not good at eye contact. Other times, you're not paying attention at all. It is hard to tell the difference, and since you're a smart cookie, you've always understood the material and answered the questions correctly. But as you get older, that might change, and your mom and your teachers worry about how to teach you to focus yourself.
When it is time to go to lunch, or a special (art, PE, music, library, science, technology), you get to be line leader. Your teacher has learned the hard way that if you're in the middle or back of the line, you stop to look at something on the wall, or in a classroom or on the floor, and the class leaves you behind. However, if you're right in front, you stay with the teacher and get where you're supposed to be.
You don't have a lot of friends. Your social skills are lacking, and you shy away from contact with other people. You don't like rough-and-tumble games like some boys do. Because your balance is not great, you don't like slides, and you take a long time to climb a ladder or go up steps. You live your life in a dream world, so often you walk up to people and start talking about something that is going on in your imaginary world, and they have no idea what you're talking about, and don't understand how to interact with you. Sometimes you play tag with other kids, but you are not very fast. They either figure out that they have to slow down for you to catch them, or they just run away from you the entire time, laughing that you can't keep up. The nice ones let you catch them. Not all kids are nice.
Honestly though, it doesn't bother you too much that you don't have friends. You like to play with other kids, but are also happy playing on your own. Your parents are more upset over this than you are, and hope that you will make a few good, true, friends eventually. But they also treasure your self-confidence and contentment in playing on your own. You are comfortable in your own skin in a way that not many kids are, and that is something we want you to always be.
After school - Transitions are really tough. You get absorbed in devices - TVs, iPads, computers. Mom has to cut you off and that always makes you mad. You tend to melt down a bit when she makes you turn the device off and practice piano and do your homework. Your mom tries to be patient, but sometimes she gets frustrated and you lose a privilege. She hasn't figured out yet how to give you the time you need to decompress, but not lose you to the lure of the screen. She think that every kid has this problem, and it's probably not entirely because of your SPD, but it certainly doesn't help.
But you love music, and always have. You practice your pieces for your piano lesson, and get mad every time your mom corrects you. You learn pieces by ear, memorizing how they sound. Your mom (and your piano teacher) are trying to get you to sight-read notes, but it is tough, probably because the ability of your eyes to change focuses, from the sheet music to the piano keys, isn't very good. Plus, your fingers tend to drift off the keys where they are supposed to be, so you would rather look at them than the music. But once you learn a piece, you remember it, and can play it by memory. You also love to make up your own pieces. In spite of your complaining about having to practice, you really do enjoy it once you get started, and you often will play the piano (and the keyboard, and the guitar, and the drums) for fun.
Out in the World - You move differently than other children. Your gait is a little weird, and you tend to veer off on the diagonal, so it is always interesting walking through a crowd with you. You tend to bump into people if Mom and Dad don't keep a good grip on you, but you don't like that.
Loud sounds can upset you. Mostly, you just cover your ears, and you've learned to cope with it. But every once in awhile, something really catches you by surprise. You hate walking by an idling truck or motorcycle, because they can be very loud when they start up and take off. Mom and Dad have learned that games that involve popping a balloon are really hard for you, because the cumulative effect of constantly popping balloons wears your nerves thin and lead to a meltdown.
Eating out has always been a challenge, as you tend to like to eat the same things. Slowly, you've increased your list of acceptable foods to include enough things to make eating out possible. Well, almost everywhere has chicken and french fries, but your parents do like for you to get vegetables every day, and that is hard when everything veggie-related comes with a sauce (you don't like them) or with rice (also a no-no, makes you gag). But your family has gotten adept at checking online for children's menus and helping you make good choices. Restaurants almost always have broccoli or carrots, and you love those, and are willing to let your parents substitute veggies for fries sometimes.
6:00 - Dinnertime. Most nights, your mom fixes two dinners - one for you and one for herself and your dad. You eat baked chicken (cooked in olive oil and seasoned with a few spices, but nothing spicy) and vegetables almost every night. You like the frozen bags of broccoli, cauliflower and carrots that steam in the microwave, and canned carrots cooked with brown sugar and cinnamon. Sometimes, your mom buys little quarter boneless hams instead of chicken, and you love those, too. Now that you will eat pizza and subs (turkey and/or ham, with swiss or provolone cheese and yellow mustard), you can eat takeout with your parents on the weekends.
7:30 - Time to read. You lay on the bed and read to your parents for 10 minutes. Then, they read to you for 10 minutes. When they read to you, you can't stay still. You wiggle from one side to the other. You take off your socks and tie them around your feet. You fiddle with the clock beside the bed. Sometimes, you even sing. It's not that you aren't enjoying the book. You just need a little more stimulation than listening to a book is giving you.
8:00 - Time for bed. You thrive on a schedule, so even during the summer, your parents try to stick to the schedule. You are allowed to read in bed, and you often do. Sometimes you get up and make signs for your imaginary class, or for an exhibit you're making in your room, or for your library. Your father gets frustrated with your "messes," but your mind in constantly going and imagining new things. Sometimes, you just have to get the thoughts out and written down (even if no one, including yourself, can read them).
9:00 - Sleep. You usually are asleep by 9, and sleep well until the next morning. Your parents check on you, and tuck you in. You often have your sheets tangled up in your legs, because you turn over a lot, trying to get the wiggles out and get comfortable. If you're not asleep, it's because you're reading and don't want to stop. Your mom understands that all too well. Your parents gently insist you turn off your light and go to sleep, and you do.
I hope that helps you understand just some of the challenges of having SPD. If you ask another mom of a child with SPD, her child's day might be totally different. In fact, one of my friends whose son has SPD is pretty much the complete opposite of my child - he is athletic, high-energy, under-sensitive to stimuli, daring, and highly sensitive. He wants friends and sometimes acts out to make others laugh. So while his issues are completely different than my son's, the underlying problem is the same. It is finding a way to regulate the information you get from your senses and have your body respond to them in the correct manner.
Occupational therapy can help with this, from giving children an outlet to move their bodies and learn how to correctly sequence limb movement to hop or skip or jump, to teaching them fine motor skills. It gives kids a safe place to explore sensations they don't like (such as digging through dirt or shaving cream to find objects), allow understimulated children do "heavy work," like pushing full laundry baskets, that helps them regulate their need for activity and teaches techniques to parents, like brushing and joint compression, that can calm a child's reactions to stimuli.
If you have any questions, please ask me. I am happy to talk about Sensory Processing Disorder, and why my son needs a little extra help in the classroom. I would love for more parents to be aware of SPD, and how to talk to your children about people who are "different," because we have all have things that make us special. Just like my son wouldn't want to be teased about sitting on a cushion in class, another child wouldn't want to be teased because her hair is red, or she is left-handed, or he walks with a limp, or he likes the color pink, or she like superheros more than princesses or he sticks his tongue out when he shoots the basketball. If we teach our children (and ourselves) to walk in another's shoes and celebrate our differences instead of wanting to conform to the "normal" (whatever normal is), then I can't help to think that our society would be a better one.
You could say the same thing about anxiety, or depression, or a host of other invisible diseases and disorders, and the answer is the same. Yes, everyone has bad days, and every kid has things that bug them, whether it is tags on clothing or certain sounds or a type of food. But when it interferes with daily life, that is when it becomes something more, a disorder.
Therefore, I wanted to let you walk one day in my son's shoes. He has Sensory Processing Disorder, or SPD, or, as I often put it because it sounds easier to understand, sensory issues. For the most part, his SPD is mild, and that adds to the whole "he looks normal" issue.
First, a quick definition or two. SPD is a disorder where a person's senses do not communicate with brain in a normal manner. Their wiring is different. This can manifest in different ways - either a child is under-reactive (it takes much more stimulation than normal for a child to feel anything), or over-reactive (everything is too loud, too itchy, too much). Some kids are under-reactive or over-reactive in every sense, and some are over-reactive in some senses and under-reactive in others. There are the five senses we all know - seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing and touching - and a few others - proprioceptive (knowing where you are in space), interoceptive (the body's sense of what is going on internally) and vestibular (your sense of balance and how to move your limbs and trunk to achieve motion).
A Typical Day in the Life of an SPD Child (Well, MY SPD Child)
6:30 a.m. - Wake up. Run to the bathroom, because there is very little time between feeling the sensation of needing to go and the actual going. Start talking and singing to yourself, because you need the stimulation of sound and your mind is constantly going.
6:45 a.m. - Breakfast. Eat the same thing every day, because routine is important, and only certain foods are acceptable. Because of your sense of taste is over-reactive, strong tastes and unfamiliar tastes can make you gag. You certainly don't want anything spicy, or anything with a certain texture, like rice.
7:00 a.m. - Pack a lunch. Again, you eat the same thing most days. This year, you've gotten more adventurous and tried school lunches several times. You tried pizza for the first time in 1st grade and hamburgers, chicken sandwiches (it's just like a giant nugget on a bun, you said) and hot dogs for the first time in 2nd grade.
7:10 a.m. - Shower. You often just stand in the shower and sing, because you get easily distracted, and you aren't a big fan of water on your head. But every few days, your mom makes you wet your head and she washes your hair. Often, you get angry and you end up stomping your feet when your mom tells you to hurry up. You brush your teeth gingerly. You will only use one brand of toothpaste - any other leads to a meltdown and major gagging, so your mom makes sure to buy two tubes every time so you don't run out. Your mom also insists on brushing your teeth every few days, to make sure they actually get clean. She is trying to give you more independence, but still has to help sometimes.
Your hair has to look a certain way, or it really upsets you. You don't like it when you can see your hair. For Crazy Hair Day one year, your mom tried to put hairspray on your head and get it to stick up, but you screamed, "Get it out! Get it out!" the second she sprayed your hair, and you had to hop back in the bathtub so she could wash it out. Your mom isn't worried you will ever have an earring, tattoo or doing something crazy with your hair - it would bother you too much!
7:25 a.m. - Getting dressed. Luckily, you are not that bothered by clothing texture. Many kids with SPD are. You put on whatever your mom has laid out for you. At least, you start putting them on. But then you realize you need to tell your stuffed animal something, or a book or toy catches your eye, and your mom fusses when she walks in three minutes later, and you only have your pants half-on and you're playing instead of getting dressed. She tries to stay patient, knowing that your distractibility is part of your SPD, and not something you're doing to drive her crazy.
You get ready to walk out the door, but reach the back door leading to the garage and stop. You need to coordinate opening the door and holding it open while you walk out and down the steps. For "normal" kids, this is automatic, but it is not for you. You have to actually think through the steps and figure out where to put your hands on the door for balance. As you get older, this "pause" to figure out how to move is shorter, and will eventually go away. You've even managed to climb the stairs holding things in your arms. But when you step into a new place, you almost always stop to orient yourself to make sure you don't fall.
7:50 a.m. - School. There is a morning routine in your classroom, and you try really hard to remember all of the steps. Sometimes, your teacher has to remind you or move you along when you get distracted by someone's new shoes, or how the white board is flickering. You sit down to write the Morning Message in your notebook. Since you get to read when you finish, you do it quickly, and your handwriting is illegible. You can write legibly, but it takes a lot of concentration, and you usually don't bother.
If anyone questioned why you needed accommodations in the classroom, all they would need to do is watch you. Even when you're engaged in something, some part of your body is moving. You flap your arms when you are excited, or nervous. You bounce up and down or jiggle your legs. Your eyes don't stay on one thing for more than 5 seconds (unless it is a screen or a book).
Because you constantly need to move, you sit on a inflated cushion on your chair. It helps you wiggle a bit without actually really wiggling enough to distract others. Sometimes your teacher has to remind you not to talk to yourself during a quiet time. Sometimes, she even has to move down your color for talking, because it is not fair to move others down for talking and not you. Luckily for you, you aren't a child who is bothered by being moved down. You get a little upset, knowing that means no dessert for you that night, if you don't move back up, but you don't have a meltdown.
When it is time to work on an individual assignment in class, you often have trouble focusing. If it is something that interests you greatly, you will find it easier to focus, but even then, the tapping of a pencil, or someone walking by in the hall, or your classmate's colorful pencil might catch your interest. Every input you get from one of your senses is given the same weight in your brain - you have no back burner or background noise. You can learn coping mechanisms to make this better, and you are improving. But it is a slow process. Your teachers learn that in small groups, you need to be in the center of the group, right in front of the teacher. In fact, sometimes when she is teaching the whole class, she has you sit on the carpet in front of her so she can keep your attention on her. But you don't always complete independent work. Your teacher understands why, most of the time. Sometimes, she sends work home with you. Whenever possible, if the work involves writing on a worksheet, the teacher will let you type on an iPad (using a great app called SnapType) so you don't get too frustrated with trying to fit things in boxes. You are not good with spatial relations when writing.
Sometimes, even when you're not looking at the teacher, you're still absorbing what she's saying. You're just not good at eye contact. Other times, you're not paying attention at all. It is hard to tell the difference, and since you're a smart cookie, you've always understood the material and answered the questions correctly. But as you get older, that might change, and your mom and your teachers worry about how to teach you to focus yourself.
When it is time to go to lunch, or a special (art, PE, music, library, science, technology), you get to be line leader. Your teacher has learned the hard way that if you're in the middle or back of the line, you stop to look at something on the wall, or in a classroom or on the floor, and the class leaves you behind. However, if you're right in front, you stay with the teacher and get where you're supposed to be.
You don't have a lot of friends. Your social skills are lacking, and you shy away from contact with other people. You don't like rough-and-tumble games like some boys do. Because your balance is not great, you don't like slides, and you take a long time to climb a ladder or go up steps. You live your life in a dream world, so often you walk up to people and start talking about something that is going on in your imaginary world, and they have no idea what you're talking about, and don't understand how to interact with you. Sometimes you play tag with other kids, but you are not very fast. They either figure out that they have to slow down for you to catch them, or they just run away from you the entire time, laughing that you can't keep up. The nice ones let you catch them. Not all kids are nice.
Honestly though, it doesn't bother you too much that you don't have friends. You like to play with other kids, but are also happy playing on your own. Your parents are more upset over this than you are, and hope that you will make a few good, true, friends eventually. But they also treasure your self-confidence and contentment in playing on your own. You are comfortable in your own skin in a way that not many kids are, and that is something we want you to always be.
After school - Transitions are really tough. You get absorbed in devices - TVs, iPads, computers. Mom has to cut you off and that always makes you mad. You tend to melt down a bit when she makes you turn the device off and practice piano and do your homework. Your mom tries to be patient, but sometimes she gets frustrated and you lose a privilege. She hasn't figured out yet how to give you the time you need to decompress, but not lose you to the lure of the screen. She think that every kid has this problem, and it's probably not entirely because of your SPD, but it certainly doesn't help.
But you love music, and always have. You practice your pieces for your piano lesson, and get mad every time your mom corrects you. You learn pieces by ear, memorizing how they sound. Your mom (and your piano teacher) are trying to get you to sight-read notes, but it is tough, probably because the ability of your eyes to change focuses, from the sheet music to the piano keys, isn't very good. Plus, your fingers tend to drift off the keys where they are supposed to be, so you would rather look at them than the music. But once you learn a piece, you remember it, and can play it by memory. You also love to make up your own pieces. In spite of your complaining about having to practice, you really do enjoy it once you get started, and you often will play the piano (and the keyboard, and the guitar, and the drums) for fun.
Out in the World - You move differently than other children. Your gait is a little weird, and you tend to veer off on the diagonal, so it is always interesting walking through a crowd with you. You tend to bump into people if Mom and Dad don't keep a good grip on you, but you don't like that.
Loud sounds can upset you. Mostly, you just cover your ears, and you've learned to cope with it. But every once in awhile, something really catches you by surprise. You hate walking by an idling truck or motorcycle, because they can be very loud when they start up and take off. Mom and Dad have learned that games that involve popping a balloon are really hard for you, because the cumulative effect of constantly popping balloons wears your nerves thin and lead to a meltdown.
Eating out has always been a challenge, as you tend to like to eat the same things. Slowly, you've increased your list of acceptable foods to include enough things to make eating out possible. Well, almost everywhere has chicken and french fries, but your parents do like for you to get vegetables every day, and that is hard when everything veggie-related comes with a sauce (you don't like them) or with rice (also a no-no, makes you gag). But your family has gotten adept at checking online for children's menus and helping you make good choices. Restaurants almost always have broccoli or carrots, and you love those, and are willing to let your parents substitute veggies for fries sometimes.
6:00 - Dinnertime. Most nights, your mom fixes two dinners - one for you and one for herself and your dad. You eat baked chicken (cooked in olive oil and seasoned with a few spices, but nothing spicy) and vegetables almost every night. You like the frozen bags of broccoli, cauliflower and carrots that steam in the microwave, and canned carrots cooked with brown sugar and cinnamon. Sometimes, your mom buys little quarter boneless hams instead of chicken, and you love those, too. Now that you will eat pizza and subs (turkey and/or ham, with swiss or provolone cheese and yellow mustard), you can eat takeout with your parents on the weekends.
7:30 - Time to read. You lay on the bed and read to your parents for 10 minutes. Then, they read to you for 10 minutes. When they read to you, you can't stay still. You wiggle from one side to the other. You take off your socks and tie them around your feet. You fiddle with the clock beside the bed. Sometimes, you even sing. It's not that you aren't enjoying the book. You just need a little more stimulation than listening to a book is giving you.
8:00 - Time for bed. You thrive on a schedule, so even during the summer, your parents try to stick to the schedule. You are allowed to read in bed, and you often do. Sometimes you get up and make signs for your imaginary class, or for an exhibit you're making in your room, or for your library. Your father gets frustrated with your "messes," but your mind in constantly going and imagining new things. Sometimes, you just have to get the thoughts out and written down (even if no one, including yourself, can read them).
9:00 - Sleep. You usually are asleep by 9, and sleep well until the next morning. Your parents check on you, and tuck you in. You often have your sheets tangled up in your legs, because you turn over a lot, trying to get the wiggles out and get comfortable. If you're not asleep, it's because you're reading and don't want to stop. Your mom understands that all too well. Your parents gently insist you turn off your light and go to sleep, and you do.
I hope that helps you understand just some of the challenges of having SPD. If you ask another mom of a child with SPD, her child's day might be totally different. In fact, one of my friends whose son has SPD is pretty much the complete opposite of my child - he is athletic, high-energy, under-sensitive to stimuli, daring, and highly sensitive. He wants friends and sometimes acts out to make others laugh. So while his issues are completely different than my son's, the underlying problem is the same. It is finding a way to regulate the information you get from your senses and have your body respond to them in the correct manner.
Occupational therapy can help with this, from giving children an outlet to move their bodies and learn how to correctly sequence limb movement to hop or skip or jump, to teaching them fine motor skills. It gives kids a safe place to explore sensations they don't like (such as digging through dirt or shaving cream to find objects), allow understimulated children do "heavy work," like pushing full laundry baskets, that helps them regulate their need for activity and teaches techniques to parents, like brushing and joint compression, that can calm a child's reactions to stimuli.
If you have any questions, please ask me. I am happy to talk about Sensory Processing Disorder, and why my son needs a little extra help in the classroom. I would love for more parents to be aware of SPD, and how to talk to your children about people who are "different," because we have all have things that make us special. Just like my son wouldn't want to be teased about sitting on a cushion in class, another child wouldn't want to be teased because her hair is red, or she is left-handed, or he walks with a limp, or he likes the color pink, or she like superheros more than princesses or he sticks his tongue out when he shoots the basketball. If we teach our children (and ourselves) to walk in another's shoes and celebrate our differences instead of wanting to conform to the "normal" (whatever normal is), then I can't help to think that our society would be a better one.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Being Kind
Today I had the honor to attend a luncheon honoring myself and five other women who had completed our six years of service with the Alamance County Service League, and welcoming our new provisional class of women who are just starting their six years of fun, sweat, laughter, baking and friendships.
This organization is not for everyone. You have to have the time to commit to volunteer 50 hours a year at League projects. You have to be someone who prioritizes serving others over other responsibilities and activities that fill your life. You have to be someone who either has flexible work hours, be a stay at home mom, or be at a time in your life when you can make time to volunteer after work hours and on weekends.
While that sounds a bit sanctimonious to say this isn't for everyone, I really don't mean to be. Everyone is in a different place in life, and has different priorities. Right now, between grad school and other responsibilities, I would probably not be a good Service League member! There are several wonderful people I know who had to quit the League because it wasn't the right time for them to volunteer in this way. But for the last six years, I had the time to give, and wanted to volunteer, and was lucky enough to be able to.
We always have wonderful speakers at our luncheon, and this year was no different. We had a speaker from a local non-profit organization that runs a family literacy program called It Takes a Village Project, who inspired us all to want to work with them in the future, and two past presidents, Molly and Jen, who spoke about the lessons they learned from Service League. I want to elaborate on their message today, because it touched me.
Be Kind. We, as women, are held up and compared to each other, and judged by society, other women and (sometimes most harshly) ourselves. Are our kids getting straight As? Are they scoring goals on the soccer field or playing the lead in a theater production? Are we getting a promotion at work? Is our house clean and stylish? Do we cook a homemade dinner each night? Do we have the latest car/phone/TV/status symbol? Are we going to the gym several times a week? Are we involved in our children's schools, at our churches, at the local non-profit agency? Are we giving enough money or time?
How do we measure success? Often, it is by outward signs. We have nice clothes, a toned body, children who are successes at school and at extracurricular activities. We have a good job and are married and have a nice house and a car and everything looks peachy keen in our lives.
But were we kind? Did we give of ourselves when no one was watching? Did we smile, even when the person we were trying to help was unappreciative? Did we do something for someone else just because it was the right thing to do and not because we were told to do it? Are we teaching our children to be kind, to treat others with respect and understanding, to volunteer because it brings you joy even as you bring joy and hope to others?
The Service League taught us all the lesson that the giving of yourself to others in service is a privilege we are lucky to have. We are fortunate to be in a position to be the givers. We may not always be in that position. There are times we all need help, support, love, a hug, a hand up, an understanding smile. So always treat others with respect and kindness and love, the way we would want to be treated if we needed help.
We all chose to be "Yes" women. Yes, we will give up our lunch hour to deliver meals or perform a puppet show or do a craft with an older adult. Yes, we will put our kids in the car and bring them with us to deliver those meals or visit with older adults. Yes, we will spend a day (if not two or three days) making baked goods to sell at Holly Days so we can spend more money the next year helping individuals and families in need. Yes, we will chair a project or organize a fundraiser or serve as the Treasurer, Vice President, President, Provisional Chair/Parliamentarian, Corresponding Secretary or Recording Secretary. Yes, we will pick up extra cleaning supplies and pantry items when we go grocery shopping for our Christmas Cheer families. Yes, we make a meal for the medical professionals who are donating their time at the Open Door Clinic. Yes, we will commit to come to monthly meetings (at least some of the time) and sign up for service projects so we can fulfill the commitments the League made to our community.
We do all of that, and so much more.
I've gotten better at saying "No" recently, mostly because I've had to so grad school can be my priority. There are things that I am truly sorry I can't commit to right now. But there also are things I still am saying "Yes" to because they are dear to my heart.
Going to the luncheon today was a bit like coming home after a long absence. Some of the women I hadn't seen in awhile, and I had missed them. I missed the community of women working together towards the goal of uplifting those in need.
Coming together for a luncheon can seem like a frivolous thing. But that misses the joy of sharing a meal with friends, for laughing about getting lost on Meals on Wheels routes and the horror of glittery ribbons shedding all over your beautiful cake. That misses the support you feel when a friend gives you a hug and says, "I've missed you!" That misses the point of gathering and celebrating those who have finished their six years and those who are just starting out. It misses the joy of putting on a pretty outfit and sipping a drink and feeling special because you are one woman in a group of wonderful women who are making their part of the world a little more brighter with their smiles and their service.
I am so proud to say I am a member of the Alamance County Service League, and that it changed me for the better. I am proud to be a "Yes" woman in a world where it is often every person for him- or herself and success is measured by the things you own or your place on the totem pole.
This organization is not for everyone. You have to have the time to commit to volunteer 50 hours a year at League projects. You have to be someone who prioritizes serving others over other responsibilities and activities that fill your life. You have to be someone who either has flexible work hours, be a stay at home mom, or be at a time in your life when you can make time to volunteer after work hours and on weekends.
While that sounds a bit sanctimonious to say this isn't for everyone, I really don't mean to be. Everyone is in a different place in life, and has different priorities. Right now, between grad school and other responsibilities, I would probably not be a good Service League member! There are several wonderful people I know who had to quit the League because it wasn't the right time for them to volunteer in this way. But for the last six years, I had the time to give, and wanted to volunteer, and was lucky enough to be able to.
We always have wonderful speakers at our luncheon, and this year was no different. We had a speaker from a local non-profit organization that runs a family literacy program called It Takes a Village Project, who inspired us all to want to work with them in the future, and two past presidents, Molly and Jen, who spoke about the lessons they learned from Service League. I want to elaborate on their message today, because it touched me.
Be Kind. We, as women, are held up and compared to each other, and judged by society, other women and (sometimes most harshly) ourselves. Are our kids getting straight As? Are they scoring goals on the soccer field or playing the lead in a theater production? Are we getting a promotion at work? Is our house clean and stylish? Do we cook a homemade dinner each night? Do we have the latest car/phone/TV/status symbol? Are we going to the gym several times a week? Are we involved in our children's schools, at our churches, at the local non-profit agency? Are we giving enough money or time?
How do we measure success? Often, it is by outward signs. We have nice clothes, a toned body, children who are successes at school and at extracurricular activities. We have a good job and are married and have a nice house and a car and everything looks peachy keen in our lives.
But were we kind? Did we give of ourselves when no one was watching? Did we smile, even when the person we were trying to help was unappreciative? Did we do something for someone else just because it was the right thing to do and not because we were told to do it? Are we teaching our children to be kind, to treat others with respect and understanding, to volunteer because it brings you joy even as you bring joy and hope to others?
The Service League taught us all the lesson that the giving of yourself to others in service is a privilege we are lucky to have. We are fortunate to be in a position to be the givers. We may not always be in that position. There are times we all need help, support, love, a hug, a hand up, an understanding smile. So always treat others with respect and kindness and love, the way we would want to be treated if we needed help.
We all chose to be "Yes" women. Yes, we will give up our lunch hour to deliver meals or perform a puppet show or do a craft with an older adult. Yes, we will put our kids in the car and bring them with us to deliver those meals or visit with older adults. Yes, we will spend a day (if not two or three days) making baked goods to sell at Holly Days so we can spend more money the next year helping individuals and families in need. Yes, we will chair a project or organize a fundraiser or serve as the Treasurer, Vice President, President, Provisional Chair/Parliamentarian, Corresponding Secretary or Recording Secretary. Yes, we will pick up extra cleaning supplies and pantry items when we go grocery shopping for our Christmas Cheer families. Yes, we make a meal for the medical professionals who are donating their time at the Open Door Clinic. Yes, we will commit to come to monthly meetings (at least some of the time) and sign up for service projects so we can fulfill the commitments the League made to our community.
We do all of that, and so much more.
I've gotten better at saying "No" recently, mostly because I've had to so grad school can be my priority. There are things that I am truly sorry I can't commit to right now. But there also are things I still am saying "Yes" to because they are dear to my heart.
Going to the luncheon today was a bit like coming home after a long absence. Some of the women I hadn't seen in awhile, and I had missed them. I missed the community of women working together towards the goal of uplifting those in need.
Coming together for a luncheon can seem like a frivolous thing. But that misses the joy of sharing a meal with friends, for laughing about getting lost on Meals on Wheels routes and the horror of glittery ribbons shedding all over your beautiful cake. That misses the support you feel when a friend gives you a hug and says, "I've missed you!" That misses the point of gathering and celebrating those who have finished their six years and those who are just starting out. It misses the joy of putting on a pretty outfit and sipping a drink and feeling special because you are one woman in a group of wonderful women who are making their part of the world a little more brighter with their smiles and their service.
I am so proud to say I am a member of the Alamance County Service League, and that it changed me for the better. I am proud to be a "Yes" woman in a world where it is often every person for him- or herself and success is measured by the things you own or your place on the totem pole.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)