First, September 2010

A fading summer tan.
Crisp, fresh uniforms.
Room to grow.
Nervousness about the year to come.
Memories of a fun-filled 100 days of vacation.
Bidding adieu to summer.

Last, June 2011

Pride and confidence for completing another year.
Excitement for the next 100 days of freedom.
Hints of a forthcoming summer tan.
Ready to turn over a new leaf.
Welcoming summer with open arms.

View last year’s FIRST AND LAST.

]]> http://www.littlebitsoflovely.com/first-and-last-2011-edition/feed 0 http://www.littlebitsoflovely.com/grease-is-the-word http://www.littlebitsoflovely.com/grease-is-the-word#comments Mon, 16 May 2011 20:57:05 +0000 leslie http://www.littlebitsoflovely.com/?p=399 A 50s GREASE themed party?  Yes, please and thank you.

Friday night, Henry transformed into a tuff greaser.  It’s amazing how fabulous a little charcoal can be for faux facial hair (simply burn the end of a wine cork, and voila! instant charcoal).  I know this post is photo heavy, but sometimes stories are best told in sequence.  Sneaky mama snapped these photos.  Take a look.

Checking out the sideburns.  “What are these things, Mama?” he asked.

Tuff guy.  Complete with a pack of gum in the sleeve. We’re keeping it real, folks.

This is my three ring circus back in 2007.  I love this photo so much as it captures my kids’ personalities so well.  Alison, the focused, competitive one.  Henry, the sweet observer (with his shirt on backwards and inside out!).  And Kate, the youngest, who is always wanting to join in with the bigger kids.

It makes me happy to know that my kids are laying the groundwork for a lifetime of friendship with their siblings.  I know that their relationships will ebb and flow with their needs, but at the end of the day, they will always have each other.

Shortly after the film was over, Mrs. Huerta, my teacher, flicked on the light switch and we all cowered from the piercing brightness (or from the embarrassment).  Oh our H.Q. (humiliation quotient) would not end there.  Oh no. Mrs. Huerta then brought out a life-sized plastic uterus and encouraged us girls to “FEAR NOT THE UTERUS!”  Yes, that’s right.  To embrace our soon-to-be woman-ness, we then had to offer our hands and TOUCH THE UTERUS.  I still remember the hollow thumping noise after tapping my hand on the lady parts.

Flash forward to the present video.  I sat with a dozen other parents who seemed mighty serious, and for most of the twenty minute video, I found myself feigning interest.  To distract myself, I also posted on Facebook:

Within five minutes, the comments started.  And then the texts. And more texts. The very friends who sat next to me in that health class texted me to remind me also of Mrs. Huerta’s hairy mole.  And before I knew it, I was absorbed in the past, stifling laughter and remembering those awkward moments of adolescence.

And now. Full circle.  I get to relive that awkwardness of my 11 year old as she balances precariously between two phases of her life: child and tween.  Some days she’s moody and hormonal, and other days, she’s still my little girl.  Recently her friend gifted her a basketball for her birthday, and much to her delight, she is finally able to palm the ball. Something my own grown hands can’t seem to do.  A seemingly insignificant milestone, but one that shows how fast she’s growing up.  I feel fortunate to be able to guide her through these years…even if it means reliving puberty.

My littlest babe.  Now that she’s in kinder, she doesn’t like to be called “Baby Kate” anymore.  So I’ve switched to “Bebita.”  The same name disguised in another language. It’s all the same, though.  No matter how old, no many how many years pass, she’ll always be my Baby.

****

We also had fun on Halloween.  Despite feeling sick the night before (103 fever!), Kate had pockets of time where she was feeling ready to rock and roll.  Luckily, trick or treating was during that time. . .by the time night fell, she was feeling feverish again.  A little candy helped that, though.

The Unhappy Hobo, Mister Mario, and Jovial Jessie.

Remember, last year?  It’s amazing how much they’ve changed in a year!

Countess Alison

Count Henry

Witch Kate

Wishing everyone a Happy (and safe!) Halloween!

Kate + Henry, 2005

Our morning began with a flurry of passing time, one which required me to locate a missing shoe and sign a permission slip with seconds to spare.  As always, it’s a constant race against time.  Once we pull up at the school campus, Henry pops out of the car, flips open the hatch to retrieve his sister’s backpack and lunch box.  Taking care of his sister is what he loves to do.

Once we arrive at Alison’s class, Henry leaves her with a hug and an “I love you.”  We repeat this at the next juncture, Henry’s classroom.  Another hug and an “I love you,” and Kate is on her way to her classroom down the hallway.  Our days unfold in this predictable manner, and yet each time, my heart tugs a bit to see the love and affection from my Henry.

My sweet, sweet Henry.  And did you know that experts say that those on the spectrum avoid personal contact and affection?  But Henry?  He’s defied that stereotype.

He’s an anomaly.

He’s also sandwiched between two strong-willed, determined sisters.  Like bookends, their wants and wishes usually get pushed to the forefront, and Hank and I find ourselves in a most impossible place.  We spend most of our days trying to juggle the lives of two “typical” children with Henry’s not-so-typical life.   His days are filled with speech, RSP, occupational therapy, tutoring, swimming (at an occupational clinic).  In comparison, the girls’ lives are seemingly so easy and effortless.   There’s incredibly athletic Alison who can shoot a free throw just as easily as she can ace an exam.  And then there’s Kate who, at age 5, is writing and reading, and most recently she’s started cursive writing.

And then there’s my son, the boy who climbs mountains every single day.

His days are full and busy, and most nights he goes to sleep exhausted from the day. Whether he’s being tutored or whether he’s working on his motor planning skills with his occupational therapist, he manages to keep fighting the fight. He’s the one who amazes me every day.

Never once have we uttered the word AUTISM to the girls, and even Henry doesn’t know he has a label.  He’s so much more than a title, and I refuse to have him pigeonholed into a definition.  A label wouldn’t demonstrate his affection for his sisters or the love he has for animals.  It would deny his sense of humor, his silliness, and his thoughtfulness.  (Did you know that most evenings, he thanks me for cooking? and offers me a compliment too?)  On rare moments, we see him as a typical brother as he pesters and teases his sisters, but most of the time he’s sweet Henry. He’s so much more than that stagnant label.

Despite these perfect moments, the ones that paint a glossy vignette, we find ourselves in a valley, a low point.  We’re doing everything we can to help Henry scale that mountain, but as with parenting any child, Hank and I are finding ourselves without a map.   We’re following our gut instincts, but lately most nights end with more questions than answers. Reaching that peak seems more challenging than ever, but we’re all in it for the long journey. Our Henry will keep fighting.

Henry, 2008

We kicked off the summer with a friend’s birthday party and a most amazing tree house!

Swimming was fun. . . .

. . . but sprinklers were pretty cool too.

We found peace + love in the streets of San Francisco as we took a quick road trip with friends up to NorCal.

A sailing we went!  Alison also spent a week at an Aquatics camp with some friends;  she went kayaking, sailing and swimming every day.

We dreamt of living in a waterfront home in the canals of  swanky Naples. . . .

. . .even a home on the ecclectic canals of Venice would do too.

We spent time in Portland and Seattle with old college friends.  And the best part?

Our kids started the next generation of new friendship. . .

. . .while they also made up for lost time with old friends.  A ferry trip off Bainbridge Island, and we were in the fabulous company of our old neighbors who left L.A. for the beauty of. . .

. . .their own slice of heaven steps from their new home.

One more quick road trip with amigos, and we were home again to enjoy the simpler things, like cold treats from the ice cream truck, outside dining, and our new tree swing.

As summer turns to fall (happy fall equinox!), I realize that time certainly is fleeting.   And then I realize how very blessed I am to watch my kids grow right before my eyes.

Here we are on the eve of new beginnings, and my little Kate, asleep in her bed, dreams of tomorrow: the first day of kinder.  My littlest bird, full of hope and anticipation for the future, is ready to take flight. And so it begins. The opening chapter of her book, full of tales waiting to unfold.

And the mama? I’ve spent the last few weeks mentally scrolling through a whirlwind of memories spent with my littlest bird. Many moments, jam packed with thingstodopeopletosee, and yet there she was always by my side, a part of me.  Walking briskly through a store, eager to dash from here to there, my heart always softened and my step always slowed to feel a small hand reach into mine.

Kate and I have spent the last five years with our days punctuated by drop offs and pick ups, carpools and sports.  Our moments together were neatly packaged into the small windows of time, the small spare minutes left over from her sister and brother.

But now.  This time is hers, and she’s ready to fly.