Learning to Draw

I was talking to a mom friend the other day.  That's often good camaraderie in itself, so I was grateful.  But our conversation brought up a point that most parents might struggle with at times without even realizing.

"I would love for my girls to learn to ice skate, but I'm not comfortable enough on skates to teach them," she admitted.

That was totally understandable.  Kids (or people in general) learn best from someone who is passionate and skilled in the subject at hand.

I am pretty comfortable teaching Braeden most things that he has wanted to learn so far, but there is one toy that makes me seize up whenever he brings it over to me.

The Magna Doodle.

The toy itself is innocent enough.  I mean, kids can draw on a clean surface with a magnet pen that remains fixed to the board.  No finding crayons.  No cleaning up marker from faces.  No pages and pages of scribbled artwork to feel guilty about throwing away.  Just swipe the lever at the bottom, and the picture is gone forever.

There is just one problem I have with this Magna Doodle.

It requires drawing.

When Braeden comes to me with the Magna Doodle and hands me the pen, I know that I am going to have to draw something.  Sometimes he points to what he wants me to draw, and sometimes I have to figure out what to draw that will appease him.

If you haven't noticed, I am a writer.  Drawing scares me.  I am not confident.  Nothing I draw looks right.  Especially animals, which he loves.

I have taken a liking to drawing shapes.  Especially hearts and stars.  Cubes and triangles.  Circles and squares.  And those are good for him to learn anyway.  But he gets bored with them pretty quick.

Amanda's artwork

Before I know it, I have to draw a horse.  Or a self-portrait.  Or a dump truck.  Do any of those things look right?  No.  But Braeden is usually happy with it, so I guess that's all that really matters.

He is teaching me how to go out of my comfort zone with a pen.  How to use my imagination on a blank screen for more than just words.  How to be okay with the fact that my lion looks like a daffodil with legs.

And I am teaching him how to make circles.  And lines.  I suppose we should start letters soon, too.  I am good at those!  And if it doesn't look quite right, we can just swipe the slate clean, and try it again.

Rock Sliders

Since I switched from writing A Little Slice of da Harbor to writing this blog, I shifted the focus away from adventure, seasonal attributes, events, and other aspects of life in da Harbor.  But one aspect -- perhaps THE MOST IMPORTANT aspect -- of da Harbor has gotten a little too lost.

Especially this time of year, she seems a little lost to me.  I can't always hear her.  I can't always watch her undulations.  I can't always lose myself in her tumbling waves.

She has been frozen.

Quite literally.

Brady P. has been thoroughly confused as to why he can't throw rocks into Her Majesty Lake Superior.  He looks at me in charming disbelief as we sit on our usual shores and he can't even see her.  She is gone.

"Where is Lake Superior?" I ask him?

He swings his arm from side to side to motion to what he remembers as Lake Superior, but he doesn't seem convinced.

"We can't see the water right now."  I try to rationalize.  "It is under all the ice and snow!"  We dig into the snow as I describe it as white, soft and poofy.  Then we touch the ice as I describe it as smooth, hard and shiny.  

Yup.  The lake was under there for a couple weeks, if my memory serves me right.  Since the temps were in the single digits, and the lake was frozen over, we did not venture down to our shore spots.  No way.  As much as Braeden hated that bitter cold, the shore was not the place to be.

Besides, Her Majesty was hidden.

But guess what.  She came back!

A couple nights ago the pack ice blew out of the Harbor.  When I came home on Monday and saw her glimmering waves, I was elated.  It's as if her life was renewed within me.  It's as energizing as seeing the sun for the first time in days... or weeks.  If you know this feeling, you are a fortunate soul.  Appreciate that about yourself.

Since the temps promised to rise into the 20's, I vowed to take Brady P. down to the shore on Tuesday.  

To throw rocks!

We haven't done that properly for a couple months, but he still asks me nearly every day to throw rocks.

Fortunately, our sweet friend Bryce planned ahead and scooped up a bagful of rocks for a day just like Tuesday.  So I put some rocks in a bucket and pulled Braeden in the sled down to the Harbor Haus shore.

However, when we got there, I saw that my eyes deceived me from three blocks away.  Sure, the pack ice blew out, and I could see the water, but it was covered by 1/2" to 1" of ice.  We wouldn't have splooshes, but we would have a whole new experience.

I chucked the first rock firmly, hoping to chip through the ice.  No dice.  Instead, that rock smacked hard, bounced and sliiiiiiiiiiiiiid over the glossy surface.  It made a really cool sound.

Lucky for you, I took a video this time.

Sliding the rocks!

Brady P. was just as happy to chuck those rocks sailing across the ice.  It actually lengthened the lifespan of each toss because we got to watch it slide so far.  

The sound was so unique.  It was unlike anything I have heard before, and it wasn't my first time sliding rocks on Lake Superior!

Well, I'm glad you got to be a part of that with us.  Here's hoping that magical aspect of Copper Harbor can stay a bigger part of our daily lives besides sending us all those snowflakes!

Getting Schooled

Just yesterday Braeden resumed preschool after an overly-extended holiday vacation.

He attends preschool at the Copper Harbor one room schoolhouse twice a week for two hours a day.  I don't yet have the luxury of dropping him off, leaving and going about my day, but that time is coming.  Instead, I stay with him.

Most days I leave the room while he learns with the other kids and teacher, but yesterday I accompanied him.

I'm glad I did.

The things I saw him accomplish as an individual and saw him teach the other kids filled my heart with pride, hope and love.

The first thing that made me beam was during story time.  The teacher read Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Suess.  Even if you don't know the story of Yertle (which I highly recommend), you probably know the rhythmic cadence and flow of Dr. Suess' words.  

Once Braeden heard the teacher start to read, he got out of his chair and looked closely at the picture, obstructing the view from the other kids.

"Braeden, come sit in your chair," I told him.

"He's fine," the teacher assured.

Then he turned around, faced the students, and, while she swayed Dr. Suess' words, he began to orate with his arms.  If you haven't seen him do this, I highly recommend it.  You can click HERE to watch him in action.  

So there I sat, watching my three year old son with "special needs" standing in front of the students and gesturing with his arms along to the teacher's words as if he was acting out the story.

I should have taken a video.

I know.  I say that a lot.  But sometimes enjoying the moment is more important than trying to capture it for the rest of the world.  

The second thing to nearly make me pee my pants (not supposed to do that in school) was when we were sitting together on the rainbow mat looking at letter flashcards.  He loves those things.  Each letter has a picture of an animal or object that starts with that letter right behind it.

Since we have been working on saying the sounds of letters, I had him make the sounds of the letters on the cards.  But instead of asking, "Can you say 'g'?" or "Can you say 'b'?" I asked him, "Can you tell me this sound?"

And do you know what he did?

He read the letter and told me the sound.  Do you realize what that means???  That means that he can look at a letter, understand which letter it is, and verbalize the sound it makes.  That is how reading starts.  My little boy is starting to read out loud, and he doesn't even talk yet.

Now, he doesn't do all the sounds.  He can read B, H, G, P, M and A correctly.  At least he did that day at school!  Oh, man.  I was and still am so proud of him.  He's making strides, that little boy!

And the third thing to make my heart smile was when the teacher asked him to show the kids how to sign "thank you."  The sign for thank you looks similar to blowing a kiss, with your finger tips touching your chin and arching downward.

He showed the students, and I confirmed it with a little more precision.  Then it hit me.  My son is helping to teach them another language.

There was little Brady P., the youngest kid in the school, and he was teaching the students his first language.  They know "more," "yes," "thank you," "please," "eat," and probably a couple other so far.  The first few of many, I hope.

The second language being informally taught at the Copper Harbor schoolhouse has stemmed from my son's extra chromosome and my desire to help him communicate.  Kind of a little thing, but kind of a big thing too.

See?  We are already promoting acceptance and expanding learning.  Yes.  This is just the beginning.

One Heart at a Time

It is possible that you, dear reader, are reading this as a friend or family member of mine.  It is also possible that you only know me through the font I choose and the words I type.  If only the latter, I want you to know who I am.

I want you to know what I stand for, and I want you to know why.

Before Braeden came into my life, I thought I had it all figured out.  Everything was seemingly perfect: my husband, my job, my location, my inspiration, my everything.  Perfect.

And then I found myself pregnant.  Although bringing a child into the world at that point wasn't really something I had dreamed of, the pregnancy went so well that it was seemingly perfect, too.

But Braeden was born with Down syndrome.  Was that perfect?  

Brady P. -- minutes after birth

If you would have asked me that question any moment before I locked eyes with my son, I would have said, "No.  That's not perfect.  That's not even okay."

But I never had that option.  I never had that knowledge.  And I never had to make that choice.

I fell in love with that soulful wonder of the universe just minutes before I learned of his condition.  I started to believe in the perfect bundle in my arms only a moment before I would never have believed in him at all.

That's a tough thing to admit.  But it's true.

And his presence has changed my life.

The unconditional love that pours out of him gives me hope for this world.  Yes, this world.  At this time.  On this planet.  

I have hope because I saw how he changed me.  How he took my judgement and disbelief in something that I would have deemed "less" and showed me how it is more.

How to rock a Mohawk hat

Love can win.  Do you believe that?

Acceptance can only be achieved in our own hearts.  Once you are able to accept one sort of situation or person or entity, you open your heart to be able to truly accept others.  Then maybe you will see that we aren't so different after all, and you can accept everyone.

That is my goal.

One heart at a time, Brady P. and I are showing this world how powerful love, acceptance, and Mother Nature are in order for us all to survive.  To co-exist.  To thrive.

So as 2018 approaches, I want you to ask yourself, "How can I make it better?" Not just for you, but for the entire world. What can you do to better someone else's life?  To help others? To advocate for a group of people?

"What can I do to help???" 

That's not always an easy question to answer, but pay attention to the feelings you get when you see others treated unfairly.  When you know others are suffering.  Pay attention to the feelings you get when you want to help, but you don't know what to do.  Because, if you truly want to help, you will be shown a way.

Extraordinary cuteness in effect

Hey.  I believe in you.

I am already working on my next book, and usually I don't talk about it publicly this early, but I am really excited about it.  It will teach people how to listen to their hearts.  It will foster personal development on a level that will ripple out to the rest of the world.  It's going to work, I just know it.  That is why I am here...

Just you wait and see.

Superman's Twin

There is no doubt in my mind that Brady P. is here for a BIG reason.  As his mama, I might be biased, but I am not the only person who thinks this.  Most people who know him would agree.

He's a superhero.  

He rescues sadness with a hug.  He brightens the day with his smile.  He promotes hope and acceptance with his pure genius, curiosity and zest for life.  He is super indeed.

So I thought I'd post the three pictures of him with Superman.  

If you have read Digging for Light ~ A Memoir to Inspire Humanity, you already know that Braeden went to Mott's Children's Hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan for two surgeries and a check-up.  Each time we were there, we took his picture next to Superman.

I wrote about each of these experiences in the book, and, for some reason, the pictures piqued people's curiosity.  They wanted to see the pictures in the book, so I promised to put them on the blog.

I better deliver, eh?

Superboy #1

In this picture, Braeden was 4 1/2 months old.  He just endured open-heart surgery to correct his AVSD -- two holes in his heart.

My mom and I (pictured above) stayed with him for 10 days while he healed like a champ.  So far his heart is functioning nicely.

Superboy #2

At 10 1/2 months Braden had posterior urethral valve surgery to open his urethra to its full capacity, so he would not get anymore nasty urinary tract infections.  No infections to date after that one!

Superboy #3

At nearly two years old, he went back for a couple check-ups and an eye exam.  By that time he was standing and kind of walking.  I was so proud of him.  Tough as nails, I tell you.

He was even wearing his Superman T-shirt for the occasion.

If you were one of the people who wanted to see the Superman progression, there you go!  Maybe next time we go there, he will be flying through the air!

Winter Weather Advisory

Hello!

I didn't forget about you.  I was just tricked.  My weather app told me that my 270 mile drive was going to be cloudy today, but it was wrong.

It snowed the whole way.  Nothing I'm not used to, but an extra hour added to my 5 hour drive was a bit of a stressful surprise.  So guess what. I don't really have a blog for you today.

I am home at Grammy and Grampy Wais' safe and sound with my little Brady P.  We are going to give kisses instead.

See you next Wednesday!

Deep Breath

B and I have been traveling for the holidays.  With travel comes people.  People I meet or people I see again for the first time in a while.  And when these people meet or hear of Braeden, they are curious.

One of the questions I've been getting a lot lately goes something like this: Is he really stubborn?  How does he behave for you?

Sure, there is some stereotype or just plain fact behind that question, but my answer always sets them at ease.

Now I want to say that, although Braeden is "different," the way I teach him how to cope with his emotions is not unique for children with Down syndrome or special needs. It can be used for any child -- or any adult, for that matter.

And it is so simple.  It's a basic part of life.

So when Brady P. works himself into a tizzy, from not getting to hear the stomping song every single time he asks or not being able to eat pizza for breakfast or whatever is prevalent at the moment, I know I have to calm him down, or he will just turn into a mess.

"Take a deep breath," I tell him as I dramatically inhale and exhale until he does too.

Huuuh huuuuhhhhh.

There.  That's better.

After he takes a deep breath, he is able to listen to my words and think clearly.  Then I can ask him, "What would you like, Braeden?"

Stomp.

He stomps his foot for the stomping song (or signs for whatever desire that cannot be fulfilled at that time).

"Braeden. We can't listen to the stomping song right now.  Would you like to play a puzzle with me?"

Smack.

He hits himself on the side of the head to tell me yes.

"Okay!  Let's go play a puzzle!"

We are both happy.  The crisis is averted.

Do you see what happened there?  By forcing some fresh oxygen into his lungs, and exhaling the stress, he was able to relax.  His mind could think clearly.  It's a quick and easy transitional method.

Then, I redirected his energy from something that we couldn't do to something that we could do.

Deep breath.  Relax. Transition. Redirect.  Ahhh.

It works nearly every time.

Braeden is a really good kid.  He's at the point where I can take him places, and as long as he's not missing his nap, he is well behaved.  He understands his emotions because we talk about them as they arise.  He knows how to calm himself down with a little reminder from Mama.  He loves to sign his manners.

He is amazing.  And I am so grateful for this opportunity to get to learn with him.  To watch him grow into a wonderful little man.  And to know that I am doing my best to raise my extraordinary son in a way that he will be able to help change the world.

Can't Stop Love

If you've been keeping up for the past few months, you know that Braeden loves animals.  Anything to do with a farm is magic to him.  He can make many farm animal sounds with his mouth even though he can't speak.  And Old MacDonald is his idol.

So while he is at Grammy and Grampy Rogers' house for the week, he gets to hang out with two goats, a miniature donkey, a cat, chickens and a black lab.  He loves all the animals.  He wants to chase the chickens, pick up the cat and pet the doggy.

But one of the animals actually loves him back. 

Bella, the donkey, has become his protector.  She follows him around the yard.  She stands by his side.  She nuzzles her head into his face while he gently strokes her cheeks.

Braeden embracing Bella

Notice his hand on her cheek.  Notice the gentleness in her eyes.  Notice how close they get.  He looks at her like he looks at me with his cold hands on my cheeks.  I would imagine she melts too.

They snuggle.  They love.  That's what lovers do.

Grammy gave me the report of all the fun they have together.  He likes to feed her "cookies." He will hold out his mittened hand, and she will gingerly nibble it off his mitten.

He likes to feed her hay.  He will grab a mittened fistful (which usually amounts to a few sparse strands), walk over to where she is and hold his hand out for her to nibble whatever is left.

Braeden making sure Bella is getting enough hay

Oh, my goodness sakes.  Just look at him watch her!  They follow each other around.  Grammy says that they just hang out together while she does chores, and she can just trust that they will take care of each other.

My little farmer.  He's enamored.

So my next thought is, How do I get Bella to Copper Harbor?  Well, that is in the works.  At this point, I feel that they should be together.  Brady P. has shown affection for many animals, but this one loves him back.  That kind of connection is too beautiful to lose.

Root for me on this one.  They deserve it.  You can't stop love!

Dance Parties

Admittedly, I am a dancin' fool.  But so is Brady P.

We have recently started our mid-morning dance party sessions.  I will play songs that I really like to dance to, and he dances with his own moves.  He will usually take one of his animal figurines in each hand while he dances.  Often the pig in one hand, and the bull in the other.  

I noticed a couple songs that he really likes.

His two current favorites are Kelly Clarkson's "Love so Soft" and OneRepublic's "Love Runs Out."  Noticing that he dances with a particular zest to these songs, I gave him signs for them.

"Love so Soft" starts with birds chirping, so I ask, "Do you want to listen to the song with the birds?" as I flap my hands like a bird.  

"Yes," he answers by slapping one hand on top of his head.

So when he wants to hear that song, he either points to the JBL speaker or signs "music" by swinging one hand from side to side.  Then he flaps his hands like a bird.

I will play it loud, and we dance and smile and hoot.  My favorite part is when, in the chorus, she sings, "and it's sure gonna cost ya!"  Brady P. throws his hands in the air on the "ya!" as the word raises in pitch.

I always laugh at that.

When he wants to hear "Love Runs Out," he stomps his foot because we call that the stomping song.  It starts out with a good stomping drum beat.  He stomps through most of it except for when the energy really picks up.  Then he throws his hands in the air, gallops wildly and makes an overly excited face.  

That makes me smile and shout "Wooooo!"

So that's all fun, and we have a great time.  But he's getting a bit obsessed.

He wakes up in the morning, and after his ritual of sliding some animal figurines down the ramp, he remembers the speaker and stomps his foot.  We have't even had breakfast.

Then when we get home from anywhere, he remembers the speaker, and he stomps his foot for the stomping song.

Or, since it's in my head from hearing it two dozen times a day, I'll accidentally whistle or sing a part of it.  Brady P. immediately recognizes this tidbit, and stomps his foot to hear it again.

During his dinner, he will stomp his foot.  If I pick up my iPhone (the source of all music in the house), he will stomp his foot.  Right before bed, he will stomp his foot.  HE WANTS TO HEAR THE STOMPING SONG ALL THE TIME!!!

He is stomping for me right now.

So what do I do?  I play it.  And we dance.  After it's over, he signs "more" by tapping his fingertips together.  "Okay," I say.  "We can hear it again."

I'm surprised some of the pictures haven't fallen off the wall.  He certainly has a good stomp.

So perhaps I have created a little stomping monster, but we both love it, and we'll continue to play his songs and dance til the love runs out.

A Glimmer of Light

I am really proud of myself.

Never before have I bundled Brady P. and I up daily to continue our rock throwing/lake staring fetish into the winter.  Usually once the snow hits, I reason that rock-throwing season is over.

But it's not.

We still go each day, and I am grateful.  One day, as we sat on the beach by the Harbor Haus, I noticed that the wet rocks only came back about 2-3 feet which meant Lake Superior was relatively calm.  The rocks beyond that, however, were covered in a thin layer of ice.

Braeden eyed up a nice sized rock, and swooped his hand down to fetch it.  His hand came up, but the rock stayed put.  He tried a different rock to no avail.  After one more try at a stuck rock, he looked up at me and let out a disapproving "Ah!"

All the "dry rocks" were frozen solid in a single mass.  Solid.  I couldn't even kick some out to get him a pile.  Instead, I bulldozed some wet rocks over with the side of my boot to give him a workable pile.

By that time, however, he was over it.  He was just staring at the waves.

I sat down beside him and did the same.  Though we sit at that exact spot several times a week, that day was different.  I just couldn't believe what I was experiencing.

There we were, both bundled up like marshmallows, sitting on a beach of frozen rocks.  My three-year-old son and I stared, mesmerized by the largest fresh water lake in the world.  I thought, "Man, how many people can come out here with their young child and meditate on the rhythm of the waves?"

I watched Brady P. with great awe as he sat like a frozen stone himself with his eyes fixed on the great water before him.  "How did I get so lucky?" I asked the air.

As my eyes shifted up toward the sky, I also realized another thing about my current situation.  I noticed that I could see the light between the clouds.  Even though nearly everyday is a gray day, I can find the hints of sun penetrating the thinnest spots in the clouds.  The spots that let just enough light in to remind us that, yes, the sun is still out there somewhere.

An epic view from the icy shore

That realization in itself is going to get me through the winter in a much better mood than I have ever had before.  Thank you, sun for always shining.  And thank you, Brady P. for showing me how to focus on the light.

Marshmallow in the Tomato Patch

It's pretty funny how the definition of a "lovely day" changes as winter slithers in.  

The days that used to be too wet, too cold and too gray to throw rocks are now deemed "lovely."  If ice pellets aren't pelting our faces with 30 mph winds, it's a lovely day.

This week I realized that I hadn't checked on my plot in the community garden for a while (story of my summer).  The gardens at the campground took more of my attention than my little 12' x 24' plot just a block away.  I can't say it suffered, but it sure got out of control.  Sorry, garden neighbors!

So I pulled little Brady P. in his wagon to the community garden.  All bundled up, I set him down at the north end of the site -- something I dared not do at the beginning of the season, unless he was helping me pick rocks.

But as I looked at Diane's notoriously pristine plot next to mine, I noticed it had been pulled.  Not much remained except perhaps a bushel's worth of red, green and brown tomatoes that most likely fell from the vines before or during their removal.

Braeden noticed those tomatoes right away.

The frost had already hit them, so they had an extra fragility to their nature.  And as Braeden found out, they made a really cool sound when he squashed them with his boots.

I wished I had a video camera.

There was Brady P., puffy as a winter marshmallow, stomping the tomatoes and listening to the squirting, squishing sounds they made.  Then he looked over at me and let out this half-crazed cackle with one eye twitching and pointy teeth bared. 

What a sight!

Stomp, squish, squirt.  Stomp, squish, squirt.  Cackle!

Then he would pick up the green tomatoes which didn't melt instantly in his mittened hand and chucked them.  He followed the successful throws with the aforementioned cackle.  What a goon.

After enough of that, he wandered over to my plot -- a gnarly patch of hardened stems, weeds and an unfortunate cauliflower plant.

This cauliflower plant proved to be his nemesis, as he kept walking right into it and promptly tumbling over.  I couldn't figure out why he couldn't see it.  It was as tall as his waist and as sturdy as a small tree.

But time and time again, I watch him roll right over it, let out a disapproving squawk, and get back up.  I just laughed at my little marshmallow boy. 

Marshmallow boy

I am always grateful for time in the garden that isn't hastened by the whine of my small fry.  Luckily, that day he was in his ketchup-making glory.

Cold Hands, Warm Cheeks

We are definitely on the verge of winter here in da Keweenaw.  We've already had several snowy days, high winds and power outages.  That's just how it goes!

But it's getting colder, and Brady P. notices.

If the breeze is gentle, and we have a spot of sun, we will still go out and throw rocks.  He needs an outlet for his pitching arm, or his toys get chucked repeatedly across the house, and I ain't havin' that.

Now it's the verge of winter remember, so I don't always bring important appendages like gloves.  Unfortunately for Brady P, his hands are the first part of him to get painfully cold.

Sometimes, even before we get to the shore, he starts to cry this really whiny cry.  It means he's cold.  Sure enough, his little fingers are turning red.

"Warm up your hands on my face!" I tell him, as I press his palms to my cheeks.  I hold my hands over his.  These moments have turned into beautiful bonding.

If I am sitting beside him, he will walk over to me, let out his little cold whine, and put his hands on my cheeks.

This is where the magic happens.

As his frigid fingers embrace my face, his little arms bend, keeping his own face just a few inches from mine.  As if that isn't tender enough, he looks into my eyes with the epitome of love that he is, gently cocks his head and smiles at me.

I melt.  Lost in his pupils.

Our faces are so close that I can see the tear on his cheek and the little snot dripping out of his nose from the cold air.  As I smile back, his smile gets bigger and he leans in for a sweet kiss, which mostly means that he transfers all the drool on his lower lip to mine.

I melt again.

I am so grateful for those moments.  I wish everyone could experience it at least once.

After 15 - 20 seconds of sweetness from our souls, his hands feel warmer.  He pulls them from my face and turns to find another rock to throw.  I am left staring at him like the high school girl who just got dumped after a great night at prom.

But I know he still loves me.  I am warmth to him.  I am safety.  I am his mother, and he knows I am here no matter what.  The payback in his eyes and smile exceed everything taxing we've been through.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

When the winds are high, and the sleet is pelting, we do not go throw rocks.  Our beaches are gone.  Here is just one picture of a transformed beach from the past week's turbulence.

"The beach by the bakery," as we call it

Notice the scraggly apple tree in the forefront.  We usually sit in front of that.  Not that day!

So I am working on finding a pair of mittens that actually keep his hands warm while allowing him to grip and throw rocks.  Not an easy task to fit a munchkin with short, chubby fingers.

Thank goodness for his indoor bowling set!