leave my sister be

I'm the youngest of 4 siblings. We've always had an unspoken rule... we can say anything we want about each other, but nobody else is allowed to mess with us. I think that's pretty typical of most families. It is certainly a rule that I've tried to share with my kids, especially Max as the older brother. Abby is a natural defender, Max, well, not so much a natural.

Yesterday, their older cousin was tickling Abby and she was screaming (with delight - but that's irrelevant to the story...). Dan and I were sitting in the kitchen when Max loudly proclaimed "Don't you hurt my sister!" When that didn't work (because the other two were pretty caught up in their tickle fight!) Max yelled "Leave my sister be or I'm telling on you!"

I thought I might cry into my coffee (which may have ruined a good coffee - thank goodness for self-restraint).

The relationship between Max and Abby always seemed like it would be one-sided... with Abby being the initiator, the protector, the little-sister-trapped-in-a-big-sister role. Not the case, I'm pleased to report. In yet another amazing turn, Max has accessed the big-brother within, and it's made their relationship all the more wonderful to behold.

two dimensional

More and more it's hard to tell that Max has autism. He presents very much like a typical six year old. He's prone to tattling, to moments of obstinence, to somehow reaching an unreachable pitch with his whining....

He's doing well at school. Seems my anticipation of any possible negative turn has actually brought about nothing but good turns. I'm happy to shoulder all that anxiety for him. Seems like a Mummy job to me.

We got his first ever report card last week. He pretty much scored B's throughout (meeting the provincial standards). The noticeable exception?? The A he received for dance and movement... that particularly cited his skills for doing the Bird Dance and the Macarena. Seriously.

My boy can't be captured on paper. The school reports what he shows them, the skills he demonstrates. What I can't help but feel is what he allows them to see. At the parent teacher interview, his teacher passionately spoke of her intent to help him communicate what she knows he knows. I wish her much success, and little frustration!

Max is brilliant, both academically, and intuitively. He learns through integration and involvement. He shares his knowledge through engagement. Easy enough to understand, much harder to achieve. And people wonder why we need educational assistants...

the social life of a 6 year old boy

Max is a 6 year old boy.
There is an inherent lack of social skills implied and inferred by that statement.


Max has a cautious Dad, an outgoing Mum, and a sister who will happily take the lead in just about any social situation. He is a quirky kid, with a love of quiet moments, and a passion for the crazy moments.


I was told, early on in this process that he would have a hard time making friends. I watched him with other kids, and can admit to worrying that he would be left out, or maybe picked on. It's no secret that kids can be mean, and what if they didn't like Max?


I should have known better. I should have trusted that the charms of my boy could win over anyone. And that he'd make friends because he's likeable. And smart. And funny.


Kids can be mean, but they can also be incredibly accepting and forgiving. I've seen Max's class interact with him, and he with them. Max is one of them, and as such, what makes him stand out doesn't matter. Max is just Max.

Too bad that 6 year olds understand that better than most grown ups. But that will be another note, another day.

the label

So I knew I'd have to have a post about this eventually. I've thought about it alot, about how it transpired, my reaction (both public and private - and believe me they were initially quite different!!) and about what message I want to convey three years into the label.

Of course I'm referring to Max's autism. I'm dwelling on the word, the label, and how it fits Max... how he wears it. And truly, how we all wear it, and how it fits our family.

Max was 2 1/2 when his teacher first approached us with some concerns. I couldn't hear her, my ears closed, and I walked out of that meeting, knowing that Max had autism. Let me say further, that although his teacher never once uttered the word autism during that meeting, my heart screamed it at me.

I argued with myself for weeks - Max was fine. There was nothing wrong with him. I attributed the whole situation to Max's teacher being new and her just not taking the time to connect with him. All of my friends jumped on board the denial train too - Max was just quirky! He didn't flap his hands in the corner, and although he was certainly an anxious little guy, he was great with people he knew, so how could he have a pervasive developmental disorder??

The long and short of it, which you all know, is that Max has autism. Or Max is autistic. Here comes the catch. Saying that Max has autism is very different from saying he is autistic... Max has autism simply extends the definition of Max to include his autistic traits. It is part of who he as an individual is. Saying that Max is autistic is akin to saying that autistic is all he is, or that he is autistic first, and a lovely, charming little boy second. So not true!!!

I don't generally label Max. When I introduce him to people, I introduce my son. My boy. Typically most people don't even notice the autism. Yet it's a stamp on his shirt that he will have to figure out how to wear. I hope that it's proudly and loudly... and that he knows his mum always saw her boy before the label.

he doesn't hurt my feelings

Max has been at G&Gs for 9 days now. Such a long time for us to be apart. I miss our early morning cuddles, when he calls me to his room and in all his sleep-ruffled glory wraps his arms around me and tells me that he's had a good sleep (regardless of the night - which is really quite sweet!)

I've called every day. I've had lengthy conversations with his sister about every little thing that's happened, every little adventure that they've had while they've been gone. She tells me she really wants to come home, and that she really, really misses me. Sometimes she chokes up a bit, overwhelmed by being away from me.

Max spoke to me once... the first time I called. He told me he was having fun, said he loved me, and passed the phone back to his sister. Short and sweet. Everyday I ask if he wants to talk to me. Everyday he says no. It makes me smile.

I hate the phone. It's a strange device to me - empty voices (albeit often of loved ones) coming from nowhere. There's no context, no continuity, truly no rhyme or reason. Max is all about context, continuity, and reason.

Which is why I smile when the little boy I love so much doesn't want to talk to me. It's not about me, it's about him. And his ever increasing sense of self... knowing that he's safe to say no to me when he doesn't want to do something. Knowing that sometimes I'll help him to do it (if it's something that needs to be done) but also knowing that I'll let him have the space he needs and wants to be himself. Just the way he is. Without guilt. Without secret wanting to change him.

I know unreservedly that Max loves me. As he knows I love him. And in the same manner in which I would never hurt Max's feelings on purpose, I know he wouldn't hurt mine. And he doesn't.

brave

To some people, there needs to be an extreme act to be labelled brave. They might, for example, say "jumping out of an airplane is brave" or "mountain climbing is brave".

Max went to his second sleepover last night. He had his cow, some of his Webkinz, and his little sister for support. I just got off the phone with our friend who kept them overnight, and he had a great night. I feel very proud of him, for stepping outside of his comfort area, for trying something new, for behaving so well while he was gone.

My definition of brave was expanded this morning, to include sleepovers. Wow.

On the go!

Max needs to be in motion... it's pretty hard for him to sit still!

It started young, this need for speed. Max came out holding up his own head, and when we inflicted tummy time apon him, he would move his arms and legs as though he was swimming. And speaking of swimming, he loved being in the water. The freedom to move his arms and legs at the same time provoked the biggest smiles that he had!

Once he figured out rolling over, a little over two months, he was never in the same place I put him down. He loved the Jolly Jumper, getting heights that NBA players might envy. He never liked the stroller much, except to nap, but loved the baby carriers, again because he could move his limbs in time with my walking. Plus he always loved the closeness that carriers allow.

Sitting up did not lead to crawling in our house. Instead, it lead to pulling up on anything and everything he could reach. Pulling up quickly lead to cruising around, which in no time at all became walking. He wasn't even 10 months when we started going for little walks around the neighbourhood, and I realized that holding my child's hand was one of the most reinforcing feelings I had ever experienced.

Running followed walking. Climbing followed running. My boy was so full of life when he was free and running! Parks became a daily destination, and Dan built an amazing fort in our backyard.

Max is almost 6, and he gets his kicks now by riding his bike, taking the scooter around the block, and playing hopscotch with his sister. I've stopped thinking that all this movement is disruptive, and rather have begun to look at it for it's true purpose... a means through which Max can regulate himself. A way to express what he's feeling when words can't quite capture it. And it's still as endearing as ever.

a brand new baby

Max is our first child. He was born after a 32 hour labour, and the thrill of holding him for the first time is one that I will never forget. He was a beautiful baby. People stopped me on the street to comment on how lovely he was. He was never an easy baby, but he was mine, and he was perfect. He slept on my chest like a baby koala sleeps on its mama, and loved to be with me or his father more than anything.

Max hit many of his milestones quite early. He rolled over at 6 weeks, he sat up at 4 1/2 months, he never really crawled, but walked at 9 1/2 months. And boy did he walk!! He had little baby friends from my mothers group, and was a happy, social little guy.

Max's vocabulary was large. He labelled everything in his world, with a word and a finger point. He was absolutely engaging - we couldn't get enough of him. His smile lit up whatever room he was in, the little happy dance he did, intially with just his arms, followed by bouncy little jumps was the sweetest thing we'd seen.

He thrived in a home daycare setting, where he was one of 3 toddlers being cared for. His best friend to this day is one of the kids he spent that time with.

What a spectacular baby he was!