Dear Mom:

Thank you.

Thank you for being the rock that this family is built on.  Thank you for being the glue that holds us together.

You taught us to recycle long before being environmentally conscious was a thing.  You taught me that safety is important, and you taught this by example.  I can't even get in a car without doing up my seatbelt, and I don't even have to think about it.  Life jackets in the water.  Helmets for riding bikes.  Awareness of the potential danger in all things.

With an Autistic son, these are even more important, and may have saved my child's life.

Thank you.

For your tireless prayer and concern for me and the family I have made.  For your worry and anxiety and concern for the children you raised and now make their own way in the world.

Thank you.

For the way you love my children, and the joy you find in them, and the joy you build in them.

Thank you.

For the way you love and support my father, who with his physical and otherwise ailments, is not always the easiest person to love, or support, or care for.

Thank you.

You taught me what it is to be a feminist, long before I ever thought to explore such things.  You were always strong and capable.  With your four daughters, you showed us that together we could do anything a man could do.  (It sometimes took us longer, but we got the job done.  We found a way.)  You taught me that doing daily chores could be an act of love, and that doing the 'pink' jobs around the house made you no less of a strong, capable, intelligent woman.  You taught me quiet grace. (Though that lesson didn't really take with me.  I am in turns either very loud, or silent.  And graceful has never been my strong suit.)

Thank you.

You taught me compassion, and responsibility to those who have less.  You taught me that accepting help when you very much need it does not make you lesser, and you taught me to pay that help forward whenever you are able.

Thank you.

You taught me to be kind to animals, and you taught me patience and forbearance in the face of daily frustrations.  You taught me that carrying a child within you is not necessary in order to love it as your own.

You showed me that love is hard, and messy, and painful, and oh-so-very-worth all of those things.

And you show me this every day.

Thank you.

I love you so very, very much.


With all my love,
                     -Nan

Horse Crazy

I've been horse crazy for as long as I can remember.  My favourite book as a little girl was "Little Black - A Pony" by Walter Farley.  (If you recognise the author's name, he also wrote the Black Stallion books, all of which I read in my tweens.)

I read every book I could get my hands on about horses.  I mooched horse time off my friends who had them, and stored away every minute like it was the rarest treasure.  In my mid-teens I spent every moment I could out at one friend's house.  They always had plenty of horses in various states of training and were kind enough to let me help.  I'm pretty sure I've spent more time training horses from the ground than I have actually riding them.

I was never allowed to have one of my own.  My parents couldn't afford it.  As an adult I understand that much better.  Horses are expensive.  From the purchase price to either boarding fees or fencing and shelter, to vet bills, farrier fees and the cost of accumulating tack.  It adds up.  So I completely understand that I couldn't have a horse of my own.

Life happens, and as an adult I became busy with working and dating and playing video games in my spare time.  My horse-craziness became a sort of forgotten thing, aside from longing looks into paddocks as I drove by.  But it never quite went away.

Then I had kids, and got married, and discovered one of my children was Autistic.  My children became my life.  They still are, and always will be.  The first few years after we realised what was 'wrong' with Noah were a struggle just to figure out how to get by.

But we worked it out, and I'd say we have a pretty good system now.  Sean's in grade 1 and doing well.  He's already reading chapter books, and has plenty of friends.  Noah is in grade 3, and is doing a modified workload, but is doing his work at grade level in every subject but English and Social Studies.  His reading comprehension is still pretty far behind.  He's been fully toilet trained for over a year (he's 8 and a half years old now) and has started speaking conversationally.  So the kids are doing well.

A few years ago I started thinking about getting us a family horse.  I wanted my kids to grow up with one.  But as I stated before, horses are expensive.  So I thought about it in the back of my mind, and I waited.  Derek doesn't care about having a horse either way.  He did say it would be my responsibility to pay and care for any horse I got.  Which I think is fair.

Then sometime in the last year or two I got the idea to get a Fjord horse.  They're a large, sturdy pony, that generally have a sweet and calm temperament.  They're technically pony-sized, but are large and strong enough to easily carry an adult.  Having seen the attitude problems some ponies develop when children ride them, even as a teenager I'd always said if my future kids ever had a pony, it would have to be big enough for me to ride, if only for the occasional attitude adjustment.  Also, Fjords are a Norwegian breed, and my husband's ancestry is strongly Norwegian, so I thought Derek would like that connection, and we could use it to educate our kids on their heritage.

So sometime this past fall, I decided that when I get the money saved, I'm going to buy a Norwegian Fjord pony.  I wanted a gelding between 6 and 8 years old, so he would be old enough to have mellowed out from the teenage years, and I could trust him with the kids.

I know, I know.  Where's this going, you ask.  Bear with me.  I've almost gotten to the point.

So my family went out to visit a cousin of mine and her family out on their farm, to introduce them to my brother- and sister-in-law who've recently moved here from back east.  The farm had chickens, and goats, and horses.

So of course while I was interested in the chickens and goats, what I really wanted to do was go see the horses.  There were four of them, and two were Fjords, so of course I paid special attention to them.  The only one of those four horses that had any interest whatsoever in me was a 9-year-old gelding named Indy.  While the other three shied away or just ignored me, he stood there, grazing on roots while I scratched him.  He was a sweetie, and I was smitten.  The horses all belonged to my cousin's in-laws, so I told my cousin in passing that if they ever wanted to sell him, to give me a call.  She said they might actually be thinking of it, so I mentally calculated how much I could save up in three months to a year.

(I don't think I've mentioned this in my blog, but I've been back working part-time, self-employed as a mobile Massage Therapist for two years now.  So I make my own money.  It's not much, but it's nice contributing to the family funds.)

I didn't tell a soul this, but later that day, the best way I could have described it is that he felt like he was already mine.

Two days later I got a message from my cousin.  She'd spoken to her father-in-law and he said I could have him.  No cost.

I cried.  (Hell, I'm crying right now just thinking about it.)

I found out later that how it happened is that her father-in-law came out to the farm, and out of the blue, said something along the lines of, "I'm just going to get rid of those two geldings.".  (By 'get rid of' he meant 'sell at auction'.)  Her response was, "Well, my cousin said she wanted him."  And his was, "She can have him."

I got permission from my friend (who lives only minutes away from me) to board him at her house.  I got permission from my husband to actually get him.  It took me two weeks to arrange for a trailer to move him, and I spent those entire two weeks terrified the owner would change his mind.

But one of my brothers-in-law borrowed his dad's horse trailer and drove out with me to pick him up.  I found out that he'd had a saddle on him and had a person on him while being led around, but he hadn't been handled in a while.  It took some doing to get him in the trailer.  He's stubborn.  And strong.  The owner was just happy to have someone who'd give him a good home and lots of attention.  Both of which I am more than happy to provide.

Hopefully in a year he'll be trained enough to start therapeutic riding for Noah, but I'm planning on taking the training slow.  I want Indy to work with me, and want to.  That takes time and patience.

So, long story short, I now have a horse.  More specifically, this one:

 

 

Isn't he beautiful?

So now I'm in the process of acclimatising him to being handled on a regular basis before I start training him to ride.  I've been out every day to catch him and brush him and handle his hooves.

He's a sweetie.  Comes trotting up to the gate even from across the field when I call his name.  He loves cookies.  Keeps trying to pick my pockets.  We're working on that.  And he's getting along with the other three geldings where he's staying.

We have a lot of work ahead of us, but as far as I'm concerned, God sent me this horse.  So it's going to work out fine.

The eight-year-old in me is screaming and crying and jumping up and down.  I've waited so long for this.  The day finally came.

Love,
     -Nan

P.S.  I'll probably be writing a lot more about Indy in the future.  I'm still writing, working on my second book.  (The first will never see the light of day.  More on that later.)

Special Needs Parent

I call myself a Special Needs Parent.  Not because I have special needs, but because I have a child with them.  I prefer the term "Special Needs Parent" because it helps me to relate to more than just other parents dealing with Autism.

Every parent with a child with special needs can relate to each other on some basic level.  The frustration, the isolation, the guilt that comes with having a child who is "different".

There's the blame that other people put on you, whether for somehow making your child the way they are, or with dealing with their disability poorly.

I've had to hold my tongue and fists to keep from getting in an altercation with a distant relative over how to handle the fact that my Autistic child didn't want to stand for a family picture.

I've heard the other kids at school talk about meeting up at each other's houses to play.  My child, who barely speaks and has been toilet trained for only one year at the age of 8, has never had that.

I thank God that I had two children a year and a half apart, because it means that Noah has someone to play with.  Most of the time he prefers to play by himself anyways.

Seeing other mothers greet each other with affection and familiarity as they wait for school to close.

Having strangers come into the house for therapy, and having to cancel on social outings because of these appointments.  Having to be ready to leave any situation if Noah can't handle it, and often myself or Derek miss out on events because one of us will take Noah for a walk, so the other can stay and enjoy themselves.

Fighting with the government for services and funding.  Losing and replacing staff and therapists, and dealing with the long process of getting a new person up to speed on Noah's progress.  Never mind getting Noah to the point where he will actually participate with the new person.

These are things Special Needs Parents have to deal with.  I'm not even going into the physical strain of having a child with a physical disability, because while I can see and understand that it's hard, I have never lived that.  I'm ashamed to admit it, but sometimes I thank God that Noah doesn't have physical limitations as well.  Some days I am thankful that Noah has Autism instead of a serious illness.  It's terrible, but at times it's what gets me through.  Whatever I have to deal with on a daily basis, I know that dealing with a sick or dying child could be so much worse.

But here's one thing I think I've done right, and am still doing right: I accept my child, and love my child, as he is.  And I do not shy away from the fact that he is different.  I do not shy away from telling people that he is Autistic.  Because that is an integral part of who he is as a person.

Maybe it's because I've always felt like I was different, and I've come to embrace that about myself.  Maybe it's the other way around: I came to accept myself after accepting Noah.  I couldn't tell you either way.

Here's some unsolicited advice:  If you think there is something 'off' about your child, talk to your doctor.  If you think your child is normal, but people keep telling you they think something is wrong, talk to your doctor.  You as a parent have great instincts, but sometimes you want your child to be normal so badly that you can't see that they're not.

You are doing your child a disservice by not embracing their uniqueness.  And you can embrace your child's uniqueness while still getting them the help that they need to succeed.  Noah's speech and psychology aren't to turn him into a normal child.  They're meant to help him be the best Noah he can be.  They've helped him to make eye contact, hug, and speak.  They and his Occupational Therapist and his aides over the years were instrumental in teaching him to dress himself, in toilet training, and in following directions.  These are things that are integral to his success, and that I'm not sure I could have taught him without help.

Noah was diagnosed at the age of four, but he was receiving services to treat his Autism for over a year before that, because he got into a preschool program for children with speech delay.  Early intervention is key.  But so is acceptance.

It's okay that your child is different.  It's awesome that your child is different.  Don't deny them the chance to be themselves out of a need for them to be normal.  Normal is boring anyways.

And don't be afraid or ashamed to tell others that your child is different, and in what way.  You'd be shocked at the amount of people I've connected to because I was brave enough to speak about my child's Autism like it was not something to be feared.  I've been able to give advice, ask advice, and just to commiserate with people just like me, all because I've embraced that part of my identity is now that of a Special Needs Parent.  Yes.  I capitalise it.  Because it's important.

Another thing: It's okay for other people to know your child as different, or Autistic, or disabled.  I tell people that Noah is Autistic as often as I can.  Not because I want pity, but because if someone, whether it is a child or an adult, is going to label him, I want them to label him correctly.

Noah is exceptionally well-behaved (for the most part) for someone with Autism.  He has his moments, and they're not fun or pretty, but those moments are the exception, not the rule.  I would rather someone know him as Autistic, than think of him as badly behaved, belligerent, or a bully.  I don't believe that should excuse his bad behaviours, but I do believe that it can help people to understand why he does some things, and give him a little more leeway because of that.

I know the prospect of being a Special Needs Parent can be terrifying.  I was there.  But it is so much better than to pretend to be a Normal Parent, and have people mislabel your child.

If you think there's something wrong with your child, get them checked.  It is very likely that you're being paranoid, and your child is just fine.  But make sure, just in case.  There are people out there waiting to help any special needs child to be the best they can be.  And if you're one of those people who are about to become a capitalised "Special Needs Parent", there's nothing more they'd love than to help your child succeed.

Don't fight it.  This person is your child.  A diagnosis of some sort or other doesn't change who they are as a person.  You loved them before doctors started using big words when referring to them.  That doesn't change.  And if you ever feel the need to reach out to another Special Needs Parent, send me a message.  I'm always willing to talk.

Love,
       -Nan