The Truth About Being the Mom of a Speech-Delayed Child

When you have a speech delayed child, many people blow it off as being no big deal. No, it’s not the end of the world and yes, kids develop at different rates — but to you and your child, it is a big deal.

You put on a happy face, try to ignore the dismissive comments, and hide how you really feel. There is so much you really want to say. Maybe it’s time you do.

It hurts just to get those child development emails about your child’s current stage. Start learning French? She doesn’t even speak much English. Saying shapes and colors? She doesn’t even say “dog.” This e-mail isn’t about your child’s development, and it hurts to keep being reminded of that.

It hurts to hear all those stories about how other kids someone knows started talking late. You don’t want your child to be behind. You don’t know if your child will get picked on or mocked for not talking. Kids are cruel; they already notice at the park that she doesn’t talk and point it out. They call her a baby. You don’t know if your child is hurt by it, too — she can’t even tell you.

It hurts in the store when strangers ask her a question, get no response or just babble, so give you the, “WTF?!” look. It hurts even more when your child tries so hard to talk to them, just to be ignored or told, “I have no idea what you’re saying. You make no sense. HOW old are you? It’s rude not to answer.” You know she’s trying so hard and these rude people just dismiss her efforts. It’s just plain annoying when people keeping saying, “Can you say, ‘xx’?” No, she can’t. That’s also not the way to encourage a speech delayed child. You’re just too polite to tell the idiot to STFU.

It hurts to constantly have to explain why she doesn’t talk. You feel like you’re betraying your child somehow when you do — yet you don’t want them to think she’s just being rude or doesn’t understand them either.

It hurts when people assume your child is stupid or doesn’t understand what’s being said, just because she isn’t talking. She understands. She understands so, so much.

It hurts reading those bragging Facebook posts from a mom with kids who are the same age — or younger — about how her kid knows shapes, colors, ABCs, said something so cute, or is speaking in sentences. You feel bad being hurt by it, too, as you’re glad their child is doing well. The worst? The posts where so-and-so says their toddler said, “I love you.” You want to hear it oh-so-badly and don’t know when (or if) you ever will.

It hurts to have people keep suggesting you should get her help. Really, it’s aggravating. You’re doing everything you can, have spoken to the doctor, have in-home therapists, even started therapy early. Do people really think you wouldn’t bother to get your kid the proper help? Go stuff it, lady. And to the people who think they know more than the specialists, just because they’re older, had kids, or are a grandmother? They can stuff it, too.

It hurts and is frustrating having a child who is speech delayed. It also hurts to admit that because you feel horrible saying it. No mom wants her child to be behind or suffer. Every mom questions if it was something she did wrong, or didn’t do, when her child has any issue. The self-blame is strong. Admit that it hurts and is frustrating, though, and whoever you tell will be all over you in a second, telling you, “Do you even love your child? Maybe you shouldn’t have had children, you know it just gets harder. Maybe you should give your child up for adoption if you think it’s hard. You’re just belittling her and insulting her by saying she has issues.” Really? Seriously? That crap isn’t even worth answering and is one of the major reasons you have to hide all you feel.

It hurts to be told not to worry about the speech delay. That’s easy for someone to say who hasn’t gone through it, or whose kid advanced with therapy and was done with it almost before they started. Your child still struggles.

It hurts to see your child struggle. It’s a helpless, frustrating feeling to see what she’s going through and to not be able to make it all better.

It hurts to know your child is hurting, but not even be able to tell you. You still see her face fall when people blow her off and walk away, call her a baby, or point out that she isn’t talking or isn’t easily understood with the few words she does say.

It hurts not being able to communicate with your child, who can’t tell you what she thinks, feels, wants, needs — when she should be able to.

It hurts being afraid. So afraid. Why has she made no progress with therapy? Will she improve? Will she be caught up by the time she goes to school? Will other issues show up? Are you just being stupid and worrying over nothing? Will your other child have the same issues?

The short and simple truth is it hurts. It hurts so much, in so many ways, and few truly understand.

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©2015 Melissa Lilly, as first published on Scary Mommy.

When Autism Makes You Prisoners

Our lives are different.

Even though I'm a stay-at-home mom/freelancer, I can't simply pack up the kids and go out.

We are trapped in the house, prisoners of autism.

There's no doing a quick errand, a long errand, even going to the park, playdate or story time when I'm alone with the kids. Walks around the block aren't possible. We have to stay in the house, doors locked, because that is where M2 is safest.

She's autistic and a runner. This means that if she gets it into her head, she takes off running. Disappears in the blink of an eye to anywhere and everywhere. Running in front of a speeding car won't faze her. Coming back when I call her won't illicit any response at all, she doesn't even turn around to look where I am. She can't tell someone who she is or where she lives. She won't even go near them, she'll keep running. With her, this isn't the usual toddler running away to be naughty, testing mommy to see if she's paying attention. It's something else entirely, something dangerous and frightening. 

If I go out alone with the kid and M2 runs, I have to make a choice. Do I chase her and leave baby B? Or do I stay with baby B and hope she comes back? I can't do both because I have to be able to pick up M2 when I get to her, she is going to kick, scream and fight. I also have to be able to weave in and out of people and tight spaces quickly to get to her, something a stroller or cart won't allow. It's an impossible choice that leaves one child in an unsafe situation. It's a choice I refuse to make because no matter what I choose, one of my babies is at risk. So we do what is safe. I don't go out with them alone. Ever.

When we go out, there has to be a dedicated, responsible adult to be with M2. Watching, waiting, ready to grab her if she darts in front of a car, runs through a parking lot, takes off through a store, tears through the neighborhood while we're going inside or heading to the car, races out the door while I try to bring baby B or the shopping inside. To complicate matters, trying to take her hand can send her immediately off running. She hates to have her hands touched, unless it's her idea.

Even when we are home, someone must be watching M2 constantly to keep her safe. 

Danger doesn't enter into her mind, she climbs and jumps from anything. Locks don't stop her for long, she figures them out or breaks them. Not one lock has withstood her. Should something look fun outside, she'll bolt out the door.

Having to watch her constantly makes getting any other work done very difficult. On bad days, I can't do anything. On good, I must stop frequently to check her (there's no way she's staying in the same room with me, she wouldn't think of it).

For us, having an aide for M2 vital to living "normal" lives. 

A personal care assistant comes in two days a week while A is at work so I can get housework done, knowing M2 is safe. We can go out of the house, on walks, to the store, to the park -- where ever. As long as it's during the 4 hours the aide is here. If there isn't an aide I trust or A available, we don't go. After the aide leaves for the day, we are home bound.

Times when someone else is around to go with us, we still have to factor in where it is we're going. Will it be too crowded? Too loud? Can M2 run off and put herself in danger too easily? Should the answer to any of those be yes, we don't go. Can we leave easily? Can we keep eyes on and be near M2 constantly? If there's a no in there, we stay home. Will we still be able to enjoy ourselves, or will we just be chasing her constantly to keep her safe? Basically, will it be worth it? If it's not -- you guessed it -- we don't go.

So I plan ahead. 

Each week is arranged around when we have an aide and when A has off. I prioritize what needs to be done, what must be done and what is actually possible. Errands are done when the aide or A is with us. When there are any activities, even if it's one that's usually for just mom and the kids, I'll have another adult with me. It's sometimes weird or awkward, but we do what we have to do. We evaluate each activity, each location, each invitation, carefully. We're not a "do it on a whim" family. Autism doesn't allow for that.

At this point, we're used to it. It is our life now. You'll never see me outside alone with the kids, unless it's in our 6-foot-tall-wooden-fence-with-no-footholds-and-extra-locks yard. We do what we have to do. We make it work.

It's A's and my job to keep both our kids safe. 

Even if I have to adjust our lives to make it happen, that's exactly what we'll do. After all, there's no one I'd rather be stuck in the house with then my family.

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Making Marriage Work When You Have a Special-Needs Child

Marriage isn't easy, especially when you have kids. When you also have a special-needs child, the challenges pile up. Does that mean we're doomed to end up divorced (as I've been told many times by various people) just because M2 is autistic?

I don't think so. I think it means that both of us need to work harder to make sure our marriage last. In the end, the marriage ends up stronger and we end up closer because of what we've overcome -- Together.

Making Big Decisions and Managing Details

The honest truth of it is that when you have a special-needs kid, there's added stress in your life and in your marriage. From the very start when you realize there may be an issue, you face additional struggles than you normally would trying decide what's best for your child. There are just so many more unknowns and things TO decide.

That makes being on the same page as your spouse harder. A and I make big decisions together, like whether or not M2 needed to do speech therapy and when to start, if she should be evaluated for autism, if we should get an aide and what next steps to take. I handle the details, such as figuring out where to get therapy, how to get her evaluated, fighting red tape, and figuring out what the possible next steps even are.

I check in with A to let him know what's going on. His opinion is important so I ask what he thinks as as we go. I'm the one who is home with the kids, so took on detail management by default. Plus, otherwise, I'd be driving A nuts with questions, getting in the way. I need to be in control of the situation, while A is  able to step back and let me handle things without going nuts.

I've found that when you've  both wrapped up in the minutia, there's much more of a chance to butt heads, disagree, get even more confused and get more frustrated with the situation -- and each other. When one person is leading, you're both on board and the other person is offering support, things tend to go more smoothly.

Saying Good-Bye to Time Alone

The time alone that you fight to get once kids are in the picture becomes even more impossible when one of your children is special needs. We can't just leave M2 and B with any babysitter to go out for the evening -- or even an hour. Two people who are very familiar with our situation need to be on hand for babysitting duty.

The blunt truth is that there are only two sets of people whom we trust to leave alone with the kids. (Or is it people we'd trust the kids to be alone with? Hmm.) Neither set lives remotely close to us (we're talking states away here). That leaves us grabbing time out alone about twice a year for a few hours. The rest of the time, we have to get creative. To make our marriage work, we've accepted this is how it is. We make the best of the situation since there's nothing we can do about it. The time we do get is even more special because it is so rare. We appreciate it even more.

Frustration and Communication

Having kids exacerbates usual marriage issues. Little things grate on your nerves much more when you've spent the day with fussy, screaming kids who won't listen or are having a sensory meltdown. Small problems seem so much bigger when you're battling to get your child what she needs at the same time. Big problems can seem impossible. More problems creep in to make you stumble when your child is special needs.

As much as we try not to, A and I end up taking our frustrations out on each other at times. Both of us hate confrontation so have a habit of avoiding issues rather than addressing them. Communication can help with this. We're working on it so that we can clear things up before the frustrations with each other or the kids get out of control, leading to a fight. I always  try to step back and see the situation from A's point of view and to let him know how I'm feeling when everything is building up so that the small problems don't become huge ones we can't overcome. We're not where we need to be yet, but we're getting there. What we are good at is making and sticking to choices we feel are best, no matter what others may say. We make a good team.

The Long and Short of It

What making marriage work when you have a special-needs child comes down to this: A commitment and love for each other to make life work, to do what you need to do to make it happen, and to get through the bad times so you can enjoy the good. The struggles make the good all that much sweeter. Focus on the good, get over the bad, and keep on living your lives together.

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This post is part of the March Marriage Challenge. Check out my posts from earlier this month (Marriage: The Changes 5 Years Bring) and last year (How to Keep Your Marriage on Point), then stop by The Eyes of a Boy to read more post about marriage from other bloggers.

14 Sensory Easter Basket Ideas

Easter is right around the corner. The dreaded basket full of chocolates, jelly beans and other sugar the kids really don't need looms before us. Rather than loading up with sugary treats, here are 14 sensory toys that can be snuck into Easter baskets by a smart mama bunny.

Each is especially perfect for kids with autism, addressing their needs to feel different textures, play with and chew things, or calm overwhelmed senses. Many of these we have for M2, or I want to get. Even B would love them (well, the ones that are age appropriate). There is something for kids of any age on the list.

Happy Easter!


1. Water beads
Tons of fun, without the mess. Soak them over night, drain them, then let the kids have fun playing. We store them with water in an air-tight container for a few weeks.



2. Silicone teething necklaces, pendants and chews
I have a few of the necklaces for when B was teething. M2 decided they were great for her so likes to wear it and chew as she goes.



3. Textured balls
Perfect for babies and for older kids who like to explore different textures.



4. Liquid motion bubbler
This is one of the calming sensory toys I mentioned. ASD kids often find it calming to watch the bubbles fall.


5. Fidgets
These help the kids do exactly what they say -- fidget! Only, it's in a non-distracting way. The fidgets bend and twist to keep fingers occupied.



6. Glitter Tube
Another of the calming sensory toys. Plus, it's pretty!



7. Kinetic Sand
The fun of sand without all the mess since it sticks to itself.


8. Foam
The tiny foam balls stick together to make neat creations, or just smush.



9. Vibrating teether
For kids with oral sensory issues, a vibrating teether can work wonders.



10. Play-Doh
Need I say more? I think we all recognize this one. :)


11. Scented marks
Scribble, color and create with yummy smelling markers.



12. Silly Putty
A classic.


13. Chew Stixx Pencil Toppers
Another especially for kids with oral sensory issues. These toppers are made specifically for chewing.



14. Tempra Paint Sticks 
For the kid who finds paints soothing (and the mom who doesn't like the mess).
 

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Saying Goodbye to a Toxic Friend

Let's face it: Having friends as an mom is difficult. As moms, we're always busy, pulled in 50 directions and having a child screaming as though their head is being ripped from their very neck isn't really conducive to interesting, scintillating conversations. When you have a special-needs child, having friends is even more difficult. So when having a special-needs child reveals that someone you thought to be a good friend truly isn't, it hurts your heart.

Why am I sharing the following story with you? To inspire you to be there for your friends who have special-needs children, even when it isn't easy. We know it's not always easy to be our friend. It makes us appreciate you even more. Just as importantly, I want to encourage you to end your own toxic friendships. Recognize your worth. If you're a fellow special-needs mom and are hanging onto old friendships that no longer bring your life anything good, don't hang on just for nostalgia's sake. Life isn't the same. Sometimes, a chapter in a book has become so yellowed,the words so smeared, the pages so stained and torn that no tape can save it. You can't hang onto that chapter just because you remember when it was fresh and new, when the rest of the story has gone far passed it and it no longer has any positive bearing on the future.

It's truly amazing how having a child with autism brings out the best, or the worst, in those around you. The majority of our friends and family have been understanding, supportive and there when we need them. Then there's the random outlier, such as the friend I had expected to be the most supportive with what I've been going through. I mentioned some of what I was experiencing in a previous post. A friend since our early days as little girls, who has an autistic child herself, I thought I'd have someone to talk to for ideas, support and an a listening ear.

I found the exact opposite. From day one, she claimed I was making up the diagnosis; that my child wasn't autistic, she was defiant; and interrogated me over the testing, symptoms and so much more. Then the "friend" proclaimed that it wasn't fair that I hadn't dealt with autism as long as she had, that M2 shouldn't have been able to get a diagnosis so fast (which must mean the doctor was crap) -- so she couldn't deal with me and refused to listen to anything to do with M2. In truth, she barely talked to me because "she just couldn't deal." I was shocked. When I needed a friend who had been there herself the most, my "friend" abandoned me. I won't lie, it hurt. A lot.

The negativity continued. Hurtful comments and lack of any support were the norm. The "friend" took issue with the fact that I blog about M2's autism. She faulted me for getting M2 an aide, saying she knew others with multiple autistic kids who never got an aide. To her, it didn't seem to matter that every child and each situation is different. The prying questions didn't end either, even after M2's school agreed with the autism diagnosis.

I became uncomfortable with what I was being asked. There are certain things that were private and simply none of her business. Even after a team of school psychologists, teachers, therapists and other staff agreed without a doubt that M2 is autistic, my "friend" wouldn't accept it. Never mind that this "friend" had never even met M2, like the doctors, therapists and other specialists had.

It felt to me that in her mind, no one else could have a special-needs child or any difficulty in their life, except for her. No one had fought as long, had as many issues, went through so much, so their life couldn't possibly be difficult. No other child was as special as or needed help like her child.

When I tried to express my feelings, to tell her how much she was hurting me, I was told to get a thick skin and get over because tons of people were going to talk to me like she had. That she was allowed to say whatever she wanted and I should just get over it. She deemed necessary services M2 receives to be "luxuries" and gave the idea that my life is one of ease while she has to struggle. I was judged harshly and unfairly, while she bleated loudly that no mom should judge another mother.

No one's life is all rainbows and roses. We all have struggles, battles and hard times despite the happy pictures you may see on Facebook. Just because someone is going through something, it doesn't mean that another's problems are insignificant or unimportant. Good friends are there for each other, no matter how hard things are personally. So many people told me I should cut all contact with her. She wasn't bringing anything positive to my life.

Yet, for much longer than I should have, I let the "friendship" drag on, I made excuses for her. Well, her life is difficult right now. She'll come around. Her child has finally gotten a diagnosis, she'll be able to "deal" with me now. I tried to support her through hard times, despite what she'd been putting me through. Time and again, I was proven that my excuses for her were just that -- excuses. They weren't the truth. The truth was a hard pill to swallow and one I was slow in accepting.

Finally, I let my fear of losing a friend I'd known for so long and shared so much with get tied to the back of a pickup, dragged through a pasture of cow manure, get trampled on by a wild stampede and then thrown deep into a muddy, nasty, faraway ditch to rot. I ended a friendship that had been toxic, negative and done absolutely nothing good for my life for a long time.

I faced the truth that this was no longer a friendship or even a person I should have in my life. The friend I was hanging onto wasn't the one that was actually there. That person had changed long ago. Now, she was no where to be found. I finally accepted the truth that this person was never going to be there for me, would never accept me or my child for who we are. Would never acknowledge or accept that my problems and difficulties were valid and in no way diminish her own. I faced that truth that good friends don't do any of the things she'd done to me.

I quietly cut off all modes of communication with the "friend." (I've even gotten a new phone number, though that was by coincidence.) I've said goodbye in my own way, through this post and in my heart. Truth be told, I hope she never reads the post. It isn't for her: It's for me and you. What lies in front of me now is a brand new chapter, gleaming with newness. I may think of the warn-out, destroyed chapter now and then, but I know turning the page was the best choice.

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Saying Goodbye to a Toxic Friend

Let's face it: Having friends as an mom is difficult. As moms, we're always busy, pulled in 50 directions and having a child screaming as though their head is being ripped from their very neck isn't really conducive to interesting, scintillating conversations. When you have a special-needs child, having friends is even more difficult. So when having a special-needs child reveals that someone you thought to be a good friend truly isn't, it hurts your heart.

Why am I sharing the following story with you? To inspire you to be there for your friends who have special-needs children, even when it isn't easy. We know it's not always easy to be our friend. It makes us appreciate you even more. Just as importantly, I want to encourage you to end your own toxic friendships. Recognize your worth. If you're a fellow special-needs mom and are hanging onto old friendships that no longer bring your life anything good, don't hang on just for nostalgia's sake. Life isn't the same. Sometimes, a chapter in a book has become so yellowed,the words so smeared, the pages so stained and torn that no tape can save it. You can't hang onto that chapter just because you remember when it was fresh and new, when the rest of the story has gone far passed it and it no longer has any positive bearing on the future.

It's truly amazing how having a child with autism brings out the best, or the worst, in those around you. The majority of our friends and family have been understanding, supportive and there when we need them. Then there's the random outlier, such as the friend I had expected to be the most supportive with what I've been going through. I mentioned some of what I was experiencing in a previous post. A friend since our early days as little girls, who has an autistic child herself, I thought I'd have someone to talk to for ideas, support and an a listening ear.

I found the exact opposite. From day one, she claimed I was making up the diagnosis; that my child wasn't autistic, she was defiant; and interrogated me over the testing, symptoms and so much more. Then the "friend" proclaimed that it wasn't fair that I hadn't dealt with autism as long as she had, that M2 shouldn't have been able to get a diagnosis so fast (which must mean the doctor was crap) -- so she couldn't deal with me and refused to listen to anything to do with M2. In truth, she barely talked to me because "she just couldn't deal." I was shocked. When I needed a friend who had been there herself the most, my "friend" abandoned me. I won't lie, it hurt. A lot.

The negativity continued. Hurtful comments and lack of any support were the norm. The "friend" took issue with the fact that I blog about M2's autism. She faulted me for getting M2 an aide, saying she knew others with multiple autistic kids who never got an aide. To her, it didn't seem to matter that every child and each situation is different. The prying questions didn't end either, even after M2's school agreed with the autism diagnosis.

I became uncomfortable with what I was being asked. There are certain things that were private and simply none of her business. Even after a team of school psychologists, teachers, therapists and other staff agreed without a doubt that M2 is autistic, my "friend" wouldn't accept it. Never mind that this "friend" had never even met M2, like the doctors, therapists and other specialists had.

It felt to me that in her mind, no one else could have a special-needs child or any difficulty in their life, except for her. No one had fought as long, had as many issues, went through so much, so their life couldn't possibly be difficult. No other child was as special as or needed help like her child.

When I tried to express my feelings, to tell her how much she was hurting me, I was told to get a thick skin and get over because tons of people were going to talk to me like she had. That she was allowed to say whatever she wanted and I should just get over it. She deemed necessary services M2 receives to be "luxuries" and gave the idea that my life is one of ease while she has to struggle. I was judged harshly and unfairly, while she bleated loudly that no mom should judge another mother.

No one's life is all rainbows and roses. We all have struggles, battles and hard times despite the happy pictures you may see on Facebook. Just because someone is going through something, it doesn't mean that another's problems are insignificant or unimportant. Good friends are there for each other, no matter how hard things are personally. So many people told me I should cut all contact with her. She wasn't bringing anything positive to my life.

Yet, for much longer than I should have, I let the "friendship" drag on, I made excuses for her. Well, her life is difficult right now. She'll come around. Her child has finally gotten a diagnosis, she'll be able to "deal" with me now. I tried to support her through hard times, despite what she'd been putting me through. Time and again, I was proven that my excuses for her were just that -- excuses. They weren't the truth. The truth was a hard pill to swallow and one I was slow in accepting.

Finally, I let my fear of losing a friend I'd known for so long and shared so much with get tied to the back of a pickup, dragged through a pasture of cow manure, get trampled on by a wild stampede and then thrown deep into a muddy, nasty, faraway ditch to rot. I ended a friendship that had been toxic, negative and done absolutely nothing good for my life for a long time.

I faced the truth that this was no longer a friendship or even a person I should have in my life. The friend I was hanging onto wasn't the one that was actually there. That person had changed long ago. Now, she was no where to be found. I finally accepted the truth that this person was never going to be there for me, would never accept me or my child for who we are. Would never acknowledge or accept that my problems and difficulties were valid and in no way diminish her own. I faced that truth that good friends don't do any of the things she'd done to me.

I quietly cut off all modes of communication with the "friend." (I've even gotten a new phone number, though that was by coincidence.) I've said goodbye in my own way, through this post and in my heart. Truth be told, I hope she never reads the post. It isn't for her: It's for me and you. What lies in front of me now is a brand new chapter, gleaming with newness. I may think of the warn-out, destroyed chapter now and then, but I know turning the page was the best choice.

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Jumping Aboard The Pirate Train

In our house, reading is important. We have many books and I try to read the kids at least one book each day. Some days we don't manage to, so other days we read many to make up for the few missed days. M2 loves that we get a new book from Dolly Parton's Imagination Library each month. She gets super excited when the book arrives in the mail and has to look through it immediately. Christmas and birthdays the kids each get at least two books. That being said, M2 has a habit of running around while listening to me read. That, or she is looking at another book in my lap while I'm reading a story. Baby B is still at the toddling around while I read to him stage. The children's librarian has told us that despite what you may expect, the kids really are listening and absorbing as they wander. (Be sure to check out the giveaway at the bottom of this post!)

The latest book we've been reading is The Pirate Train by Nicole Plyler Fisk. Oh my goodness, does M2 love it. So do I! Before I could even read it, she saw the cover, yanked the book out of my hand and run off. I promised her we'd read it later. That night at bedtime, she curled up in my lap and to my amazement, listened to every word. She even pointed out different animals, characters and items in the book -- without me prompting her. When we finished, she immediately wanted to read it again. I couldn't believe it. Not only was she sitting nicely in my lap looking at the book I was reading, she was interacting with it, repeating some of the words AND asked for the story again. The second time around, she was just as enthralled. Even other books she likes and enjoys have never elicited this awesome of a response. Needless to say, I was beyond happy and excited myself. After the second reading, she wanted the story again. Now, any time she sees it, she wants it read. And read again.

Unlike certain children's books, I enjoyed the pictures and story myself, too. It's written in a sing-song rhyme that fun to read out loud. The pictures are cute, too. Very colorful and bright. I had no problem at all reading it again. The pirate-speak sprinkled throughout makes the book even more fun. Seriously, what kid, or even parent, doesn't love pirates?

The theme of the Yo-Ho-Matey pirate family who has to leave their ship when the brother gets sea sickness to find a new home that fits them is adorable. Where they end up living, a pirate train, is creative and fun. The boat and train draw in kids who are into modes of transportation. M2 kept saying, "choochoo!" and, "Pirate Dad! Pirate Mom! Pirate! Arr! Tom!" while we read. Getting her to repeat words from a book is an amazing feat. A was impressed, too. My heart was melting! All of these things are huge for a child who is autistic and speech delayed. In the picture below, even one of our cats was getting in on the story telling action.

So many lessons are incorporated in The Pirate Train without taking away from the story or the fun. It doesn't feel like a lesson-filled book, though it really is. There's the lesson that family needs to stick together and work together. Another lesson that life changes but you can adapt, experience new things and still have fun. A third over-arching lesson is dealing with a move. Not to be forgotten, as a special-needs parent I picked up on the lesson that when a family member has an illness (or something that makes them different) crop up, it can be hard for the other sibling. Yet, you stick by them, get through it and won't be disappointed with the final outcome.

Even appreciating another's differences is mentioned with a homeless dog who is missing a leg. The family yet again doesn't blink an eye -- they help him adapt and make him a member of the family. 

Lessons the author intentionally included are a love travel and a sense of adventure, an avoidance of gender stereotyping (dad cooks, mom and dad clean, both steer the ship or train), healthy body image (no impossibly tiny waists or body types on the females in this book!), and a love of animals. Later books in the series (a series of awesome books, just waiting to be published -- YAY!) tackle diversity as well.

None of the lessons make the book cumbersome or are too involved. Perfect for the target audience of kids who are in the picture book stage. It's especially good for young autistic kids like M2 who may not be able to yet grasp complicated lessons or sit through a typical story book.

With all the lessons, The Pirate Train can be applied to many different situations and families. Or, it can just be a fun book to read. For kids that aren't yet at the grasping a lesson stage, the rhyme of the story is sheer fun.

The story behind the story is heartwarming. Author and English teacher Nicole Plyler Fisk has a young son, Jack, who loves pirates and Thomas the Train. Disheartened with the area public schools, she set up homeschool for him. His first project? Write his own book. She and her son sat  down and wrote the story together. (No wonder it's such a great book kids love, right?!) I'd give him an A+ on that project! The book is modeled around the Fisk family of mom, dad, big sis and little brother.

If you can't tell already, this book is a new favorite in our family that is going to be read often and kept on the bookshelf for years to come. I'm excited to read the rest of the series with M2 as soon as it's available. You can get your own copy here. Through tonight, January 13, get 15 percent off with the code NEWYOU15. You can also enter to win a copy by entering below. Enter soon, the giveaway ends at midnight January 19, 2016! Stop by and visit Nicole's site as well, she shares fun updates and promo codes as they're available.

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This post and giveaway are sponsored  by Nicole Plyler Fisk. All opinions are my own. 

Getting Speech and Occupational Therapies After Age 3

M2 aged out of early intervention therapy a few months ago. The early intervention provided her with in-home speech and occupational therapy once a week, alternating. Once you hit age 3 though, that all goes away. Boom. Diagnosis or not, needing help or not -- Third birthday? GONE. Then what happens? The child still needs therapy, that need doesn't magically go away. What is next? Where do you turn?

At that point, the therapy goes through the school district. I never even knew that until M2 was going to need the help. The catch is: Getting the therapies isn't automatic. The child has to qualify based on the district's specifications (each does things differently) and it's a long process. It all starts with a call to the school district to tell them your child is aging out of early intervention services. Just because your child may be diagnosed  by a doctor with ASD or he/she has been getting therapy, it doesn't mean the school district will automatically agree that it's needed. They look at things from more of a school functionality aspect. If the issues won't later interfere with schooling, the child won't qualify.

Since August, I've been taking M2 for all kinds of testing to see if she'd qualify to get into the therapy provided by the school district. There were all kinds of hoops to jump through. Speech, cognitive, psychology, behavior, on and on the testing went. Once all the evaluations were finally complete, I met with the team to discuss what they'd determined. Then, we met to discuss what the best next step for her. I spent months worrying about what would happen if the team didn't say she qualified. A and I, along with her early intervention team, knew without a doubt that in order for her to progress she needed to get into the school district's program.

Without it, we didn't now what we would do or what would happen with M2. A private speech therapist and OT alone wouldn't cut it for what her needs are. Plus, those therapies run $150 plus a session and often (like in our case) are not covered by insurance to the extent needed, if at all. Her early intervention team said we had one big thing in our favor: Our school district has the absolute best programs for special needs kids around. It is the most understanding, willing to work with parents and eager to actually help the kids. That didn't stop me from worrying. Every meeting, evaluation, phone call -- anything -- I pleaded M2's case, advocated for her and fought to ensure she'd get the services she needs.

I was lucky that the team working with her saw everything I do and agreed wholeheartedly with everything I said and suggested. In the end, the school district agreed with her autism diagnosis, gave her that diagnosis for school purposes, and agreed that she has a severe speech delay that must be addressed. Her vocabulary, motor planning and clarity simply aren't there. All agreed that she'd need to extra help through the programs the district offers to get her ready for kindergarten. It was all enough to get her into special needs "preschool."

It's called preschool because it goes through the school district, but really, it's speech and occupational therapy twice a week for an hour in a group setting along with one-on-one speech therapy six times a month. The idea is to address the issues she has, expose her to more kids and get her ready to enter kindergarten in a few years.

Her "class" is made up of four or five other special-needs kids. With three teachers and a speech pathologist on hand at all times, it's as close to one-on-one as you can get! During the hour, the teachers work with the kids on things like sitting down to eat, interacting appropriately with peers and adults, sitting in a circle, following directions, playing appropriately -- I honestly don't even know what all she'll be doing yet! With all the time it took to set everything up, M2 has only had two sessions before the holidays started.

Eventually, she'll move up into a larger group then into a group that is a mix of special-needs and typical children. It's a ladder process to slowly get her to where she needs to be, based on her own needs and timeline. As she progresses, more learning and and preschool-type activities are added in addition to the therapies.

We wrapped up her early intervention therapies a day before her birthday and started the preschool therapy two days after. Depending on how she does, I'll most likely be finding a private speech therapist to work with her a few times a month as well. Her previous speech therapist (whom we loved) said she sees the most improvement with kids who have the school district provided therapy and private as well. Setting that up is going to be our next adventure.

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Getting Speech and Occupational Therapies After Age 3

M2 aged out of early intervention therapy a few months ago. The early intervention provided her with in-home speech and occupational therapy once a week, alternating. Once you hit age 3 though, that all goes away. Boom. Diagnosis or not, needing help or not -- Third birthday? GONE. Then what happens? The child still needs therapy, that need doesn't magically go away. What is next? Where do you turn?

At that point, the therapy goes through the school district. I never even knew that until M2 was going to need the help. The catch is: Getting the therapies isn't automatic. The child has to qualify based on the district's specifications (each does things differently) and it's a long process. It all starts with a call to the school district to tell them your child is aging out of early intervention services. Just because your child may be diagnosed  by a doctor with ASD or he/she has been getting therapy, it doesn't mean the school district will automatically agree that it's needed. They look at things from more of a school functionality aspect. If the issues won't later interfere with schooling, the child won't qualify.

Since August, I've been taking M2 for all kinds of testing to see if she'd qualify to get into the therapy provided by the school district. There were all kinds of hoops to jump through. Speech, cognitive, psychology, behavior, on and on the testing went. Once all the evaluations were finally complete, I met with the team to discuss what they'd determined. Then, we met to discuss what the best next step for her. I spent months worrying about what would happen if the team didn't say she qualified. A and I, along with her early intervention team, knew without a doubt that in order for her to progress she needed to get into the school district's program.

Without it, we didn't now what we would do or what would happen with M2. A private speech therapist and OT alone wouldn't cut it for what her needs are. Plus, those therapies run $150 plus a session and often (like in our case) are not covered by insurance to the extent needed, if at all. Her early intervention team said we had one big thing in our favor: Our school district has the absolute best programs for special needs kids around. It is the most understanding, willing to work with parents and eager to actually help the kids. That didn't stop me from worrying. Every meeting, evaluation, phone call -- anything -- I pleaded M2's case, advocated for her and fought to ensure she'd get the services she needs.

I was lucky that the team working with her saw everything I do and agreed wholeheartedly with everything I said and suggested. In the end, the school district agreed with her autism diagnosis, gave her that diagnosis for school purposes, and agreed that she has a severe speech delay that must be addressed. Her vocabulary, motor planning and clarity simply aren't there. All agreed that she'd need to extra help through the programs the district offers to get her ready for kindergarten. It was all enough to get her into special needs "preschool."

It's called preschool because it goes through the school district, but really, it's speech and occupational therapy twice a week for an hour in a group setting along with one-on-one speech therapy six times a month. The idea is to address the issues she has, expose her to more kids and get her ready to enter kindergarten in a few years.

Her "class" is made up of four or five other special-needs kids. With three teachers and a speech pathologist on hand at all times, it's as close to one-on-one as you can get! During the hour, the teachers work with the kids on things like sitting down to eat, interacting appropriately with peers and adults, sitting in a circle, following directions, playing appropriately -- I honestly don't even know what all she'll be doing yet! With all the time it took to set everything up, M2 has only had two sessions before the holidays started.

Eventually, she'll move up into a larger group then into a group that is a mix of special-needs and typical children. It's a ladder process to slowly get her to where she needs to be, based on her own needs and timeline. As she progresses, more learning and and preschool-type activities are added in addition to the therapies.

We wrapped up her early intervention therapies a day before her birthday and started the preschool therapy two days after. Depending on how she does, I'll most likely be finding a private speech therapist to work with her a few times a month as well. Her previous speech therapist (whom we loved) said she sees the most improvement with kids who have the school district provided therapy and private as well. Setting that up is going to be our next adventure.

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Happy Thanksgiving!

To spend more time with family and friends who are visiting from out of town, I'm taking this week off from the blog. You'll still see me some on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram so be sure to follow me there (I'm such a social media addict). Before I go, I want to share a special Thanksgiving post with you.

Last year on Thanksgiving, I was still pregnant with baby B and my mother was in town to celebrate with us. Measuring 4 weeks ahead, I was huge. Baby B is approaching his first birthday rapidly. I can't believe how fast the time has gone. The year before, we spent the holiday with A's family out of state. Usually, we don't travel for Thanksgiving. I'm glad we did that year. We didn't know at the time, but would be the last time we'd see his mother. She passed away soon after from cancer. Three years ago, I was pregnant with M2. Five years ago, A and I were celebrating our first Thanksgiving as a married couple with his brothers. Over 15 years ago, Thanksgiving would be the last time I saw my aunt before she passed away in December. My parents, sister and I enjoyed turkey and all the fixing with extended family as my aunt was too sick to leave her bed. My grandmother was born around Thanksgiving as well. So many things have happened around Thanksgiving for our family, including those special last memories of loved ones. It's a time of both celebration and remembrance for me. I give thanks for my family, friends and for all those who have touched my life. All leave a footprint on my heart.

This year, so much has changed for my family. I give thanks for having a diagnosis for M2. For getting through despite new financial strain. For all the progress that's been made in getting her help. For baby B growing so big and strong. For 5 years of marriage to A. For our home and all the other many blessings we have.

So much has changed in the world as well. We face uncertain times in our country and across the globe. I am thankful for all the military personnel, many of whom won't be home with their own families for the holiday, who fight to protect us all.

As for you, my dear readers, I wish you all a wonderful holiday with friends and family. I wish you a day of peace and celebration for all which you are grateful. I am thankful for you all.

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