It's all about Communicating.

1986

"Why do you want to learn sign language?"

"Um, what if I meet someone who can't talk and hear me and they're lost? What if they need help? Everyone needs someone to help them. I can do it. I can help them." - The eight year old me.

1992

"Why do you want to work with Senior Citizens?"

"They are so interesting. I learn so much. Besides, they need friends. I can be their friends." -The 14 year old me.

1998

"I think you would be exceptional working with special children. Try it."

"I can't do it. I can't handle it. They need so much. What if I'm not as good as they deserve?"-The 20 year old me discussing student-teaching in an Autistic classroom.

2004

"Why do you work with the most difficult, untrained animals? What if you get injured?"

"Everyone deserves to be loved and feel kindness. Everyone, cats and dogs, can show love and kindness once you find the way to communicate on their level."

2008

"You need to start using Sign language to communicate with her. You have to use another means of communication if she doesn't develop the ability to speak."

"She WILL speak. I'll try sign but I know she will speak."

2009

"Mow. Mow." Accompanied by the sign for "More." Bugabuga's first sign! My baby was communicating with me! I smiled and cheered. I hugged her and danced around the room. She was so proud of herself. She signed over and over, faster and faster, "More." I cried and my smile was frozen on my face. "Great job, Bugabuga! Great job! I love you!"

She tottered over to her little pocketbook laying on the floor, focused on her favorite toy. Her focus, razor sharp on the latch, I am forgotten again.

We communicated. That's what matters. We communicated.

I wanted her to speak. I was so proud but I wanted her to speak.

2010

"Ma... Maaaa.... Ma!" "Mama!"

I started crying, so hard that my voice was broken. I signed, "More!"

World Autism Awareness Day

LIGHT IT UP BLUE! World Autism Awareness Day is an anniversary of sorts for us. We came out to the world. Last year, our daughters had been diagnosed a few months earlier and our son was showing some of the signs. We had never admitted the diagnosis to anyone other than family. I was so worried that people would think that I had special needs if I admitted that all of my children had special needs. With my heart pounding, I typed the words, "Please LIGHT IT UP BLUE for our three Autistic daughters and our son who is showing the signs." on my Facebook status. I waited to see the response. So many people were struck by the magnitude of us having more than one child with special needs and I suddenly realized, it was so hard!

Instead of being seen as a special person, I was suddenly viewed as tough and determined. I was a mommy on a mission to save the world and ensure that my kids were accepted and loved by everyone. And to a certain extent that was true but in another way, that persona that I still have as a no-nonsense woman that can handle the reports and notes home, the violence and silence was a sham. For the longest time, the idea of crying and taking a deep breathe was frightening to me. I would memorize the reports so that I was able to sprout out statistics about each child at the IFSP meetings. I learned quickly that focusing on the positive accomplishments of the kids seem to make the Early Intervention Official less likely to approve a greater amount of therapy.

The first IFSP that I attended for Bugabuga was jarring. We didn't know what to ask for and were so thankful when they offered us 30 minutes of speech therapy twice a week. They also wanted to get a physical evaluation. After 4 months of calling our service coordinator and realizing that she didn't care about setting up that evaluation, I contacted the Commissioner of the Department of Health. I found her email address on one the papers that I had signed and figured that it was worth a shot. An evaluation was completed two days later.

Every meeting I walked in focused. I needed to get the maximum amount of therapy so that they would get better. They had to get better. I would speak passionately and my eyes would fill with tears at the right moment to drive home a point. My voice would break at a pivotal moment. I worked it but I didn't feel a damn thing. The things written in the reports were so abhorrent to me that I couldn't bear to accept that the reports were about MY children. It became a movie to me, a mother had to deal with this, how should she react, what was appropriate. To the world I modeled what I thought I should act like but at home after these meetings, the words would run through my head when I closed my eyes to sleep. My nightmares became so intense that I just stopped sleeping. I couldn't bear to close my eyes unless my husband was right next to me. And even then I woke up every 15 minutes terrified. I became a master of crying silently- my breathing doesn't even change anymore. I was so angry. I worked for years to get pregnant and then I had to face the idea that my children may never speak, may never have a normal life. I would occasionally walk out of a room and close the door. Alone, I would punch and kick the wall until I broke a sweat. I needed my babies to speak. All the therapists recommended that we delay our responses so that the children had to speak to get their needs met. So many times, I heard crying, grunting, meowing but no words and I knew what they wanted but I held back. It went against every instinct that I had as a mother. I waited and let them cry. I kept an encouraging smile on my face and waited.

"Ma.....ma! I wan ocolate milk!" "Aaaaaaaa, chicken, aaaaaaa, rice" "Ooooo, food, alright, okay!" "Give me food, Mama!" Their sentences are beautiful. Every single thing they say, every word they use motivates me to motivate them. It's like a balm on my soul. It was worth the fight. It was worth having 135 hours of therapy a week, every week. They are so worth it. "Ah ove you!" "I love you too, babies." Happy Autism Awareness Day.