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Ava has decided to be better today.  She hasn’t hit me once!

Her learning curve is just so big.

And I think so is mine.

There have been so many times this past week that I’ve thought to myself, “I only had to tell Reid [insert safety violation/warning/reminder here] once when HE was a toddler.  When is SHE going to get it?!”  And for whatever reason, this past week has found me reacting poorly, tangled in a knot about what to do next that I feel completely unsure at times.

The other day we were at my friend’s house, bidding her a’dieu on her move, and I really wanted to just talk to my friend and let Ava play.  But Ava was a complete and utter nightmare: running all over the place, having mini-tantrums, cornering my friend’s daughter because she was just so keen on hugging and kissing her.  It was like a fire was on inside her and I could do only my best to keep it semi-contained.

Ava’s fire is a wonderful thing if you really think about it.  Her stubbornness, her glory of life, her attraction to so many people and her unabashed joy in the things so many others find simple.  But sometimes, for me, it seems like it’s way over the top.  Like if Ava were to slow down every once in awhile (aside from when she’s sleeping) that she could capture more of the essence of life, get along better with her peers and brother and me, for that matter.

But her fire keeps on raging, at a pace that can be difficult at best to keep up with.  My inclination is that she should adjust to us, me.  But is that the correct assumption?  Is it in my right or purview to tone her down to my comfort zone, or is it better that I eat it and step up to the plate and come to her level, embrace her fire and figure it out for me?

And is that dangerous–me conforming to her and not vice-versa?  I really don’t know.  All I can say for certain is that I feel, strongly, that I am entering new territory here.  I’m unsure how to proceed.  Do I extinguish her flame in exchange for a more docile, agreeable girl?  Or do I embrace her seeming insanity and just roll with it?

So I joined Facebook earlier this week and let me just say, I haven’t been quite this addicted in a LONG time.  It’s really pretty strange–pretty much everyone, and I mean everyone, that I’ve thought about in the last 20 years is on there.  Absolutely crazy.  And so I can “invite” them to be my friends, and they can “accept my invitation” and then you can send notes back and forth, find out where they are, what they’re up to, pretty much anything they’re (I’m?) willing to share.  It’s kinda cool and kinda scary all at the same time.

I first noticed them signing while I was waiting to board a flight from Denver to San Jose. One was a tall, skinny, balding white guy about my age and the other a black boy who was maybe 10 or 11 years old. There was nothing extraordinary about either except that they were signing. It became clear that the kid was bound for my flight, and that the adult was dropping him off before he went to catch his own flight to somewhere else. I watched their conversation as intently as I could, hoping to catch something of it. My ASL skills were too poor and slow, and I managed only to snatch the word “mother” and some obvious “you” and “I” signs. The boy pre-boarded the flight, and I stood waiting, thinking about my own experience with ASL.

Amy, Reid and I started learning American Sign Language as a method to communicate with Ava. As Ava has grown, so as my skill with ASL, but it’s very fair to say that I can only manage “toddler” ASL. Amy and Ava are much better, and Reid’s skills are stronger still. I’m very grateful for learning it, for it was only through ASL that we learned of Ava’s advanced reading and receptive language capabilities. Even though Ava has Down syndrome and is very delayed with her speech, we discovered that at age 3.5 she was reading at a kindergarten level. Without ASL, Ava would have been a very bright child trapped without much ability to express much beyond frustration.

I boarded the Southwest Airlines jet, and began to look for a seat. I noticed that the boy was sitting by himself near the window in a row toward the front of the plane. I took the aisle seat in his row, hoping that I might work up the courage to test my ASL skills and attempt to communicate with him. At the very least, I thought, I might be able to help him if he needed it. I sat surprised at my nervousness and at the level of adrenaline coursing through me. I leaned over and got the boy’s attention by tapping him on his arm.

I signed, “I. Know. Little. A. S. L.”

He got a pleasantly surprised look on his face and signed, “Thanks.”

I signed, “I’m s-e-a-n.”

He smiled and signed, “r-o-b-e-r-t.” At least I think that’s what he signed. I’m quite sure, but I was so nervous and shocked and giddy at the prospect of actually signing with someone that I almost forgot to muster the considerable concentration required of me to recognize even his slowly manipulated (for my benefit) finger-spelling.

I gave him a “Hi” sign and he returned the favor. Relieved that I had accomplished that much, and eager for a break from the anxiety of my first signing communication with anyone outside my family, I took the opportunity to settle into my seat. Robert seemed a typical kid of his age, and wasn’t terribly interested in conversation. Again, I was partly relieved, having sustained a high degree of anxiety that he would be frustrated at my lack of communication skills. When the flight attendant came by for drinks, I asked him if he wanted one. He said yes, but only shrugged when I asked him what he wanted. The flight attended suggested a Coke, and he agreed.

That pretty much summed up the majority of our communication, except for his nod and my wave when he departed. But it was enough for me. I can only hope that I helped eliminate some of his travel anxiety if he was feeling it. Robert gave me an expanded possibility for communication. And he gave me yet another reason to be grateful for my little girl, Ava.

While on our recent trip to Illinois, we went to the Antique Tractor Festival, complete with tractor pull contest (my first), in Oblong, IL.  Yes, Oblong, Illinois, is the only Oblong.  The playground at the county fairgrounds actually had 2 old-style merry-go-rounds.  Those things still go really fast!

A good time was had by all.  Oh, and ideas began….  (Click on the link above to learn more about that.)

Watching the old oil rig engines.

I have no idea who these people are, but love the photo.

Reid's "gimmie Lego" cap

Gratuitous photo of Ava completely out of context. She was not much into the tractors.

This acronym has been used in my family of late, most recently to describe my nephew’s arrival at college.  It is also very appropriate for the little man in our family.

After a lot of transition last year, Reid certainly had a few days in kindergarten that were less than stellar.  So at the start of this school year, I was admittedly a little nervous for the first day of first grade.  The FIRST time, ever, he’s been “on his own,” if you will.  On his own to stand in line for class, go to lunch with all of the big kids, follow the rules for the bells when recess is over, etc.

Last week, when we went to Blossom Hill School to find out who his teacher was, he was really excited to know no less than 5 kids in his class.  And good friends at that.

Monday morning rolled around, and he was ready and rearing to go.  A little anxious, I could tell, but putting on a very brave face.  When we found his class line, he was thrilled to see his friends, hugged several of them, and off he went.  I drove by the school later that day and blew him a kiss from the car, wishing him a great first day.

Well, I’m pleased to say that at pick-up on the first day of first grade, I asked Reid, “How was your day?”  And you know what he said?

“Mom…it was AWESOME!”

Go Reid!!!  My Big Man on Campus.

She did it, she did it, she did it!  Ava pooped for the first time in the potty!  I’m gleeful!

Tonight, as I was helping her get ready for bed, she got that sure look on her face.  ”A big one is coming, Mom,” she might have said.  It’s unmistakable when she has to go, and when she goes, she really goes. 

As she was gearing up, I asked Ava: “Want to go use the potty?”  Sure enough, she got up and walked to the bathroom quicker than me.  When I got there, she was sitting on her potty, holding on to the sides and going for it.  It took awhile, as it usually does, but this time it was without tears, cries, or any other signs of distress.  She just sat, pooped for awhile, and then said, “All done.”  Wiped herself for awhile, and then I helped, too, mom that I am.

I gave her a huge high-five!  She had a great big smile on her face.

When we got back to her room, while putting on her jammies, I asked Ava if she thought she should be done with diapers and wanted to be a big girl now.  She said “yeah, all done.”

Yeah!

Gifts video on YouTube

Every time I read the High School Speech (just below), it makes me get all knotted-up inside.  Knotted-up with pride for Ava, with all of her accomplishments, joys, challenges and tenderness.  It makes me want to act.  It makes me want to blast, at full volume, John Lennon’s “Power to the People!”  And dammit, it makes me want to kick ass on Ava’s behalf, and everyone else with a developmental disability.

So here’s to a stronger commitment from me to do just that.  To make the world a better place.  To get even more involved.  To share the love that I, one of the lucky ones on this planet, get to experience from a girl like Ava.

I’m nothing less than proud that she is my daughter.  I can only hope that, one day, she will be proud of me, too.