Hello there my friends, I’m out of town for the long weekend. Hope you’re having a wonderful weekend celebrating with friends and family! And that you enjoy A Special Place in Heaven today. I lost a few tears writing it. allie XO

If I had a $1 for every time someone said “There’s A Special Place in Heaven for the mother of three boys” after my third little boy Charlie was born, I’d be sipping pina coladas in Tahiti right now. (That was nine years ago.)

And why didn’t I think to collect back then? 

And then my baby Hudson was born, our fourth little boy. And I don’t think people knew quite what to say. Understandably. We didn’t either. (Hudson is five years old now and has Down syndrome.)

Hudson’s diagnosis surprised everyone, mostly me. And Hudson has turned out to be our biggest blessing in disguise.

Well not only is there A Special Place in Heaven for the mother of three boys, but there’s also A Special Place in Heaven for special teachers. If I asked you who your favorite teacher was growing up, I bet a special teacher comes to mind immediately. Does for me anyway. I remember a number of teachers fondly.

But one of my elementary teachers really jumps out. Her name was Mrs. White. And some of you reading also had Mrs. White. She taught 6th grade, and everyone in the school wanted to be in Mrs. White’s class. That’s because Mrs. White treated her students like gold. Sixth graders had all kinds of special privileges the “underclassmen” didn’t.

We couldn’t wait to be in Mrs. White’s class. She was kind, and she also broke the rules. Well, she didn’t exactly break them. She just rewrote them. (But only for the 6th graders.) One of the school rules was you couldn’t eat at your desk except for lunch or snack time.

But one day Mrs. White made caramel apples. Brought them in for the whole class. Let us eat them. ALL DAY LONG at our desks. (Napkins provided.) And one day she brought in gum for everyone. Yeah, the teacher brought in gum. I think there was perhaps a little bit of rebel in Mrs. White. And all of us kids found that pretty exciting.

There’s another category of special teachers. These are the teachers who teach special needs children. They may be therapists or classroom teachers, but these are very special teachers indeed. Hudson has been blessed to have incredibly wonderful teachers and therapists so far in his short little life.

So I came upon the sweetest little scene a few weeks ago. It was Hudson’s last day of school, and I was waiting outside the school door with other parents. Some of the children were coming out, but I didn’t see Hudson yet. A little girl with special needs came out the door, ran to her mom. Her bottom lip quivered, and she glanced back towards her teacher. (Also Hudson’s teacher.) A big tear rolled down her little cheek. She was shaking and sobbing. Her mom hugged her.

And then the teacher noticed. Miss Jo-Ann’s eyes glistened  too. She got down on one knee, and that little girl rushed into her arms, hugged her for dear life. It was apparent that this precious 4 year old little girl wearing glasses was sobbing bitterly because she was saying goodbye to her teacher for the summer.

It was a sweet scene and I won’t forget it. I don’t know if that little girl can talk. She never said a word. Just tears. But if she can’t talk, the tears are her language. They say what she can’t verbalize. I can only imagine the joys and sweet times that must have taken place in that classroom.

Stories. Games. Circle times. Snacks. Special hugs and encouragements. Puzzles. Motion songs. It must have been such a delightful classroom experience for her to cry so bitterly when it was over.

The thing about special needs teachers is that their little students often can’t brag on them. They can’t necessarily verbalize all the wonderful things their teacher might have said or done during the day. Most special needs students probably won’t go to a prestigious college. Or become famous.

Special needs teachers pour themselves out with utter abandon because they have a special calling, a real gift. To love unconditionally, to teach with patience and kindness all different kinds of children.

Hudson is attending pre-K during the month of July. This morning I got a call from the school office. Apparently there was a paperwork glitch between the transportation provider and school district, and the bus would not be bringing Hudson home from school today after all. I needed to pick him up ASAP. Unfortunately I didn’t get the call until after school was already out. So when I arrived, all the parents and students were gone.

I walked into the school hallway, came upon another very sweet scene. There on the hallway bench sat two teachers on either end, and Hudson stretched out between them. Thumb in mouth, nestled up against one of his teachers. She was stroking his hair and the three of them were having a nice little chat and snuggle.

This is the scene every parent with a special needs child dreams to happen upon. To find their child cherished, well taken care of. Loved and appreciated for their unique little qualities. Even if the children can’t come home and tell us all about it. These teachers are God’s gift to our family and many others.

There’s A Special Place in Heaven for the mother of three boys. And four boys. And probably ten.

But there’s a private wing reserved for the very special teachers and therapists who patiently and kindly work with special needs children. It has AC. And a pool. And a little bell to ring for the next round of pina coladas.

Got a special teacher that impacted your life? I’d love to hear about them.

You may also enjoy: Twinkle Twinkle 

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A truly beautiful and monumental thing happened just this morning. Only Hudson and I know about it. It involved three people, but only two of us “get it”. It’s after lunch now, and I was just pairing up winter boots and gloves by the side door, vacuuming up the salt and grime that comes with winter around here. Tidying up, thinking about what happened today, and my eyes filled and spilled. I stopped vacuuming for a second, looked straight down. So the wet would fall straight down on the L.L.Bean water hog door mat, not ruin my mascara. (I’m just that vain.)

Glimpse of Sunshine by allie taylor

On my fridge door,  five years now…

Hudson and I headed to his music therapy session this morning, just like any other Thursday morning. We were running late, as is often the case in winter. Hudson is resistant (understatement) to hats, coats and mittens, a difficulty in the Northeast. With below zero temps here this morning, these were non-negotiables today.

Music and speech therapy are ways we attempt to encourage speech and communication for Hudson. Children with Down syndrome and other special needs often have difficulty communicating. With Hudson’s fifth birthday rapidly approaching this spring, he can say maybe ten words (or an approximations of ten words). Milk is “elk”. Music, “ick”. Cookie is “ookie.” All very important words in his world!

Surprisingly, Hudson’s actually a little social butterfly who manages to get his point across quite well, but mostly without words. He points, gestures, signs, has a vice grip finger-lock he engages, then gently drags you along where he wants you to go. It works some of the time, but as you can imagine, often frustrates him and us both, as we try to guess his wants and needs. Let’s just say, it’s not a long term workable strategy.

So this morning, hand in hand, we’re walking together across a long snowy parking lot to get back to the car after saying goodbye to Christina at music therapy. Hudson is entranced with the snow on the ground, but concentrating even more on his little suede Stride Rite fire engine boots. The boots are six years old now, a hand-me down from his big brother. The captivating thing to Hudson about the boots is, that at the right time and with the right “stamp”, he can make the little red engines light up. The tiny built-in batteries are old now, mostly dead. But every once in a while with a little luck, the lights still engage. So Hudson is very busy stamping, prancing his way along to the car for the desired effect.

Along our route, a nice lady wearing all black, and a pair of knee high black leather boots, crosses our path. She flashes a radiant smile to Hudson stamping his way along, pleasantly says hello to us. Hudson looks up from the boots, takes the chewy tube* from his mouth, waves, and very clearly and appropriately says a two syllable, halting “Hel-lo” back. He glances up, smiles at me. He gets it. I’m overwhelmed, speechless. (Rare.) She keeps walking, oblivious to the gravity of the communication that’s just taken place, but cheerfully throws back over her shoulder, “Nice to see the sun today, isn’t it?”

Communication for our children is something we take for granted. We often assume they’ll one day be able to express their wants and needs in an often harsh world. But it’s different for parents with special needs children. Because we don’t know if our children will ever be able to communicate or express themselves clearly. But I’m overjoyed and thankful for this fire engine boot-stride of progress today.

She was right on. It’s nice to see the sun today. We all need that Glimpse of Sunshine now and again. To give us hope.

*A chewy tube is used by individuals like Hudson with sensory issues who crave oral stimulation. A chewy tube provides that, and also builds up the muscle tone and strength of his jaw, helping prepare him for speech, feeding and overall motor skills.

Related Post: Glimpse of Sunshine: Part 2

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