Wishing you a peaceful weekend and welcome to Favorite Things #4 , where I share what’s percolating in the remaining gray cells. Today just happens to be my firstborn’s birthday. So happy, happy birthday Jonathan! The big 2-0 is just that… BIG! Remembering that poignant moment so long ago when I first saw that precious baby face. Sniff.

It’s been a good weekend around here and hope it has been at your house too. The sick kids here are on the mend. Charlie’s been competing at the state Destination Imagination competition. The sky is azure. Birds are chirping. I can barely see the dirty little snow patches left in the side yard.

Truth: we had a momentary spring lapse yesterday when it SNOWED two inches. (Thankfully already melted.) But other than that hiccup, spring is definitely springing, even if it hasn’t fully sprung in NH yet.

Here’s what what Hudson and I do on Saturday mornings…

This wooly little lamb Marley thinks he’s a pup! Cute.

FYI, sharing a couple great new finds I recently stumbled across:Loving this GuruNanda Natural Mist diffusing mister. It diffuses essential oils straight up and plugs into the wall or a USB outlet. Right now the fresh scent of lemon grass essential oil is in my entryway. Clean, fresh and springy! All natural and no chemicals, the essential oil bottle screws right onto the mister itself. I’m trying lavendar and rosemary oils next. Genius idea.

And here’s a delicious aroma to lure you out of bed on a lazy Sunday morning: Sugar Dusted Beignet Coffee. Savoring this scrumptious new flavor by Community Coffee. Made with 100% select Arabica coffee beans, get it in 12-ounce bags or single-serve pods. Light and sweet, sipping at my kitchen table like I’m parked in a New Orleans street cafe a thousand miles away…

Book recommendation:  Born Survivors: Three Young Mothers and Their Extraordinary Story of Courage, Defiance, and Hope

Amazing read, and true.

“The Nazis murdered their husbands but concentration camp prisoners Priska, Rachel, and Anka would not let evil take their unborn children too—a remarkable true story celebrating three mothers who defied death to give their children life. On the seventieth anniversary of Mauthausen’s liberation from the Nazis by American soldiers, renowned biographer Wendy Holden recounts this extraordinary story of three children united by their mothers’ unbelievable—yet ultimately successful—fight for survival.”

This read is definitely worth your time. Five stars.

Sharing this in honor of my brave, beautiful mom and all the mothers of children with Down syndrome around the globe.

(Hint: grab tissues. I was a faucet.)

I mentioned in my cookie post earlier this week that we’re closing in on finishing the kitchen remodel project. So close! Waiting on just a few more cabinet doors to come in so I can take the snaps.

The project was fun and worth the grief. (I try to be honest here: there was grief involved.)

“Gratitude turns what we have into enough…”  – Melody Beattie

So what are you up to? Wishing you a beautiful weekend, savoring all the little things that make you smile.

XOXO,

Allie

The post Favorite Things #4 appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Hey friends – happy Monday to you! Hope you’re doing well. I haven’t written a weekend post or update in a while, so thought I’d catch you up with a newsflash from my little Snow Globe about what’s going on behind the scenes at our house. (Besides delicious test batches of Salted Caramel Sauce.) Hope you’ll tell me what’s going on in your world too.

So we’ve had two big things going on here in the last few weeks.

First, Hudson got his speech device. So let’s have a party, right? Many of you know Hudson is our sweet six year old with Downs who doesn’t have very many words. It can be a real challenge living daily life, just trying to figure out (guess!) his wants and needs. We’ve been waiting on this speech device for nearly a year, and really hoping things are going to click with it. Unfortunately Hudson can be pretty resistant to new things and change. (I can relate!)

So he gets a thirty day trial with this new speech device, which is covered by insurance. If he shows interest and learns how to use it, he’ll get one of his own to keep. The first week was pretty frustrating as he seemed to want nothing to do with it. Sigh. But then this past week has been a lot more promising. Apparently he’s been using it at school to ask for cookies (a boy after my own heart!) and pick fun activities to do. At home he’s used it to ask for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and tell us which DVD he wants to watch. Also to ask for a glass of milk.

If you’re not familiar with a speech device (I wasn’t until I learned about Hudson’s), it’s basically a machine that looks like an i-pad, maybe a little bigger. We’re programming it with pictures (small icons/tiles) of things in Hudson’s world. Not just broad categories like food or fruit. But pictures of bananas, apples or grapes. Not just cereal, but different kinds of cereal like Raisin Bran or Cheerios.

So it’s a process, not just for Hudson, but for all of us. He has to find the right category and picture tile, then press it on the touch screen, and it will say the word(s) out loud. We’re all learning how to program the speech device and how to encourage him to use it to make his life easier and less frustrating.

So the other big thing we have going on here is, drumroll please, we just put our house on the market. If you know me at all, you know how difficult change is for me and you’re probably surprised by this news. We’re not going far, just moving locally because we need more space and the time seems right.

I remember the day we moved into this sweet cape in June of 2004. I fell in love with it, and have truly loved making it home. We have a lot of sweet memories here. Back then we had just two little boys, three and six. Well, things they change. And now there are four boys. And Hudson is the youngest now at six years old. With bigger boys comes more and bigger stuff. And their friends. This house has been such a wonderful place to raise our family, and it’s going to be a teary goodbye for sure.

Once we made the decision to move, we kicked into high gear getting the place all spiffy. Jon took a week of vacation and painted (and painted!) and grouted and we’ve been organizing, packing and shining up the place. We replaced some lighting fixtures and updated wherever we could. I got a wide angle lens to take pictures for the MLS, so I thought I’d share some of those with you here today. I still have a lot to learn, but I never knew how cool a wide angle lens is. It captures so much more than a regular one can, and it’s been a lot of fun learning to use.

Well I wish each of you a wonderful week, whatever you have planned. Does it include snow? It seriously has been a Snow Globe around here. Sixteen inches of snow last Thursday. Of course the kids are delighted. They’ve had two delays and two snow days last week alone. Woo hoo! And with the Super Bowl last weekend, it’s been quite a week.

School was canceled again today since we’re still shoveling out from yesterday’s big storm that dumped nearly a foot. So bring on the hot chocolate. I’m a true New England girl and love the white stuff.

(Then again, I’m not the one shoveling it! Thankfully.)

XOXO,

allie

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I’m going to be honest right from the get go today. This Way to Holland was a hard post to write because it’s about Hudson’s birth story. And every time I go there, even five years down the road, I find my heart still raw. A lump in my throat. Misty eyes. That’s me right now. But I’m compelled to share, because maybe someone out there needs this today.

Have you ever started a trip intending to arrive at one destination but ended up at an entirely different one? (Just fly the friendly skies. Sigh.) I remember a family road trip many years ago when we somehow got onto the wrong highway exit going the opposite direction.

It would’ve been fine had anyone been paying attention. We could’ve just taken the next exit, turned around. Unfortunately we were too busy gabbing and carrying on. Playing I Spy with my little eye. Munching twinkies. Then about three hours into the trip someone bothered to look at a road sign.

That’s when we discovered we were in Tennessee instead of Virginia. Yup, it really happened. Memories…

Many of you know about Hudson, my littlest of four boys, born with an unexpected diagnosis of Down syndrome in 2010. Some day I’ll write about the day Hudson was born. I’m not ready yet. Today I want to talk about a gift I was given shortly after Hudson’s birth. When he was still in the NICU.

Just typing those letters N-I-C-U now, I can hardly see for the tears. Raw emotions flooding over me. I didn’t walk during those first days and weeks. I was carried. By the grace of God and many wonderful people who mostly didn’t know what to say. And sometimes said nothing. But they were THERE. Showed up. And that’s what counts.

So I believe it was my sister who gave me the gift: a book, Road Map to Holland. (But it could’ve been someone else. It’s all a blur.) The important thing is, I received this book at the hospital from someone who loved me, wanted to give me hope.

And I read it during the wee hours sitting in the NICU, with my precious baby Hudson in an incubator under blue lights. Tiny Hudson with tubes and wires. And Road Map to Holland induced many tears but brought great comfort.

It’s based on the true life story of Jennifer Graf Gronenberg, an expectant mother of twins boys, Avery and Bennett. Five days after the boys are born, Avery is diagnosed with Down syndrome. Road Map to Holland (2008) recounts Jennifer’s poignant first two years of life with Avery and Bennett.

The back cover says:“this book is about…the love between a mother and her son – the child she didn’t know she wanted, the child she’d always needed.” And that resonated deeply with me. And still does today. Because that’s how I feel about my Hudson, even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.

In her book, Jennifer talks of Holland. (Yeah the country.) References a short essay by Emily Perl Kingsley, Welcome to Holland. (Emily’s son also has Down syndrome.) I don’t want to say a whole lot more, just hoping you’ll read the short piece below.

But read it with a broader perspective, not just in terms of a special needs child. Perhaps you’ve always dreamed of going to Italy, but Holland is where providence has carried you…

Welcome to Holland

-by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this……

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”

“Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”

But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around…. and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills….and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things … about Holland.

Today I read Welcome to Holland again for the first time since Hudson was in the NICU. And I wept like I did that day, a small mountain of tissues by my keyboard.

The truth is, we all have dreams. Or had them. Dreams of where we want to go in life. Italy. And maybe things don’t turn out as we hope and dream and somehow we arrive in Holland instead. Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about.

I’m thinking of my own dreams. (And I’m not just talking Hudson.)

And I’m thinking of lost dreams of people I know and love. Dear ones who lost their soul mates far too soon. Or a precious child. Or lost another dearly loved one. Maybe a bankruptcy. Or an unexpected accident. Perhaps fighting a debilitating or terminal illness. Or traveling the painful road of divorce. So many scenarios. And so many hard situations still hang in the balance…

And the pain….will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things … about Holland.

Holland. Not Italy.

You know friend, these windmills are amazing.

And the tulips….wow!

by Hudson Fall Taylor

And the Rembrandts. I especially love the Rembrandts.

Friends, Holland can be an exquisite place. Also a wonderful destination. I’ve found it to be so and I hope you will too.

Hudson’s birth story here: Can’t Buy This

The post This Way to Holland appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Hello my friends, wishing you a very happy autumn weekend! So I haven’t shared much about Hudson here for a while now and I’ve got a few things on my mind. (Hudson’s our little boy. He’s 6, cute as a button, mostly non-verbal and has Down syndrome.)

Our littlest soccer fan Hud – 2014  (Photo creds Designs by Linda Nee)

(If you’re new here I post recipes during the week and muse on the weekends.)

As you may know we have four boys and so you might think there’d be a lot of similarities among them. But the truth is, each one is different and unique with a personality all his own. The one family member who draws all our family together is Hudson. While he has very few words, he manages to get his point across quite nicely in a number of ways – pointing, gesturing, laughing or crying. He’s also very needy. And it’s that needy-ness that draws our family together as we pitch in to love and care for him.

One of the most frustrating things about caring for Hudson is his inability to communicate with words. It’s something we’ve all struggled with because he’s made so little progress in this area. While he understands many words, there are just a few that he can articulate clearly. One of them is ‘help’. He uses this word mostly when we’ve started a DVD for him and it’s gone through the previews but pauses because the movie play button needs to be pressed. He also says ‘ilk’ for milk.

And he’s been doing/saying this with me for years now:

‘I’ (we point to eyes) ‘ove’ (we cross our chest) ‘Oo’ (we point to each other.) I love you.

Some good news is he had a third consult last week re:a portable communications device. Finally. The tech felt he was a good candidate for a particular kind that is similar to the size of an I-pad. I won’t pretend I know exactly how it works, but it has words and symbols and he presses a symbol on a touch screen and it says the word out loud for him. He’ll have to learn what each symbol means one by one to communicate with it. He’ll have a thirty day trial first to see how it goes. Meanwhile we’ll attend a training session to learn how to use it best and add symbols and words so he can master new ones. All the paperwork is turned in and now we wait. (What’s new?)

One of the sweetest words I’ve ever heard from my children’s lips is the word ‘mom’. But Hudson hasn’t said that word yet. And that’s hard. I don’t know if the ‘m’ is a particularly hard consonant for him or what. He calls Charlie ‘Lee’ and his daddy – ‘Dee’. (Do you see a pattern here?) And Jacob has been ‘Ub’ for some time now.

#13 Ub, airborne. (Photo creds – thanks Shelby Purtell)

Last weekend Jacob (16) and his teammates were playing a soccer game. The teams were pretty evenly matched and it was a hard, physical game that they ended up losing 3-2. After each game, the team runs in a parallel line across the field as a unit towards the fans so they can cheer. Then the team runs back parallel to meet with their coaches on the opposite side of the field. This is always Hudson’s favorite part of the game.

Well as Jacob’s dejected team comes running across the field last Saturday I hear two little hands next to me clapping fiercely. Hear a husky little voice yelling ‘Yay Ub, yay Ub.’ I look down to see a very excited little figure cheering on his big brother.

It’s hard to articulate my full heart on hearing those words. This precious little person, overjoyed to see Jacob, stringing his first two words together all by himself for maybe the first time ever.

Hudson was desperate to follow the team back across the field when they turned back. He wanted to get to his Ub in the worst way. Finally he broke free, and you know what? We just let him go.

And every ten feet or so, he stopped and looked back. Waiting to see if we were coming after him. And just this once, we didn’t. He made it all the way across that enormous soccer field all by himself, stopping and starting every little bit. Until he finally found his Ub in the team huddle and crawled up into his lap. He was a welcome visitor for sure.

The future is bright for our little Hudson, and I look forward to many more sweet words to come. Even sentences.

But the word I look forward to hearing most?  ‘Mom.’

You may also like: Saturday Morning Snugglebug Alarm Clock

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As I type, we’re on a road trip. Heading home after dropping our son at college in the south. First time for everything. I’ll fill you in more on that later. The air’s been soupy, hot and muggy this week and I’ve found myself wishing for a soft spring rain. A soft summer rain would be fine too. Enjoy this piece I wrote several springs ago.

Today’s been beautiful in so many ways, and I’m not just talkin’ weather. You know what we say in New England: if you don’t like the weather, wait an hour. Works in reverse too. (Bleh.)

Soft Spring Rain

The sky dawned blue-eyed, crystal clear this morning. Fresh, spring-like. Low forties feels like summer after what we’ve endured this past winter. A strange week weather-wise, that’s for sure. Started with snow early on, graduated to hail mid-week. Then bright, sunny and clear this morning.

Hudson and I head to music therapy mid-morning. (Hudson, our little boy with Down syndrome.) He’s faithfully, energetically practiced his lion roar about six months now.

An old Rich Mullins CD quietly plays. The lyrics: “and the children keep learning, how to grow up big and strong, how to grow up big and strong.” And Hudson, he “sings”, growls along. Barely squeezes in the last syllable of each phrase. Roars out the “ig” and the “ong” right on cue. Love this little boy.

Slowly making his way in this world, learning to grow up big and strong. His way, his time-table.

“Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

-A.A.Milne

I love that quote.

Later he heads out on the bus to afternoon pre-school. By now the sky’s dark, overcast. Ominous and foreboding. I stack toys, wash dishes, then head out to pick up boys from school.

It’s pouring a Soft Spring Rain now. Haven’t seen, felt rain in months. Snow only. (Snow, snow and more snow.) Almost forgot what a spring rain feels like. Fresh. So much water coming down. And so soft.

I think of that little kid in the spring rain. Donning the rain boots, rain slicker. Heading out alone. Excited. Nearly quivering. Me. To the winding gravel driveway.

Finding that long stick. Digging the shallow paths, converging and diverging paths in the dirt. Manufacturing streams and rivers, canals and moats. Lakes and oceans. The water moving. Constantly moving, mesmerizing.

Like staring into flames. Always changing, ever the same. Cozy. Dry. Feeling that delicious rain beat through the slicker.

Oh for a stick, a gravel driveway, a yellow slicker, shiny red rain boots.

Grabbing the umbrella, I pick up Charlie first. Doesn’t want space under the canopy. He wants wet. (Boys.)  On to the next school for Hudson. We arrive early, wait the few minutes in the car.

I look up. Straight up. Overcast, smoky gray sunroof canvas. Rain beats, straight down. Droplets join droplets, collect. Form rivulets.

Charlie, he watches too. Mesmerized. The beads, they collect, grow, attract one another, join other larger rolling beads. Wander off. New ones form. So mesmerizing, riveting. Like flames.

Hudson, he comes out of school baffled by the rain. He’s forgotten what rain feels like, but so happy to join me under the umbrella. We snuggle in close, buckle up then drive home.

Parked in the driveway, we stare skyward again. Oak branches tower, beads collect. A thousand magnifying glasses, prisms.

Rain drops, they fall relentlessly. Surface tensions break, bead by bead. We could sit here for hours, not move a muscle. I whisper that aloud.

Five minutes later the phone vibrates. Jolts me back to reality. I slowly remove the key, collect the backpacks.

“But you said we’d sit here for hours,” says Charlie. (My literalist.)

I said we could. And truly, I’d love that.

That, and a stick, a gravel driveway, a yellow slicker, shiny red rain boots.

(P.S. Snow forecasted this week.)

You may also enjoy: They Didn’t Know

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If you’re new around here, you might not know that our littlest boy Hudson was born with a surprise diagnosis of Down syndrome in 2010. (Catch up on his birth story here: Can’t Buy This)

We were told a lot of information, machine-gun-style in the hospital following Hudson’s birth: mostly what he couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to do.

Here’s what They Didn’t Know about Hudson:

• That he’d light up a room just walking through the door
• That he’d say “wow” with genuine excitement each time a light flicks on

2013

• That he’d make us proud learning the alphabet at three
• That he’d demand “ick” (music) every time he got in the car. (And cry if it didn’t happen fast enough.)
• That he’d love to play with balls

2011

• That he’d wake up each morning with infectious joy
• That he’d adore music, singing and dancing

Nellie and Hudson, good friends 2013

• That he’d love life
• That he’d love listening to stories, looking at books

Happy 2nd Birthday dear Hudson! April 2012

• That he’d foster love, kindness and compassion in others
• That he’d make friends everywhere he goes

2011

• That he’d so beautifully complete our family
• That he’d love his little classmates and going to school
• That he’d sign “I love you”
• That his bear hugs would melt our hearts

Freeze!

• That his unique little personality would be funny, mischievous (and stubborn)
• That he’d crawl in our bed each morning, looking for snuggles

2012

• That he’d be a little love bug, steal his mama’s heart
• That he’d have a million dollar smile

They Didn’t Know that Hudson would be mesmerized by his own reflection. That his best baby friend would be that other little boy he sees in the mirror. That he’d catch glimpses of himself in the kitchen appliances, have daily animated conversations with these little friends too….. Stove Baby, Dishwasher Baby and Stainless Steel Trash Can Baby.

Hudson, having the time of his life  

Summer 2013

You can see why this visit to the Children’s Museum was one of the best days of Hudson’s life!

(Tears and tantrums when it was time to wave goodbye to all his little friends.)

Related post: Glimpse of Sunshine

The post They Didn’t Know appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Something sweet happened today. Very sweet. I know I told you I pressed the pause button on my weekend musings this summer, but I’ll just tell you. Real quick.

So today (Thursday) is my Hudson’s last day of school. (Hudson is six years old, youngest of four boys, has Down syndrome.) The truth is, I didn’t even know it was his last day of school. I thought tomorrow (Friday) was. But this morning, Hudson’s morning bus driver kindly tells me to have a great summer. And it sounds so final.

Confused, I say “You too, will I see you in the morning?” And sadly, that’s how I learn it’s the last day. Ouch.

(Yeah, so I won’t get Mother of the Year award.)

That afternoon, the Little Yellow School Bus for special needs children arrives to drop off Hudson. And as the double doors swing open wide, the afternoon driver, she smiles. But she’s different today. Her eyes, they’re red and wet. And as Hudson slowly makes his way to the front, I see the big hot tears roll down.

“Are you ok?” I ask. Because she worries me.

“Don’t mind me,” she mumbles. “I’ve been like this all day.” Pause. “I’m really going to miss these kids.”

Now I’m the teary one. Speechless. Me. Well, almost. And husky-voiced, I whisper, “Thank you. God bless you for loving our children.”

Read on to learn more about Hudson, his beloved Little Yellow School Bus and a few of the very wonderful people that spin his world.

Dear friends, I know many of you like to stay updated on our little Hudson. I haven’t filled you in since the cardiology Heart Hudson post nearly a month ago. Last spring I’d hoped to write about Hudson and the Little Yellow School Bus but it didn’t happen. He just started back to school again. A big boy, in kindergarten this year.

So last fall Hudson started pre-school. The pre-school’s only ten minutes away, but with the school bus traffic and car line, etc. it morphed into a forty-five minute drive there and back. So driving it twice for drop-off and pick-up, I was driving an hour and a half for him to be at preschool for two and a half.

Come January, I started thinking perhaps I should consider letting Hudson ride on the special needs bus to pre-school. It’s a Little Yellow School Bus operated by Easter Seals of NH with a chaperone on board for the children. My concern about him riding the bus is that he’s mostly non-verbal.

Not only can’t he tell me how his day went at school, he can’t fill me in on the bus ride either. As my chauffeuring continued through the fall, I thought more and more about what a few extra minutes in my schedule might mean. (Guaranteed shower? Flossing my teeth twice a day?? Ha.) Swallowing my fears, I finally signed him up to ride the bus one way to school.

The big day finally arrived after Christmas break, Hudson’s first time riding the bus. If you don’t know Hudson, anything new is a significant challenge. Food, sippy cups, car seats, videos, people, music, books, places.

You name it, any change is tough for Hudson and he cries often. So I was apprehensive about how he would do getting on the bus the first time.

Unfortunately it was a frigid day. (And what January day isn’t around here?) The snow piled three feet high on either side of the driveway, as tall as Hudson. Just a narrow single file passage to squeeze by the suburban.

The bus was supposed to arrive at 12:15, but at 12:00 I heard a honk outside. Oh no, the bus. Early. They told me they’d honk and wait up to 3 minutes, then drive on.

Well first of all, Hudson does NOT like putting a coat on. Period. Doesn’t like to be hurried either. They say every person has a correlating animal.

Hudson’s is a cat.

Rush him, and he plants himself, plugs his mouth with a thumb. Ignore him, and he’ll be your best friend. (Incidentally, he also loves unwinding yarn balls…)

Back to the bus and the honk. So I rush around grabbing Hudson’s hat, coat, mittens, boots etc. His backpack. The elusive mittens are nowhere to be found.

By now, Hudson, sensing the hurry, has firmly planted himself on the kitchen floor. Refuses to budge or be rushed. Throws off the ski hat not once or twice, but three times. Tick tick tick….how many minutes have gone by?

Finally I give up on the mittens, pull his long coat sleeves down, tuck his little hands up inside, pull on his hood. Hoist my little eskimo and walk through the mudroom, out the door, and down the steps.

Setting him down outside, thankfully he decides he’ll walk. But in retrospect, I really wish I’d just slowed down.

Because the world would’ve kept turning had we missed the bus that day.

As we squeeze between the suburban and the snow bank, Hudson slightly behind me but hand in hand, he trips. Falls directly into that mile high snow bank. Snowy bare hands, snowy overalls. Tears. (Hudson, not me.) Poor little guy. (And of course I feel like the worst mom ever.)

I hurriedly brush him off and we keep walking down the driveway. The bus assistant, a cheerful older man, is waiting at the end:

“Heya Hudson! How ya doin’ there buddy? Do you like the yellow school bus?” he bellows.

At that moment, Hudson’s not doing so well. Pink nosed, teary eyed and sniffling. Not to mention a suspicious look for the bus assistant.

And my thoughts : “Oh. No. This man’s too loud. Too scary. This will never work long-term for Hudson.”

Well somehow, Hudson climbs the stairs of the bus with Charlie that day. He looks unsure, nervous. But he goes. And he’s not crying. And that, to me, is nothing short of a miracle.

Over the next few months, Hudson came to look forward to the school bus arriving. It didn’t happen overnight, it took weeks. But I think it was mostly that he loved seeing that gregarious Charlie.

And every time we’d come out the door to get on the Little Yellow School Bus, Charlie would shout up a noisy greeting. Patiently wait as we carefully navigated the door and stairs. Meet us halfway, carry Hudson’s booster seat and backpack.

And Hudson would beam. Absolutely BEAM!!!! He loved that man. Despite my fears, Charlie turned out to be a beautiful gift.

Over the summer Hudson attended a morning pre-school during the month of July. Charlie golfed every chance he could summers, so he didn’t help on the bus route anymore.

Seems there were always different drivers and helpers. And while Hudson got on the bus without tears, there wasn’t anyone quite like Charlie. We’d come out of the house, and I could tell by Hudson’s expectant face, that he was looking for Charlie. He truly loved Charlie.

So last week it was time to get back on the school bus again. This year Hudson’s a bigger boy, riding both ways. And it’s a brand new Little Yellow School Bus with tinted windows. The drivers and helpers have been so kind. The first morning we go out to the bus, and a lovely older lady introduces herself as Gigi.

Well that works perfectly, because Hudson’s grandmother is Gigi. He climbed the stairs happily, and I wave goodbye.

Several days later, the bus comes to drop him off after school. I wait and wait at the bus door for Hudson to get off. The sweet bus assistant, a different lady from the morning route brings him up.

“He gets so excited to see you through the window. Smiles and waves. It’s hard to get him out of his seat because he’s so focused watching you through the window. He’s absolutely adorable.”

I just can’t see all the joy because of those tinted windows…

Hudson has a little ritual he began over the summer. He stands in the driveway, watches as the bus drives away. Waves and waves ’til it rounds the bend and he can’t see it anymore. Then clearly says two words:

“Bye bus.”

(That counts as a sentence, don’t you think?) And then he’s happy to go inside.

This past Tuesday morning Hudson is all dressed to beat the band, ready for school. There’s still fifteen minutes before the bus arrives. All on his own, without prompting or mention of the bus, he races to the door, yells, “Bus, bus!”

I’m telling you, he loves that Little Yellow School Bus. I click on Curious George to pass the time. Fifteen minutes comes and goes and still the bus doesn’t show. Finally I call Easter Seals to see what’s up, if they’re coming.

“No school in Manchester today,” she says. “It’s voting day for the local primaries.”

Right. I knew about the primary, but somehow missed the no school memo. Then Hudson comes back in the kitchen, looks for the bus again. And I have to tell him no bus today. He plants himself on the kitchen floor. Tears and thumb.

Know what? Those tears make this mama very happy. Because they tell a story my little boy cannot: that he’s happy, loved and well-taken care of on that Little Yellow School Bus.

Tears of joy. (Me.)

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The post Hudson & the Little Yellow School Bus appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting around and Licking Coconut Pops All Day Long. It’s not even against the law. And good thing too. Because that’s what I did all day today. (Wednesday) And they were delicious!

Here it is the last week of May, just before Memorial Day weekend and I’ve got a rotten case of strep throat. I’d forgotten how unpleasant and painful strep can be.

And so the first few days I was feverish and could barely swallow to even drink, let alone choke down an antibiotic horse pill.

Then a funny thing happened. (In retrospect only.) I was upstairs in my bed in the dark with the shades drawn, had a fever of 102. Had just wrestled off the cap to the antibiotic pills.

Was about to take one, remembering the doc had said they’re big pills, and “with the way your throat looks, you better cut ’em in half.” So the pill felt so strange in my hand, it was an oblong circle/tube — like plastic.

Just the thought of swallowing it was painful, to say the least. I thought, “How in the world am I ever going to choke this down, even if it is cut in half?” In the darkness I couldn’t even see/feel a line on it to break it in half.

So I text Jon who is downstairs, ask him to come up and help me break this honkin’ pill in half.

I hand it to him. But apparently it’s the tube of silica – for preservation of the meds. Says “do not eat” in small blue letters, printed on one end. Womp. Womp.

Moral of the story: don’t take meds in the dark when you’re overtired and have a fever. Bad things could happen. Like an extra trip to the ER for stomach pumping. With the additional joy of strep throat, wouldn’t that be fun.

And just today I was finally able to lick the coconut pops which Jon so kindly picked up for me.

So I have a little blog news to share here this weekend. And it may disappoint some of you, and I’m truly sad about that. (The truth is – I’m disappointed too.) But I’ve decided to take the summer off from regularly writing my weekend musings, though I may write a few here or there and surprise you.

This summer, on the weekends I’ll be mostly republishing some of my favorite musings from the early THLG writing posts. Many of you are new subscribers and haven’t read these posts before, but I know others of you who’ve been here from the beginning look forward to the new writings each weekend.

The truth is, I need to spend the extra time with my family this summer. I know it in my heart of hearts. Some of you know our Jonathan heads off to college in the fall and this may be our last big summer together.

Another reason I’m taking a break, and many of you might not know this — is that my family and I have been sick a great deal this past year. I’ve written about it some here, but not in great detail.

Since last September I’ve had influenza A twice, once in September and once in February. And the funny thing is, I’ve never had the real flu before in my life. And now strep. Besides that, we’ve had other strep cases, multiple stomach flus ripping through the household. Viruses. Colds. Bugs, you name it.

You may remember Hudson was hospitalized for four days in February. Then Jacob had a virus that went to his ear last month. The drum perforated and it was a real nightmare and very painful. He was out of school for a few weeks.

I honestly don’t know if there’s been a week since Christmas that everyone in the house was well. I know I’ve been called the Q of H (queen of hyperbole), but no exaggeration here.

Many of you here know sweet Hudson, our six year old little boy with Down syndrome. The bottom line is, the sickness may not improve for some time because Hudson has a weakened immune system and picks up whatever he’s exposed to, then has no inhibitions about coming home and coughing, sneezing (and even throwing up on) his caregivers. That would be Jon, me and his older brothers.

As Hudson gets older and continues to be non-verbal, it’s been tough on the family as we try to figure out his needs and wants without words. And with him sick so often, it’s got to be incredibly frustrating for him too, not to be able to make his wishes known.

Which DVD? Which box of cereal? What in his sippy cup? Each seemingly simple decision becomes stressful when you have no words. Sadly, there are lots of tears. It’s a hard time right now for everyone as we wait for word on a communication device for Hudson.

All that to say, we need rest. I need rest. So many late nights and early mornings working and taking care of sick ones are catching up with me. And we all need the rest to have the patience helping Hudson along. I hope to get that rest this summer.

It’s funny how I started this blog in November of 2014 telling stories. That’s my dream. I love story telling. It gives me great joy. And over time the blog morphed more and more towards developing recipes because that’s what brings the web traffic. And that traffic is what helps pays the coconut pop bills. (!) And will help pay the college bills too.

The blog continues to grow and I’m so grateful. You’ve all been so kind and supportive. Thanks for being a wonderful part of the journey.

You may be interested to know that just 2-3% of the web traffic reads my weekend stories. The rest come here for the recipes. So you can understand why it’s the weekend posts that I need to cut back on. For now.

One thought: I may try incorporating more stories into recipe posts. What do you think? I’ve been practicing a little, I tried it on this post last week: Mini Mocha Chocolate Chip Cookie Ice Cream Sandwiches.

So that kind of writing won’t work for every post, but I’m going to try to do more of it. Share more stories in my recipe posts.

I hope to return to my weekend writing more regularly when the time is right. Thanks for being such great, supportive readers and friends. I’m blessed to get to do what I truly love here.

I also love hearing from you.

(And Licking Coconut Pops All Day Long.)

We’re hoping to plant the garden and spruce up around the yard this weekend if the weather cooperates. If not we’ll be inside spring cleaning. (Bleh.) What about you, got any plans this weekend? I’d love to hear what you’re up to.

Wishing you and yours a fabulous Memorial Day weekend… whatever you’re doing, wherever you are! Enjoy the time with your family!

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The post Licking Coconut Pops All Day Long appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Got some stories today. Just to Make You Smile. It was one of those crazy mornings a few weeks ago here. (I’m sure you don’t have those at your house.) There was no school because it was MLK Day, so we’d scheduled back to back dentist appointments for the boys. They weren’t exactly thrilled about it because it was supposed to be their day off. And besides, it was snowing. So they felt cheated. Yeah, they already had the day off, but they wanted a snow day off from school. Remember how maddening it was as a kid when it snowed on the weekend and you didn’t get to miss school? No fair.

Anyway, it was crazy because one of the kids needed a fasting blood test prior to the other appointments. Jon had taken him to the lab, but the doctor’s office had forgotten to call in the blood test. As they waited there for that to happen, Jon realized there wasn’t time to pick up the rest of the crew and they’d be late for their dentist appointments. So he called me last minute to bring them along. Well I’m still in my robe, Hudson’s not dressed. And the appointments begin in fifteen minutes. Thus the mad scramble to get dressed, clear ice and snow off the car and attempt to make it to the dentist on time.

It all worked out (phew) and we got there just a few minutes late, dropped the bigger kids off. Jon met us and Hudson came back home with me. (Hudson’s my littlest of four boys, five years old, has Down syndrome.) We didn’t even have a spare second to clear the walkway on our way out, so shuffled through three or four inches of powdery snow to the side door. When we get inside the porch mudroom, I stamp my feet to get the snow off.

Hudson watches me, but doesn’t stamp his feet. His shoes are covered too. A couple times I show him how to stamp off the snow, exaggerate my stamping on the water hog mat.

“Come on Hudson, let’s do this.” I say “Let’s stamp!”, hoping he’ll copy me, stamp his snow-covered shoes too.

Well, he doesn’t get it. So finally I pick up his right foot to physically show him how to stamp. He obviously has no idea what I’m about, because he stiffens his knee, straightens his leg. And in the blink of an eye he’s down on his bottom. Lips quivering, tears flowing. And I feel like the biggest heel ever. Basically brought him down one-handed. Must’ve felt like his mama pulled his leg out from under him, pushed him down. And a thin diaper’s not so much protection for a hard, unexpected fall on a wooden floor. So I hug him, tell him I’m sorry. And that sweet sweet little boy, though he doesn’t have a clue what I was trying to help him do, gives me the biggest open-armed bear hug in the world through his tears. Cries into the shoulder of the one who brought him down. So trusting. So forgiving. Just like that.

I’ve been told more times than I can count how nice it is that people with Down syndrome are always happy. I know they mean well saying it, but it’s not true. I grew up with my oldest sister Elisabeth who has Down syndrome, and spend my days with little Hudson. My sister isn’t always happy, and neither is Hudson.But both Hudson and Elisabeth have an unusual quality that many of the rest of us struggle with. They know how to forgive. Quickly and easily. And seemingly don’t hold grudges.

Which brings me to what I want to share with you today… Just to Make You Smile. Tim is a twenty-something young man with Down syndrome who owns his own restaurant called Tim’s Place in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He’s the only restaurant owner in the country with Down syndrome, has a contagious joie de vivre that’s rare. He’s been on my mind this week for a few reasons. But first, if you haven’t seen this short two minute video, you gotta take just a minute to watch and get to know Tim. You’ll be mesmerized, amazed, inspired. I’ve probably watched this video ten times in the past few years. Every time I smile, lose a few happy tears.

Tim serves breakfast, lunch and hugs. My heart soars to see his happy dance on his way in to work. To watch him give his customers those big hugs that make the world go round.

Says Tim, “The hugs are way more important than the food. The food… is just food.”

So Tim’s actually been crying some in the last few weeks. Why? It was just announced on CBS National News that after five successful years in business, Tim’s closing his restaurant. And he’s already missing his customers. That’s why he’s crying. But he’s losing the restaurant because he found true love. Tim and Tiffany met at a Down syndrome conference and he’s just asked her to be his bride. Yup, they’re tying the knot. Tim’s getting married and moving to Denver. Hopes to open a new restaurant there.

But if you have a minute more, you can’t miss this next short clip as Tim waits for Tiffany at the airport. No spoiler alert here, but just WOW! There are no words.

Tim seems to understand what true love is all about: sacrifice.

The interviewer asks Tim what he sees when he looks into Tiffany’s eyes.

Tim replies: “I see love. I see joy. I see that I have a future.” Again, no words friends.

I loved sharing this post today. Just to Make You Smile. Hope I succeeded. Have a beautiful weekend!

(If you’re new here, I post recipes during the week and muse on the weekends. Thanks for dropping by.)

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The post Just to Make You Smile appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Today I want to tell you about a crazy new game Hudson devised: Off Beat Musical Chairs. But first, it’s been a little bit of a crazy time at our house recently with all the busyness of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Then one of the kids ordered basketball shoes on the web. The highly anticipated shoes finally arrived: one a size 9, the other a 12. And two left feet. No joke. (Hopefully not an omen of the coming b-ball season.) Later in the week I poured toilet bowl cleaner down the shower drain thinking it was Drano. Yep. Distracted. I did that. (And I haven’t exactly mentioned it to Jon just yet. I did, however, run lots of water.)

People ask me why I write about life and family here on weekends. Thought about it, and there are a few reasons:

• #1- I have a brain like a sieve. I want to remember the little things (usually the most important) that happen. I want to remember them for longer than five minutes. Savor them. And knowing I’m going to write about the little things helps me pay closer attention, live in the moment.
• #2-  Brings me great joy to write about life and family.
• #3 – Uses up some of my 10K daily words writing here, gives my Jon a break. (You’re welcome honey.)
• And finally, if you haven’t noticed…. I particularly enjoy writing about my little Hudson.

Photo courtesy of Designs by Linda Nee

Why? As many of you know, Hudson’s five now, has Down syndrome. Life with a child with physical and emotional disabilities can be joyful. Also a strain, and difficult on the family. Simultaneously. Writing about Hudson helps me focus on the positive things that happen. The tiny milestones and progress. Also the average person has no idea the challenges of living with a special needs person. It’s a mystery. And the unknown can sometimes seem weird, strange. I find myself in a very unique position to write about mothering a little boy with Down syndrome.

Because not only does my little Hudson have Downs, but my oldest sister does as well, putting me in a rare category. Think about it: I’ve never known a day without an immediate family member with Down syndrome.

But being the sister and mother of a disabled person are two very different things.

The difference can be summed up in a word: responsibility.

Being mom to this very special little boy has had its highs and lows, joys and disappointments along the way. We deeply love and accept Hudson with our whole hearts, and yet his diagnosis changed our family and our family’s future. Forever. There have been countless physical, medical and communication challenges on the journey. Not to mention many precious and poignant lessons we could’ve would’ve never learned without Hudson joining our family.

On this blog I attempt to peel back the curtain just a tad on one little family that deals with disability daily. Mine. So you can see it’s not scary. Or weird. (And if it seems weird, don’t blame Hudson. Blame me.) Our family isn’t superhuman. We’re living life much like everyone else, just a few extra challenges thrown in on a daily basis.

I’m hoping to be one more positive voice towards loving acceptance of people with disabilities. Realizing these special people are far more like the rest of us than they are different. Dreaming of a kinder, gentler more accepting world longterm for our Hudson and many others. Striving to help humanize mental disability through writing about our typical everydays.

Jon and I were told numerous times after Hudson’s birth we were the perfect family for him. Really? I couldn’t see it at the time. I know they meant well. My thought in retrospect?

I think Hudson was the perfect child for our family.

Make sense? There’s a subtle difference there. Children with disabilities are needy and need to be served. That’s the honor, privilege and weighty responsibility our family is entrusted with: to care for Hudson and his many needs. For always. And Hudson in turn has been the catalyst for much of our family’s growth, stretching us, teaching us the meaning of true service. With a lot of joy thrown in along the way.

I shouldn’t write posts when I’m sick. (I’m sick.) Because I write (more) emotionally with a fever. But the reality is I wouldn’t get much writing done if I didn’t, because I’m sick a lot. It’s not that my immune system is weak or anything. It’s that Hudson’s is. He catches anything and everything. Also a master at spreading the wealth. See, he’s got no inhibitions about sneezing or even throwing up. On me. Or his dad or brothers. Doesn’t cough neatly in his elbow. Nope. Hudson has little awareness of needing to blow his nose or wash his hands. Might even stick those hands in his diaper. Yup. He does that occasionally. Hudson’s nearly six and still in diapers. And no sign that’s gonna change anytime soon either. These are just a few of the realities that many families with special needs children face daily.

So I told you I’d tell you about Hudson’s new game, Off Beat Musical Chairs. He came up with it all on his own, loves to play. There are two players. Hudson. And me.

He first showed me Off Beat Musical Chairs last week when he was home sick from school. Started on Monday and continued all week long ’til he went back to school on Friday. Now he comes home and plays it in the afternoons after school.

It goes something like this. But first, many of you know Hudson’s a thrower. Meaning he enjoys throwing objects like a tiny toddler would. His cup. Food. A lamp. My computer. CD’s. Yeah, you get the idea. We’ve worked and worked and worked on this bad habit to no avail. So in time, almost unconsciously, we’ve all become masters of placing valuables/breakables just out of Hudson’s reach. That worked for about four years, as long as we remembered to put things up high.

So last Monday, Hudson had a big breakthrough. He finally realized that if he got a chair, he could climb up onto that chair and it would elevate him enough to reach all those tempting things. CD’s, DVD’s, books, electronics, vases. You name it. Quickly realizing his new game, I told him to get down of course. With a little coaxing he did. This went on for several hours. Over and over and over. Hudson getting a chair, climbing up, being asked to get down. Finally I corralled all the stray movable chairs throughout the house in the dining room. All eight of them.

And just as soon as I get the last chair secured in the dining room, Hudson comes around the corner through the other doorway, retrieves it. Resolutely pushes it back around the circle into the living room again. Firmly sets his jaw, climbs that chair, reaches for the forbidden. And the whole game starts all over again. Now press replay about a hundred times. Stubborn he is. But so am I.

Last week when he was home sick, unless he was watching a DVD, he played this new game Off Beat Musical Chairs for hours. Many children with special needs do things like this almost compulsively. Over and over and over. Some open and close doors. Or make unusual noises. Or spin things. Or stick out their tongue. Or do other compulsive things. Like push chairs around the house and climb them for hours at a time. Giggle.

I’m grateful to report that Hudson was well enough to return to school again this week. So his hours to play Off Beat Musical Chairs were significantly reduced. Meaning I might keep my sanity.

The silver lining? Hudson’s learning to problem solve. And that, is progress worth celebration in the midst of the daily musical chairs insanity.

Dear Santa:

Hudson’s been a good boy this year. But no matter how much he begs or pleads, DO NOT bring him a step ladder. And if you and Mrs. Claus need a few extra chairs at the North Pole, we’ll leave some (8) by the chimney. One each for Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen.

Merry Christmas,

Hudson’s mother

P.S. We’re putting up our Christmas tree tonight and it just occurred to me that Hudson might want the angel topper. Could be a really long game-filled December. (If you know what I mean.)

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The post Off Beat Musical Chairs appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.