play

It's been a rough few days with my lovely V. I'm still working it all out in my head; the pain of watching her so frustrated or deeply sad or screaming until I think the little purple veins in her head will explode. Those are the worst moments; having no solution, no answers, no explanation.
Finally, on Friday during a particularly excruciating meltdown, with Violet writhing on the floor, not letting me near her, I looked at our Occupational Therapist, and said,

"what do I do?"
She answered quietly, "I don't know."

So, I willed the tears not to fall out of my eyes, and sat on the rug next to the therapist.

But, like I said, I'm still working all that out, so today I want to write about something bright.

Preschool has been relatively awesome this year. The kids love it. I love taking them. If I were a wealthier mama, they'd go every morning, because it's that great for them.

Violet's always been pretty social and loves other kids. Most of her play comes from her initiation, though, which in turn comes from her ABAs encouraging her to initiate (i.e: "Violet, why don't you ask Ella if she wants to play horses with you?"). I especially love watching them play on the playground after school with all of their classmates. Every Friday, they combine both of the four-year-old classes, and last Friday, I noticed Violet playing with I little boy I didn't remember from other weeks. Violet would meander over to the sandbox, and Ethan (as I found out later was his name) would call out, "Hey Violet! Let's go chase the superheroes!!" or "C'mon, Violet!", encouraging her back to the group. And she went.

I couldn't stop watching.

Because no one does that. While she's not exactly excluded from activities, there aren't a lot of times I see friends seeking her out. Her cousins, buddies, schoolmates like Violet, enjoy Violet, but my heart aches at the thought that I'm pretty sure she isn't any one's first choice for, say, pleasant conversation or a game of pretend. {post-editing: I came back to this paragraph four times, intending to delete it, because the words hurt me so much to type and read and even think. I wish I could think of a more potent or eloquent way to describe it, but it's just f$%*ing heartbreaking.}

And I can also understand. There's just so many times you can ask a potential friend to play princesses with you and have her insist on only being the horse before you seek out someone else willing to play.

I was immediately drawn to the situation with Ethan. Tears formed and I took in the moment. I'm not sure what the others mothers on the playground think- how can anyone who takes such simplicity for granted understand ?

I picked out Ethan's mom, meandered over and smiled.
I hadn't ever talked to her before, but I needed to tell her.

"Ethan is a really, really kind little boy." I said to her.
She smiled back and thanked me, genuinely.

I wanted to shake her and tell her depths of it all- how much it meant to me;  her boy, seeking out my girl. Including. Encouraging. How could she get it? She certainly didn't know Violet has autism, or social issues of any sort.

Ethan stopped at that moment, and looked at his mom, quizzically, "What, mommy?"
She'd been staring at him, feeling....proud? Special? I hope so- taking in the moment as well, on her own terms, smiling at her son.

Red-letter moments for two mommies that day, for different reasons. And the same.

Halloween 2011. More on this soon.