Sunday morning, I prepared Ellana and Jonathon for Candle-Lighting and caroling with their Ukrainian Scouting Group. Daniel flicked his fingers near his eyes and asked a quick series of questions.
“Why I not speak Ukrainian? Why even learning to speak English hard for me? Why I not talk until four and a half, like Einstein?”
Good questions Daniel! Mama doesn’t know. But Mama’s heart hurts because I didn’t think to ask you yesterday, when there was still time, if you wanted to come with us, instead of assuming you’d prefer to stay home with Daddy. Because you look so sad for the second time this week. Because I did what was easy and that might not be the best thing for you.
The Pain of Awareness
For years, I’ve been making decisions for my children. I’ve noticed that when I give them too many options, they become frustrated. Often, it is easier if I say, “Let’s go to the store now,” instead of offering a menu of options. Especially since I have three children and the likelihood of all of them having the same preference is slim.
Daniel seems particularly upset by choices. Even when I give him two, clear options, he looks at me like a deer and headlights, and says, “Choosing is hard for me. I don’t like to make choices. I can take my time. I can think about it.” But he remains frustrated until, playing mind-and-energy-reader, I say, “I looks like you want to come home with me.” Then, he grins and says, “That’s a good idea.”
Why? Why? Why?
Yesterday, he was surprised to see his siblings up and eating breakfast in their uniforms. I had not told him that we would not be having our usual casual Sunday. And he looked sad.
Over the past year, he has become more and more aware of how he is different from his siblings (who are also very different from one another and other kids). I see confusion in his eyes, I hear it in his questions.
He often answers his own questions with my stock replies:
I remind him of the things he is good at and enjoys, of what’s wonderful about him. But this is no longer enough.
He knows that only one other boy in his class gets Ms. Demarco’s help. He knows that everyone else understands what Mr. Connolly is saying, but he needs help. He knows he is more different from the other kids than they are from one another.
Now What?
I have new territory to explore.
Next year, Daniel will go to middle school. There’s a lot for me to learn to be ready.
“Why I not speak Ukrainian? Why even learning to speak English hard for me? Why I not talk until four and a half, like Einstein?”
Good questions Daniel! Mama doesn’t know. But Mama’s heart hurts because I didn’t think to ask you yesterday, when there was still time, if you wanted to come with us, instead of assuming you’d prefer to stay home with Daddy. Because you look so sad for the second time this week. Because I did what was easy and that might not be the best thing for you.
The Pain of Awareness
For years, I’ve been making decisions for my children. I’ve noticed that when I give them too many options, they become frustrated. Often, it is easier if I say, “Let’s go to the store now,” instead of offering a menu of options. Especially since I have three children and the likelihood of all of them having the same preference is slim.
Daniel seems particularly upset by choices. Even when I give him two, clear options, he looks at me like a deer and headlights, and says, “Choosing is hard for me. I don’t like to make choices. I can take my time. I can think about it.” But he remains frustrated until, playing mind-and-energy-reader, I say, “I looks like you want to come home with me.” Then, he grins and says, “That’s a good idea.”
Why? Why? Why?
Yesterday, he was surprised to see his siblings up and eating breakfast in their uniforms. I had not told him that we would not be having our usual casual Sunday. And he looked sad.
Over the past year, he has become more and more aware of how he is different from his siblings (who are also very different from one another and other kids). I see confusion in his eyes, I hear it in his questions.
- Why talking so hard for me?
- Why I not tie my shoes until I was nine?
- Why I go speech and OT?
He often answers his own questions with my stock replies:
- Some things are easy for some people and hard for other people.
- Everyone learns at different times and that’s okay.
- Everyone needs help with something.
I remind him of the things he is good at and enjoys, of what’s wonderful about him. But this is no longer enough.
He knows that only one other boy in his class gets Ms. Demarco’s help. He knows that everyone else understands what Mr. Connolly is saying, but he needs help. He knows he is more different from the other kids than they are from one another.
Now What?
I have new territory to explore.
- What is my role in helping Daniel to feel good about himself?
- Are there specific skills I should be teaching him?
- When do I step in, and when do I let things be as they are?
Next year, Daniel will go to middle school. There’s a lot for me to learn to be ready.
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