Reminiscing

I am currently putting stamps on our Christmas cards, and I was reminded that we used to actually have to lick each stamp. There are little things like that I don't want to forget.

Do you remember the card catalog at the library? I loved finding the cards and books and then getting them stamped by the librarian at the desk. I miss the stamping and don't like the long receipt you get instead now. I always thought it was fun to see who checked out the book before you and how long ago it was.

Remember rotary phones? They were annoying but cool at the same time. My parents had a flesh-colored one. Classic.

Apple IIe?

Printer paper with the edges you had to tear off?

And how about the wonderful sets of Encyclopedia Brittanica and World Book Encyclopedia? It was so empowering looking through my parents' encyclopedia thinking that I could learn "all there was to know" about kangaroos, or electricity, or World War II. Now with Google and the Internet, the sheer amount of information--not to mention whether it is legitimate or not--is overwhelming.

What about you? What do you remember/miss? Or don't miss?

Recent happenings

So I forget that we have actually done stuff around here until I finally upload my camera pics to the computer.

Is it bad if the quantity of photos you take influences your self-esteem?

 Clara's music teacher held a concert at Barnes and Noble one evening to showcase the songs they've been singing.

I was pretty nervous for Clara--lots of noises, lots of kids, lots of stuff going on. She did so well. She sat there quietly, shook her instrument at the right time, and sang "The Star-Spangled Banner" so sincerely with the rest of the group.

 Clara just finished a free 12-week (?) long course at James Madison University called Project Climb. The senior PE majors take a class where they have to come up with a lesson plan each week for their individual special needs child to help them work on certain skills.

Clara's mentor, Cally, was wonderful for her. She was just the type of person Clara works well with--laid-back, positive, and creative.

 It was hard to take decent pictures in the gym lighting, but they worked on hopping, kicking, throwing, dribbling a ball, and working together with other kids. It was once a week for an hour and I'm glad we took the opportunity.

 As a goodbye present, Cally gave Clara a Disney princess beauty kit. Clara was very intrigued by the press-on nails.

She wasn't thrilled and immediately took them all off.

So then I put them on instead. Apparently I have hands the size of a child's. I kept them on long enough to show Michael when he got home--of course he didn't like them (neither did I!), but I'd always secretly wanted to try those things.


Now back to working on Christmas choir preparations.

Thoughts from a Monday

1. Having to wash our shower means having a shower to wash. It also means we are clean since we use it on occasion.

2. Furniture to dust means we have places to sit and a house to put the furniture in.

3. Feeling overwhelmed about church callings means I am worthy to serve, however imperfectly.

4. Lamenting my disused singing voice means I have a voice to strengthen.

5. Stressing about church choir Christmas music means that a wonderful season is on its way.

6. First grade homework struggles means that my child is (hopefully) learning and growing.

7. An "N" for "needs improvement" for handwriting on a recent progress report means that her handwriting can be counted as such. The fact that Clara wrote the above is nothing short of wonderful and amazing, compared to where she has been. She is making a lot of progress.

(I'm hoping Clara's first sentence wasn't a statement of fact.)

Lesson learned

Clara's school put on a fundraiser a week ago. It reminded me of the "Walk-A-Thon" I did when I was in elementary school, except hers was called the "Fundrun." The premise is the same: get people to pledge money for each lap you run/walk.

I bet you know where this is going.

Since Clara is not a big runner, I asked her how many laps she thought she'd run (fifteen laps is a mile). She told me she'd do six laps, and I thought that was a reasonable goal, so we pledged three dollars a lap. (Quite honestly, I imagined her petering out after the first one. I even talked with the physical therapist at the school to see if she could walk with Clara because I was afraid she would refuse to participate at all without someone next to her.)

The parents were encouraged to come and cheer their kids on, so I dutifully arrived at the school, only to discover that they had moved the run inside the gym because of inclement weather. Picture a child with autism in a loud, echoing, gymnasium filled with one hundred first graders yelling their enthusiasm, a dude in a red cape ("Mr. Awesome" was his name), and pounding, pumping music. I watched Clara at the back, covering her ears. I was impressed that she was managing her discomfort--she didn't remove herself from the situation, but instead stayed and handled it.

The countdown is done and the kids start running. They circle around and around the gym, running through a red inflatable tunnel, and then stopping to get their t-shirts marked off for each lap. She keeps going. And going. And going. She walks sometimes, but she doesn't quit.

Lap 13 or so was a "parent lap," and you can bet I made sure that we took our sweet time getting her t-shirt marked off, letting her give a high-five to Mr. Awesome, etc. Nice and slow.

At lap 18, another teacher (who was trying to be helpful but wasn't at all) freaked her out by grabbing her wrist to direct her somewhere. She started crying, and we walked off the track to take a breather. After getting a drink at the water fountain and resting, she was done.

Eighteen laps. Sure, most of the kids did the maximum (36 laps), but the fact that she did so many was, well, awesome. Her PE teacher, Mrs. Trick, was amazed. Another teacher told me that Clara had stopped to help someone who had fallen which almost made me cry.

Clara was so proud of that t-shirt with the eighteen marks on the back. And even though I had to laugh at my naivete, fifty-one dollars was totally worth seeing my child run her heart out and feel proud of her effort.


Next time, though, I'm sticking with a flat donation.

Halloween: a limerick

There once was a girl on Halloween
Trick-or-treating she had never been
With the weather so cold
And the goodies untold
A happy night was foreseen.

So out in the night the girl went
Her ladybug skirt like a tent
Smiling with perfect grace
At each homeowner's face
With lots of candy home she was sent.

Her mom ate the chocolate with ease
While the child was strangely appeased
With Nerds and with Skittles
(So annoyingly little)
Overall, a night worth the bee's knees.