Children have much to teach, parents, much to learn

You are listening to Ontario Morning….”

The radio comes on and I drag myself to consciousness. It is 6:00 a.m. Time to start another day.

Immediately, my thoughts turn to the many things that need to get done before 8:00 when the bus will arrive to take Laura to school. The mere thought tires me out, and I snuggle deeper into the covers, hoping for just a few more moments of sleep. Even as I feel myself drifting off, I realize that the longer I stay in bed, the more frantic will be the start to my morning.

Finally, I drag myself out of bed, down the hall and into Laura’s bedroom. At this time of year, it is a joy to open the blind to let the morning sunlight spill into the room. I turn on the CD player to the voice of Celine Dion. A whispered, “Time to get up,” followed by a raspberry kiss begins Laura’s transition to wakefulness.

When the transition goes smoothly, we know that the next hour’s activity will be calm and orderly. When the transition goes a little less ideally, we know we’re in for a chaotic hour.

 “I’ll be back in 15 minutes.” I hold my breath – will the response be a combative, “I’m not getting up!” or the much anticipated and preferred, “Ok, Mom.” This morning, like most mornings, it’s the more challenging of the two. 

I make sure that the clothes are laid out and that all of the school paraphernalia are at hand – glasses, watch, pencil case, pen, binder. Check. I know that, if we don’t get it just right, there will be a battle.  

Now, I wait. Before long, I’ll be helping with dressing, being on hand to help only as necessary. Then, it’s down to get breakfast going, lunches packed, communication book messages written, coats, shoes, back packs gathered. Then, the next stage of transition – “Are you ready yet?” I call calmly upstairs. I hold my breath, waiting to see what the response will be – calm or chaos.  

And then it’s time to wake Robbie. 

Breakfast. The best meal of the day. Reminders about more transitions – to eat, take meds, wash up, brush teeth, brush all teeth, straighten clothes, check the clock, watch for the bus. With a flourish, the jacket is zipped and she’s off to school.  

Now, I can attend to Robbie. 

During the few minutes that are left before Robbie’s bus arrives, I try to touch base to see how he is doing. I try to be in the moment with him so he doesn’t feel completely ignored. So much of every morning is focused on Laura. Within ten minutes, his bus has arrived and he flies out the door.  

Now, I can tidy the house, get cleaned up, make any calls that need to be made (to prepare for school meetings, team meetings, plan for upcoming changes), work on completing applications (for summer camp, the annual Special Services at Home funding application), check my day book to make sure I haven’t missed anything, and get ready for a day at work. 

The phone rings. Just a reminder that Robbie has an appointment for a Hep B shot. Right. I need to remember that Robbie needs my attention too.  

I note the appointment time on the family calendar and sit for a moment to contemplate, as I often do, the imbalance of attention paid to Laura and Robbie.  

How do I, I ask myself, balance the time I spend with Laura and on her behalf with the time I spend with Robbie? At what point, I ask again, will I be able to dedicate the time needed to appropriately attend to Robbie’s needs? When will I come to terms with the fact that Robbie, too, needs my undivided attention? When will I truly accept the fact that Robbie has special needs, too? When will I become the advocate for Robbie that I am for Laura? When will I realize that he too, being “identified,” needs my involvement in his education? He needs my help in coming to terms with his “giftedness.” I can’t expect him to do it on his own. 

Who could have known that two people as different as Robbie and Laura could have so much in common. And yet, their needs are so diverse. How can I possibly find the energy to balance my time spent advocating for an appropriately challenging and modified program for Laura with advocating for …. wait! …. an appropriately challenging and modified program for Robbie! 

I suddenly realize that Robbie and Laura are more alike than I know! They both are very unique individuals with very unique strengths, abilities and needs! They both need to be seen as unique and treated as unique.