One Outfit, Two Kids, Three Years

One benefit of having two children of the same gender is reusing clothing for the second child. Yes, Mira will someday hate me for making over half of her wardrobe Cordy’s old clothing, but for now she doesn’t care. And I especially love it because of the wash of memories and emotions I get when pulling out one of Cordy’s old outfits that I loved so much.

Yesterday, I dressed Mira in one of my particular favorites, and after seeing her fully dressed, I had to take a picture, and then compare it to one of Cordy:


That’s Mira on the left, and Cordy on the right. I should also point out that in these two photos, Mira is 5 months older than her Amazon sister – Cordy was only 15 months old and wearing 24 mo. clothing.

What’s amazing to me is seeing the differences between my two girls. They have some similar features, but staring at each photo, I can practically feel the different spirits of each child coming from each image.

Mira is, and has always been, the analytical one. She watches everything around her carefully, taking it all in and not tipping her hand as to how she’s feeling until she’s fully taken it all in. She is cool in all she does, and often holds everything inside until she bursts. It’s only when there are no cameras or strangers around that she fully relaxes into the goofy girl we know.

Cordy, on the other hand, holds nothing back. A complete open book. Every photo of her at that age shows a child smiling at the camera (or looking rather angry if that was how she was feeling). Not a neutral face could be found, because her heart was always firmly planted on her sleeve.

And just because I can’t go digging through my photo archives and post only one photo of Cordy as a toddler, I’ll add in this one, too.


Sometimes I wish I could stop time for a little while.

PS – Go visit my reviews blog today for a sweet Valentine’s giveaway. Let’s just say it’s a little something to help bring back the romance in your life!



I Will Never Survive Elementary School (Alternate Title: Kids Are Cruel)

With the layer of snow still covering the ground, and two little girls with pent-up energy from being cooped up for days, we ventured out to the mall playground yesterday. (OK, so it was also so I could do a little shopping, but that’s beside the point.)

Aaron watched the girls play for about 45 minutes, and then I took over for the last bit. Not long after I sat down, Cordy came up to me and sat on my lap. “Can we go home now?”

Surprised by this request, I said, “Yes, we can go home as soon as daddy comes back.”

At this point a little girl walked up to us and said to Cordy, “Come on! Your red car is back! Come play!” At first I wondered what red car? She doesn’t have a red car with her…

Then Cordy’s face brightened. “OK!” she exclaimed, taking the little girl’s hand as she led Cordy to the other side of the play area. It was such a sweet scene to witness – this little girl was asking Cordy to come play! My heart grew three sizes in that moment as I imagined Cordy someday having lots of friends and charming other kids.

I watched them go up to an older boy in a brown shirt (he looked about 7), and he then produced a shiny red toy car from behind his back. He took off running, holding the car up high. The group of 4 or 5 kids around him ran after him, including Cordy. The other kids looked around 5 or 6, so I wasn’t concerned that an older kid was with the group.

The thought crossed my mind that this older boy might be teasing the other kids a bit, but I quickly let that thought fall away when Mira climbed onto my lap for some attention. Cordy was having fun with friends, so I was happy.

A minute or so later, I checked to see where Cordy was in the play area. At first I didn’t see her, but I saw the group of kids she was with. They all seemed to be leaning in towards something up against a play structure, crowded together and laughing. I saw the older boy lower his hand, with the red car in it, towards the kid I couldn’t see, saying “Here, you want this?” and then yank it back quickly, shouting “NO!” at the kid and laughing. The other kids roared in laughter in response.

I started to get a sinking feeling, which was then confirmed when I heard Cordy’s high-pitched shriek. I shifted my position and across the play area saw Cordy, sitting on the floor and cornered by this group of kids, reaching up and pleading to play with the car as the boy again thrust it in her face, only to pull it away as she touched it, shouting “NO! It’s MINE, dummy!” in her face and laughing at her as she shrieked again, half-covering her face and looking confused. The other kids were egging him on, saying, “Do it again!” and shouting at Cordy, “It’s not your car!”

At that moment my heart shattered into a million pieces.

A moment later, sensing my heart was no longer in any state to put up a fight, my rage began rising from my gut on a conquering march to my brain.

I stormed over there, with what little logic I still had in my head repeating a mantra of Don’t kill the kids…don’t kill the kids… Not trusting myself to say anything to these little monsters, I simply walked past them and scooped Cordy into my arms, saying, “C’mon, let’s go play over there. You don’t need to play with kids who are mean to you.”

The older kid, realizing the jig was up, and thinking himself smooth and savvy with adults, tried to act like nothing was wrong. “She kept asking for her car, but it’s mine. She thought it was hers.”

Again, I didn’t know what to say in that moment. I didn’t want to tell the kids she has autism – they probably have no clue what that means, and I didn’t need to further alienate her from them. In a pinch, I came up with, “Well, she doesn’t always understand that a toy isn’t hers. She’s not as old as you might think she is.”

“Well how old is she?” the little girl who brought her back to the bullying asked me. “Is she six?”

Apparently my Amazon child had fooled people once again. “No, she’s four.”

The little girl seemed unimpressed. “Well, my little sister is four. And she knows that some toys aren’t hers.”

OK, engaging these kids has clearly failed. Time to just make an exit, I thought. But then the older boy – that same chubby little ringleader who thought he was so much older and wiser than other kids, yet was teasing my daughter mercilessly – had to add one more statement to prove that he understood child psychology.

“Oh, I understand!” he cooed at me. “Little kids and babies don’t get that there are toys that don’t belong to them. You know…like dogs! She’s just like a dog – doesn’t know what is hers and what isn’t.”

At that point my rage was screaming in my head One swing! Just let me have one swing at him!! Meanwhile, I had ceased to breathe or move as I stood there and stared at him wide-eyed, as if he had two heads, one of which was a barking dog. Even my logic had given in, pointing out, Someday that kid is going to get his chubby little head knocked into a wall, and he will completely deserve it.

Finally wrestling my voluntary muscles back to my own control, I turned away from the mean kids and carried Cordy back to the other side of the play area. She buried her head in my neck, asking to go home. Aaron wasn’t back yet, so I checked to make sure Mira was still OK and sat Cordy down next to me.

“I want my red car,” she whined.

“Cordy, that car wasn’t yours.” I reminded her.

“It wasn’t? I want to go play with my friends.”

Damn, she didn’t even realize they were teasing her. “Cordy, those kids weren’t your friends. They were being mean to you.”

Cordy looked confused. “They were?”

“Yes, sweetie. They were teasing you and laughing at you. They weren’t being nice.”

“Oh.”

We’re not even to kindergarten yet and I’m already stressed out about bullies. I want Cordy to have friends and be happy, but as it stands her social skills aren’t very strong and kids, who pick up on any weakness, are quick to exploit hers. The only comfort at the moment is that she has no awareness that people are being mean to her – she is spared the hurt and the pain of being rejected by others. (While I currently bear the brunt of it.)

I know I can’t protect her forever, but the social world of children is a harsh and cruel one, often shaping a person for a lifetime. I should know – I was a misfit child who endured being the outcast, and the scars still burn. It’s probably because of my past that I worry so much about my daughter who isn’t always on the same plane of reality as the rest of us. Winning popularity contests isn’t my goal for her, but I do want her to have friends and know how to handle situations where other kids try to hurt her.

At this point in parenting, I feel lost. We’re entering a phase of her life that I didn’t do particularly well with, and she has additional challenges to make it even more difficult. I can’t be there to pull her out of these situations all the time, and I can’t even think of how scenes like this would end without me stepping in.

(And before anyone asks: No, I don’t know where their parents were. A group of parents sitting right by the gang looked on without any concern. The mall play areas lean towards a Lord of the Flies atmosphere on weekends when older kids aren’t in school. The majority of concerned parents have very young children, and hover over them continuously.)



Dark Nights

These are the nights I hate.

The cries sometimes erupt sharply from her room. Other times they are soft at first, growing to a fever pitch. Heaving sobs come between high-pitched whines. I wonder at first if she’s scared or in pain or both as I rush up to her room.

Tonight it’s sharp cries. I find Cordy on the floor beside her bed, curled in the fetal position with her arm over her head, trying to block out some unseen attack. I ask her what’s wrong, but as usual I get answers that are vague or make no sense.

I ask why she’s upset and she says she doesn’t know. I ask if her belly hurts, and she says it does. I ask if her foot hurts and she says it does. I doubt she really hurts – instead she is letting my questions lead her to find the answer she doesn’t know. Anything I ask she answers yes.

Her eyes are open wide, pupils large and black. She is awake yet most of the time sees right through me. She begins to cry out that she misses her grandma, and I remind her that she’ll see grandma in a few days. She then says she misses mommy, and I look closer into her eyes and tell her I’m right there. I shift my weight slightly and she interprets this as a sign of retreat, begging me to stay because she is scared.

“What are you scared of?” I ask.

“I don’t know…the dark.”

“But your light is on. It’s not dark in here.”

“I’m scared of the dark when I close my eyes.”

As a toddler Cordy suffered from night terrors. She would wake suddenly, screaming and thrashing as if she was being assaulted. We tried to comfort her, but any attempt to interact made her scream even louder. She didn’t recognize us or her surroundings. 15-20 minutes later, she would eventually start to calm and slowly become aware of our presence, dazed and clinging to us for comfort.

We had a long period where there were no nightmares or night terrors. Cordy has never slept through the night since she turned three, but she rarely needs us when she wakes. She usually goes to bed around 7pm (her choice), then wakes sometime between 11pm-1am, spending up to an hour quoting some TV scene to herself over and over, running back and forth in her room, or collecting carpet fuzz in one of her play kitchen pots. She eventually settles down without any intervention from us. Sometimes she has another awake period around 3am, and by 6am she is up for the day.

But over the past few weeks, the night-time crying has come back. She may be four years old, but her comprehension of nightmares is closer to that of a two year old. She can’t comprehend it – she only knows that she’s suddenly awake and scared of something she can’t describe. It’s not a night terror, because she’s awake and aware of us, but she can’t accept our explanations. No matter how we try to explain that it wasn’t real, she doesn’t believe us. Her inner world and the outside world are blurred together in that moment.

It’s very possible that these nightmares are her way of trying to process the outside world that encroaches on her internal world more each day. Her inner world is a predictable place, filled with routine and repetition and patterns. She retreats to it whenever she feels threatened. Our world is chaotic to her, frightening and confusing and filled with new experiences and sensations. When she’s had too much, she retreats inward to her scripts and her repetitive motions.

Cordy has made incredible progress combating autism. She’s brave, she’s strong-willed, and she wants to please us so much. I feel so proud of her accomplishments, and I take some pride in how well we’ve fought to get her to this point. She has her good days and bad days, of course. She talks back to us now, full of attitude that she learned from her classmates, and while it’s frustrating we laugh and remind each other it’s a sign of progress. She’s acting like a “typical” four year old with each huff and foot stomp.

But on these nights, when I cradle my scared, no-longer-small four year old with the wide, vacant eyes and grasp for ways to make her fears go away, unable to promise that the darkness won’t be there when she closes her eyes, I feel just as lost as she does. And I can only hope that the morning sun will vanquish the darkness and bring her some peace, even if only for another day.



What You Get When You Give A 4-Year Old A Camera For Christmas

From Cordy’s new Little Tikes camera:







And when said 4-year old’s 19-month sister gets her hands on the same Little Tikes camera, you get these pictures…






…and about 130 more exactly like them.



…And A Happy You Here

For those of you celebrating Christmas – or just wanting to see something cute while eating your Chinese take-out – a little holiday song by Cordy. (If you’re reading the feed you may need to click-thru to see it.)

We Wish You… from Christina M on Vimeo.

And one more, with a typical little-sister upstaging by Mira at the end. Watch your sound folks – Mira’s surprise entrance is a wee bit loud.

Jingle Bells from Christina M on Vimeo.

Enjoy your December 24th, whether it be celebrating Christmas Eve at home or at a party, lighting the fourth night of Hanukkah candles, or just kicking back and watching everyone scurry like mice to find their last gifts as you sip hot chocolate and watch the snow fall.

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