We remind our little guy that he is stronger and braver than the monsters in his head.
During a recent Sunday morning, around 1:30, I was woken up by the hubby having a fit.
T had turned on all the lights in the house, downstairs included, and was up playing with his toys – because he was too scared to sleep.
The next morning, around 1:30 Monday, it was my turn to be flustered, because he was up again; this time, on a school night.
While T has always feared the dark, this was the first time it affected him to the point of getting up, turning on lights and staying up.
Sleep is especially important for those whose brains are on overdrive. We’ve been lucky T is usually a good sleeper, so this was concerning.
“The Darkest Dark” by Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield is a treasured picture book we often read with T, a great story about overcoming fears.
Fear of the dark is normal. Heck, I was 16 when I slept with lights on after watching The Exorcist.
But as Freddy Krueger in Nightmare on Elm Street taught us, the monsters in our mind feed on our fear. Facing our fear overcomes these monsters.
The monsters that adults fear are different; real monsters that cause harm to others or situations that render us helpless, be they health, relationship or finance related.
As a FASD parent, I’ve found myself in dark places.
The fears, real or perceived, can feel paralyzing. Fears that T would never thrive, be bullied or struggle with friendships, become a delinquent, or that FASD would destroy my family.
These fears are fed by reading and hearing about other caregivers experiences and encountering challenges myself.
Monsters often seem smaller when you face them – by learning more about FASD, building skills, finding supports, making time for self care and connection, adjusting expectations, and finding gratitude in our many wins.
During a recent counseling session, I received great advice.
Special needs parents often find ourselves like deers caught in the headlights. We focus on that blinding light that we forget to look around at all the good stuff around us.
Going for night walks during warmer seasons is a favourite pastime for T and I.
As parents, we know fear of the dark is normal.
It can feel silly to us but for our young ones, their fears are very real.
So we try to validate T’s feelings and let him process them while helping him build coping skills.
It includes letting him talk and to understand what’s contributing to his fear. Is it a bad dream, a scary video, an incident at school, a symptom of grieving from recent events?
We installed night lights in his room and hallway, recognizing that getting him comfortable with the dark will require a transition.
Thankfully, the evening wake ups were shortlived, for now, and night lights are helping. It’s our goal to wean him off them.
I also gave T a second pillow and told him to hug it when he gets scared at night.
Then he asked, “Is this why you sleep with two pillows, Papa?”
Live and love as if it’s your first and last day on Earth.
Our caring, curious, funny and not-so-little guy turned 9 this weekend. How is that possible?!
The past year brought adventures and hard losses and through it all, he steps forward with his fun-seeking, resilient and endlessly energetic spirit.
Our consecutive hard losses have profoundly shifted my mindset of how I want to step forward with life.
Life is a blessing and the gift to enjoy it with loved ones is something I will never take for granted.
We kept T’s birthday celebration low key, as we did not have time to organize a party, because of the events of the past weeks.
We stayed home and got the traditional golden balloon ready for when he woke up.
This year’s theme is Skidibi Toilet, an obnoxious web cartoon he’s currently obsessed with, so the colour scheme is red and black, traditionally associated with celebration and mourning.
An appropriate theme, I might add!
T’s Uncle J dropped by in the morning for a surprise visit and they played together. As my cousin left, I hugged him and jokingly pleaded to not leave us alone with our endlessly hyperactive child.
T then went to swim lessons with the hubby then we just relaxed at home in the afternoon.
We took T for dinner and play at Chucky Cheese then enjoyed a chocolate cake with buttercream icing at home well past his bedtime.
T is great at basketball.
The simple pleasures of life are deeply meaningful when spent with those we love.
Wishing our sweet T a year ahead of continued happiness, good health, growth and adventure.
Sometimes, a picture sums up life’s depth of emotions better than words ever could.
Yesterday, we had lunch with family to celebrate Ma and my aunt’s birthdays. Ma’s absence was noticeable.
Afterwards, my uncle, recently returned from the Philippines, gave me Ma’s urn.
It was a strange feeling holding it in my hands. The logical part of my brain knew what it was; the emotional side shielded me from the reality.
I placed the urn in our home next to a photo of Pa – where it’ll remain until Ma’s interment, when she will be laid to rest with Pa and next to my sister.
I then unpacked framed photos my uncle brought back that belonged to Ma.
The first photo I unpacked was a lovely illustration of Ma and T, pictured at the top.
It was commissioned by my cousin’s thoughtful wife, from a photo I provided; my favourite photo of Ma and T, taken at a restaurant last June, one of the last times T spent with her.
I love this photo because it so deeply and succinctly captures the loving relationship between Ma and T.
T’s mischievous face pressed right up to his Ama’s – his signature lack of personal space approach to tease someone, his way of saying I like you.
I then remembered all the times when T would tease Ama, following her around and smacking her butt and burping in her face – or walking around with her cane, pretending to be slow and old.
Ma would eventually get annoyed and yell at him to stop but be unable to keep a straight face and hold in her laughter.
I love this photo, because of Ma’s warm smile that radiates genuine unfiltered unconditional love.
It’s astonishing, and a bit offensive to me, the sheer hell T got away with. Ma would’ve beaten me to death for half the things he got away with.
But that’s what makes the bond between grandparents and grandchildren special.
She never fully got what FASD is and it didn’t matter that she didn’t. All she saw was a kid that she loved and she loved him as such.
I had a good cry when this photo caught me by surprise.
Then I showed it to the hubby and T.
I am thankful Ma and T got to enjoy each other for seven years. While we always wish for more time, I am grateful for the time they had together.
We let T decide where to put the photo and he asked for it to be put up in our living room, the place in our home where he spends the majority of his waking hours in – above his favourite toys.
We prepped T for his first concert by looking at photos of the venue and show and speaking about what to expect before, during and after the show.
M starts her shows way past T’s 8:30 bedtime. So we took him out of after school care so he could rest and have a soothing bath beforehand.
We also took him out of school the day after the show (Friday), coordinating with his teacher to complete all his homework and end-of-week spelling test (13/15 🙌) by Thursday.
With T prepped, off we went to the show!
We drove and parked near a subway station five stops from the venue – to save on parking and minimize the transit commute after the show, fully anticipating T would be overstimulated after.
Walking from the subway to Scotiabank Arena.
We set the bar very high for T’s first concert – as M’s shows are produced to the highest quality and with powerful heartfelt messages.
We arrived at Scotiabank Arena close to 9 pm and enjoyed the preshow DJ set and popcorn.
The hubby and I were annoyed to realize we left T’s noise-cancelling headphones in the car. Oh well!
The show started at 10:15 and she opened with “Nothing Really Matters,” one of her less widely-known singles from the late 90s about her reflections on being a first-time mother.
She’s never performed it on tour so this was such a treat for diehard fans, 25 years after its release.
A lovely video from the Toronto show posted by another fan. I kept my phone mostly in my pocket!
The show was a joyous poignant ride through the life of an artist I’ve long admired – celebrating her ups, downs, successes, setbacks and constant reinventions in an unparalleled four-decade-and-counting career.
“Nothing takes the past away like the future
Nothing makes the darkness go like the light.”
– “Nothing Really Matters”
Having attended all-but-one of her tours since 2004, this show felt extra special because it was an autobiographical celebration of her life and included four of her six children; her eldest two kids were featured on previous tours.
David Banda accompanied her on guitar in two numbers, including the crowd pleasing 80s hit “La Isla Bonita” (below).
Mercy James, now 18 (how is this possible?!), played the piano during “Bad Girl” (below), the first time M has performed this early 90s ballad on tour.
M has long used her art as a form of expression, protest, advocacy and celebration.
The most moving part of the show was when she performed her 80s ballad “Live to Tell,” atop a platform that floated across the arena, while giant photographs of those who’ve passed away from AIDS were projected on massive screens.
It was a beautiful tribute and provided a reminder of her AIDS and LGBTQ advocacy in the 80s, a time when it was considered career suicide to do so.
Her music has inspired me in different ways in my life; today, in my journey to advocate for T and the FASD community.
“Live to Tell” was incredibly powerful. The massive photos were very moving to see in person.
Music provides comfort during hard times.
Another moving part of the show was when M and David Banda performed “Mother and Father,” a deep cut from her 2003 album, “American Life.”
A recurring theme in M’s work is about how the death of her mother, also named Madonna, when she was 6 profoundly shaped her life.
Her performance, featuring large photographs of her mother and David’s birth mother, paid tribute to both their late mothers.
Watching this performance, less than a week after my Ma passed away, was quite emotional.
“Faster than a speeding light she’s flying
Trying to remember where it all began.”
– “Ray of Light”
Music also underscores the joyous moments in our lives and as M sings in her #1 hit, “Music,” it also makes the people come together.
It was amazing for us to immerse T in an arena packed with 13,000+ other fans – mostly adults, I saw less than a handful of kids – in a celebration of life, art and community.
As the awesome rave-themed and laser-filled performance of “Ray of Light” (below) reminded us, M is, at her core, Queen of the dancefloor.
T danced along joyously to this performance and it is an image I will tattoo in my heart forever.
So you must be wondering how T did.
He had fun. He’s a fan of her music and listens to it during our drives.
He was also overstimulated. When the show started, he looked at a stopwatch app on the phone (see below) for over half the show, peeking his head up from time to time to see what was going on.
I think it was his way of regulating himself.
He let us know after he liked the show! 💕👍
The show wrapped up at 12:30 am.
I was super tired – and still jet lagged – but I felt thankful for the experience.
Little did I know last August when the show was rescheduled, due to M’s near fatal illness, that it would take place at a time when I really needed a pick-me-up.
More than that, I felt grateful to have experienced this with T and to see him experience not just his first concert, but Madonna, through his eyes.
As we were leaving the arena, a random woman went up to him and said, “You don’t know how lucky you are!”
As we expected, T was beyond overtired, overstimulated and disregulated during the subway ride back uptown.
As we waited on the crowded subway platform, he repeatedly ran up the stairs and jumped down the steps.
Then he started rolling and crawling around the platform – then repeating this on the train.
Once I got over my initial self-conscious annoyance, I thought with amusement on our drive home about how Madonna once rolled and crawled around on the stage floor during her first televised performance at the inaugural MTV Video Awards in 1984.
T learned about his Ama’s death the week prior, in the middle of the school week. We gave his teacher and CYW a heads up before telling him.
The next day, his CYW said T asked to step out of the class to talk. She said he talked for over half an hour while she listened.
He said that everyone he cares about is dying and that he is scared he will lose someone every year.
That night, he had a big cry at home.
I was also having a hard week. Ma’s death hit me hard. The jet lag did not help. I stayed in bed for most of the week.
I was grateful for friends and colleagues’ support, including gifting Uber Eats gift cards that we put to good use.
A week later, we’re better. T still has moments when he cries and we give him space to talk.
I am thankful T externalizes his feelings – one blessing I’ll attribute to FASD and the lack of impulse control and regulation – because internalizing grief is not ideal.
Emotional wellbeing is as important to nurture as academic and physical wellbeing.
We want to normalize that it’s ok to ask for a break; it’s ok to take a Personal Affection Day.
T did keep himself busy on the PA Day, playing on his tablet and with his toys.
I love seeing T’s imagination come to life.
Friday was also Ma’s birthday. So in a way, it was nice T was close to us all day. That evening, we went to Dragon Legend buffet to celebrate Ma.
On Sunday today, I felt like my normal self for the first time since Ma’s passing, and took my own Personal Affection Day by doing things I enjoy.
I spent part of the morning meal prepping for the week, my first time cooking in a month.
I made Jamaican beef brisket stew for dinner and it felt soothing slow cooking this aromatic meal.
I did weekend learning with T. It felt nice to have the motivation to do so again; I created a Skidibi Toilet-themed math worksheet to T’s delight.
T zipped through reading and math practice and I thanked him for being focused then announced the rest of the day was for play!
We went for a long walk before lunch then swimming at the community pool in the afternoon.
It was nice to resume our Papa and T Sunday swim ritual after a month-long pause.
As we drove home, the golden hour sun bathed the snow-covered sidewalk and lawns in our neighbourhood.
It felt sobering and sad to realize that life moves on all around us, regardless of how hard a loss is.
But it was also a reminder of what a gift life itself is – and the best way to honor our loved ones is to live our lives to the fullest.
The beef brisket stew was the perfect way to end this day – and yes, the gooey fatty bits are the best.
After Ma was admitted to ICU, I could no longer visit her. So, with thanks to uncles, I visited Binondo, the neighbourhood my family lived in for most of my early childhood in Manila.
My family moved into and lived at a well-known Chinese school when I was 3, after Ma took the job of principal to run the school.
Yes, I spent a large chunk of my childhood living in a school and studying at that same school.
Our home was on the second floor and you can see my bedroom window above the word “Philippine” on the sign in the photo below.
Photo credit: Unknown from Google
I have many fun quirky memories living here:
Like going to take my shower and there’d be students standing in the hallway outside our door.
I had no excuse to be late for class, as classrooms were literally steps from our door.
I worked hard to prove myself, because Ma was also my principal – a strict one!
We wore uniforms. Teachers did random spot checks to see if our nails were cut. Students stood up every time a grown up entered or exited the classroom to greet them.
I had the school to myself on weekends and roleplayed as teacher in the empty classrooms.
One of my friends lived on the third floor, her mom was the Grade 6 Chinese teacher.
School started at 7:10 and morning classes were taught in English. Afternoon classes ran till 4:00 and were taught in Mandarin.
Kids as young as kindergarteners had exams. The passing grade was 75% and the first thing we did when we received report cards was to look for the color red, which meant a failing mark.
Ma said I once tutored a fellow classmate and when they did well on their exam, the parents gifted me a roasted chicken! 😆
During typhoon season, Ma organized fundraisers to support vulnerable people and families that lived in the slums.
When I first visited Manila in 2008, 19 years after moving to Canada, the hubby and I went to see Binondo.
The school had been torn down and a low rise building was being constructed in its place (see above). I was devastated as I had hoped to see the school again.
In recent years, with the influx of social media, it’s wonderful to see Binondo gain local and international recognition, thanks to influencers discovering its history and offerings for foodies – such as those highlighted in the video below.
My cousin opened a cafe in Binondo last fall and I was so happy I got to visit in person – as I’ve been drooling over their Ube (purple yam) latte from afar on Instagram. 😋
Here’s the latte with the Ube stirred. 😋
As we inched through the Manila traffic towards my old street, I couldn’t help but reminisce about my childhood in Binondo.
Then we arrived at the intersection of where the old school used to be, now in its place is a low rise building.
I walked around the building and gazed down the streets.
The convenience store from my childhood was still there and I spoke to the owner, who remembered Ma’s time as principal.
The streets that once seemed long and wide were short and narrow.
There were still street vendors selling noodle soup – and I remember how Pa would not allow me to have them nor the bola bola (fish ball) skewers sold by vendors outside the school, because he felt they were unsanitary. 😆
My childhood friend still lives on the street. She was working that day so we couldn’t meet up; but we saw each other during my prior visit.
As we drove away, I felt a grounding sadness.
This was probably my last visit, because Pa and my sister were gone – and now Ma.
I also felt overwhelming gratitude for having the opportunity to revisit this special place that will always live on in my heart and memories.
Grit, resilience and work ethic are wonderful lessons I learned from Ma.
I thought about times she demonstrated them during my recent unexpected visit to the Philippines, as she battled for her life.
At 15, she left her home in the province to move to the city in Manila to attend university – working tutoring jobs to support herself and her 7 siblings.
She grew up poor and during hard days, she’d turn on the tap to sip water to fill her hungry tummy.
Growing up in Manila, I rarely saw Ma as she worked two jobs – as a school principal during the day and a journalist for the Chinese newspaper on evenings and weekends – to meet ends meet.
When I was 8, my family immigrated to Canada and my parents gave up a life they loved so that my sister and I could get a chance at a better life.
In Canada, Ma was the sole provider.
When I was 15, I came home one day and learned she quit her job, which she hated. For two years, she kept us going through tutoring work, while she took a training program for a bank teller job.
In her 50s, she started work as a teller. It was low paying, but she kept our family afloat and saved very hard to buy a home.
In her late 60s, she retired when Pa fell ill and took good care of him until his death.
When she had her stroke in 2020, she told me at the hospital that she was a fighter and was going to survive. And she did.
Through her example, I developed my own work ethic, perseverance and determination – qualities I hope to pass down to T.
When I arrived in Manila, I knew it was my turn to help Ma fight.
She was hospitalized for a fall. Medically, it was surmountable; but she was struggling with grief for my sister’s death. She had no will to get better.
During the four days I visited her, I saw the depth of her grief. She apologized out loud to my sister and prayed to join her and Pa.
No parent should outlive their child and I saw in my 20s how Pa crumbled after the death of my elder sister and I was seeing it again two decades later with Ma.
On New Years Day, she took a turn for the worse when she got pneumonia and was moved to ICU.
She was also under nourished, as she was refusing to eat, and the doctor asked for my consent to intubate her for tube feeding.
Being intubated was Ma’s worst nightmare but I consented to give her a fighting chance.
My uncles and aunt waited outside her room as they didn’t want to see the process.
I stayed with Ma and held her hands while the nurse inserted the tube up her nostril, down her throat into her stomach – having to try five times.
I cried silently as I watched this happen.
Later that evening, Ma tested positive for COVID. Not only was her condition critical but we could no longer visit her per COVID protocols.
The following morning, the doctor asked for my consent to intubate Ma for machine-assisted breathing as she could no longer maintain life-sustaining oxygen levels on her own.
I consented to give her a fighting chance.
Knowing when to let go and stop fighting was the last lesson Ma taught me.
Last Sunday, on my last day in Manila, the doctor asked for my consent to surgically add a tube through Ma’s neck so they could intravenously give her medication, as it was no longer possible to do so using her bruised veins.
I had a frank discussion the day prior with all Ma’s siblings and based on our chat, I asked the doctor if these efforts were only prolonging the inevitable.
He sadly said yes.
I took a deep breath and told him we would like to let Ma go peacefully, as this was what she would’ve wanted.
The hospital allowed my family to say goodbye in person – and I was joined by her brothers and two of my cousins.
We were not allowed to go inside her room and had to stand outside, one at a time, and look in through a window.
It was very surreal for me to watch Ma, the strongest person I’ve ever known, look so weak and attached to machines and heavily intubated.
Her eyes opened a few short times and while the nurses said she was not alert, I believe in my heart that she knew I was there. When we made brief eye contact, her hands weakly lifted from her bed.
In the room next to Ma, the patient had gone into cardiac arrest and doctors were applying chest compressions, to no avail, to resuscitate them.
As I said my final goodbye to Ma, the other patient’s family gathered inside to mourn their loved one.
I found the moment incredibly surreal – almost like an out of body experience – and it reminded me that life is fragile and moves on all around us.
Nine days earlier, I flew into Manila at sunrise and I flew out at sunset.
During the 15-hour flight home, I thought how surreal and sad it was that I was going to be the only one left in my first family.
I thought about how much I missed the hubby and T – and that I wanted to be with them when the inevitable sad news arrived.
I thought about how hard the decision I had to make was, but that it was also the best decision for Ma, who was a very pragmatic person, and I felt very thankful I got to see her and say goodbye.
During the holidays, I unexpectedly flew to the other side of the world to visit my ailing Ma.
Ma moved back to the Philippines in July. In early December, her myositis autoimmune disease, which attacks and weakens her leg muscles, resurfaced and a few days before Christmas, she had a fall at home.
On Christmas Eve, a few days after being admitted to the hospital, I had a video chat with Ma.
She did not look well – very weak and no fighting spirit, as she has been struggling with grief after my sister’s death. So I decided to go see her in the event this would be a goodbye visit.
2023 was a year of many losses, so with this latest incident, Christmas Day was very stressful.
I worked hard to muster enthusiasm to open presents. I then kept to myself as I processed Ma’s situation and the idea of leaving the hubby and T for nearly two weeks, the longest we’ve been apart.
The hubby was so supportive and let me have Christmas Day to myself and he helped book my flight and pack.
Stress makes the mind play awful tricks and I thought of every worst case scenario.
Then I took very deep breaths, had a good sleep, and got up on Boxing Day with a game plan.
I prepped for my trip – which included creating an away and return plan for my unplanned time off work, doing long-term groceries and prepping dinners (e.g. marinated meats) for the hubby to minimize his work while I was away.
Parenting a child with FASD is hard work, much less doing it on your own while in the midst of a very busy period at work.
I flew out the following evening and T was in a super foul mood that day – screaming, swearing and disregulated.
In the afternoon, I suggested we go for a walk in the rain and stomp on puddles to calm down.
During our long walk, T stopped and started his sad whimper. His eyes watered and his pouting lips quivered. That was when it hit me: he was sad and upset that I was leaving.
I felt awful because this trip came together very last minute and T got no warning. He’d already had a year of many losses and I could imagine what my departure must’ve seemed like to him.
I reassured him it would be a short visit – and it was important I see and help care for Ama.
When we got home, we played a bit more together then I got him fed and showered before we left for the airport.
When we arrived at the airport, T gave me the longest hug and I did not want to let him go.
The hubby told me by text, after they got home, that T cried in the car as they drove off and kept watching a 2-second video he filmed of me saying bye as they drove off.
You can only imagine how my heart ached!
I too read this text over and over again during my flight. How I miss them both so much.
As I waited for three hours to board my flight, it sank in how long I was going to be away from my family.
As we started to board, it sunk in how little I was mentally prepared for the 17-hour flight.
As our plane departed shortly past midnight, I looked down at the city. Little did I realize at the time the journey that lied ahead.
A selfie I sent to the hubby shortly before boarding.
Christmas is a time for forgiveness and it is the kindest gift one could give and receive.
When we were having rough patches this fall with T – a part of the FASD parenting life – we met with our developmental pediatrician, who has been supporting T since he was 18 months.
In addition to adjusting his medication – mostly positive results so far – he suggested the idea of the redo.
It’s a simple premise: when T or the hubby and I have a bad moment, such as a tantrum or meltdown or less than ideal words are said, we let the moment pass and try it again from the top.
Writing Santa a letter the morning of Christmas Eve.
Lots of deep breaths and trial and error later, it is mostly working out nicely.
We even have T telling us sometimes that he’d like a redo after he has a moment.
Life is not perfect nor do we expect perfection in our wonderful chaotic parenting journey.
We try hard to remind ourselves it is the disability that wears us down, that we get upset with – not the child that tries his darned best everyday.
In hindsight, I attribute most of the rough patches this fall to changes in T’s medication and structures at school (e.g. his CYW support went from full time to part time; changes in daycare staff) and increased academic demands.
I am very proud of him and his progress and that he ended the fall term on a positive note.
T is obsessed with this obnoxious web series called Skidibi Toilet and our lovely Daddy found Skidibi Toilet wrapping paper for him. 💕😆
I’m not a religious person but I do believe in a Creator. I love the message behind Christmas, a symbolic time to forgive.
Forgiveness also extends to oneself.
I can be hard on T but I am the hardest on myself – the guilt and regret of not responding the best to a situation eat at me.
So it’s a kind and compelling message to receive that us parents can have a redo too.
I enjoyed reading fellow bloggers’ holiday updates and I’m happy to add we had a wonderful Christmas too (there are some not-so-happy updates, not involving T, that I’ll share later!).
We had Christmas Eve dinner at my uncle’s home and T enjoyed spending time with his Uncle J. He was disregulated at the end of the night, but that’s the beauty of the redo: tomorrow is a new day.
T got us up bright and early on Christmas Day to open gifts.
As I watched him open gifts, I thought what a blessed gift it is to experience life with the wonder of a child that still believes in Santa and the magic of the season.
We attended T’s wonderful school holiday concert this week and it moved me to tears.
The school concert was the first since the pandemic, and T and the kids did such a great job.
It brought back wonderful memories of holiday and Spring concerts, pre pandemic, when T was in preschool and kindergarten.
I remember we used to be so worried about T running amock on stage or having a Home Alone school concert moment – see below.
But the holiday spirit was in full support and T did great.
The theme of the concert was “Children of the World” and they displayed student artwork around the gym.
I love T’s whimsical art of him sticking his tongue out to taste the snowfall.
I loved that they displayed flags of different countries, including those currently at war, as it provided a reminder that there are more that unite us than divide us.
T’s sneaky teachers selected emotionally manipulative songs aimed at maximizing the tears; I say this jokingly and with deep appreciation.
T’s class did two performances.
It was during the second performance, when the group sang “I Believe” by Nikki Yanofsky, that I unexpectedly became a bawling mess.
“Sometimes when I feel I’ve had enough
And I feel like giving up
You willed me to be all I can be
Now nothing can stop me
I believe in the power that comes
From a world brought together as one
I believe together we’ll fly
I believe in the power of you and I.”
– “I Believe” by Nikki Yanofsky
The lyrics spoke to me in compelling ways.
I thought about our highs and the lows – and there were truly hard lows – and I couldn’t help but tear up.
The hubby had asked me to film the performance, so I didn’t have a free hand to wipe my tears. I could’ve punched him. 😂
But the embarrassment was worth it!
On days when parenting a child with FASD feels so hard, a reminder that “I believe in the power of you and I” is a true blessing. 💕
A week ago, when I downloaded the song at home so we could practice, I told T what a moving song it was.
And he said, I kid you not, “Just wait till you experience it in person.” 😆
He wasn’t kidding! 💕
Here’s an audio recording of the performance for your enjoyment!
Wishing you and your loved ones all the best during the holiday season and to remember to always believe in the power of togetherness.
I took part of Friday off to take T to a PA Day paw therapy program hosted by the amazing Surrey Place team as part of their ongoing services for children with FASD and caregivers.
T and I loved the horse therapy program they organized for the PA Day in October and he was so excited for this latest outing; he got ready in record time that morning.
There were four therapy dogs, brought in by their volunteer owners from Sunshine Therapy Dogs.
There were seven families, including us, most of whom we met in the prior outing.
I enjoyed sitting down and watching the kids, caregivers and adult staff play with the dogs.
T was apprehensive at first. He loves dogs – and often complains it’s not fair he doesn’t have a younger brother or dog and that all he has are two cats 🤣 – but he also gets anxious around them.
He asked to borrow my coat, wanting to use it as an armour of protection, and he rolled up his hands and his head inside them.
Getting chummy with Rosie.
By the end of the hour, he was on the ground and having a blast with the dogs, of whom Rosie the boxer he was particularly smitten with.
Research shows that dogs can bring a sense of calm and comfort for kids with special needs – and I certainly saw that magic happen with my own eyes.
I am so thankful for services such as Surrey Place. They make a positive impact in furthering awareness, community and wellbeing.
I am also thankful for how the universe brings people into my life in ways that are not coincidental.
Three years ago, I had a random conversation with a single mother at T’s daycare park. I deduced her two adopted children likely had FASD. It was the first and only time we saw each other.
And yup, you guessed it, she was at the paw therapy program with her eldest child. It took me a few minutes to realize why she looked so familiar and she was surprised I remembered her. 😊
I am glad she is getting supports now too.
It was hard to say goodbye to the dogs. I wanted to take Moose the bulldog home – but thankfully I knew better. 😆
Helping my third grader build writing skills is like making pizza; layer one ingredient on at a time.
The process sometimes feels like a struggle with a disability like FASD layered on top – but it nonetheless feels like I’m watching something special grow from infancy.
It brings back fond memories of the early days, when I obsessed over T being able to stack three blocks on top of another because that’s what toddlers were supposed to do developmentally; or counting the handful of words he could say; or reading his first words.
His short treasured history teaches us it’s about one step, one block, one sound, one word at a time.
Writing for T is a work in progress; he most certainly is not a fan of writing assignments.
If caregivers think doing homework with kids is tough, try layering on a disability that affects emotion regulation and impulse control.
I get called “dumb idiot,” “stupid fucker” or “fucking bitch” for initiating homework. And this is for spelling practice. I can’t wait for the nuclear meltdown when we work on essays one day. 🤣
Like pineapple on a pizza, I try not to take it personally, because it’s the FASD talking and once his verbal emotional diarrhea comes out and we co-regulate, he can do the work.
Consistency and routine are important for learning, even more so for children with FASD.
Occasional choice of words aside, T is a great storyteller and I’m often amused when I play with him or watch him play at how creative, articulate, funny and charming he is.
The trick is to help him translate all that good stuff and potential on the page.
Writing comes easier for me, as it’s long been an area of interest; it’s what I studied in my undergrad and I’ve done freelance work.
I am fascinated by the writing process and enjoy learning from others about their approach to writing, such as through Stephen King’s excellent memoir “On Writing” and William Strunk’s essential work “The Elements of Style.”
Learning practice is an important part of our weekend routine with T.
We block off 30 minutes each morning to read and do one activity focused on math or writing.
The key is to help him build mental models and learn how conventions like a title, introduction, transitions and conclusion all fit together.
T’s class was recently assigned a two-part procedural writing assignment: part one was to write detailed steps about how to make something and part two was to present it to the class.
T picked making pizza as his topic.
He and I first verbally listed the steps, which I wrote down. Then I had him write out the steps, including an introduction, transition words, and conclusion, helping him with spelling.
I think he did a very good job!
His penmanship needs works but it’s also come a long way. He’ll get there!
T then practiced hard over the weekend on his presentation.
We identified props he could use: dough, tray, pizza sauce (in a squeeze bottle), shredded cheese.
We discussed what his teacher expected: to talk clearly, not too fast or slow; regular eye contact; transition words; use props; detailed steps.
T loves to film “influencer videos,” so we filmed and watched practice videos to motivate him.
On the big day, the hubby and I got an excited text from his CYW that T did an excellent job.
“T explained how to make a pizza. He was very clear and he spoke to the audience. He even told them how long to bake a pizza for. As well as to cut up into triangle shapes and wait for it to cool then eat. Amazing.”
We were so proud and told T he did a great job.
As a reward, T got takeout for dinner – yes, not eating my cooking is a reward. 😆
His choice? Taco Bell. I guess he had enough of pizza.
The pizza he made after he practiced his presentation at home.
I started my blog as a way to process my thoughts on the FASD parenting journey and to raise awareness and advocate for a little known and often misunderstood disability.
Thank you to everyone who provides community; you are a lifeline to this parent who tries his best every day for our little guy with great potential.
Writing on this blog reminds me about the importance of stories.
Stories help raise awareness and bridge our differences.
Last Friday, after weeks of planning between T’s teacher and the FASD Coordinator from the Surrey Place, the latter visited T’s class.
She spoke about physical and invisible disabilities, including FASD and ADHD – through reading a book, a writing and drawing activity, whole class discussions, and lastly, a game.
In an update to parents, T’s super supportive teacher shared that “the purpose is to educate the class about unique needs in the classroom, how we can be more inclusive and understanding, and what that could look like for those students in the class (e.g. extra time or support needed).”
T’s CYW said the class was very engaged and asked great questions – and T shared how he’s sometimes affected by sensory inputs.
The hubby and I sent a note to T’s principal, teacher, CYW and librarian (see below) to thank them for raising awareness, understanding and empathy – and that their school is a model that others should follow.
Stories help people see themselves and validate their lived experiences.
After I did my co-deputation to the school board in September, T’s CYW suggested bringing in a speaker for the class as well reading stories about FASD and invisible disabilities to the class.
With T’s principal’s support, the school librarian reached out to the hubby and I for suggestions of books to add to their library.
I reached out to CanFASD, FASD United and Surrey Place for suggestions and sent a wonderful consolidated list to the librarian, who ordered the three books pictured above:
The books arrived last week and the librarian – who was T’s awesome kindergarten teacher – let T have first dibs on them.
We read the books over the weekend and T asked if he also has ADHD and I said yes – and that’s why he takes medication and needs extra supports in the class, like the character in the book.
We liked all three books and ordered copies for T’s personal collection.
Stories provide encouragement.
This week, we said goodbye to the staff that ran T’s after school program.
She had only been with the school for two months but made an impact.
We are always forthcoming with T’s diagnosis and she shared that her son has ADHD and we had conversations about our shared challenges and strategies.
It was helpful to have someone who worked with T that understood him as a parent too.
So we were sad when she decided she wanted a different career path.
On her last day, she gave each student a gift bag – and for T, she included a lovely note from her and her son, a year older than T:
“From my son to yours,
‘I like cars because they are fast but what’s most important is they are all different.
You could say all cars are made the same but drive different down the freeway.
Every car has faults that’s no one to blame, like me and you. We are different but one of the same. Aren’t we just different by name?
So T, when some make fun of you for being different, just remember this. We say to you: they are not angry, because you are different; they are angry because you are authentically you.
You’re awesome, T!’”
Stories remind us of where we came from and shine a light on the path ahead.
I then spent time reminiscing through photos of T, from when we first met and adopted him at age 1 through to present day at 8.
So many wonderful memories of playing at the park, birthdays, Halloween costumes, Christmas mornings, family roadtrips and vacations – and all the small stuff that seem so much bigger today.
I also revisited old blog posts and quickly saw the patterns of ups and downs – and everything in between.
It was a good reminder that life is cyclical – things do get hard on this FASD journey, but we got this, because we have each other… and there have been far more good than hard.
Most importantly, T’s story is larger than FASD; his life will be bigger than FASD.
Thank you for following along and I look forward with hope, heart and humour at the continued journey ahead with our T.
Photo at top: Camping at Bon Echo Provincial Park when T was 3.
One step and one day at a time. T, age 1, on our first summer cottage trip with my uncle’s family. He was just learning to walk up and down stairs!
Last fall, T’s child and youth worker made the excellent suggestion to look into a Big Brother-style mentorship program for T.
I believe in mentorship and surrounding T with positive influences is important, because making friends is hard for kids with FASD.
Despite best efforts, we have yet to find a program that feels right and one that is FASD informed.
A few weeks ago, while celebrating the hubby’s birthday with my uncle’s family, my cousin J suggested that he and T hang out one on one.
When my family came to Canada when I was 8, I grew close to my cousin J and his sister; enjoying sleepovers, watching Power Rangers, collecting X-Men comics through our childhood.
My uncle’s family especially understands our FASD journey, because my cousin Tracy, J’s sister, has Down syndrome.
So this seemed like a natural fit and we agreed to give it a try.
Hiking on Beausoleil Island with Uncle J in summer 2018 when T was 3.
We were recently approved for government funding that we can use towards recreation (e.g. swim lessons), technology and books.
The funding also supports respite services and respite provided by family members is eligible.
The stars were aligned.
T’s first time trying to fish at age 2 with the hubby. His Uncle J took us on a boat out on Oastler Lake.
In special needs parenting, it’s important to try things out
The big visit took place at lunch today and T was excited, having counted down for two weeks.
J brought delicious chicken cutlet sandwiches for the hubby, him and I – while our selective eater made himself Eggo waffles.
Then T showed J where the cats hung out then they played Nintendo; I reminisced about the many hours J and I spent playing Nintendo as kids.
The hubby and I originally planned to duck out to do Christmas shopping, but I felt tired after recent events and spent quiet time upstairs by myself.
After an hour, we gathered to enjoy a delicious apple pie J’s partner had baked.
And just like that, 2.5 hours flew by and J headed off. But not before getting big hugs from T.
Who knows how long this will keep up. Instead of trying to plan every step ahead, like I often do, I’ll let this play out one step at a time.
Our families are seeing each other in three weeks and we invited J over during Christmas break to spend time again with T.
I emailed an update to T’s CYW. I know she will be pleased.
I had seen her earlier in the week at drop off and she told me T always complains that other kids have siblings while he only has cats. 🤣
I guess Big Brother will have to do, cuz the ship has sailed loooong ago on a sibling for T – along with what’s left of my youth.
Our first weekend trip with T and my uncle’s family to Oastler Lake. T curiously played with a fish that his Uncle J (leg pictured on the right) caught that morning. He was only 1 in this pic – how time flies.
We said goodbye to a lifelong friend this weekend and I am reminded to never hesitate to live, love and laugh.
The universe works in wonderful ways, connecting people in seemingly coincidental ways.
In Grade 7 English class, I first became friends with Jenny because we randomly sat together in Mrs Piazza’s English class with one of her longtime friends since kindergarten and a friend I had recently met, having just moved to the area.
30 years later, the four of us found ourselves together in Jenny’s hospital room in palliative care saying our goodbyes in her final hours.
She spent the last two years bravely battling cancer. I did not write about it as I didn’t want her reading and being reminded about her pain.
When I think about recent challenges we’ve had with T at school – he’s been having wonderful days recently – I always pray for T to have the kind of friendships I have.
I’m so blessed with lasting friendships, especially this group of grade school friends.
Our group has grown from the initial four and I never take for granted how we’ve stayed in each other’s lives – through grade school, high school, first relationships and heartaches, going to different universities, entering adulthood, first jobs, marriage, children, roadtrips and camping, the death of parents and pets.
Growing up, my parents told me it’s important to have friends that are good influences – and I want that for T, especially as his disability will make him especially vulnerable during adolescence.
I’m so lucky our friends brought out the best in me and each other. We were the nerdy kids that cared about school, that pursued extra curricular activities like leading the school newspaper and yearbook, and we had mostly wholesome fun.
I spent most of Friday and Saturday with Jenny and a few friends – and those that could not be there called in or sent messages that we shared.
She was sleeping peacefully and the doctor let us know that hearing is the last thing to go during death and that she could still hear us.
We reassured her she was not alone and we reminisced. We were never the sentimental types – and she’d roll her eyes at that kind of talk – but we told her we loved her and that we’re happy she won’t be in pain.
We let her know that we will all see each other again one day and that we hope that she will have the home to herself she’s always wanted and the cats she never got to have.
At 6 last night, my friend and I noticed a change in her breathing and appearance, so we said our final goodbyes so her family could have privacy.
As we left the room, so her family could go in, I struggled to untie my hospital gown. I had tied the knot so tight.
I asked our friend to help and she struggled too. Jenny was gasping heavily and my friend and I burst out laughing through our tears.
I’m known as the clutz who inevitably does something avoidably stupid. I explained to her family this was one last “Stupid Ab.” moment for Jenny to enjoy.
When I got home last night, the hubby and T were out at the movies, and I opened a can of orange soda and bag of chips and looked at old photos I had not looked at in years.
Memories long forgotten but felt fresh as yesterday when I saw the photos: countless birthday parties, Halloween and horror movie nights, New Years Eve celebrations, Survivor finale viewing parties, holiday get togethers. Weddings and the arrival of kids. Little children now teenagers and their parents once preteens now in their 40s.
When I woke up this morning, I saw an email from her mother confirming she passed away shortly after 11 last night.
I’m still processing the news but if it’s anything the last year, a year of many losses, has taught me, is that life goes on all around us.
I just finished baking a strawberry vanilla cake for the hubby’s birthday and will take T swimming this afternoon – the waterslide at the community pool is back up.
Life goes on but you never forget the people in your lives and we reassured Jenny as we were leaving last night that we will never forget her – and that our kids will know her too.
Every birthday, she gave T a children’s book – and through her impeccable taste in literature, we discovered the wonderful British author Oliver Jeffers.
I told her T recently started to read the books out loud to me after years of them being read to him.
Jenny also had impeccable taste in music – loved UK acts – and in high school, she was obsessed with the broadway show, Rent – even organizing a get together for friends to catch the show in Grade 10 and gifting me the two CD album one Christmas.
Our friends were wondering what song to play while we hung out with her in her room as she slept and someone suggested Rent and I then suggested one of the best songs from the show, “No Day But Today.”
Listening to the song again, it really is an apt reminder that life is short and there is no day but today to live, love and laugh.
Photo at top: A birthday cake Jenny and another friend assembled for a joint birthday celebrated by our other friend and I in 2006.
The energy we send into the universe is the energy we invite into our lives.
I found this belief challenged the past few weeks, because of T’s chaos – meltdowns, foul language, rude attitude, defiant behaviour at school.
It was draining – and at one point, I told the hubby I did not have the energy nor desire to keep doing this.
“When I was very young
Nothing really mattered to me
But making myself happy
I was the only one
Now that I am grown
Everything’s changed
I’ll never be the same
Because of you.”
– “Nothing Really Matters”
Hindsight is the best teacher, because reflecting while I write this post, I am reminded that I can and want to do this.
Parenting is about tipping the scale towards your child’s favour, as they draw upon your energy to grow.
Parenting a child with FASD can feel unrelentingly thankless, because you expend a lot of energy and get disproportionate chaos in return.
“Nothing really matters
Love is all we need
Everything I give you
All comes back to me.”
– “Nothing Really Matters”
The best parenting advice – and the hardest lesson I constantly re-learn – is to co-regulate with your child.
Responding to chaos with calm is the best way to deescalate a disregulated child.
I attribute the last few weeks to changes in his environment – higher expectations, less unstructured play, homework, new faces.
“Looking at my life
It’s very clear to me
I live so selfishly
I was the only one
I realize that nobody wins
Something is ending
And something begins.”
– “Nothing Really Matters”
T is an easy child to love but has moments when he is downright unlikeable.
When I have these feelings, I feel terrible guilt and sadness – and I try hard to remind myself to separate the child from the disability.
To forgive myself and to try again, because T is the best reason to keep trying, even if effort is not rewarded right away.
“Nothing takes the past away
Like the future
Nothing makes the darkness go
Like the light
You’re shelter from the storm
Give me comfort in your arms.”
– “Nothing Really Matters”
Recently, T’s CYW told us he needs to work on writing; one sentence journals won’t cut it in Grade 3.
So we started to work on writing during weekend learning and I asked his teacher for what she’s expecting – titles, transition words, details.
I’m not expecting overnight success, but I want to share his journal from this morning – I helped him organize his thoughts – about putting up the Christmas tree yesterday with the hubby.
I told him he did a great job and I am proudly sharing his work with his teacher and CYW.
Last week, his music teacher sent a nice email to let us know T got perfect (42/42) on his music test; she knew he practiced hard and was proud of him. I thanked her for the pick-me-up because he was having a rougher week at home and school.
Life with T reminds me, when I most need the reminder, that the energy we send into the universe is the energy we invite into our lives.
⁃ Madonna’s 1999 single “Nothing Really Matters” is one of my favourite songs. After never ever performing it on tour, she included it on her Celebration Tour, which kicked off in London last month, as the opening number! It’s worth the 25-year wait! Can’t wait to watch her show in January. It’ll be T’s first concert!
A creature is growing in our home that is more horrifying than the supernatural or undead.
Saturday morning, I was enjoying coffee in the dining room when I heard the hubby say with alarm, “Oh my God, T, you’re turning.”
It was a full moon on Halloween weekend. Did we have a werewolf in our midst?
“What’s happening?” I asked curiously.
T screamed from his room, “My armpits stink! I’m turning into a teenager!”
I groaned. “Oh God, I need more coffee.”
T stomped downstairs with extra bounce in his steps. He walked towards me with arms raised.
“I don’t smell anything,” I said.
T then yelled, “PUT YOUR FACE CLOSER TO IT!!!”
I’ll do homework with him when he’s having a meltdown. I’ll clean shit from his underwear. But I ain’t willingly sticking my nose into his armpit.
This moment reminded me that life is flying by.
In a few months, T will be nine then it’ll be double digits and soon after, he’ll be a teen.
As a friend said on Facebook when I posted this amusing moment, it gets worse than armpits. “Just wait until the feet come in.”
Oh yes, I remember my teen years, wondering how shoes could smell like death.
Then I thought about the simple days when T was a toddler. I loved how he smelled after a bath and lathered in baby lotion.
I dread the teen years and how much harder they’ll be with FASD layered on top, if other parents’ horror stories are any indication.
But all we can do is to carve our own path. Do our best to prepare, seek support, and live day by day.
It reminds me to enjoy these childhood moments when T is begging us to play with him at the end of a long work day when all we want to do is rest.
To enjoy innocent traditions, such as writing letters to Santa or taking a coin from his piggy bank for the tooth fairy so T could deposit it back into the same pig.
We only get one childhood, so let’s enjoy it, because when we’re older, we’ll remember the good times and the hard ones won’t matter as much.
Halloween is T’s favourite time of the year after Christmas.
This weekend, T and the hubby carved four pumpkins; T did the designs and the hubby carved.
They also worked together to set up our front yard display – pictured at top.
While I made dinner tonight, the hubby assembled the treat bags we are giving out on Halloween, with a stash going to T’s school for his classmates.
After T finished supper, he asked to have a shower.
We praised him for having a super week this past school week and for being so awesome all weekend.
He really did – our hearts are full.
Then we let him go shower. Gotta wash those armpits after all!
Thanks to Mrs Smith in Grade 3, who introduced us to daily journal writing, I developed an early start to expressing myself through words.
Tough but fair and kind teachers, like Mrs Ezer in high school, were whom I learned the most from.
I keep it touch with a few treasured teachers, one of whom is a friend – her son was the ring bearer at my wedding. I know she will read this. Don’t let this get to your head! 😆
I loved school and grew up with great respect for teachers. Both my parents were teachers; Ma was my school principal in the Philippines.
One of the best lessons I am learning as an adult is that learning is lifelong if you keep an open mind.
The school journey will be harder for T.
Due to FASD, an invisible disability that impacts up to 5% of people, T struggles with focusing in the classroom, needs supports to complete tasks, and making friends is harder because of challenges with regulation and impulse control.
T has recurring hard days in Grade 3 with staying focused, disruptive class clown behaviour, and getting in peers’ faces.
Some days, I want to scream, “What’s wrong with you!”
But I know the answer: it’s his disability and I need to adjust expectations and approach.
It’s easier said than done. I fall into self destruct mode more often than I’d like.
Thankfully, this year we have the continued support of his excellent CYW from last year, who helps him achieve good to great days.
This reminds me to think big picture.
His teacher is fantastic and we had a recent good in-person meeting to discuss T’s Individualized Education Plan (IEP).
I sense that she will push him, while also seek to understand, empathize and accommodate.
I like that she assigns homework. It is hit or miss with T. Some nights, he zips through it; some are meltdowns.
Regardless, I believe homework builds discipline and for T, it helps reinforce learning that he may have zoned out of in class.
I’m continuing to do light weekend learning with T; we read one book and practice math both days before he gets fun time, like swimming.
Advocacy and allyship are important and can be magic.
After I let T’s principal and CYW know about the deputation, the school did the following:
Consulted with us to add three books to the library about FASD and related subjects – Big thanks to CanFASD and FASD United for answering my email for suggestions.
Worked with us to arrange for a speaker from Surrey Place to speak to T’s class about FASD. His teacher is now arranging a visit from the FASD coordinator in early November.
As a parent that struggles daily with how hard this disability can be, I could not ask for more from a school – as I recognize that T is not the only child they have to support.
I sent a follow up e-mail to two school trustees who seemed receptive to our deputation to let them know what T’s school is doing – and said it is an example that more schools should follow.
Celebrate and amplify the successes
When I have a bad day with T, the ones that emotionally cripple me – and we had a recent streak of them – I remind myself T has many strengths; one of which is he’s a bright kid.
When we can get him to focus, he can pick up the concepts and get the work done.
Yes, I realize that not focusing is no small barrier.
So when he does well, we celebrate – like getting an A on his recent math test. Way to go, T!
I’m working with him on weekends on one of his Grade 3 goals: to learn the times table. He completed this table by himself over two weekends.
He didn’t do the 11s & 12s correctly so I let him copy a pre-populated table. He’ll get it over time!
Earlier today, for a job well done with his weekend learning, T and I went for bubble tea after our Sunday afternoon swim.
T had his favourite strawberry slush with popping bubbles and I had my usual grass jelly milk tea. I ask for half the sugar with our orders.
When I was younger, I wanted to be a teacher and I often pretend played as a teacher.
I was accepted into a teaching program for university but studied journalism instead.
Who knew all these years later, I’d become a pseudo homeschool teacher for T.
On most days, I enjoy it because the rewards of seeing T make his gains are heartfilling. On some days, I want to scream and tear my hair out, because he can be so frustrating.
So to teachers that do this every day, you have my utmost respect. And to the teachers that seek to understand, empathize, accommodate and bring out the best in T, you have my gratitude.
Photo at top: A 5-year-old during the “fun” virtual schooling pandemic days in 2020. He’s grown a lot since, in more ways than one!
On Sunday, my last day to myself, I slept in till Noon. It was a strange feeling, because even when the hubby lets me sleep in, I can’t fully enjoy it, because T is a buzzing boisterous noise in the background.
With 7 hours left before I had to pick up the hubby and T from the airport, I cooked a meal I’ve been wanting to make for a while, Jamaican ox tail, with Madonna playing in the background.
In keeping with the theme of slowing down, I used a recipe that required low simmering for 5 hours.
I’m pleased with the fall-off-the-bone results and it was nice to use spices and seasonings I often don’t cook with, such as rosemary, thyme and browning sauce.
We’re having this for supper during the work week ahead.
For the last supper, I grabbed takeout from a joint I’ve been wanting to check out: a hole-in-the-wall, down the street, once written about by a New York food critic in Gourmet magazine.
Check out this delicious spread of rice, one pound of crispy pork, veggies and soup. All for only $6!
I am very thankful for this gift that the hubby gave me. I love my child, my family, but sometimes, if I’m gonna be in this FASD parenting journey for the long haul, I need to give that love to myself too.
With my head feeling the clearest it has in a long while, my tummy full, my body relaxed, I headed off to the airport.
Friday was a PA Day and I took T to a fun and free activity organized by Surrey Place, the amazing organization that has supported our family since he was 18 months, when FASD was just a prognosis; formally diagnosed in 2022.
The event was a chance for caregivers and kids with FASD, 8 to 15, to hang out in person, after caregivers spent the past year getting to know each other through a virtual group.
The two-hour get together consisted of three parts: grooming horses, a picnic then a hike.
During breakfast at home, I mused out loud, “We’re putting six kids that have challenges with hyperactivity, attention, impulsivity and regulation in a room with horses. What could possibly go wrong?”
T quickly piped up, “I’ll get kicked in the butt.” 😆
But the activity went well. T was anxious at first, but the patient staff got him to brush and groom the horse.
I often read about equine therapy as an effective wellbeing tactic for kids with additional needs and I could see how it was indeed a calming activity.
And T didn’t get kicked in the face! If you set the bar low, you exceed your expectations! 😂
Afterwards, the kids enjoyed a picnic, thoughtfully prepared by Surrey Place staff, then played with each other in the open field, all bursting with kinetic energy.
It was T’s first time knowingly interacting with other kids with FASD and I felt peace and camaraderie as I watched similarly tempered kids enjoying being themselves.
We ended the outing with a short hike and I enjoyed talking to the other caregivers. I felt like we got each other and it felt so refreshing.
T is already super excited about the next meetup in December; a visit with therapy dogs. 🐶
Life as a parent of a child with FASD is challenging and on most days, it beats the crap out of me.
I reflected a lot the past week about the saying “the best things in life are free.”
They really aren’t.
Even love and life itself come with a cost.
When we open up our hearts to love, we also open ourselves up to heartache and grief. But we risk it all to receive love in return.
When we choose to live life fully, we open ourselves up to disappointment and failure. But we risk it all for joy, adventure, laughter and connection.
This is what being T’s parent is all about. We face the hardships head on, because of the sweet rewards that come with the challenges.
As I’m reminded this Thanksgiving, the best things in life, such as family, friends, health, community and the outdoors, are immeasurably priceless.
My Life With T 