Tag Archive | growing up

Hello, let’s talk mainstreaming

Hello my lovelies! It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Never fear, I’m still writing.

I started taking writing classes and it is definitely keeping me on my toes. It has a secondary affect, which could have been adverse. My 11 yr old son is being mainstreamed in English Language Arts (ELA) and math. I am hopeless with math, but English? Who Ohio! I’ve got a degree in that!

This is important. If you have a child going from Special Ed to Mainstream you need to listen carefully.

His teachers are phenomenal. But most classes in the SDP range are focused on reading, writing and spelling. Parts of speech, well… So we have a child that has fought his way through everything and is ready to cross the threshold hold but doesn’t know half of what’s being asked of him. Not because he’s dumb. Not because of bad teachers. But because the program that got him this far didn’t teach him those particular things.

He also has a problem with short term memory. Don’t feel bad though, his brain goes so super fast, he’s able to convert to long term memory. It might take him a bit, but he’s able to do it. Pre Mommy taking classes it was no problem.

With me taking classes it is a problem. There’s only so much time in the day. Also, my kid will be a turkey with me:crying, pouting, fit throwing, you know the drill. Our kids will push us to our limits of patience, but will be perfect angels for everyone else. This just childhood, nothing to do with dyspraxia.

But a tutor? And a person he already loves to death? Who also happens to be card carrying member of the Grammar Police? Oh yes, that will do. That will do nicely, thank you very much. No crying, no fits, just lots of learning. And that is a wonderful thing.

Now, I’m off to do your own homework. Ack! I promise, tho, no crying… well. I won’t throw a fit…. no. I promise to do my homework. How’s that?


Today I’m feeling a little bit melancholy.

My son is growing up.

I know this not a great, big surprise because that’s what children do. But with his dyspraxia some milestones took longer than for other kids. Walking, talking, socializing, self feeding, all sort of things took longer. In other words, I got to hold him closer to me for longer.

Now, it’s starting to be time to let him pull a way just a little bit.

Three (possibly 4, but I think 3) years ago today was the first time I left him alone with my father. Dad is currently 87 (and more spry than me!). At the time, princeling didn’t talk very much, and what he did say was often unintelligible. I left them together so I could go buy my Nook on special for $ 79 (which was for the plain old one… scored the HD version today for same price!). I really wanted one, and access to the free books. And to not have to drive so freaking long to get a new book. So my dad (whom we live with), sat back in the bedroom and watched my son play video games for the hour and a half it took me to get down there, do what I needed to and come back. There was no way in %^&* that I would have taken princeling out that day— couldn’t talk, too friendly, apt to walk off with total strangers without a peep.

Not so very long ago, I also had to build all of his Lego’s. We had many sets, but at the time, he loved the Hero Factory line. Think snap together dolls for boys. He loved them. So I built them. Boy, did I build them.

Today, we *both* went to Barnes and Nobles to pick up the new nook (Merry Christmas Mommy!). I had told him he could go look at the Lego’s while I talked with the nook lady, and I’d get him some. He did. He stayed right where I put him, again, and proved that he could be left alone for short bursts of time. He even told two ladies shopping for their grandsons that they were buying their Lego Guys wrong– and they thought he was adorable and helpful.

They actually appreciated his help.

When we got home, he started building his Hero Factory guys. All by himself.

And I miss it.

I miss him.

But that’s ok. It’s my job to give him wings, not to clip them no matter what his diagnosis. So I let him tell ladies all about Lego’s and answer their questions. And I let him build his guys all by himself.

And take lots of pictures.


If you’d like to know more about Dyspraxia, a neurological condition that affects 1 in 10,  check out the website Dyspraxia USA or check them out on Facebook



For my faithful readers, I’ll have a review up tomorrow and possibly even a writing related post on Sunday. Four day weekends are the best!


So. I grew up on California, though I’ve never been the bikini beach girl that most think of. But still, there is a connection to the ocean, one that is hard sometimes to express.

I love the ocean. It’s so… awe inspiring in the traditional sense of the word. The rythms settle my soul, allowing my lungs to expand and breathe in God’s love in the salty air. I love the rush of waves, the cry of the sea gulls… there’s nothing like it.

I especially love the type of beaches where you’re not really expected to go into the water. The foggy, lonely beach suits me just fine.  Or a picnic in the mist, sitting on a log, huddled up with friends and eating sandwiches.

One of my earliest memories of going to the beach is of me being on my older brother’s shoulders as he walked out into the surf. I remember being terrified– those waves were big! But his hands were strong on my legs, and he never teasingly tried to throw me in. No, he kept me firmly safe, never breaking the trust.

As a teen-ager, I loved Half Moon Bay State Park and Beach. It is (or was) one of those beaches that is lovely in it’s lonliness, where the rip tide is so bad that I was taken out while walking along the shore one time. Yeh, shocked me too. Wasn’t plannning on swimming that day 🙂 Many thanks to the fishermen who helped my friend get me back in– I’ve never been a strong swimmer.

Just in case you think I was a loner, soul searching on the beach, I should also point out that my friend and I (same one as above) used to also stand on top of the picnic tables, dancing to Def Lepard.

As a young grown up, I did have picnics on the beach with friends, sitting on a log, huddled up together for warmth. I also went to one bon-fire, where there was beer and shenanigins… But it wasn’t really my style.

As a married grown-up who had seen the wrong side of thirty, I learned to love Montery. Bri and I used to go all the time, walking along Fisherman’s warf, staying at Lover’s Point Inn and eating at the Old Bath House. Oh my, I loved it. Walking along a small patch of beach in the moon-light, leaving the window open to hear the sounds of surf… I loved it. I want to go back.

But now I have a new purpose. It’s almost time to introduce Ray to the beach. To being a Californian. Although, to be honest, we have a different relationship with the ocean than Southern California does, the ocean is still part of us. That surging, wild salt water runs in our veins.

I can’t wait.