Dear Jack,
Did you know that the number seven is pretty important? It signifies the number of completeness and perfection in the bible. While we are not quite there yet, seven has been a pretty special milestone for you.
You are now seven and a few months. I have been procrastinating. Here's why: I like for your birthday posts to be a neat and tidy summary of all that's happened in the previous year. I like to tell you about yourself at the specific moment in time of your birthday. However, as is usual for you, you confound the norm and simply defy description. You've changed so much (and continue to change), that I struggle to put it all into words. However, I'm going to give it my best shot.
In the last year, we began to understand what makes you you just a little bit more. I've always known you were unique, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made you so. I still can't pin you down (nor do I want to), but I am beginning to understand you a little more.
Last year you joined a basketball team. You'd never played, so no one was surprised when you didn't have a plethora of basketball skills. I dropped you off for practices and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until your game. You are such a great kid that I was surprised when you seemed to be ignoring your coaches. Then I realized it was as if you didn't hear them at all. You spun in circles, hands in your mouth, eyes glazed until a ball eventually hit you in the head. I was concerned.
You came to dread basketball. You sobbed when we entered the gym. The loud noises of the echoing voices, bouncing balls, and squeaking sneakers made you cover your ears and cry out as if in pain.
Then memories began to pop into my head...images of you and Caleb in the double stroller at the Chinese New Year festivals in Singapore - Caleb clapping delightedly at the dragon dancers and clanging cymbals, you crying and covering your ears. I also thought about how you didn't seem to notice when I'd call your name if there is a lot going on. I thought about our recent installment of the "eat belt" I'd created at the kitchen table (a scarf wrapped around a chair) just to keep you in your seat during dinner. I remembered working with kids years ago with similar behaviors and learning a little about sensory integration.
We sought the help of Ms. Kristie, an occupational therapist. I'll never forget the first visit when she spun you around and around on a swing in her office. When she asked you to focus on the dot on the wall, your eyes zeroed in on the spot with ease. Yup, we confirmed it...You had super powers. (I knew it all along!) Other people's pupils would have rocked from side to side for a few seconds before being able to focus. But not yours! She explained that it was as if your body didn't even register it had been moving. She said that "sensory kids" [or as we prefer to call it, sensory super heroes], like you, might not hear when their name is called the first time, or second, or third... Mornings might be tough to wake up and get going. Sleeping might evade you. Asking you to sit still during dinner would be akin to asking someone on a 12 hour flight not to stretch his legs. Swinging was important [thank you, Lord, for inspiring me to hang that one in the basement last year].
Together, with your teacher and Ms. Kristie, we created plans for school and home. And son, how you blossomed! Your smile returned. You creativity took off. "I love you," was the music to my ears that I didn't even realize had been missing for months. You see, living in Singapore was so good for you. Being on the equator, the temperature and sunlight were constant. You could play outside and swim every single day. Moving back to a place where the cold and dark assaulted your senses for half the year, where playing outside all the time wasn't an option due to safety and weather, where we walk much less and are much more sedentary - all these things have been particularly hard on you. So, slowly but surely we are making adjustments. We are learning to appreciate your uniqueness and doing everything we can to ensure your success. God has great plans for you, and we want to help you discover and enjoy them.
You are my sunshine. You are the maker of games, the teller of knock-knock jokes. You are a Minecraft architect and a math wiz. You are big blue eyes and an even bigger smile. You are snuggles on the couch a three squeeze [I-love-you] hand-holder. You are a big, hard noggin covered in baby soft hair. You are a knight defending the backyard from make-believe foes. You are a trampoline jumper, a scooter master, an Abby-lover. You are my Jacky-Jack, and I love you to the moon and back.
So, finally, happy birthday, special boy. I can't wait to see what this year holds in store. Whatever it is, if you hold my hand, we will smile and skip and swing and face it together.
Love,
Momma
Did you know that the number seven is pretty important? It signifies the number of completeness and perfection in the bible. While we are not quite there yet, seven has been a pretty special milestone for you.
You are now seven and a few months. I have been procrastinating. Here's why: I like for your birthday posts to be a neat and tidy summary of all that's happened in the previous year. I like to tell you about yourself at the specific moment in time of your birthday. However, as is usual for you, you confound the norm and simply defy description. You've changed so much (and continue to change), that I struggle to put it all into words. However, I'm going to give it my best shot.
In the last year, we began to understand what makes you you just a little bit more. I've always known you were unique, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made you so. I still can't pin you down (nor do I want to), but I am beginning to understand you a little more.
Last year you joined a basketball team. You'd never played, so no one was surprised when you didn't have a plethora of basketball skills. I dropped you off for practices and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until your game. You are such a great kid that I was surprised when you seemed to be ignoring your coaches. Then I realized it was as if you didn't hear them at all. You spun in circles, hands in your mouth, eyes glazed until a ball eventually hit you in the head. I was concerned.
You came to dread basketball. You sobbed when we entered the gym. The loud noises of the echoing voices, bouncing balls, and squeaking sneakers made you cover your ears and cry out as if in pain.
Then memories began to pop into my head...images of you and Caleb in the double stroller at the Chinese New Year festivals in Singapore - Caleb clapping delightedly at the dragon dancers and clanging cymbals, you crying and covering your ears. I also thought about how you didn't seem to notice when I'd call your name if there is a lot going on. I thought about our recent installment of the "eat belt" I'd created at the kitchen table (a scarf wrapped around a chair) just to keep you in your seat during dinner. I remembered working with kids years ago with similar behaviors and learning a little about sensory integration.
We sought the help of Ms. Kristie, an occupational therapist. I'll never forget the first visit when she spun you around and around on a swing in her office. When she asked you to focus on the dot on the wall, your eyes zeroed in on the spot with ease. Yup, we confirmed it...You had super powers. (I knew it all along!) Other people's pupils would have rocked from side to side for a few seconds before being able to focus. But not yours! She explained that it was as if your body didn't even register it had been moving. She said that "sensory kids" [or as we prefer to call it, sensory super heroes], like you, might not hear when their name is called the first time, or second, or third... Mornings might be tough to wake up and get going. Sleeping might evade you. Asking you to sit still during dinner would be akin to asking someone on a 12 hour flight not to stretch his legs. Swinging was important [thank you, Lord, for inspiring me to hang that one in the basement last year].
Together, with your teacher and Ms. Kristie, we created plans for school and home. And son, how you blossomed! Your smile returned. You creativity took off. "I love you," was the music to my ears that I didn't even realize had been missing for months. You see, living in Singapore was so good for you. Being on the equator, the temperature and sunlight were constant. You could play outside and swim every single day. Moving back to a place where the cold and dark assaulted your senses for half the year, where playing outside all the time wasn't an option due to safety and weather, where we walk much less and are much more sedentary - all these things have been particularly hard on you. So, slowly but surely we are making adjustments. We are learning to appreciate your uniqueness and doing everything we can to ensure your success. God has great plans for you, and we want to help you discover and enjoy them.
You are my sunshine. You are the maker of games, the teller of knock-knock jokes. You are a Minecraft architect and a math wiz. You are big blue eyes and an even bigger smile. You are snuggles on the couch a three squeeze [I-love-you] hand-holder. You are a big, hard noggin covered in baby soft hair. You are a knight defending the backyard from make-believe foes. You are a trampoline jumper, a scooter master, an Abby-lover. You are my Jacky-Jack, and I love you to the moon and back.
So, finally, happy birthday, special boy. I can't wait to see what this year holds in store. Whatever it is, if you hold my hand, we will smile and skip and swing and face it together.
Love,
Momma
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