Summertime Fun

I think this collection of pictures gives a fairly accurate description of my awesome kids and their wildly different personalities. Kadee Joy was the only "planned" baby...our boys were big surprises for which we are very grateful. And I think that each of them have made me a less judgemental person in general. God is gracious in showing us how terribly, terribly wrong we can be in thinking that we are ever really in control, and my three children remind me that we are all so much better off in His hands.

And when I say "Acronym" I mean "Acrostic"

S-Slightly Sarcastic
T-Takes Time
E-Emotional
P-Proud
H-Harmonizer
A-Abstract Sequential
N-Nutty
I-Insatiable Reader
E-Exorbitant amount of trivial knowledge

T-Tenacious
I-Introspective
N-Not very Neat
E-Exceptionally particular (i.e. coffee, food)
R-Reality checker

My Andrew

Chris and I had a wonderful second honeymoon, and while I have done my best to blog about it, I just can't seem to get my son Andrew out of my head as the subject for this particular blog.

Oh, my Andrew. Andrew was born almost exactly nine months after my dad died. I cannot begin to write the extent of what my dad meant to me, and what he still means to me. He was the type of dad that other kids clung to right along with me, and he somehow managed to love and care for them in a way that didn't alienate me from him or from my friends. He was a gentle soul, full of strength, integrity, and wisdom. And he never let me think for a second that I was anything but a beautiful, valuable person, and a daughter whom he was always proud to call his own. He was taken too soon, although I do not begrudge God for doing so. He could not have better company than my dad.

We found out that we were pregnant with Andrew just a few weeks after dad's death, and this news provided us with an unexpected balm to our spirit. I knew that it would be a boy, and I also knew that he would be named after Dad. Stephen didn't seem like the right first name though, so we went instead with Andrew, named both for our friend Andy and for the disciple who I feel was dad was most like.

Andrew Stephen Tiner came 3 1/2 weeks early, my labor starting while Chris was in another state at a youth workers conference. Chris was able to hop on a plane and make it in time for most of the labor and of course the birth. He was a beautiful blond boy, although a little red from being so early. From the start he was a very easygoing baby, snuggly, and full of smiles.

His easygoing nature sometimes proved to be a crutch for me during my months of depression and marital crisis. He didn't ask for the attention that I'm sure he needed, although we later found that this ability to play independently without seeking attention was a strange sign of disability.

People ask me what made us think Andrew was autistic. As an educator, autism is something I have come into contact with on a yearly basis with various students who are on various levels of the autism spectrum. Whether this opened my eyes to it earlier, I'm not sure. But the biggest wakeup call for us was the day we thought Andrew might be deaf. It didn't matter if we were in front of him, or all the way across the house...he wouldn't respond to his name. He wouldn't respond to most words. He didn't notice the many planes that flew over head throughout the day, as we lived near the Fort Lewis air base. He didn't notice dogs barking, or bees buzzing. He didn't notice a lot.

So we had his hearing checked, and I prepared myself for having a deaf child.

But the hearing test came back normal, the audiologist assuring us that his hearing was perfect. As the days went on, we realized that while he seemed deaf most of the time, he would come running when the bath water was turned on, even if he was in a completely different room. He would march to the beat during his favorite cartoons. He seemed to recognize a lengthy list of songs just by the opening measure.

But he still wouldn't respond to his name but rarely. He still had difficulty speaking. He could sign "more", "please", and would say ball if prompted. But he would not name people, even "mama", and didn't understand simple directions unless they were in song form. While he would play alongside other kids, he didn't seem to understand group dynamics, and usually would retreat to another room if too many children were present.

I was told by many people, and rationalized myself, that all of these things could simply be explained by his being a second child born after an extremely verbal firstborn. We got him into speech therapy, which he easily qualified for. After months of no progress, our speech pathologist suggested that we might look into having him screened for autism.

My limited experience with autism, and the stereotypes that society still places on the disorder sent me into a state of panic. I feared for my child, and feared for what the diagnosis would mean.

But as two months came and went, and we saw increasingly more of the characteristics of autism emerge from our darling boy, the diagnosis that seemed inevitable felt more like something to hope for, rather than to fear. And it came quickly. On January 23, Andrew was diagnosed with autism, and my perception of his future was altered.

My beautiful, affectionate boy has so many strengths. He is still affectionate and loves to be held close. His soul is a musical one. His language is song. His movement is dance. He will say "wuv-oo" when I tell him that I love him. He sometimes greets his sister with "Hah, sissy!" He confirms "A-num-num-num-num" when he is eating a meal he likes.

But there are days when his eyes seem clouded, and I know on those days it will be hard to connect with him. On these days, he's more repetitious in his quirks, more picky with his food, more limited in his language, and more prone to run. He flaps more, spins more, and throws more tantrums when change occurs that he dislikes.

But he is making progress. We took a trip to the zoo last year at this time before he was diagnosed and it is was a very troubling experience. Andrew didn't notice the animals. Not the big ones, not the little ones, not the loud ones, not the quiet ones. He didn't notice them if they were up high in the trees, or swimming right in front of him. And he was nearly two years old.

We went just a couple of weeks ago, and I was ecstatic to see that he not only noticed the animals, he was INTERESTED in them! His interest was held the entire time we were there, which was a huge step.

Just now he looked at me and said, "What are you doing? What are you doing?" Both Chris and I stared at him in amazement. I answered, "I'm on the computer. What are you doing?" He answered back, "What are you doing, what are you doing?" And so our conversations go. He will at times say perfectly worded sentences at the correct times, but seems completely disinterested or confused by the response. I feel that he is in there, somewhere, able to hold rational conversations with another human being, rather than just mimicking back what he was prompted with. I just don't know if we have the resources or even the ability to pull him out.

Developmental steps are never a given with Andrew. The spectrum limits some things while opening up wildly advanced talents in others. So we cheer each victory as though it is the first, and pray that we find the door to open for him to reach the next. And we also pray that he doesn't lose what he already has. I hold him closely for fear that the next day he may refuse to be touched. I wonder if he will ever really have a friend.

He is so beautiful, so precious, and oftentimes will reduce me to tears with the look in his eyes. I treasure the times he looks at me, particularly when he repeats back, "Wuvoo."

As a mother, I am torn by conflicting desires in that people would treat Andrew with the same love and consideration that they would treat a "normal" child while sometimes wishing for him to wear an "Autistic" label on his shirt to explain his sometimes bizarre behavior. This I know would be an incredibly cruel punishment to him, but it sure feels like a good idea when I hear other kids calling him crazy, or other parents giving amazingly inconsiderate observations on the overall weirdness of my child. And he's still not three...I have difficulty thinking of what they will say when he's older. I've been told I should use it as an opportunity to educate the other person about autism...the words are difficult to find when my heart is breaking over what feels so cruel, particularly as my son has yet to seem to come close to understand. In that sense, perhaps autism is a blessing in disguise, protecting my child from the hurt that words would quickly bring to a child who understood.

And now he'll be starting a pre-school for kids with developmental disabilities in the fall. I was his Sunday School teacher today, and I know why he needs to go. While the other kids were sitting, he was dancing to his own song, repeating some sort of routine, and giggling at something that none of us could understand.

Please pray for my son. Please pray for my husband and I as parents. We are his advocates, his champions, his life-long guardians. Pray that we will neither hold him back nor ever stop looking for ways of helping him when he needs it. Please pray for those who work with him...for their patience and understanding, and for a similar desire of ours for him to find and develop his strengths and to improve upon his weaknesses.

And pray that in a way which only God can bring about, he will know Christ, and find comfort from him when life, as it often will, becomes overwhelming and confusing.

We love him so much, and are so blessed by his presence in our lives.

My battle with depression

I'm not a drug person. Never have been. Illegal, legal, never really took them. At least, that was until a year and a half ago.

Since then I have been on two different anti-depressants, one of which sent me off my rocker, the other of which I am still on. I understand the stigma attached to anti-depressants...sort of. But let me just say that my feelings are that a person who is truly depressed needs an anti-depressant in the same way that a diabetic needs insulin. Not all diabetics have to have insulin...diet and exercise can control it. Not all those with depression need an anti-depressant...oftentimes change in diet, excercise and counseling do the trick. But when things still aren't working like they should, insulin for a diabetic and an anti-depressant for a person with depression are each equally necessary.

I cannot begin to tell you how much of a difference my overall outlook and ability to cope with life has changed since I went on an anti-depressant. I think when people think of me, they generally think of a fairly responsible, put together, intelligent person. My inner battles are usually well hidden, but as my depression began to take a strong hold two years ago, my outer shield began to get crushed from the inside. I became increasingly helpless, overwhelmed, and physically deteriorated. And I was pregnant. And a pregnant woman who is physically unable to sleep, eat, or speak without tears is in very serious trouble.

Now don't get me wrong. There were outside factors that of course were playing into my depression. My marriage was falling apart, I felt the complexity of my role as a youth pastor's wife in a new church struggling to know who I was able to share troubles my with, and I was once again pregnant for the third time in three years while trying to take care of an extremely active 2 year old and a developmentally delayed 1 year old...and was home alone. A lot...a whole lot. And being at home with your kids seems to work well for some women. I found it to be excruciatingly painful from both an emotional and intellectual standpoint.

However, once I got on the anti-depressant I am still on, I was able to actually face the crumbling world I found myself in. My situation did not change for the better immediately. In fact, it got much, much worse before it got even remotely better. But I found that my anti-depressant helped to come out of the very sad, self-absorbed world that depression creates, and helped my to deal with my faith, pregnancy, and marriage in a much more healthy way that didn't depend completely upon my circumstances.

And now my situation has completely changed. My husband and I are in a strong, grounded place in our marriage, much more so than we have ever been. My children have once again become a joy, and God very graciously protected the tiny child in my womb and brought him into this world on my birthday last year.

But my battle with depression continues. Even when the circumstances had gotten to their polar opposite of where they were months before, I was constantly troubled by dark thoughts. I would relive the past time and time again. Only in January did they begin to leave me. And then last night they returned, as has my lack of eating and sleeping.

So where does this leave me? With the realization that depression is not necessarily a one-time battle with me. It can be constant for a while, and then give months or even years of relief. I say this not to discourage myself....I hope to encourage others in knowing that depression is something to be taken seriously, affects all kinds of people, even those who seem to have it all together.

So I will continue to pray, continue to look for ways to fight the cloud that sometimes comes without warning. I will continue to be open about it, continue to seek help for it, and continue to take the medication that allows me to do all of those things. Please pray for me in my battle, and praise God with me in the triumphs he has brought.

Blogging and Such

So I LOOOOOOOVE blogging. Sometimes a little too much. I used to blog on MySpace before it began to eat at my soul. I'm hoping that this will be a healthy outlet with which I can share the joy, pain, and triumphs one might find in the life of a 28 year old American woman, wife, and mother of three. Sometimes I feel like my life is a drama worthy of television, and then I watch the news and realize that the amount of pain I think that I have experienced in my 28 years is ridiculously small compared to the horror so many women have lived out in much shorter time period.

So I ask that if you read this, you read it with the understanding that this is only my world, my reality, and my perception, and while being an honest assessment of those things it may be stated somewhat more dramatically than it actually played out, or in some cases is decidedly soften for the sake of working out my true feelings. Enjoy! My first "real" blog will be coming out in about three minutes.