Christie Taylor Uncategorized

Drum Roll Please, Common Ground at Play!

When Wil entered 4th grade, the gap in his abilities relative to his typically-developing peers took a large leap. Wil’s classmates talked faster than he did and played at a higher intensity. Even so, Wil and his friends, whom he had been in school with since kindergarten, formed a strong bond over the years. Whenever I witnessed Wil and his friends on the playground together, no one was left out. He and his friends created or altered games so they could all join in together. There was no shortage of singing, dancing and laughing.

Wil played recreational soccer with his peers through 3rd grade, but it was clear that would be his last year. Though his coach and teammates fully included and encouraged him, the faster pace simply wasn’t for him. The next season Wil went to  TOPSoccer, designed for people with disabilities. He played with TOPSoccer for the next 4 years. 

Now in 9th grade, Wil is happily settled into the familiar schedule of school with his friends. The friends are just as close as ever, but the reality is they are all teenagers now. Outside of school, Wil’s friends are balancing rigorous homework with multiple extracurricular activities, as are his sisters. Play time together is caught in brief snippets of time. 

Isolation is a reality for many people with disabilities as they grow older. The gap expands and the opportunities shrink. As parents, siblings and friends of our loved ones with disabilities, we constantly seek and create opportunities for common ground. It is in the creation of new pathways, that our bonds grow even stronger. 

When Wil was younger, he had a small drum set. Though Wil is a joyous bundle of energy most of the time, at times he would get overwhelmed with friends and run off. During one such time, Wil’s friend Lila spied his drum set, and they played together on that for hours. From then on, if Wil became overwhelmed when friends were over, they’d all circle back to the drum set. 

I just put up a trampoline for Wil last week. My intention was for the trampoline to be his teenage version of the drum set (but quieter). It’s both a fun activity for Wil to enjoy on his own, as well as with his friends and family. 

Last night Elizabeth and Wil, now equal in height, chased each other around the trampoline. Laughing, jumping and bouncing, they circled the perimeter over and over. 

Over the course of these near 15 years of Wil’s life, I’ve uncovered a few core truths:

  • Connection is not guaranteed with full inclusion, but strong bonds are rarely formed without it. 
  • Preparation alleviates fear of the unknown, but the unknown will present itself without it.
  • Creation is necessary to move forward, but circling back also leads us where we want to go.  
  • And no matter how many hours you’ve heard a drum roll, when common ground is at play, you’ll want to shout “drum roll, please!” 
Christie Taylor Uncategorized

Preparing for Homecoming Court!

Wil was elected to homecoming court by his freshman peers at Manchester Junior/Senior High School. As you can imagine, my heart swelled — for Wil and for his friends, and for any positive ripple effect beyond the borders of their school. Wil’s friends didn’t vote for him to make a statement. They voted for Wil because he is their friend. And yet their example makes a statement.

When Wil and I went shopping for his homecoming outfit on Thursday night, Wil made very thoughtful choices. He sought out a maroon tie as Manchester’s school colors are maroon and gold. He then found a checkered shirt to match his tie, though I’m still unsure if the checkers are maroon and black, or maroon and navy blue. It was of no consequence, however, as Wil was determined to find navy blue slacks. (Navy blue is his dad’s favorite color, and these were grown-up slacks, so I followed the logic). As Wil typically wears casual pants that come in S-M-L sizes, I was shocked to discover Wil has grown into a size 32X30! 

Each piece of Wil’s outfit, once tried on, deserved a dance in the mirror. Wil didn’t want to use the dressing room so I helped him button the checkered shirt over his t-shirt, then put on his tie. He opened his arms wide in front of a mirror, commented on how good he looked, and spun around to get the full 180-degree view. I helped him pull the navy blue slacks up over his shorts. He wiggled his hips with moves that would make Elvis stop and take notes. He then put on his new shoes and kicked out what looked like an Irish jig. 

Satisfied with his selection, Wil removed the new clothing, stacked it up to carry it, but chose to wear the new shoes home. We made our way to the cashier, though it took us some time. Wil stopped for a high-kicking dance in his new shoes at each mirror along the way; his new wears draped over his left arm.

Wil never meets a stranger at the store. And no wonder. Who wouldn’t be drawn to the refreshing energy of a teenager that so quickly and freely shares their joy? By the smiles on our fellow-shoppers’ faces, I have no doubt a positive ripple effect extended beyond the borders of the store.

Wil reminds us how amazing the simple pleasures of life really are, even if we are all grown up! Wil’s not living his life in an effort to make a statement. And yet his way of life does exactly that. 

By the time you read this he will have walked across the court. So that will have to be a story for next Monday.

In the meantime, whenever you pass a mirror, remember to kick up your heels and do a quick dance along the way for Wil and his friends. Every positive ripple counts.

Christie Taylor Uncategorized

From Monday to Friday in 60 Minutes

This week’s story is an excerpt from “Stories of Wil: Puberty Part 1” (publ. July 2020)…

When I woke Wil up, he was very sluggish. 

“Hey, buddy, time to wake up,” I said. I sat on the edge of his bed and tickled him lightly under his chin. 

“Hmmph!” Wil turned his face into his pillow and commenced fake snoring. 

“Oh Wil, I almost forgot. It’s your favorite day of the week today. It’s Monday. Happy Monday, Wil!” Wil turned his head from his pillow, opened his clenched eyes, and looked up at me. 

“Ugh, Mom. It’s Friday.”


“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure it’s Monday today. Let’s go Monday!” “Mom,” he bolted upright in bed, “it’s Friday.” 

“Ok, I guess it’s Friday. Ho-hum. How boring. The end of a week of school. I think the beginning is much more fun. Too bad it’s not Monday. Time to get dressed now.” 

“Oh, Moooooom. Hugs now.” 

“Yes, we can’t forget our hugs,” I said, and hugged him. “Ok, let’s get up and dressed and ready for our Monday.” 

“Oh, Moooooom. Ok, I’ll get dressed. Go Friday!” 

Later that morning as I was driving all three kids to school, Elizabeth said, “So Wil, what’s for lunch on Mondays?” 

“It’s FRIDAY!” Wil replied. 

“Oh, it is? Phew, I thought it was Monday,” Elizabeth said. Then as they all exited the car at school, Elizabeth said to me, “Have a great Monday, Mom!” 

“You too, Elizabeth!” 

“Sheesh, you guys. It’s FRIDAY! Let’s go Friday!” Wil laughed and took off running to the school. 

A sluggish start can easily extend itself into a very challenging day at school for Wil. Silliness is the kryptonite to his sluggishness—it doesn’t always work, but it’s always worth a try (and the bonus is the silly start added fun for all of us). Let’s go Friday! 

Christie Taylor Uncategorized

Who’s Counting?

7th grade was one of Wil’s most challenging years. He entered a new school — the Jr./Sr. High School — with new teachers, new schedules, all while going through puberty. Mix that together with delayed communication skills and it was one heck of a ride! 

The only constant were his friends he’s had since elementary school; and the steady calm of his paraprofessional, Kristi Campbell. When Wil went through multiple behavior changes that year, his friends already knew Wil as Wil.  Wil is their friend that gives the best hugs, always knows how to make them laugh, will sing and dance anytime or anywhere, and sometimes gets stuck.  

Wil would get stuck almost daily in the lunch room. Nearly anything could be the cause for a shut-down in this type of transitionary period between classes. Kristi had to do some serious detective work. Is it too loud in the lunch room? Did something happen in class just before lunch? Was he anticipating his next class? Or did he just want different salad dressing? Kristi’s navigational skills and Wil’s friends were often the only thing that got Wil from Point A to Point B during that time. 

Fast-forward 2 years later and Wil tells Kristi if it’s too loud, why he doesn’t want to go to a classroom, if he’s tired, if he needs a break, and he asks for the salad dressing he wants. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t get stuck anymore, but now it doesn’t last as long. 

When Wil came home from his first day of 9th grade, I asked him about his day. He was excited to see Kristi and his friends. He mentioned having lunch with Lila and Ashley but not Sarah. 

“And Sarah too, right?” I asked. Wil shook his head. I asked where she was. Wil shrugged his shoulders. (Though Wil now has the words, he’s also very much a teenager that may choose not to use them.) 

The next day Sarah’s Mom, Heather, reached out to me. Heather Stommen was Wil’s 3rd grade teacher and he excelled under her tutelage. And she didn’t give him extra special treatment because Wil has an extra chromosome — ask any 46-chromosomed student about Mrs. Stommen and you’ll hear all-star reviews.  (Kim Clore was Wil’s paraprofessional in 3rd grade and had been with him since 1st grade. Knowing Wil as she did, combined with Mrs. Stommen’s teaching skills made for a strong year of growth. As you can see, consistency is an important factor for Wil).  

Heather said that Sarah came home from her first day of 9th grade full of enthusiasm. Sarah told her mom and her dad, Pat, all about her day. Her excited conversation continued throughout dinner. After dinner, the family moved into the kitchen to wash dishes with Sarah still gushing about her day. Then she came to abrupt stop and burst into tears.

Sarah’s reaction brought Heather and Pat to an abrupt stop too. Then Heather saw what triggered this change in emotion. The Pringles can on the kitchen counter. 

Back in 7th grade, Wil’s teachers and I sat down to come up with a behavior plan. The idea was to reinforce positive behavior as Wil navigated puberty and a new school. We tried many, many things. Some of which worked not at all; some at best sporadically. I was giving Wil Pringles as a special treat if he rode the bus home. So we tried Pringles. They worked 95% of the time! Not the healthiest choice, but at that point, we were just trying to get Wil through the day.

The Pringles strategy caught on. By 8th grade it became a game amongst Wil’s teachers to find a new flavor of Pringles, and Kristi always had some on hand. Wil’s social studies teacher, Ms. Kastel, would give Wil a Pringle’s cheer for a job well done.

Sarah was in Ms. Kastel’s class with Wil in 8th grade. Ms. Kastel came up with names for them depending on the lesson — Sarah-toga and Wil-bot stuck. 

Sarah had intended to give the Pringles can to Wil the first day of 9th grade. But she discovered they didn’t have any classes together. Not even lunch. Ever since elementary school, even if they weren’t in the same classroom, Sarah would make a point of visiting Wil in his classroom. Sarah was distraught at not seeing her friend. The friend who always made her laugh.

Fortunately, a class switch Sarah had applied for was approved the 2nd day of school. That class switch also required she move to Wil’s lunchtime.  Sarah-toga and Wil-bot re-united again!

Every year with Wil I count on change. Every year with Wil I count on his growth. Every year I count on the consistency of the friends, families and educators that don’t count chromosomes (but may count Pringles); they count on the whole of who Wil is. 

“Isn’t that what we all want?” Heather said. And with her words, I count my blessings.

Sarah and Wil at their 3rd grade open house
Christie Taylor Uncategorized

Simpler Times

Wil has a karaoke machine in the basement. He flips the “on” switch, dials up the flashing lights, but the microphone remains in its clip. He cannot be tethered by such things.

Every single day, be it a weekend morning or a weekday after school, Wil inserts a Luke Bryan CD in the karaoke machine or cranks up country songs directly from his iPad — the use of the iPad does not exclude the need for karaoke lights. (Currently his favorite starter song is “Buy Dirt,” by Jordan Davis featuring Luke Bryan.) He’ll then grab the handrail of his mini-trampoline and drag it across the carpet. He lines it up directly in front of the karaoke machine and hits play. He then gets to jumping and singing full blast. This can go on for hours. 

If Wil comes across a song he likes but doesn’t know all the lyrics to, he’ll replay a verse over and over until he memorizes it. Then he’ll do the same with the next verse. And the next. Wil knows the full lyrics to over 100 country songs. Without Google. 

When he’s tired, he’ll say, “Phew!” Then stomp up the stairs and walk out to the back porch. He’ll take a seat on the slider and rock back and forth. A breeze will brush the side of his cheek. He’ll tilt his head up and say, “Ahhhh.” He may notice a looping bumble bee, the shrill of a hawk, or grazing deer in our back field. These are not new experiences where we live, but Wil expresses his excitement each time as if they were. “Listen, Mom.” “Mom, look!” “Deer, Mom!”  

Wil is frequently the last one at the dinner table. Katherine and Elizabeth typically set up their homework on the kitchen island. I’ll linger at the table with Wil or clean up in the kitchen. Last night after dinner, as I washed dishes, Elizabeth stayed at the table and talked to me about her AP Literature class. 

“We are reading ‘The Catcher in the Rye,’” Elizabeth said. “Do you want me to read you a chapter? You spent so many years reading to us. Now I’ll read to you, Mom.” 

I sat down next to Elizabeth as she read to me, and Wil finished his dinner. I was transported back to simpler times. 

When Wil was born I worried on all the challenges. The learning curve was high. Like Wil, I replayed new verses over and over again to absorb them. In that I also absorbed something you can’t know through Google. The soul within the verse. 

It is the challenges that shed a light on the soul of the simplicities. It’s like Wil flipped the “on” switch in my life, and the lights have never stopped flashing no matter what medium they illuminate. I’m reminded of the aerodynamic beauty of a bumblebee loop; how the shrill of a hawk cuts through the blue sky; I’m newly refreshed by a breeze across my cheek. Now I’m brought back to the joy of being read to — by my own daughter. I could listen for hours.

Christie Taylor Uncategorized

Complex Simplicities

She usually wears shoes to golf but in this heat, my guess is she wouldn’t leave the house without her flip-flops. She slipped off her flip-flops at the driving range and sliced the golf ball just as expertly as she did with shoes on.

She sat down to brush the dirt off her feet. Her bare feet were lifted to nearly chin level. Hypotonia (low muscle tone) allows our kids with Down syndrome great flexibility. The loose dirt fell off, but a dark stain remained on her heel. She wanted that to come off too, but wasn’t able to brush it off. She knows me as Wil’s mom, so I bent down and asked if I could help. She nodded. I poured water from my water bottle across her heel then scrubbed with my hand. She tilted her foot inward to get a better look, but never let her feet fall below chin-level. The dark stain had faded but she shook her head. Not good enough.

I poured more water on her heel and scrubbed again. She tilted her foot inward, took another look and shook her head. Another parent ran up to the golf course’s restaurant to get some napkins. But even those didn’t remove the dirt to her satisfaction. Her dad soon walked over, as he was volunteering on the putting green. By his expression I could tell he knew what was happening. He bent down and had a quiet conversation with her. She finally let her feet fall down to the ground then slid on her flip-flops. Victory! She took her dad’s hand, I waved good-bye and they headed toward the parking lot.  

The next day was equally as hot, but the evening had slightly cooled, so I sat on the back porch and Wil got his recumbent bike out. He expertly maneuvered the handles to make perfect cuts and turns across the grass. Sweat dripped down the side of his face but I don’t think he even noticed. Wil turned his head toward me and smiled every few seconds to be sure I was watching. 

When Wil was a baby he wore tiny lycra biker shorts with the inseam sown together. Otherwise his legs would flop out as Wil also has hypotonia. The idea of these shorts was to strengthen his hips and train his body to keep his legs in. Every time I watch Wil ride his bike, I’m brought back to those tiny biker shorts.  

Wil clomps heavily when he walks, and has a slight side-to-side swagger. Wil had speech therapy with his friend Teddy this summer. Teddy’s mom and I would always share a smile as Teddy and Wil clomp, clomp, clomped off to the classroom together. 

When Wil was born, I was told by parents who were ahead of me on this journey: “It may be hard to see now, but your life will be so much fuller with Wil in it.” 

That remained stuck in my head because it both struck a chord, and yet felt too abstract. I wanted more details. I wanted to know how my life would be fuller. What did that mean exactly? 

But how do you share with a new mom how endearing a flip-flop stand-off is when she is navigating the complexity of acceptance? How do you explain the depth of joy in watching your child ride his bike when she is navigating doctor appointments and therapies? How do you share the feeling of a deep-down connection in another mom’s smile when she is bewildered by a new journey full of new, unknown people. 

My answer to that now is no more detailed than the response I received over 14 years ago. I had to first embrace the complexities before I fully received the gifts of the simplicities.

Christie Taylor Uncategorized

True-Blue Happiness

As I waited in line at the pharmacy for Wil’s thyroid meds, I glanced at the magazine covers displayed below the check-out counter. A woman on one shiny cover sat cross-legged in a peaceful, meditative pose; mindfulness is the way to happiness. Another shiny cover had a full-page close up of a spotless country kitchen; simplifying your home is the way to happiness. Another shiny cover — this one in black-and-white – pictured a shirtless male weight-lifter; a sculpted body is a sure-fire way that happiness will find you.

Though nearly every magazine cover touted a way to happiness, I didn’t see a single one with a denim visor. 

At Wil’s Special Olympics golf last Thursday night, the golfers split into three groups: one at the driving range, one at the putting green and one chipping near the sand trap. Wil and I were at the driving range. As each group made the rotation, we crossed paths with one of Wil’s new friends. She is in her early 20s and also has Down syndrome. I admired her outfit and told her so. She wore a denim visor, and when I complimented her on it she said that a bus driver had given it to her. She then launched into the story behind it. 

I hung on her every word. Her words easily melded from one into the other. There were no pauses; there was no stuttering. It was a good story, and all the better that I could enjoy hearing it from her own perspective.  

Wil speaks in paragraphs, but not yet in stories. If you compliment Wil on his hat, he’s sure to say thank you. He may add that it’s from his grandpa, or his uncle, but that would be the extent of the detail. He has a lot of words to share, but tends to stutter in getting them all out. He’s working on remembering to take deep breaths to slow down his words.  

Every advancement in communication Wil makes, no matter how long it takes, is a thrill. Even the simplest requests that he’s been making for years, like what he wants for lunch, still gives me a smile. When you wait to hear someone’s very own thoughts, and their very own perceptions, it’s nearly impossible to take one word for granted; and I never want to.

A friend of mine in our golf group has a son in his mid-20s with Down syndrome. Her son has had a very recent shift in behavior. Though she has a few guesses as to why, she’s not sure. He’s not highly verbal, so she listens intently to anything he shares with her, be it physical, verbal or situational. Any type of communication from him could be the key that opens the door to what he is struggling with. It’s incredibly trying and frustrating to want to help your child when multiple communication barriers exist. 

As she communicates her situation to me, I feel her pain. I feel her angst. I know her frustration. It’s exhausting. But on this journey, you can’t get tired. You have to keep going. You have to keep navigating, deducting and assimulating. Even if you may never see the whole picture, one shared thought from your child is a beacon of light.  

These are not shiny, abbreviated forms of happiness. What we have is a connection and understanding created through inter-woven threads of time. What may appear simple from the outside — a story, a word, an emotion, a sign — is held up by solidarity and strength. Together we beam brighter under the sun and weather the storms through the test of time.

Just like a denim visor; with a good story behind it. 

Christie Taylor Uncategorized

Behind the Magic

Wil jumped onto the tube without hesitation.

Wil’s friend CJ, who we were visiting, propped himself on the tube next to Wil. Elizabeth laid down on the opposite side. CJ’s dad, Randy, asked if they were ready. All three gave a unanimous thumbs up. Randy fired up the boat and CJ’s mom, Cheri, was already expertly snapping pictures. Heavy clouds loomed; we wanted to tube as much as possible before the storm hit. 

With Wil’s apparent confidence, Randy took the tube over some higher waves. Wil’s smile never wavered.

Last year’s tubing expedition took loads of coaxing to get Wil on the tube. It was Cheri who was finally successful. She climbed on the tube wearing her sunglasses. She told Wil she didn’t want to lose them, so the tube would stay right next to the boat. Wil inched his way onto the tube next to Cheri. He had a tight grip and winced at every slight movement. 

Once Wil secured himself next to Cheri, he looked around the lake in awe. He couldn’t believe it! He’d made it onto the tube. After crossing that threshold, Wil never looked back. His bravery had clearly stuck with him into the next summer.

CJ, who will be a junior in high school this year, gives daily weather reports which he started during the pandemic. His weather reports became so popular that the local news has also broadcast them. CJ is a daredevil with watersports, is on the school’s marching band and bowling team, and shoots a mean 3-pointer. CJ, like Wil, has Trisomy 21, the most common form of Down syndrome. CJ recently started strength training and flexed his biceps for us. CJ asked Wil to join him in a few push-ups. Wil jumped right in with him. It became clear Wil needs to improve his core and upper body strength to do proper push-ups, but he saw CJ do it, so he knows he can do it too with time and practice. 

All of CJ’s interests may or may not match Wil’s, but it’s important for Wil to see what can be done by a slightly older peer. When Wil was a toddler he watched his sisters, Elizabeth and Katherine, swim in the lake. He wanted so badly to swim like they did but he didn’t like how the bottom of the lake felt on his feet. Even with water shoes, he was hard to convince. One day he put on one of his sister’s bathing suits thinking he could magically swim. He quickly found that wasn’t so. 

My parents, who live on the lake, kept walking Wil to the steps that led into the water. Little-by-little, step-by-step, he eased in. With time, encouragement and practice, mixed with the desire to swim like his sisters, he learned that he didn’t need magical powers. Now when he steps into the lake and jumps on a raft, his smile never wavers. 

Wil doesn’t have to sink repeated 3-pointers to have value (though he’s sunk a few). However, each new jump he achieves adds value to his life. There is no magic behind it — it’s role models like Katherine and Elizabeth, my parents and friends like CJ, Cheri and Randy plus a dose of desire, patience and leaps of faith. 

The smile on the other side of the leap, though…that’s all magic.

Christie Taylor Down Syndrome

Brace Yourself

“Look, Mom!”  Wil widened his smile. A thick cord of wire ran through every braces bracket attached to the top row of Wil’s teeth. Then I noticed one of the brackets hung suspended over the jagged edges of an emerging adult tooth. Wil had just lost the baby tooth that previously held the bracket in place. 

Wil reached down to the coffee table and carefully picked up a little white tooth. He cupped both hands and presented the tooth to me, as if in offering. 

Though Wil is 14 years old, every missing tooth is as exciting as the first — and it has nothing to do with the Tooth Fairy. When Wil lost his first tooth, I showed him how to put it under his pillow. When he awoke he exclaimed, “Shiny coins!” Then, “Where’s my tooth?” My explanation that the Tooth Fairy took his tooth in exchange for the shiny coins was not a fair deal to Wil. He wanted his tooth back. Fortunately the Tooth Fairy was still orbiting the area and made a return visit.

Wil is entering high school this fall. I was recently asked by a mother whose daughter with Down syndrome is years younger than Wil: “How did you decide that Wil should receive a Certificate of Completion rather than a high school diploma? And when did you know?”

When Wil was a baby I would have answered emphatically, “Wil is getting a high school diploma! Wil will have full inclusion in school and take college courses.”

As Wil grew in age, I learned step-by-step with him. In his Kindergarten year alone, his teachers and I made multiple changes to his IEP (Individualized Education Plan) in determining the right balance for Wil between the general education classroom and the resource room. Wil excelled learning with his peers in the general education classroom in some subjects, but he also learned math best in the resource room. Though I had linear plans for Wil, they took many detours as I learned by experience what best fit his needs.

By Wil’s middle school years, I knew without a doubt that the Certificate of Completion was Wil’s best option. I was not saddened by this fact, as my earlier self might have been. Living experience-by-experience with Wil, the loss of earlier dreams also created openings for new growth. But I could not know or appreciate what that new emergence of growth looked like until I gained a widened perspective over time.  

A friend, whose daughter with Down syndrome is the same age as Wil, recently shared colleges she investigated that have classes adapted for our kids. There are multiple life skills as entrance requirements. She has implemented those very skills into her daughter’s IEP which I think is brilliant. Because of this conversation, I’m going to look into the same options for Wil; I still hold college course plans for him. That said, my friend and I also have multiple alternate goals in mind understanding the flexibility required along this journey.

It’s vital to be educated, to have goals and plans. I value my bond with friends with whom I openly share experiences and learn from. Even so equipped, there will always be unexpected suspensions in time that appear devoid of answers. Linear plans change no matter how tightly bound. There are no fairies that place shiny solutions under my pillow, or that orbit back to deliver what I once believed lost. I have felt the depth of challenge in each of those spaces, but I now hold an underlying excitement with each one — from the first up to Wil’s entrance to high school and beyond. Not because I anticipate smooth transitions; rather I know, with each step forward I gain a widened perspective that reveals each jagged edge as an offering of new growth.  

Christie Taylor Down Syndrome

Open the Door to LEt In the Know

Last night my neighbor came over to deliver some squash and zucchini from her garden. Wil was sitting in the Lazy-boy watching Wild Kratts. He’d been to the pool, then outside playing, and had just finished eating dinner. He was chillin’.

My neighbor, Nancy, asked him some questions. He didn’t want to answer. Nancy takes Wil to the Dollar Store on a weekly basis to help him with life skills. She also has an adult son with autism. She understands how these situations can go. Wil kept making “umf” responses. “Well, I guess I am interrupting his TV show,” she said. “See you tomorrow, Wil.” As soon as she left Wil said, “Dollar Store with Nancy tomorrow.”

As simple as this moment in time seems, it was not to me. First of all, Nancy understood Wil. She urged words out of him, but didn’t force them or give up, either. She took time to understand the situation. And many times, as simple as that sounds, it’s not so simple when you don’t understand.

I wrote recently about Wil having a melt-down at my parent’s house. My sister and her kids were visiting, staying with my parent’s. Wil wanted to spend the night after a day of playing. It was not a good scene and all of us were exhausted afterwards.

The next day, going back to my parent’s to visit, we discussed the incident. My sister said her daughter’s friend works at a camp for kids with disabilities. This friend said it is helpful to anticipate what is going to happen. I sat there speechless. In my mind, my ego responded first. A 16-year-old girl who spent a summer with kids with disabilities knows more than I do? Puh-lease! My next thought was that I live in anticipation. Every single day, even for the simplest of tasks. Just going to the store might take an extra half-hour because Wil gets stuck on what hat he wants. Or he simply refuses to go. I’m always planning ahead for whenever and whatever. That is my norm, as well as the norm for Katherine and Elizabeth. Then I realized she just doesn’t know. She is trying to help. She lives 5 hours away and sees Wil about twice a year.

And that’s what it mainly comes down to. People aren’t trying to hurt, they just don’t know. They aren’t trying to be mean, but our egos kick in because we live this every day. Its easy to get defensive rather than inform. Every single moment is a teaching moment in our lives; not only with our kids, but for the world that surrounds us.