Elopement Disaster Averted
Elopement is a terrifying word for a parent of a child with autism, and even more so for parents of children who lack verbal skills.
Elopement is a terrifying word for a parent of a child with autism, and even more so for parents of children who lack verbal skills.
It was to be my daughter’s last night in her crib, and the first “last” I truly stopped to take in. That night dinner waited in the oven, an article remained unwritten on my computer, and an unbuilt toddler bed sat upstairs, but I stopped.
My baby is growing up. She’s gone from napping to texting, walking to playing club sports, learning to eat solid foods to cooking dinner for our family.
Underscheduled? My daughter looks at hobbies like a buffet—today she is on another ballet kick, last month it was pottery. She can’t pick just one.
Upydeeh Day School* is reeling this week after a mom emailed the principal with shocking news that her son’s father can also receive emails and make decisions.
I had the opportunity to spend the weekend away from my family at the Big Mother House Retreat. A weekend away is a blessing and a curse.
Our four year old gets an allowance. I read a suggestion of $1 for each year of age which seems appropriate. But we’ve stressed it’s not for doing chores.
The first day of school has just passed. You adjusted my IEP at the end of last year and requested that I get the teacher who also has a son with ADHD.
It’s not how I envisioned school for my children. Or any child. But this is reality. And Sandy Hook Promise’s PSA drives that point home.
Right now, today: I don’t want to be Mommy. I want this season to pass. I want to wake up on the other side of their childhood.
Elopement is a terrifying word for a parent of a child with autism, and even more so for parents of children who lack verbal skills.
It was to be my daughter’s last night in her crib, and the first “last” I truly stopped to take in. That night dinner waited in the oven, an article remained unwritten on my computer, and an unbuilt toddler bed sat upstairs, but I stopped.
My baby is growing up. She’s gone from napping to texting, walking to playing club sports, learning to eat solid foods to cooking dinner for our family.
Underscheduled? My daughter looks at hobbies like a buffet—today she is on another ballet kick, last month it was pottery. She can’t pick just one.
Upydeeh Day School* is reeling this week after a mom emailed the principal with shocking news that her son’s father can also receive emails and make decisions.
I had the opportunity to spend the weekend away from my family at the Big Mother House Retreat. A weekend away is a blessing and a curse.
Our four year old gets an allowance. I read a suggestion of $1 for each year of age which seems appropriate. But we’ve stressed it’s not for doing chores.
The first day of school has just passed. You adjusted my IEP at the end of last year and requested that I get the teacher who also has a son with ADHD.
It’s not how I envisioned school for my children. Or any child. But this is reality. And Sandy Hook Promise’s PSA drives that point home.
Right now, today: I don’t want to be Mommy. I want this season to pass. I want to wake up on the other side of their childhood.