Though Goldi ‘s words were only jumbled up sounds for a time, there was the language of stories. Stories that whispered secrets her ears longed to hear. Stories already my long time friends, waiting for the right time to touch her memory with richness. Stories that seemed to be written just for her.  Just as they were written at the right time for me. Stories that when shared with Goldi, all of that happened and more.

When I needed to joy in the absolutely perfect gift of Goldi,  the story was:

When  dreams seemed distant,  but all that was needed was right at my fingertips, the wishes do come true story was:

When I need to encourage Goldi into the unknown  the “can do” story is:

When Goldi needs a taste of home cooked goodness or a little spice in her life, the “Try it you’ll like it.” stories are:

 and 

To see the beauty in  her awkwardness, and to teach her there’s sameness even in difference, the story is:

The pick me up story during stormy days is:

The story that Goldi fixates on, that I tire of, but I know she found her way in is :

When I wasn’t sure if the world of pretend even existed, the story that light bulbed Goldi into a world of imagination was:

When Goldi needed  the perfect pictures to give her a storytelling voice, the story was:

The stories that calmed and lulled her to sleep were:

 and 

The story that helped develop an endearing brother and sister relationship, were all about:

I could always count on Eric Carl for teaching and soaking in wonderful things.    

When I least expected it, I was surprised when she “shook hands” with these stories and called them “friends”  

Someday I will introduce her to Christy and her cute rabbit Cupcake.  ( even though it’s in the attic of stories unknown and collecting dust.)

She’ll get more giggles from Ramona. If she were real, she’d probably be Goldi’s best friend.

Maybe a spider named Charlotte will take a piece of her heart.

Someday a little farther away, I will introduce her to another kindred spirit just like her.

These are all in the spectrum of stories that this spectrum girl must know for more wondering, learning, growing, and just plain delighting.

Yet as I story Goldi through life, there’s one above all others told by the Author of all wonders, lessons, and truth.  It will take Goldi’s whole life story and eternity for it  to be told. For even if I attempted to write them all down, there would not be enough story times.  These are the real stories to hold on tight and bring her to the Great Storyteller and find the greatest happy ever after ending of all.

When Goldi arrived, I had visions of lovely picture perfect playing.

I knew I would see her cooking a surprise .

Or I might see her playing hospital with her dolls.

It wasn’t  meant to be.   Goldi’s play was work with a dallup of fun. Toys only overwhelmed and confused her.  They were no treasures.  The tea sets were scrambled. The dolls lay lifeless. The play kitchen was one big disorganized garage sale.

What is a kid without play? It is the vitamin for growing up.  It is the building block to  fulfilling dreams.  Play  would not come naturally,  but in baby steps.

This is a box. Inside lies Thumbelina. She lays on layers of blankets. Shhh be quiet she is sleeping. It’s the way Goldi began her play. It’s all Goldi  played.  No doll was awakened and lively for long. Sleeping and resting lifeless in a box was the safe way of doll play.

This is the Princess Phone. It is the run to tool toy for announcing, planning, and inviting. It started an “I can pretend and rehearse what to say “kind of play.  Something ordinary and dressed up pretty has turned out to be a goldmine of toys. It stands as an essential for Goldi’s social skill growth.

This is the castle with princesses atop. The fairy tales, the royalty, the symbol of happily ever after are all lined up. They are named and placed. Good Enough for Goldi.  For her, it was an organized ,sequential , “in my comfort zone kind of play.”

This is the tutu and slippers. With twirling and tip toeing, fairies fly and flowers bloom.  It was a musical, movement “feed her sensory needs” kind of play. Goldi took  ballet lessons promising a real Angelina Ballerina experience.  Alas, so many positions and directions were too hard for her motor to plan.   But dress her up in this outfit and announce her ballerina. She is in our eyes prima!

This is the cape that flies in the wind behind a fairy who holds the key to all wonders with one  magic wand wave.  It’s all about drama and being a “shining star” kind of play. Pretending came natural when she was the star. No puppets, no dolls. Nothing else but herself to voice  impossible possibles.

This is  cute and tiny Minnie Mouse.   She wore only pink . But soon parties called for many  dresses ,purses ,and shoes. Minnie was transformed into party or church mouse bringing Goldi into a world of tea parties ,guests ,and sunny day conversations over sweet cakes.   It was finally real “little girl, sweet adorable, “play.

This is the dollhouse. One might call it :The Three Bears Cottage.  Without the help of the mom and pop bear , and baby, Goldi might not have seen the wonder in this house.  It’s a cozy house cramped with guests ( Barbies, princesses, other little mini dolls) But this dollhouse soon gained its home sweet home  adoration when a little Dolly named Goldilocks knocked on its door.

If toys could talk ,they would share wonders. The wonder of how far Goldi has come. She’s blossomed and grown and discovered…..all because of play.  Though there may still lie cluttered dollhouses, lifeless dolls, and dusty tea cups, when the day is done, I smile with delight . Because  most often that day , Goldi knew the pleasure of perfection in every play.

Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning.

Fred Rogers
American television personality
1928–2003

If you want to be creative, stay in part a child, with the creativity and invention that characterizes children before they are deformed by adult society.

Swiss philosopher, Jean Piaget
1896–1980

Beloved, we are God’s children. 1 John 3:2

The Chicago Art Institute, The High Museum, The Walker, The Uffizi, The Sistine Chapel- Homes of famous “you may look but don’t touch or severe penalty” masterpieces. I’ve stood in awe of many. But recently, at our local downtown museum, an awe that came to me was just as fresh as my first view of David or Starry Night. Goldi had a work of art displayed at the local art museum. It was a special art show. 

As we readied ourselves the morning of the big event, I flashbacked to the times I had given Goldi a box of crayons. Just a bunch of colored sticks to her. I allowed scribble, scratching, dotting, anything… Papers were blank nothings. An amazing something was hopelessly lost in the nothing plainness of paper. Then came stemming. Hard colored bold blobs of crayon filled the page. She held the crayon tightly and squeezed every bit of color out that she could. Her paper looked like a painter’s pallet.

Then with direction, she drew a real person.

 I was elated. Finally, she could visualize, organize, and produce something meaningful! As a  teacher, I knew that if she could draw then she would write. If she could write then she could read. As a mom, I knew that if she could express herself, she would shine!  Goldi rested in her art for awhile. The art of creating a person with a smile and swirls around them- her art.  It was routine. Perhaps this was all she thought she was “supposed to do”. It was somehow the way she saw all people. I  had city population of swirly smiling people and held on to the hunch that there was more expression to this little artist than what my eye had met.  

We couldn’t wait to see our Goldi’s unique framed expression for a wider audience than those that pass our refrigerator. Goldi’s work was chosen. What she made was art in a museum! Once in the exhibit room, I searched nervously for Goldi’s picture. Goldi’s artistic flare almost called out to us.

 I paused and eyed the work all over. I attempted to muster up deep thoughts as though I was staring at a VanGogh or Monet. More smiling people with swirls. Some stars and sparkles added. One holding a magic wand. The sun and sky above. A sort of bringing together of what she knew to do with marker and taking baby steps towards something new.

“I got the biggest thrill out of watching and listening to Goldi when she created this piece.” her art teacher piped in over my shoulder. 

She had called Goldi’s picture a “piece”. Not a piece of pie or a piece of lint. A piece of art!

“Really?” I responded with a curious look.

“Oh, yes, She’s very fluent when given a marker and tells the most wonderful stories as she invents a picture. I just love the way this captures her expression and liveliness. I just had to feature this in our exhibit.”

It was as though I had been hit with a pottery wheel. An artist in Goldi was being born. I just didn’t know art when I saw it. Looking carefully, I found more Goldi creations revealing the uniqueness of Goldi.

“She’s so quiet and careful with a paint brush. ” her art teacher told me about this one. 

“Interesting.” I replied.

I look at Goldi’s dreamy blur.  Claire De Lune plays in my mind and my soul is calmed.

Goldi must have dreamed of Monet when she did this. I concluded.

I was such a nose in the air art snob! Give Goldi, a brush, paper scraps, markers, and crayons and let her be. Let her express. Let the artist come out.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Art is a unique expression. Goldi’s brushing, blurry, swirling, shapes here and there, smiley people art. Amazing and awesome like Monet, Salvador Dali (I had to refresh my memory on the directly above work) and most of all our Creator. Goldi’s art reveals the Master Artist. The Master Artist like no other and whom we stand in pure awesomeness.

“For his invisible attriubtes, namely his eternal power and divine nature have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. ” Romans 1:20

Princesses, tea parties, and twirling. Dollhouses, and chasing butterflies. It’s sugary, spicy, and all around nice. It’s much of what girls are made of.

That old poem set a recipe for each gender. I knew a Sugar and Spice Girl named Jane. I learned to read with her and brother Dick. She wore ribbons and bows, puffed sleeved dresses, and shiny black shoes. That Jane girl was everything sugary and nice.

When Goldi arrived, I wanted to relive everything girlie. Everything pretty would decorate her world. Everything dainty would flavor her play. She would giggle and pretend with her friends. She would dance and float like a dream on the stage of the public eye. But Goldi’s autism soured the sugar, weakened the spice, and added kookiness to the nice. That poem girl seemed so Polylanna. Ours was a Pippi Longstocking.

Even though some girls out there have “roared” their way into a new kind of “Girlie,” that “Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice” Girl is what I projected on my Goldi. I noticed a real difference between that typical girl and our spectrum gal.

Girls have the gift of gab. They do tea parties. They connect and share emotions. Goldi has plenty to say but the context isn’t always appropriate. She’s still mirroring her happy and sad face and challenged to recognize someone else’s.

Girls are social butterflies. They know gals from dance class and gymnastics. Goldi invites friends over to play. She pretends with them. She longs to be with friends. But making a friend can be difficult when a typical girl’s intuition tells her that something is “up” with Goldi.

She’s not always fashionably “in.” There are pretty things, I can’t resist using to turn Goldi into princess. Like one white silky dress trimmed with toule and pink rose pedals. Some other sugar girl wears it now. Pink polka dots and orange pants satisfy Goldi’s fashion taste.

Spectrum girls lack some social graces. While living in the South, I saw Sothern Belles gracefully cross a room and turn a boy’s head. Goldi might jump or even gallup. We are still working to keep her feet on the floor while eating. She simply can’t hush down at times for a good story without flapping and jumping.

With faith, I know we’re made in God’s image. An amazing, beautiful, creative, and “higher than any other” image. In faith, our Goldi has the promise of being sweeter, spicier, and nicer than any “in the box one” from some old poem. With faith, we discover the richness of God’s gift of girl in Goldi.

While the typical girl gabs, Goldi’s eloquence sings. It’s imaginative and a refreshing breeze while I am stuck in the conversational rut of the weather. While the typical girl has social graces, Goldi’s zeal is expressed in a bounce that brings spring in the dead of winter. While the typical girl is fashionable, Goldi shines her own flare. The typical girl makes friends easily. Goldi happily accepts any possiblity of a friend.

It’s Goldi’s own unique “sugary, spicy, and everything nicey” touch on this moldy world. In the end, I realize it’s the girl I’ve dreamed of raising all along.

I was tempted to tell after a “show” at the library. We had a full bag of books and had started to explore the new props for playing. Goldi found a magical cape and wand. She immediatly readied herself for some happy play. She set the wand down on the table and dressed herself in a shiny pink gown. Immediately a wandering boy found delight in the same magic wand. He picked it up and began to wave it.
“That’s mine!” Goldi shrieked “Give it back!”
Her shrieking echoed all across the library. The crying followed. The boy’s mom and I whispered sweet nothings and directions from the sidelines of the playing field. Goldi and the boy resumed pretending and things were well.

But all was not well. I was soon approached by the ultimate librarian. She fit the part. Her hair was pulled back and gray. She had the perfect reading glasses. She spoke in a very stern and shushy kind of voice.
“Is everything okay over here? There’s been some complaints,” she told me.
“We are fine now thank you.” I said beginning to grow flushed.
“Well, the exit is that way otherwise, there is the family restroom right there. ” she said.
As she walked away, I saw a floating bubble trailing behind her. It read “The exit is that way.”

One Oven Hot Summer Day, the kids and I had a “Cool” idea. Go to the grocery store and get some essentials: pizza, popsicles, and juice boxes. We are comfortable in our cozy store. We know our way around well. Soon we had 2 out of three.
“And now, for the last really cool thing…. POPSICLES” I said in my game show voice.
“Yeah! Popsicles! ” Goldi exclaimed even louder. “They are fantastic!” she shouted clapping, flapping, and jumping.
“Watch it you’re gonna hurt someone!: shouted an old woman. Do you have to be so loud?” she said looking directly at Goldi. “That really hurts my ears!” she shrieked. She was wrinkled all over. Her hair was uncombed. Her frown was longer than a basset hound’s. Watching her turn the corner, there was another floating bubble. It read “Your’e too loud and too wild.”

I just stood there in the frozen section, shivering. Her ice cold remarks pricked me to tears. Slowly I was able to thaw out and move.
“Come on kids,” I said. “Some people don’t like popsicles.” I was so tempted to find that old woman and tell her.

Sometimes it’s not a big “show” but it is enough of a show to be tempted to tell. Out there, in the world of norms, molds, and blending in, Goldi is on show. Where there is a show, I feel the need to follow up with some telling. At times, I am angry and I feel the need to come up with some “one liners” to really sock it to the ignorance of the clueless person. At times, I feel the need to educate the ignorant and make them aware.

There are days in life, when Goldi’s autism does not show up huge. She doesn’t stick out too much. Many a time, among friends, I have heard “You never would know she has autism.” A reminder to just get on with life. Because sometimes, I do forget there could be a show that requires some kind of telling. Sometimes, I forget “Oh yeah” Goldi has autism. So I take her to the store, the library, the post offfice, and a restaurant.

Then again, some days, it is all too plain. Goldi has austism. Some days, are a combination of meltdown and tantrum. Some days are overwhelmingly a real slap in the face “She’s got autism!” So I don’t take her to the library, the post office, the grocery store, or the restaurant.

“She’s got autism Miss Librarian. She’s just learning to take turns and play with actual things. She’s come a long way and she actually overcame this particular obstacle pretty well.”

“She’s got austism old lady clutching your grocery list. She gets excited about little things and she might flap her wings like she’s going to fly because that is the kind of “fly high excitement” she feels even over something as simple as a popsicle!”

There might be a show so I might have to tell. Truth be told I could silence a person’s rudeness. An appology could be given. An awareness might be gained. Others might behave differently. Truth be told, Goldi has autism. The speech bubble floating behind me says “The truth is…She’s a person.”

We all arrived looking glamorous. There was a sparkle in every ladies’ eye and a brightness to their smile. One mom and I decided an outside table would be lovely. After the long hard winter, it would be bliss to eat outside. The table was fancied up with linens. There was a soft warm breeze, rolling green hills, and a giant blue umbrella of a sky.

Even after a long hard day, we looked as fresh and new as the morning that started it. Only God knew what kind of morning, and afternoon, each one of us had before this moment. For me, I was cheering on Goldi as she takes these last days of school one day at a time. When she came home, I was cheering her on again, assuring her I would return soon and don’t worry. For me, I had to calm a storm that meltdowns bring when mom gets lost in the excitement of “girl time” and forgets to prepare her daughter. Heaven only knows what the rest left before they arrived for this gathering.

We sat down and immediately conversed. We’ve known each other for a year or less. But in some sort of “God moving in mysterious kind of way,” we almost can tell each other’s stories as though we’ve known each other forever.
“So nice to see everyone again.” says one.
“I was so excited to get out! shares another.
“I just celebrated my son’s birthday party and then left the family to clean up the crumbs. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” said one mom with her sunbeam smile.

We talked “get acquainted.” We talked “catch up”. We even laid out some pretty deep “bearing of our souls” kind of talk. The continuous conversation erased my hunger for food. It took nearly an hour for us to realize we hadn’t even ordered yet.

There were nods, winks, and some finishing of each other’s sentences.
“Sometimes kids can be so –”
“Mean” we all chime.

Sometimes we made jokes that only we could get.
“I have this thing about fruit and meat!” shared one mom.
“You must be on the Spectrum!” I said.
Laughter followed.

There are terms that float around the table that must sound like a foreign language to anyone listening in.
“I took my kid to ABA last week.”
“I watched my kid Stem the other day.”
It’s all understood with no translation needed.

With ease, we share our worries and challenges.
“My child likes to run. What if he goes too far?”
“We are building a new house so we can stay in the school my child thrives in. It’s going to be a change.”
“Common sense tells me, this is the right choice. I sure hope so.”
“I sometimes feel like my child is so noticeably on the spectrum.” I share.

Every word is heard. Everyone has more than two cents to share. These are moms of Spectrum Kids. Moms who live day to day with a child with autism. Moms who have painted their hair blue in April. Moms who have spent the cost of a home mortgage payment for therapy. Moms who have come to IEPS ( sorry another abbreviation – go look it up) as a lawyer, teacher, doctor, all rolled in one and without the degree. Moms who cried when their child got the official label “Spectrum Kid” but dried up quickly and began to move forward seeking out possibilities and dreams for them. Moms who can tread through the thickest and muckiest meltdown and still come out looking like a Queen.

We ate until filled and I am not just talking about the food. Dusk approached quicker than time indicated. It took a very abrupt standing up on my part to end the evening for me.
“Thank you all”. I said ” And take care.”
“We’ll do it again!” cries out one.

We will do it again. We’ve already been in communication about that. Until that day draws near, we’ve stirred up one another towards more good works for the sake of our children. We’ve encouraged one another. This Spectrum Supper was more than fine dining. It was a real feast.

Our woods sets the perfect stage. There are worn down paths for Little Red Riding Hood and Goldilocks to walk to their respective houses. There are tiny wildflowers for picking to delay Red Riding Hood’s visit to Grandma and lead Goldilocks further from home. There are tall trees for the wolf to hide and then pop out for his encounter with Red Riding Hood or his “Blow your house down warning” to the Three Little Pigs.

Aside from the perfect woods, Goldi has proven a capable star. Her expression is easily engaging. Her skip down the road is graceful. Her flower picking shows an appreciation for the wild. (Just stay away from the trillium. It is endangered and our state wildflower)

There are several productions a night. All are performed on the wooded stage. Goldi, the talented actress that she is, is often cast as the starring role. Dad, naturally is the perfect Papa Bear and Big Bad Wolf. (Also because he is willing to run and chase) Brother is a good fill in for any other necessary parts. Although once, he asked to be the guy with the garbage truck in the Beauty and the Beast Production and we had to take a brief intermission for further thinking on that. I tend to be the narrator. For it is I, who feel well versed in fairy tales.( Almost as good as Goldi)

‘Ladies and Gentleman,” she announces as she stands on a fallen tree trunk, “Today’s show will be Little Red Riding Hood. On with the show.” She has worn her director’s hat and assigned all roles. She takes her place and the story begins.
“Daddy, please hide behind that tree, I will be coming this way and you will jump out in front of me,” she instructs.
“Why, Grandmother, what a big nose you have,” (Just to her own poetic license touch to the script.)

There are giggles and shrieks when either Red Riding Hood is captured, the house is blown down, and The 3 Bears wake up Goldilocks. I did say there are several productions a night.

We all bow and applaud each other. My husband and I find ourselves a log and attempt to take a breather. This acting stuff makes us want to hire a stunt person or an understudy. After chasing, climbing, and jumping out, our old bones tire fast. Maybe I should just consider it a good work out. But even before we can even think about a breather, Goldi is already announcing the next production and assigning parts. She doesn’t skip a beat.

“It’s bedtime!” I announce.
“Let’s just do one more!” cries Goldi.

I am half willing and half wanting to stick to my word. Summer’s beckoning has made our wooded stage so hard to refuse and so hard to leave. And while Goldi is on stage she shines and she is transformed. She can be who she wants to be. She does it well. All who watch applaud her. It’s like a fairy tale come real. She can escape her worries and stresses and live in the fairy tale as the star who knows exactly the way to “happily ever after”. She wants to seize it again and again and stay there.

Once upon a time, in a wood, Goldi brings to life what might not be seen on any other “stage.” But nonetheless, it’s her moment to shine like a star. And one day in that “Happily ever moment” of life forever with the One who made her a star, she will forever shine like one. Once upon a wood, always starring Goldi.

You can lead a horse to the water, but you can’t make him drink. I can drag Goldi into a new adventure but I can’t make her excited about it. The first realization of this came when a friend invited us over for a horse ride. I read and heard that horses were therapeutic for kids like Goldi, so I readily agreed. It was going to be a sunny day. Goldi would sit tall on a beautiful shiny brown horse. They would glide across the open field. She would feel the wind caress her face and the warmth of the sun would make her hair glow. Little did she know, it would be a wonderful new experience.

When we met Dusty or Chestnut or China or …I’m sure of the horse’s name. If it were my horse, I would have named it Patience or Grace. For Goldi immediately protested at the sight of it.

“No, No! ” she shrieked as though I was about to make her pet a crocodile.
“I want to go home!” she screamed as she clawed my leg.
“I can’t do that!” she yelled.
“I will hold you. We can do this together.” I told her. “It is such a nice horse. See, look we can pet her. She is so soft.” I said.

I tried to say things to put her at ease. I tried to say it in a way that those beautiful gals on “Price is Right” would say with their hands when presenting a can of tuna. I tried to say it in a way to bring about some hopes for enjoyment and gladness that we went on this adventure even though we were deep in the unknown. My image of pleasantries was soon interrupted as quickly as an arm on the record player screetching the music to a hault. It is one of those noises I hear often in those “Not Knowing but still Going Moments.”

There have been many moments with Goldi like that. Moments of new experiences that we know and believe she will enjoy, but they come with protest. Moments of pure work for a simple pleasure. Moments of necessity to help her learn and grow and adapt to this world. She does not know what to expect and we go anyway. She does not like the sound of a pep talk to do something outside her realm of familiar. But forward we go.

I held her on that horse as we were led by her owner across an open grassy field. It was indeed warm and sunny, – a perfect summer day. Screams and shrieks surrounded me. My “It’s okays” were drowned out completely. If you could read a speech bubble above that dear horse, it would say “Do I get an extra carrot for this ride?”

Goldi didn’t know what a horse ride was all about. But I made her go anyway. When that horse received his “Whoa” command, (probably thinking to himself “Woes me” ) that hault put an end to the unknown. Goldi had ridden a horse and now she knew. She knew the smooth glide. She knew the soft silky feel of its back. She knew the view of the world from atop a horse. Well, at least a little bit- if her face wasn’t buried into my shoulders she might have seen more of it. She knew that it was a gentle, calm, journey across a wide open field. Slowly and surely she began to know.

“I rode a horse!” she told the owners as soon as she dismounted. “I did. I rode a horse!” she says again with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. She tells her dad at dinner, her grandparents, and even friends.
Looking back, I am glad we went. Maybe Goldi was glad too. And if “Grace” was that horse’s middle name, the horse was glad too.

Those “Not knowing but still Going moments” will be frequent with Goldi. But that is what life is all about.
Even though we know little about the journey and life ahead, we will still go forward. And in going forward, we take what we do know with us. And there is one thing we do know that we always take with us. It is our Guide. The One that knows all. And that is all that matters. With that- not knowing and going anyway will always be worth it.

Eileen Spinelli’s Someday is a delightful expression of a child’s dreams in the now of youth filled days. Like the child’s face looking up at the Someday Sky of Dreams, I’ve begun to think of dreams fulfilled someday for Goldi. As one would suspect, her Someday Story is different.

There are certain images of day to day dreams:

Someday, she’ll glide along the sidewalk like a swan on a clear glass pond. Now she bounces and paces, from one end of the house to another, between bites of food.

Someday, she’ll wear a silky dress with a hair in curls and ribbons for a Sunday Church Service. Now, she’s wearing only pink tagless ones, with the wind to comb and trim her hair.

Someday she’ll be taller than her Daddy and we’ll be asking her to reach for the vase on the high shelf. Now, Daddy bends over for a kiss on the cheek.

There are dreams more ambitious:
Someday she’ll bring the house down as the star of Goldilocks, Little Red Riding Hood, or Cinderella. Now she’s rehearsing them in her favorite “Once a Upon A Woods” stage.

Someday she’ll be a college student strutting her smarts gathered up all along her school aged years. Now, she’s getting her first taste of the long learning journey ahead.

There are Someday dreams that will seem more like battles won:

Someday, she’ll taste an artichoke, mahnti,(it’s one of my favorite Armenian dishes) or turkey with all the trimmings. ( had to throw in something all American and familiar) Now, she’s learning to trust the sights and smells of things as scary as a banana.

Someday, she’ll walk up to a new friend and say “Hello, pleased to meet you.”
Now,she’s often given the script and the reminder to look at them with a smile.

I look for evidence of her Someday Dreams. She’s never uttered a word about her grown up days. She lives in the day to day moment. She lives out dreams in her play. Now, she’s making forts for hiding from the giant. Now, she’s telephoning the princesses and inviting them to her party. Now, she’s waving her magic wand and casting spells of wonder to somehow make this world a better place. She isn’t seeking a blueprint to her future. Instead she’s allowing her imagination to represent things real and true to her.

In attempt to read her heart, I see revelations that sometimes are slightly seen and sometimes softly expressed. Perhaps one “A little more Grown Up Day” Goldi might share:

Someday I will go to Disney World and meet all the princesses. Now, I just watch them on YouTube and imagine that special little girl hugging Cinderella is me.

Someday I will have a real friend who knows who I am and enjoys who I am. Now, I am on the look out for that someone.

Someday, I will express my thoughts so eloquently. Now, I must clarify and accept correction.

Someday I will be brave and step through those open doors not knowing what is on the other side. Now, I may drag my feet but a held hand is encouraging.

Someday I will be a real princess living happily ever after. Now I am working hard to conquer the wicked witch named Autism.

Ultimately there are the Someday Dreams that are more than hope filled notions of day to day life, more than a list of ambitions, and more than battles won. The grandest dreams are prayers lifted up to the One who by His Spirit- put the thoughts there in the first place:

Someday she’ll meet her Creator all Grown up in His Glory. He will rejoice over her with singing because the good work He began in her will be complete. Now, she’s offering simple prayers and thus beginning to dream of that Great Someday.

I watched her one Fourth of July with her severly autistic son. He screetched and flung some spaghetti around. He ate off the ground. She slowly and carefully tried to wipe up his red sauce mouth. Then she calmly led him to a large tree swing where he turned from somewhat of a terror to a happy go lucky boy.

Though she was a few years younger than I, she looked tired and more aged. She had so much knowledge about autism, it surpassed any certified expert. “You have to keep at it.” she said. “I don’t have much time for fun. ”

Another was a teacher friend. With her energy and dedication, it was amazing that there was more left to attend to her oldest autistic son. Many a time during conversation she had some “If onlys, some “how am I ever going tos” and whys?. I just listened and nodded.

She had watery mascara at times. Her hands were marked up. She had more knowledge than any educator I knew. “Sometimes things get so kooky.” she’d say with a sigh. “But we’ll work it out.”

These moms are strong,wise, patient, hard working, and determined. They cope with life’s disappointments and still managed to say “Life is good.”

Examplary moms like those are an inspiration. You learn so much from those who battle life with such accomplishment. Moms like that help you to realize “Life is what you make it.”
“Chin up. You can do it. ” is there motto.

For them, every cloud has a silver lining. I remember hearing that the mom of the severly autistic son would never comprehend a story. Upon a reading of one, her son laughed out loud appropriately. It was a moment of pure joy.

For every bump in the road, there was a smooth spot. I remember my teacher friend mom telling me that her son didn’t know how to be social and was worried he would never have fun with friends. He was heard singing on a Kareeokee machine one New Years Eve hanging out with some friends.

For every “pull your hair out moment”, there was compassion. I remember one mom holding her son on her lap smiling for a family picture. I remember the other mom kissing her son goodbye and he beamed. Never do those boys doubt their mom loves them.

For every mistake, there was wisdom gained. I remember one telling me, “I found all the food in the house gone!” Her son had eaten everything in sight. But now her son is cooking his own meals.

These are such inspirational Moms. Moms that stand out among many. Moms who were moms before I ever became one. Moms, who now are more than providing inspiration. When Goldi was diagnosed autistic, those two moms became my mentors.

It was those Mentor Moms that I turned to for answers and support. It was they that showed me that Goldi’s austism had not erased all dreams. They showed me that life would move forward and I would learn to know what being mom to this child I had been given as a gift was all about.

These Mentor Moms, who are farther along on the journey, are still demonstrating perserverence, patience, and determination. These Mentor moms still experience more about setback, struggle, and a just plain “throw in the towel” life than I’ve ever known. And there is One True Mentor, the One who is able to turn their “hard beyond hard” life into more than something good. He makes everything into a greater glory. All I have to do is look at those Mentor Moms’ example. And with that kind of Mentorship, this Mom’s journey of raising Goldi is destined for nothing but amazing.