Orignally posted in a note on Facebook - Monday, November 23, 2009
Last week Maggie and I went out for a little girl time while Winnie was in therapy. We went to the mall, looked at toys, looked at shoes - basically - we had a ball! Maggie loves toys AND shoes. Watching her in the shoe store with the bright red glitzy size 8 womans pump on was just priceless. Her shoes were almost more flashy than her smiles - almost, because nothing can outshine them.
After all of our exhausting shopping, we decided to have a drink and a snack. We got muffins and apple juice and sat down at the table (with Maggie in her stroller). I was concered with preventing Maggie from spilling or dropping anything so I arranged everything just so - Her juice on the table within reach, her muffin in my hand so I could give her small pieces... So concered was I that I forgot about myself. I sat down, still looking at Maggie, checking to make sure I had nothing out of place. As I turned around my arm caught my drink and it went flying, spilling all over the table and the floor (and even getting a little on Maggie!).
We laughed and cleaned the whole mess up, giggling and eating and wiping. But it occurred to me how often in life we do this. How often we're always watching for someone else do to do something, watching for someone else to do wrong, or someone else to make a mistake, when we should really be doing our best to watch ourselves.
My plan is to work on changing the focus from outside to inside - do what I can to be better, to be more prepared - removing the external focus, while still holding those items in my range of vision...
Its life's little moments that just make you stop think...
Monday, November 21, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Moved from Facebook - A good explanation on Stimulus overload
Originally Posted to Facebook as a note on Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The best explanation I've heard yet...
To understand [autistic children's sensitivity to simuli] further, have someone lead a game of "Simon Says" with you with the expectation that you must remain mute throughout but participate and attend fully. The catch is, while that's occurring, someone else needs to rapidly flash the lights in the room on and off at the same time another person is drowning out your leader with static and loud music from ever-changing radio frequencies. After less than a minute, you'll feel like giving up, throwing a "tantrum," or running out of the room because of the way in which your senses are being assaulted. This is how a person with sensory sensitivities may feel. If you were a child with autism and acted out those behaviors in a classroom, you'd be called "noncompliant" or a "behavior problem."
From: The Autism Answer Book: More Than 300 of the Top Questions Parents Ask
by William Stillman
Sourcebooks © 2007
The best explanation I've heard yet...
To understand [autistic children's sensitivity to simuli] further, have someone lead a game of "Simon Says" with you with the expectation that you must remain mute throughout but participate and attend fully. The catch is, while that's occurring, someone else needs to rapidly flash the lights in the room on and off at the same time another person is drowning out your leader with static and loud music from ever-changing radio frequencies. After less than a minute, you'll feel like giving up, throwing a "tantrum," or running out of the room because of the way in which your senses are being assaulted. This is how a person with sensory sensitivities may feel. If you were a child with autism and acted out those behaviors in a classroom, you'd be called "noncompliant" or a "behavior problem."
From: The Autism Answer Book: More Than 300 of the Top Questions Parents Ask
by William Stillman
Sourcebooks © 2007
Moved from Facebook - A Gamer Mom's Analogy to Children
Orignally posted in a note on Facebook - Thursday, December 31, 2009
(Note: my kids are now 6 and 4, so.. we made it another two years, and it DOES get better!)
Now that I'm a mom of a 4 and 2 year old, I find I'm prone to giving advice to new and soon to be new Mom's. From a generation of video gamers, this is my analogy for children...
Babies, are relatively easy as they have so few wants. Babies are like level 1 parenting. If you can handle that, you get Level 2: toddlers, if you can handle that, you get Level 3: school children, if you can handle that you get The Boss Level: teenagers. After teenagers you pretty much beat the game and get the perks of winning (even if its just that they move out ;)).
That being said, level 1 never seems that easy! You're too busy learning about the controls and how to navigate the game!
The good thing is, they DO come with a help manual (most hospitals provide the free children's encyclopedia), 24 hour Tech support hotline (your parents and friends and the nurse's hotline), and some interesting quests to complete (The Quest for Less Gas is always a challenging one..).
So get ready - you're in for an adventure!
(Note: my kids are now 6 and 4, so.. we made it another two years, and it DOES get better!)
Now that I'm a mom of a 4 and 2 year old, I find I'm prone to giving advice to new and soon to be new Mom's. From a generation of video gamers, this is my analogy for children...
Babies, are relatively easy as they have so few wants. Babies are like level 1 parenting. If you can handle that, you get Level 2: toddlers, if you can handle that, you get Level 3: school children, if you can handle that you get The Boss Level: teenagers. After teenagers you pretty much beat the game and get the perks of winning (even if its just that they move out ;)).
That being said, level 1 never seems that easy! You're too busy learning about the controls and how to navigate the game!
The good thing is, they DO come with a help manual (most hospitals provide the free children's encyclopedia), 24 hour Tech support hotline (your parents and friends and the nurse's hotline), and some interesting quests to complete (The Quest for Less Gas is always a challenging one..).
So get ready - you're in for an adventure!
Moved from Facebook - 300 Words is Not Enough.
So I've been getting a few requests lately about sharing my experience of raising my princesses and I went through this blog and realized that its missing some of my first posts, which were made to Facebook directly. The next series of posts will be backposts with the dates they were posted on facebook. I hope they help.
It all started because someone asked me to write something to be shared at an event about Autism Awareness. They requested that it be 300 words or less... unfortunately 300 words were just not enough.
Originally posted to a Facebook note - Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The good thing is that I know everything that she’s done all day; the bad thing is that I know everything she’s done all day. My daughter has delayed echolalia, which means that she repeats whatever she hears, only not immediately. It used to be random. She would start talking and say entire dialogues from movies, or what her grandmother told her that day. But ask her if she’d like some waffles and she wasn’t able to say “yes” or “no”.
Now, she has learned to play with toys in “imaginative” play, and can say "yes" and "no" to simple questions, but sometimes she floats back and simply repeats and entire day’s worth of dialogue that she has overheard.
Movie dialogue used to be the only way she could communicate. If she was sad, she would say something “Franklin” would say when he was sad. If she was happy, she would say something “Dora” said when she was happy. She still sometimes repeats dialogue that she has heard, but thankfully now that is not the only thing she can say.
We had a cold night last night and I snuggled under the blankets to sing her to sleep. She likes her back rubbed and so I started to rub and sing. She looked up at me, not completely looking me in the eye, and said “Momma, your hands are cold!”. I beamed at her and we joked about my cold hands. Inwardly I was singing. She has known my name for a while, and has known what “hands” are. She is just learning about “Me, my, You, yours” and she is just learning “Hot and Cold”. Putting all of these together to form a complete sentence with meaning and context has been months in the making. So much practice, scripted play and long hours and my oldest can finally say a sentence. This may not last but I glory in the moment. 5 minutes later I may be greeted with frustration, “jargon” instead of real speech, and a good right hook or two. But for now, this moment is ours. We’ve worked so hard to get it.
My everyday is filled with slaps, screams and tantrums. My daughters are 2 and 4 and both are “on the spectrum”. One is verbal, one is not yet. Both developed normally until about 12 -18 months. Both are constantly frustrated about not being able to properly communicate with the outside world.
Most people, when they see me with my children, say that I have the patience of Job. I don’t, for sure. And it didn’t always seem that way either. But it’s amazing the things you can do because you have to, the things you’ll do for your children.
The struggles we have involve things that most parents do every day. But we do it to an amplified degree. We keep them safe, we teach them, and provide them unconditional love. Keeping them safe is harder, teaching them takes longer, and the love – while no less than the average parent – puts “unconditional” to the test on a daily basis.
Keeping them safe for us is not letting them bite themselves, bang their head on walls or let them run away from you when they are frustrated, because they are not aware of the world around them and may get lost.
Teaching them for us, is showing them for the (literally) 200th time how to do “simple” tasks, like sit in a chair, with patience and love in a way that they are never allowed to fail and become discouraged.
Unconditional love for us is ignoring when your child bites or slaps you and immediately responding with a hug and a kiss when she stops.
In our house, we call them “The Hurricanes”, “The Divas”, “The Ladies” – all characteristics that they posses for sure.
The Hurricanes, because you always know when they are around - everything is a mess. The Divas, because everything must be a certain way or tantrums ensue. The Ladies, because they are indeed little ladies who like frills, cuddles, kisses, feather boas and pretty shoes.
Life is harder for them than it should be. All we can do is help to make it better.
It all started because someone asked me to write something to be shared at an event about Autism Awareness. They requested that it be 300 words or less... unfortunately 300 words were just not enough.
Originally posted to a Facebook note - Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The good thing is that I know everything that she’s done all day; the bad thing is that I know everything she’s done all day. My daughter has delayed echolalia, which means that she repeats whatever she hears, only not immediately. It used to be random. She would start talking and say entire dialogues from movies, or what her grandmother told her that day. But ask her if she’d like some waffles and she wasn’t able to say “yes” or “no”.
Now, she has learned to play with toys in “imaginative” play, and can say "yes" and "no" to simple questions, but sometimes she floats back and simply repeats and entire day’s worth of dialogue that she has overheard.
Movie dialogue used to be the only way she could communicate. If she was sad, she would say something “Franklin” would say when he was sad. If she was happy, she would say something “Dora” said when she was happy. She still sometimes repeats dialogue that she has heard, but thankfully now that is not the only thing she can say.
We had a cold night last night and I snuggled under the blankets to sing her to sleep. She likes her back rubbed and so I started to rub and sing. She looked up at me, not completely looking me in the eye, and said “Momma, your hands are cold!”. I beamed at her and we joked about my cold hands. Inwardly I was singing. She has known my name for a while, and has known what “hands” are. She is just learning about “Me, my, You, yours” and she is just learning “Hot and Cold”. Putting all of these together to form a complete sentence with meaning and context has been months in the making. So much practice, scripted play and long hours and my oldest can finally say a sentence. This may not last but I glory in the moment. 5 minutes later I may be greeted with frustration, “jargon” instead of real speech, and a good right hook or two. But for now, this moment is ours. We’ve worked so hard to get it.
My everyday is filled with slaps, screams and tantrums. My daughters are 2 and 4 and both are “on the spectrum”. One is verbal, one is not yet. Both developed normally until about 12 -18 months. Both are constantly frustrated about not being able to properly communicate with the outside world.
Most people, when they see me with my children, say that I have the patience of Job. I don’t, for sure. And it didn’t always seem that way either. But it’s amazing the things you can do because you have to, the things you’ll do for your children.
The struggles we have involve things that most parents do every day. But we do it to an amplified degree. We keep them safe, we teach them, and provide them unconditional love. Keeping them safe is harder, teaching them takes longer, and the love – while no less than the average parent – puts “unconditional” to the test on a daily basis.
Keeping them safe for us is not letting them bite themselves, bang their head on walls or let them run away from you when they are frustrated, because they are not aware of the world around them and may get lost.
Teaching them for us, is showing them for the (literally) 200th time how to do “simple” tasks, like sit in a chair, with patience and love in a way that they are never allowed to fail and become discouraged.
Unconditional love for us is ignoring when your child bites or slaps you and immediately responding with a hug and a kiss when she stops.
In our house, we call them “The Hurricanes”, “The Divas”, “The Ladies” – all characteristics that they posses for sure.
The Hurricanes, because you always know when they are around - everything is a mess. The Divas, because everything must be a certain way or tantrums ensue. The Ladies, because they are indeed little ladies who like frills, cuddles, kisses, feather boas and pretty shoes.
Life is harder for them than it should be. All we can do is help to make it better.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
When did the wading pool turns into an ocean?
I have started to think about what to do next... Maggie is getting into a routine, she's for the most part "handleable" in the mornings, Winnie is at school and Maggie will be out in the afternoon at her ABA therapy... so now the question arises - What else can Mom do to better herself and her family?
I admit, its a bit like I'm stepping out of high school and the world is opening up again, but I'm a lot older, a lot less gung-ho, but a lot more... driven. Its as though, when I was 18, I jumped into the life pool and flailed around, making lots of noise, but only getting halfway across the pool even though I put in a lot of effort. Now, it feels like I'm content to use my aged body's buoyancy to float across, with some quiet paddles in the direction I'd like to go. But the pool has turned into an ocean, and I'm not really sure what direction to take.
The downside is that I'm completely indecisive, the upside is that the world actually is my oyster. Do I want to go back to school and finish one of my degrees? Do I want to get a job? Do I want a full time job, or part time job? Do I get a job in the field I was working in, or do I want to do something completely different?
What do I want to do? The question has me baffled and thinking... a little depressed and a little optimistic... And surprisingly... free.
I admit, its a bit like I'm stepping out of high school and the world is opening up again, but I'm a lot older, a lot less gung-ho, but a lot more... driven. Its as though, when I was 18, I jumped into the life pool and flailed around, making lots of noise, but only getting halfway across the pool even though I put in a lot of effort. Now, it feels like I'm content to use my aged body's buoyancy to float across, with some quiet paddles in the direction I'd like to go. But the pool has turned into an ocean, and I'm not really sure what direction to take.
The downside is that I'm completely indecisive, the upside is that the world actually is my oyster. Do I want to go back to school and finish one of my degrees? Do I want to get a job? Do I want a full time job, or part time job? Do I get a job in the field I was working in, or do I want to do something completely different?
What do I want to do? The question has me baffled and thinking... a little depressed and a little optimistic... And surprisingly... free.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
July 1st - The day of many emotions.
Yesterday I cried.
Yesterday was Canada Day. The day was filled with lots of things to do and the girls were excited from sunup to sundown. They knew it was a special day and Winnie hounded me to go from the time she opened her eyes. "Momma, I need clothes! We're going to the fair!" Yes, the full sentences, appropriate context and excited... normalness that I so enjoy! It was wonderful to hear, even at 6:30 am.
As we got ready and piled into the van, we went over and over our plans for the day "We're going to go watch the parade, then go get lunch, then go to the fair, then go to Grandma’s for cake, then go home, okay? Everyone understand?" This could not be repeated enough. This repetition may save the day. Preparation is essential, for us and for them.
Arriving at the parade route, we picked a spot on the grass, thankful that we’d found a good spot where the girls could see – the last parade we went to was very crowded. We laid a blanket out and they sat on it, getting up to run in the large grassy area behind us, Grandma and Momma at the ready to run and pounce if things started out of control.
And then the bands came. The girls sat wonderfully on the blanket and watched the entire parade, Maggie needing a break only once during a lull to roll and twirl, then coming back for the remainder of the parade. They tried very hard to remember to wave and say “Happy Canada Day” to the passers by, and accept the candies, flags and other objects given to them by the parade folk with a quiet and awed “Thank you” if they remembered. They tried so hard, and enjoyed it so much. The parade was a success!
Heading back towards the van, my heart stopped as Maggie and Winnie took off towards the van, relief consumed as they stopped at the van, then dread once more as the time it took to open the van was slightly too much, they ran into the busy parking lot. Dropping everything I ran to corral them, shuffled them into the van, buckled them in, and then sagged into the front seat and closed my eyes as relief once again washed through me. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe.
Lunch was much as it is every time. “Chicken in a bag” which sometimes actually comes in a bag, sometimes in a box, sometimes all together in one giant bag… luckily that’s not such a concern now as it used to be. Switching up a kid’s expected lunch from a box, to a bag, to no container at all might not matter for most kids, but for mine, it could be catastrophic, causing a meltdown of epic proportions. They just want what is expected. They want things the same each time. So they know what’s coming. They need that, but they need to learn to that some things they can’t expect, and thankfully our trips to McDonald’s weekly has helped them to understand that some things might not be exactly the same each time, and that its ok. Right now though, that only applies to McDonalds… the trick now is to stretch that to other things, ‘generalize’ the professionals call it, and we’re slowly doing that.
Next was off to the fair, blaring various tunes that Winnie gets to dictate along the way “Can I hear YMCH?... love don’t cost?... Rockstar?... We like to party?” Thankfully if you keep clicking ‘next’ she can tell you the exact one she wants, within the first two seconds of the song she knows if it’s right. They’re hard to figure out sometimes as the names she calls them are simply some of the lyrics, and perhaps not the correct lyrics, but she’ll sing a bit to help you figure it out. She’s good like that – she understanding that you might not understand her, and she doesn’t get as upset as she used to when you don’t understand what she wants at first. We’re all learning patience.
My mom, the savior, had tickets already for the fair. The girls waited as patiently as they could in line for the first ride, picking out the ponies that they wanted on the carousel. Maggie looked all around her, bewildered at all the sights and sounds, the colours and motion, her head swiveling around to take it all in, her attention constantly caught by things we don’t notice – like the colours twirling above our heads. More than once she forgot herself and let go of the horse, leaning back to look up, her eyes blinking as she tried to process the things around her. I have never been more thankful that I was there with her, my hand on her back ensuring she didn’t fall off, my voice by her ear reminding her to hold on, bringing her back to us, asking her questions about what she saw so that she just wasn’t in this by herself, in her own world.
More rides – Winnie came with an agenda – Ferris wheel, roller coaster and games were on her list. Grandma also came with a plan – rides first, then games, then take some candy to go home. If we did them all mixed up together, how would they know when it ended? They wouldn’t. Hopefully this plan would work.
Mom and Grandma standing close by and watching as the rides moved, ready to spring when they stopped. Carnies, not quite understanding why the Maggie doesn’t follow directions (or even notice that they’re there), stand by and chuckle, until we say “She has autism and doesn’t understand you.” They step aside so that one of us can skip in and get her attention, hold her hand and walk her out.
Winnie gets upset that her favorite toy and friend can’t come on the rides with her, her disgusted face and folded arms last only until the rides starts to move. Then the smile that I love lights her face as she grips the steering wheel with vice-like fingers until the ride stops.
More at ease as the day continues, Winnie starts chatting up the girls and boys around her, trying her best to make conversation. They seem to be responding to her and she smiles, happy to be able to talk to them, even a little. Just before we leave, she sees a classmate and stops to say hello, Grandma is bewildered at first, until Winnie politely introduces “This is my friend Purity from lower Lincoln. This is my grandma”. Grandma turns to me and beams happily “That’s Winnie’s friend Purity” she announces proudly.
Maggie and Winnie try their hand at popping balloons. 3 darts each, Winnie gets two! Hooray! Maggie tries one and falls short, Momma takes the second and pops one to ensure she’ll get a prize, Maggie tries the third after a bit of instruction, but still falls a bit short. The girl hands her a piggy which she grips happily, hugging and cooing at her new friend. Tucked under her arm, she comes away happily as we head for our last stop, cotton candy.
Momma and Grandma hold their breath we begin to leave the fairgrounds, our minds on last year. This was where the tantrums started. The long walk back to the car is met with success, excited girls talking about the fun they had, the rides, the colours, the candy… they had a good day. Snapping them into the car seats, momma once again sinks into her seat, and the silent tears of thanks prick her eyes.
Heading to Grandma’s for a bit, we have some cake and things start to break down a bit. To be expected, it was a long day and they have reached their point. The running, the crying, the hitting has started. The entire car ride home from grandma’s is filled with screaming meltdowns by both parties. We get them into the fenced in yard with complaints and screams.
A distraction helps, they sit down, still agitated, to watch a new movie. Calming down, they slowly fall asleep, bundled up together in a pile on the couch. The long day was fun, exhausting, overwhelming and awesome. Momma sits again and cries quietly, happy for the day, sad for the meltdowns, thankful that progress is being made.
Happy Canada Day.
Yesterday was Canada Day. The day was filled with lots of things to do and the girls were excited from sunup to sundown. They knew it was a special day and Winnie hounded me to go from the time she opened her eyes. "Momma, I need clothes! We're going to the fair!" Yes, the full sentences, appropriate context and excited... normalness that I so enjoy! It was wonderful to hear, even at 6:30 am.
As we got ready and piled into the van, we went over and over our plans for the day "We're going to go watch the parade, then go get lunch, then go to the fair, then go to Grandma’s for cake, then go home, okay? Everyone understand?" This could not be repeated enough. This repetition may save the day. Preparation is essential, for us and for them.
Arriving at the parade route, we picked a spot on the grass, thankful that we’d found a good spot where the girls could see – the last parade we went to was very crowded. We laid a blanket out and they sat on it, getting up to run in the large grassy area behind us, Grandma and Momma at the ready to run and pounce if things started out of control.
And then the bands came. The girls sat wonderfully on the blanket and watched the entire parade, Maggie needing a break only once during a lull to roll and twirl, then coming back for the remainder of the parade. They tried very hard to remember to wave and say “Happy Canada Day” to the passers by, and accept the candies, flags and other objects given to them by the parade folk with a quiet and awed “Thank you” if they remembered. They tried so hard, and enjoyed it so much. The parade was a success!
Heading back towards the van, my heart stopped as Maggie and Winnie took off towards the van, relief consumed as they stopped at the van, then dread once more as the time it took to open the van was slightly too much, they ran into the busy parking lot. Dropping everything I ran to corral them, shuffled them into the van, buckled them in, and then sagged into the front seat and closed my eyes as relief once again washed through me. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe.
Lunch was much as it is every time. “Chicken in a bag” which sometimes actually comes in a bag, sometimes in a box, sometimes all together in one giant bag… luckily that’s not such a concern now as it used to be. Switching up a kid’s expected lunch from a box, to a bag, to no container at all might not matter for most kids, but for mine, it could be catastrophic, causing a meltdown of epic proportions. They just want what is expected. They want things the same each time. So they know what’s coming. They need that, but they need to learn to that some things they can’t expect, and thankfully our trips to McDonald’s weekly has helped them to understand that some things might not be exactly the same each time, and that its ok. Right now though, that only applies to McDonalds… the trick now is to stretch that to other things, ‘generalize’ the professionals call it, and we’re slowly doing that.
Next was off to the fair, blaring various tunes that Winnie gets to dictate along the way “Can I hear YMCH?... love don’t cost?... Rockstar?... We like to party?” Thankfully if you keep clicking ‘next’ she can tell you the exact one she wants, within the first two seconds of the song she knows if it’s right. They’re hard to figure out sometimes as the names she calls them are simply some of the lyrics, and perhaps not the correct lyrics, but she’ll sing a bit to help you figure it out. She’s good like that – she understanding that you might not understand her, and she doesn’t get as upset as she used to when you don’t understand what she wants at first. We’re all learning patience.
My mom, the savior, had tickets already for the fair. The girls waited as patiently as they could in line for the first ride, picking out the ponies that they wanted on the carousel. Maggie looked all around her, bewildered at all the sights and sounds, the colours and motion, her head swiveling around to take it all in, her attention constantly caught by things we don’t notice – like the colours twirling above our heads. More than once she forgot herself and let go of the horse, leaning back to look up, her eyes blinking as she tried to process the things around her. I have never been more thankful that I was there with her, my hand on her back ensuring she didn’t fall off, my voice by her ear reminding her to hold on, bringing her back to us, asking her questions about what she saw so that she just wasn’t in this by herself, in her own world.
More rides – Winnie came with an agenda – Ferris wheel, roller coaster and games were on her list. Grandma also came with a plan – rides first, then games, then take some candy to go home. If we did them all mixed up together, how would they know when it ended? They wouldn’t. Hopefully this plan would work.
Mom and Grandma standing close by and watching as the rides moved, ready to spring when they stopped. Carnies, not quite understanding why the Maggie doesn’t follow directions (or even notice that they’re there), stand by and chuckle, until we say “She has autism and doesn’t understand you.” They step aside so that one of us can skip in and get her attention, hold her hand and walk her out.
Winnie gets upset that her favorite toy and friend can’t come on the rides with her, her disgusted face and folded arms last only until the rides starts to move. Then the smile that I love lights her face as she grips the steering wheel with vice-like fingers until the ride stops.
More at ease as the day continues, Winnie starts chatting up the girls and boys around her, trying her best to make conversation. They seem to be responding to her and she smiles, happy to be able to talk to them, even a little. Just before we leave, she sees a classmate and stops to say hello, Grandma is bewildered at first, until Winnie politely introduces “This is my friend Purity from lower Lincoln. This is my grandma”. Grandma turns to me and beams happily “That’s Winnie’s friend Purity” she announces proudly.
Maggie and Winnie try their hand at popping balloons. 3 darts each, Winnie gets two! Hooray! Maggie tries one and falls short, Momma takes the second and pops one to ensure she’ll get a prize, Maggie tries the third after a bit of instruction, but still falls a bit short. The girl hands her a piggy which she grips happily, hugging and cooing at her new friend. Tucked under her arm, she comes away happily as we head for our last stop, cotton candy.
Momma and Grandma hold their breath we begin to leave the fairgrounds, our minds on last year. This was where the tantrums started. The long walk back to the car is met with success, excited girls talking about the fun they had, the rides, the colours, the candy… they had a good day. Snapping them into the car seats, momma once again sinks into her seat, and the silent tears of thanks prick her eyes.
Heading to Grandma’s for a bit, we have some cake and things start to break down a bit. To be expected, it was a long day and they have reached their point. The running, the crying, the hitting has started. The entire car ride home from grandma’s is filled with screaming meltdowns by both parties. We get them into the fenced in yard with complaints and screams.
A distraction helps, they sit down, still agitated, to watch a new movie. Calming down, they slowly fall asleep, bundled up together in a pile on the couch. The long day was fun, exhausting, overwhelming and awesome. Momma sits again and cries quietly, happy for the day, sad for the meltdowns, thankful that progress is being made.
Happy Canada Day.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A little bit of history
In honour of St Patrick's day, I'm sharing the story of one of my links to Ireland - my great, great, great, great grandfather, John Johnston and his emigration to Canada.
Born about 1815 or 1817 in Ireland, John Johnston grew up likely on a 7 acre tenant-farm in the township of Drummal, near Castle Archdale in the parish of Derryvullen (Irvinestown) in the county of Fermanagh, Ireland with his father John, mother Catherine and his three older siblings, Elizabeth (b. approx 1811) Thomas (b. approx 1813) and Mathew (b. approx 1815), and one younger brother, Edward (b. approx 1820).
(image of an example house from the area and time – borrowed from another blogspot blog)
John grew up and married a woman named Sarah HUNTER (Church of Ireland Marriage License) in 1838 when he was about 20. He also was a farmer, likely on a plot on his father’s tenant-farmland. They started having children immediately, registering them in Derryvullen. By the time the Great Potato famine hit in 1845, they had Thomas (1837), William (1839), Catherine (1841), Margaret (1843) and were expecting baby Mary (1846). One can only imagine the plight of a rural farmer in Northern Ireland at this time with 5 children and a pregnant wife dependant on them.
1847 in Ireland was the height of the Great Famine, being referred to as the Black ’47. Starting in the first of the year, the suggestion to emigrate to “The Northern Colonies” was promoted in Ireland as a relief measure to the starving population and by June, John Johnston and his young family are among the 1 million families that would make the desperate voyage to North America. John secured passage for himself, his wife, his mother and 5 children from ages 6 months to 10 years on the brig “Progress” out of Londonderry – about 55 miles away or what would be about an hour and a half drive today over rocky, mountainous terrain of Northern Ireland.
(An example of a brig from this time - borrowed from here)
The Progress carried 138 passengers for 48 days and arrived in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada on June 5, 1847 with 5 dead. The passengers progressed through the Partridge Island quarantine facility, but it’s currently unknown how long they stayed there, if any passengers were diseased or ill and if any perished after landing at the facility. It is likely a rather uneventful voyage as there is very little record of it. The luck of the Irish was with this particular vessel and family in the trying times of famine and disease.
We can find little about this family until we see John and Sarah in the 1861 census. They have made it up the Saint John River about 70 KM to Hampstead, New Brunswick (which would be about an hour drive today) and are farmers in the community. 15 years after the famine, John, now about 45 years old, lists only his wife and two oldest sons, Thomas and William, as living with them. William is listed as 20 years old and still attending school, while Thomas is cited as being deaf, dumb and idiotic or mentally incapable. This year Margaret married James Donald, being 18 years or slightly younger. The oldest daughter Catherine, and two youngest, Mary and Jane, are not present in this census. Mary and Jane are both found at a later date, but Catherine is still missing. Its unclear where Mary and Jane are, but its clear that they’re not living at home. Perhaps they are in a neighboring farm, assisting and learning with the farm’s matrons.
In 1871, we find William married with his own children, but also still responsible for his older brother Thomas and his two youngest sisters, all listed as living with him in the 1871 census. The family appears to be close knit throughout their lives.
I will continue researching this particular branch of my family, but I thought due to the holiday I'd share what I had discovered so far. Enjoy! (if you'd like to know my research sources etc, please drop me a line and I'd be happy to share).
Born about 1815 or 1817 in Ireland, John Johnston grew up likely on a 7 acre tenant-farm in the township of Drummal, near Castle Archdale in the parish of Derryvullen (Irvinestown) in the county of Fermanagh, Ireland with his father John, mother Catherine and his three older siblings, Elizabeth (b. approx 1811) Thomas (b. approx 1813) and Mathew (b. approx 1815), and one younger brother, Edward (b. approx 1820).
(image of an example house from the area and time – borrowed from another blogspot blog)
John grew up and married a woman named Sarah HUNTER (Church of Ireland Marriage License) in 1838 when he was about 20. He also was a farmer, likely on a plot on his father’s tenant-farmland. They started having children immediately, registering them in Derryvullen. By the time the Great Potato famine hit in 1845, they had Thomas (1837), William (1839), Catherine (1841), Margaret (1843) and were expecting baby Mary (1846). One can only imagine the plight of a rural farmer in Northern Ireland at this time with 5 children and a pregnant wife dependant on them.
1847 in Ireland was the height of the Great Famine, being referred to as the Black ’47. Starting in the first of the year, the suggestion to emigrate to “The Northern Colonies” was promoted in Ireland as a relief measure to the starving population and by June, John Johnston and his young family are among the 1 million families that would make the desperate voyage to North America. John secured passage for himself, his wife, his mother and 5 children from ages 6 months to 10 years on the brig “Progress” out of Londonderry – about 55 miles away or what would be about an hour and a half drive today over rocky, mountainous terrain of Northern Ireland.
(An example of a brig from this time - borrowed from here)
The Progress carried 138 passengers for 48 days and arrived in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada on June 5, 1847 with 5 dead. The passengers progressed through the Partridge Island quarantine facility, but it’s currently unknown how long they stayed there, if any passengers were diseased or ill and if any perished after landing at the facility. It is likely a rather uneventful voyage as there is very little record of it. The luck of the Irish was with this particular vessel and family in the trying times of famine and disease.
We can find little about this family until we see John and Sarah in the 1861 census. They have made it up the Saint John River about 70 KM to Hampstead, New Brunswick (which would be about an hour drive today) and are farmers in the community. 15 years after the famine, John, now about 45 years old, lists only his wife and two oldest sons, Thomas and William, as living with them. William is listed as 20 years old and still attending school, while Thomas is cited as being deaf, dumb and idiotic or mentally incapable. This year Margaret married James Donald, being 18 years or slightly younger. The oldest daughter Catherine, and two youngest, Mary and Jane, are not present in this census. Mary and Jane are both found at a later date, but Catherine is still missing. Its unclear where Mary and Jane are, but its clear that they’re not living at home. Perhaps they are in a neighboring farm, assisting and learning with the farm’s matrons.
In 1871, we find William married with his own children, but also still responsible for his older brother Thomas and his two youngest sisters, all listed as living with him in the 1871 census. The family appears to be close knit throughout their lives.
I will continue researching this particular branch of my family, but I thought due to the holiday I'd share what I had discovered so far. Enjoy! (if you'd like to know my research sources etc, please drop me a line and I'd be happy to share).
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