It's Not Easy Being Green

Little A has a book he loves, featuring CBeebies characters Charlie and Lola, that is all about recycling. He likes that they get to plant a tree at the end of the book, but doesn't seem to grasp that "packing away" 100 plastic bottles, paper tubes and cups and tin cans to get said tree planted relates to saving our planet.

It would be nice to assume that Third World countries are generally more eco-friendly than their First World counterparts, being unable to afford many things and therefore recycling as a matter of course - handing down old or used clothing and shoes to younger siblings, cousins or the less fortunate, reusing glass jars and bottles and plastic food containers instead of throwing them away - but what keeps us thrifty also keeps us wasteful. An entire bottle of shampoo costs x amount, so instead the majority of the population (the 70% below the poverty line) simply purchase single-use sachets instead. Never mind that these end up costing more in the long run than an economy-size bottle would have done; at point of sale, when they have little to spend, these repackaged items make sense.

Ditto, drinks. Since a whole serving of soda may be out of budget, they accept smaller portions - a cupful or two - served in a clear plastic bag with a straw. All this makes for more unrecyclable waste. Not to mention allowing illegal logging to keep the economy afloat and all the rest of it.

Little A uses the same drinking bottle or cup all the time, and only draws on paper that's already been printed on the other side (store sales reports and the like). 95% of his toys are hand-me-downs, and most of his clothes are gifts. He eats jumbo boxes of cereal out of the same bowl and takes his lunch to school every day. He doesn't like fast food, nor bottled drinks. As far as carbon footprints go, his seems fairly small.

Until we get to the energy and water conservation bit. At 6pm every evening, I turn on the lights in the living and dining areas, as well as the main hallway. Lately, Little A has been "helping" by turning on the bedroom and bathroom lights as well, and then leaving the doors open so the hallway, where he plays, is brighter. We turn them off, he turns them on again. So far, being told that lights go off when no one is in the room hasn't been effective. After all, the living and dining room lights stay on even when I'm in his room with him, I can imagine him thinking. Plus, he knows that turning off the lights means it's bedtime, and if he happens not to be sleepy yet, he protests by keeping all the lights on.

Bathtimes are another thing. Little A loves showers, baths, swimming pools - bodies of water in general. When he washes his hands, he wants to leave the water running so he can dunk his plastic dolphins, fish and other sea creatures in it. Likewise when he bathes. We turn the taps off at a certain point, and he just splashes in the shallow water, but sometimes it just drains away before I can use it for handwashing or bathing myself.

I want to raise an eco- conscious child. As soon as I find a way to explain carbon footprints to a five-year old, hopefully I can.

School Blues

Little A is now officially medium-sized. In the last week he seems to have grown at least an inch, slimming out again. I never wanted to slow his childhood down before, but now, I'm beginning to wish I could. The main reason for this is that it's the time when parents of children aged 5 start the application process for "big school."

Given his special needs, there is no way Little A will be going to the school Big A and I attended, not that I wanted him to go there in the first place. At that very traditional school, a child aged six goes to school dragging a bag at least as heavy as he is, containing anywhere from 4-8 books and an equal number of notebooks. Every day, that bag goes to school and home, as they haven't heard about the concept of lockers, and the amount of homework assigned to the students makes one wonder what they actually learn in the 7 hours they spend in the classroom.

Besides that, they have absolutely no capacity, nor intention, to include special needs kids in their program.

So it will be a progressive school for us, one that offers inclusion and mainstreaming and, hopefully, some special needs support staff. The biggest problem is finding this place. The Autism Society of the Philippines does not have, or offer, a directory of schools offering special support. I've asked them, and every therapist and centre we've ever attended and others we haven't, and come up empty.

Word of mouth seems to be the only way to go. I've spoken to parents in waiting rooms, who have been infinitely more helpful than our developmental pediatrician. The problem is, all the good schools seem to be two cities away from us.

Still, I'm slowly amassing a list, and will begin scheduling visits, or just walking in, this month. I've no choice, really - all the other parents are already in the game, and I've got to catch up or Little A gets left behind. Wish me luck, or, better yet, throw me the name of a school or two.

Fabulous Five

Little A had a birthday ten days ago. Now he's five, in his last year of preschool, and animal-obsessed. He's always loved everything farm-related, but zoos and ocean animals come next on the list of nature favourites. The first words he read, and spelled, were "duck", "chicks", "cow" and "horse". Now he types out phrases - "let go (for let's go) farm", "let go zoo" and "let go school".

Since the summer, twice a week he has been going to his grandparents' house for speech therapy with a teacher who comes from further south. We meet in the middle, and he clearly loves these lessons because when they were cancelled last week due to the therapist's bout with flu, Little A was distraught. When I took him home from school instead of to his grandparents' house, he made an almighty fuss, crying and throwing a regular angry tantrum.

This week classes resumed, and he was so happy to see his teacher yesterday that he couldn't stop hugging her throughout the session. In the car en route to grandparents' house, he spelled out "go go spch" - the first time he'd asked to go anywhere apart from the zoo, farm or school. Since about the third week since their sessions started, every time he sits down with his therapist the first phrase he spells is the same - "it happy it clap," his way of saying "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." I dread what will happen when she goes on maternity leave later this year.

Five also marks our last year of early intervention. While he seems academically on track, Little A still does not speak full words or phrases and needs to improve further in terms of frustration tolerance, waiting and task completion. So, we keep on - his team is positive, and good at what they do. Let's hope everything keeps coming together, piece by piece by piece. I look at it more like a mosaic than a puzzle. It will take a long time to complete, but when it does, it will be beautiful. And along the way, the partial product has its own significance too.

School Days Again

Where did the rest of June go? A month since my last post, shame on me! But really, the month has flown by.

Mid-June marked a return to school for Little A. I was worried he'd take some time to get re-accustomed to his new timetable, as this was the first summer in three years he didn't attend the school's holiday session. To my delight, he was thrilled to be back and ran straight into his classroom without a backward glance. The hard work put in with his ABA therapists over the summer seems to be paying off too, as he has many more good days than bad ones.

Of course, life would be too dull without trips to the hospital once in a while, and about two weeks into the schoolyear I got another dreaded call - Little A had hit his head and it was bleeding. I rushed over, but for some reason, call it mother's intuition, I wasn't as bothered this time as I was when I was told about the previous head injury.

I rang Big A on my mobile en route to let him know what had happened, but he too warned me that head wounds tend to bleed a lot, and that if the bleeding stopped quickly, we should be in the clear. Little A was more angry than fearful when I arrived, because he was bothered by all the ice on his head. The wound had stopped bleeding but we were advised to seek a doctor's opinion on whether or not it needed a suture. Off we went to Accident and Emergency.

After about half an hour of waiting, and plenty of screaming when anyone wanted to look at his head, we were sent home with instructions to apply antiseptic daily until the wound dried. It was shallow, thankfully, and wouldn't require stitches or another head CT.

Apart from that incident, school has been going well on the whole, far as I can tell. This Friday is my first parent-teacher conference, and Little A's team of therapists will be in attendance, so next week I should have a clearer picture of where he, and we, are going next.

Lions, Tigers and Bears

Right before a new schoolyear was due to start, my mum scheduled a family trip to Singapore. Her mum had just turned 85, and Little A and his cousins hadn't spent much together over the summer. With one niece starting college, and another, high school, it seemed a family outing was in order.

Little A had never been to the Lion City, so I was looking forward to showing him the sights. Big A, once again, was swamped with work, so he was the only family member not in attendance. Fifteen of us boarded a plane and headed off.

Planning outings with a group ranging in age from 4 to 85 is no easy task. My sisters and their families had been to Singapore before, so their kids had seen most of the sights and only wanted to shop. Little A and I had no interest in the various shopping malls, impressive though their offerings might be, and wanted to see the animals. I also hoped to see a museum exhibit while we were in the city.

Despite the punishing heat, Little A loved Singapore. He jumped for joy at the pianist, violinist and flautist who were playing in the hotel lobby as we checked in, and spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathtub, splashing away. Theday after we arrived, he found a Lego-type farm set in a toy store and refused to let it go. His grandmother happily bought it for him, and he spent the afternoon playing with it in our hotel room while I snuck out and left him with his grandfather and took one niece and one nephew to H&M.

We did the famous Night Safari, which Little A loved possibly more than anything he'd ever experienced before. Seeing animals while riding an open-sided train for an hour was his idea of heaven. He wanted to go again, and had to be dragged away. The next day, the group split up, with the older cousins going to Universal Studios and Little A, myself, my parents and grandmother to the Underwater World aquarium. This wasn't anywhere near as good as the Night Safari, but Little A loved seeing the dolphins in their pool, coming up for air and swimming round and round.

I did manage to see that museum exhibit, with Little A clinging to me crying the entire time as it frightened the heck out of him. He did enjoy an interactive display in the Warhol gallery though, very much. The next morning, I snuck out again quickly after breakfast to pick up his educational toys while he played with my dad in the hotel room, and then we were off to the airport and home.

We didn't get to see the Zoo, nor the Bird Park, both of which I am sure Little A would love, but that leaves more for next time - and something to enjoy with his dad on our next trip to this city. For now, it's back to reality, and school the next day. 

One Hand Clapping

There was a time when Little A would clap to say he was sorry, as well as when he was happy. Lately though, and we have no idea why, he can't tolerate any form of applause at all.

When there is cheering on tv for a sports event, he changes the channel. When anyone in his immediate vicinity claps for whatever reason - to call attention, to show approval - he rushes up to them, takes their hands, brings them together quietly, and then proceeds to throw an almighty tantrum. Kicking, screaming, banging his head on the floor, throwing things, hitting and slapping anyone who tries to restrain him.

As anyone can imagine, this makes things quite hard. I'm not sure if being home all summer gave him the sense that he could control his environment, but this sudden development has meant everything is fraught with peril - trips to the supermarket or the high street included. During our recent trip to the farm, there were a number of outbursts - at the farmhouse, in the garden, in a park and at the airport, to name a few. And with school starting soon and his teachers constantly clapping to get the kids' attention, oh boy are we in trouble.

I've spoken to his teachers and we're trying to work on the issue. Thankfully, after the worst of it in late May, Little A seems to be getting used to the fact that there will be applause in the world that he cannot control. His father sat him down and made him watch the American Idol finals show, and lately he's stopped with the wild tantrums and been content with just approaching the clapper and bringing their hands together several times, silently, before he walks away.

Repeated applause though, from someone he's already "chastised," will eventually trigger another outburst, as we witnessed recently at my grandmother's 85th birthday party. Still, we're working on it, and hopefully soon this irrational fear will be gone altogether. When it does, we will cheer with our hands together.

Old MacDonald Had a Farm

After an exhausting day spent travelling, Little A slept long and deeply. He made up for it once he woke though. Before breakfast, he went exploring the grounds to see a horse he saw stabled in the field that comprised a portion of the enormous "backyard".

Once he'd eaten, he and two other children went on a tour with our host, our Au Pairs and myself. (The parents of the two other kids preferred to stay in bed.) We saw the horses, the cow, the Billy Goats Gruff trip trapping in their elevated hut, a rabbit and, finally, the peacocks. There was also a tractor that Little A was thrilled to pretend to drive, and a playground that the children of the farm still enjoyed. Most enjoyable was a Shetland Sheepdog that accompanied Little A everywhere he went. They were fast friends right up until our departure.

After lunch, the adults in the house wanted a rest, so the Au Pair and I tried to keep Little A from being a disturbance. This involved further exploration of areas already discovered, and much time spent in front of the peacock enclosure. In the evening, he was restless as there wasn't anywhere to go in the dark. This probably explained the 430am wakeup on Sunday morning.

Sunday mornings meant worship service for the people on the farm, so those of us who didn't attend had to make our own breakfasts - a delight in the amply stocked kitchen. Once we'd eaten and the service was over, the children and mothers went off to a nearby amusement park. Little A was cranky, having woken up very early, and didn't want to do much but go home. He threw a tantrum midway through the excursion and fell asleep on the bumpy track back to the farm as we raced to get to the airport in time for our flight home, which was, thankfully, uneventful and better than the flight over in that Little A spent far less time crying, since he already knew what to expect.

Big A picked us up at the airport, having spent a very busy weekend himself. We were glad to be home again.