A big brother's love

Nick got home from OT and was miserable. He'd cry and scream off and on. He was miserable for some reason he couldn't communicate (it was so reminiscent of some of our earlier days with autism). Noah, however, didn't have much compassion and would yell "Don't scream!!!" every time Nick screamed. And so I yelled at Noah not to scream at his brother. A lovely cycle of yelling ;)

Nick laid down on his back on the living room floor and his face was red with misery. "Let's go night night sleeps" I told him, thinking that some rest would make him feel better. He gave me a look that said, "Heck no! The sun hasn't even set yet!"

"You can choose anywhere you want to lay down," I told him. And he went right over to the couch and laid down. (I love that my child can now actually understand and respond to things I say!)

I got his blanket for him and after a few minutes I looked over to find him fast asleep. "Look," I whispered to Noah, " Nick's asleep."

Noah turned to look at Nick, then got up from his chair to gently pet his brother's hair.

Noah has been watching Cartoon Network for the past hour, and even though he's very engaged in his shows, he keeps stopping every now and then to check on his brother and pet his hair.

Brothers may make each other yell, but there sure is a beautiful love there.

This is what it's like to be loved

I came in to find Noah had settled himself into my room, a little bed of blankets spread out on the floor.

"Mommy!!" he said as he ran to hug me. It's his typical greeting for me . . . I can go outside for 45 seconds to put the trash in the dumpster and he'll greet me with the same excited "Mommy!!" that I'd hear if I'd been gone for five days.

"Are you sleeping in here?" I asked.

In the sweetest, most sheepish voice he replied, "I want to be close to you."

Who am I to argue with that?

He set about arranging the room for sleeping. He got his Lightning McQueen nightlight and plugged it into the wall. Then he tucked me in, making sure I had all my pillows and blankets. "Here's a nice spot for your cell phone," he said, taking it from it's typical home under my pillow and setting it on a shelf right next to my bed. "Oh! And don't forget your night guard!" he exclaimed like a good parent as he brought me the case from my dentist's office. It's supposed to stop me from grinding my teeth at night . . . "supposed to" but I didn't know for sure because I'd never made it a full night with it in. I put the night guard in place and Noah shut off the light.

Even with a visit from an incredibly powerful thunderstorm, I had a soothing night's sleep with my son sleeping on the floor next to my bed, and I didn't even grind my teeth once.

Discovering Scent

A smell is a powerful thing. It can scare you away from milk that's too old, it warn you of a fire, it can make you smile as you touch a t-shirt that has your boyfriend's smell. A smell is a powerful thing.

Noah never had a sense of smell. There have been a lot of theories on the matter, from genetics (his dad has smelling difficulties, too) to birth trauma. Whatever the cause, there seemed to be little we could do about it. A neurologist once said, "Oh, that's interesting," and left it at that. Um, thanks for the helpful input, doctor.

A strange thing happened, though, when Noah and I were working on his science fair project a few months ago. We were using this heavy-duty, kill-your-brain-cells kind of glue to put fins on his little rockets, and, it took about twenty minutes or so for him to process anything, but finally, out of the blue, Noah said, "What's that smell!!??" as he clutched his nose in horror. He smelled the glue!

He didn't have any other smell responses, though . . . that is, until the past couple weeks.

Within the past two weeks, Noah has been grossed out by the smell of coffee, gasoline, and my nail polish. And then, today . . .

I was vacuuming, as I do at least twice a day to keep up with the damage the boys do to the living room, and I happened to use some vanilla-scented carpet sprinkles this time. Noah stopped me mid-vacuum. "Does that have a smell?" he asked.

"Yes . . . can you smell it?"

"I can! That smells gooo-ood!" he beamed.

My child can smell. The only thing I can figure is that a year of sensory integration therapy is having an impact. I'm glad, for safety reasons, that he can now smell noxious things and get away from danger. But my heart is even more glad that he smelled a beautiful thing for the first time today. I love that my son will someday be able to smell a perfume in a crowd and be reminded of his girlfriend's scent, or smell cookies baking and be able to anticipate tasting them. I love that my son can smell.