On the proper way to hold a pencil

Plus, a small collection of life-giving things

Last week, I took five of my kids to Arizona with my mom. I am a proud graduate of Arizona State University and loved every minute of the four years I lived in Phoenix, so going back there always feels a little bit like returning to a second home. We actually scheduled this trip about three weeks after I filed for divorce back in September, because I knew after a long Pacific Northwest winter–both figuratively and metaphorically– we would need sunshine and old friends and last week delivered on both accounts. Besides the fact that I had a wild case of pink eye in both eyes and needed two different antibiotics to finally kick it, the six days we spent in the warmth were just perfect. If you’re going to have pink eyes, being in a place where you have sunglasses on all the time isn’t the worst. 

You may have caught that I only took five kids, and I have six. And that’s what I want to talk about right now.

When Cannon was in first, maybe early in second grade, his occupational therapist at school mentioned during our IEP meeting that she had tried everything she could to get him to stop gripping his pencils and markers with his entire hand and learn to hold writing utensils appropriately. She had broken crayons down to their stubs so that he had no choice but to hold it with the tips of his fingers. She bought the grips that line little fingers up in the right place. She offered rewards of play-doh and chocolate if he would only follow her instruction. But no matter what, he always reverted back to gripping with his entire hand. He was only ever comfortable making a fist around his marker and doing his work and coloring play that way. 

This was driving his therapist crazy. And I get it. Her job was to help children doing this exact type of thing so that they can move on and move forward in their lives with an anatomically correct grip on their pencils and pens. She was trained for cases just like my little six-year-old brought her. But for an entire year, progress was elusive. Cannon fought back every time she intervened on his art or writing. The grip stayed.

I am not sure what came over me at that moment, because I am usually very quiet and receptive to the advice of professionals. And thus far in Cannon’s education, our IEP meetings have been generally good and hosted by a table full of people who truly care for him, so I’ve had no reason for rebuttals for the most part. But as I listened to her exasperation at so many months of trying to change Cannon’s marker grip to no avail, I looked at her and asked, “But why does he really need to change his grip?”

I don’t think she was expecting the question, because as kind as she was, she fumbled through what was mostly a non-answer that amounted, in my head, to “because that’s the way it’s done.” 

“Well,” I said as I kindly put my hands up in a posture of surrender, “I don’t think this is a mountain we need to die on. His handwriting is perfect. His photographic memory captures words and logos he can recreate without looking at them. And he does this all with a bad grip. I just… don’t see the need to frustrate him to change it at this point.”

Eventually the teacher agreed, and Cannon’s occupational therapy services ended shortly after that meeting because if he wasn’t working on his grip, there wasn’t much else he needed from her in the school setting. 

Cannon will turn 10 years old in a few days. He still holds his markers and pencils with his entire hand gripped around them. Because that’s, well, that is just the way he does it. I have no greater philosophical reason. And I did not die in that place trying to force a change that wasn’t essential or for anyone’s safety. So he may very well sign professional documents as a thirty-something adult with all five fingers wrapped tightly around the pen and people will look at him and wonder, who raised this kid? At this juncture, if that is the oddest thing my autistic son does, well, praise the Lord, because how he holds the pen is simply not something that takes any sort of emotional toll on me.

Back to Arizona, to the trip I took only five kids on. A few weeks after we booked the plane tickets, Cannon’s self-injurious behaviors escalated to an alarming point. They had been building for months, but the enormous change in our family left him reeling and with no real words to express that, he mostly took it out on himself. In the back of my head, I had our trip to Arizona—the one that I was anxiously looking forward to for the sun, the friends, the nostalgia, the pool, did I mention the sun—lingering: how will I get him on a plane? What if he lies down in the middle of the jetway and refuses to take another step? What if he panics while we are in the air? What if he puts a hole in a hotel room wall? He will love the pool, will he cooperate anywhere else? Will we be able to go to dinner, to visit campus, to friends’ houses, to the zoo? 

What if…what if…what if…what if…?

In November, my dad, Cannon’s Papa and very best buddy, suggested that he stay home with Cannon for this trip, and that my mom and I take the other five kids. It took me ten seconds to say yes.

And y’all, we went to Arizona, and I did not bring Cannon.

Because traveling with my amazing boy and his severe autism, friends, that is not a mountain I want to die on. And trust me, that mountain might have done just that. 

I felt terribly guilty and cried as I kissed Cannon goodnight before our early flight the next morning. I wondered if Cannon would have such a rough week that this would be my first and last time leaving him for that long. But he didn’t. He had a pretty great week with Papa to himself and his regular routine in place. We got to FaceTime every night and he smiled with joy the whole call. I thought of him every moment we were at the pool because I know how much he loves to swim. But the rest of the trip–the airport, the lines, the driving, the new place to sleep, the new food—as much as I want those all to be normal for our crew, for Cannon, nothing about that would have been a situation we could have thrived in. I could have forced it in order to present myself as a mom who can do anything. But I can’t. And neither can my son.

And that’s okay, which I am saying mostly for myself.

The fight to look like everyone else rather than accepting the limits we have will take me down if I’m not careful.  

So I’ve come to terms with at least two things as a disability mama. First, Cannon can hold his pencil however the heck he wants, because I believe the proper way to hold a pencil is the way that allows one to write legibly and comfortably; and second, the whole family does not have to go on vacation, and that doesn’t mean we aren’t a family.

Now, on to what I am calling the “collection of life-giving things” because it’s hard being a grown up, but sharing things you love, I think it helps a bit. I don’t often have a curated list of goodies to share but right now, I do. And since May-Day is one of my favorite holidays (you would never have guessed that, would you?), it felt right to celebrate the occasion with a good list. 

1. These cookies. The whole house agrees they are the best chocolate chip cookies we’ve ever made. 

2. The books you gotta read: Courageously Soft by Charaia Rush (this one cut right to my own heart), Kitchen Yarns by Ann Hood (made me want to cook dinner for everyone I love), The Women by Kristen Hannah (so good, so important, stayed up too late reading this one), The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt (I mean, every human being needs to read it), Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner (late to the party on this one, but I thought it was masterfully written), On Getting Out of Bed by Alan Noble (trigger warning for mental health and suicide, but truly thought-provoking for me) and Somehow by Anne Lamott (I mean, it’s Anne Lamott. While I don’t share her theological perspectives, she can write).

3. Go ahead and treat yourself to some Olive & June nail polish in the brightest colors you can find this spring. I promise it will make you happy. My friend Annie texted me a few weeks ago with the great news that she can get these at a slightly discounted price through her O & J membership and I have already taken full advantage of her kindness.

   

4. This podcast with Brian Hubberman & Cal Newport is killer. In a good way. It’s very long. It is also very worth a few nights of your cleaning-the-kitchen time to put it on the headphones.

5. THE Black Bean Brownies. Y’all these black bean brownies are really the entire reason I was ready to compose a list of things to share, because I wanted to talk with wild excitement about these and needed more justification to do so. I make them at least three times a week at this juncture. I add a scoop of chocolate protein powder and put some Lily’s peanut butter chips on top. All but one of my children has no idea they are made entirely of black beans which basically makes me feel like a kitchen-mom master. 

   

6. And lastly, Sho Baraka made a reel for his Liturgy for the Parent of a Child with Special Needs and I have watched it 4 times with more tears every time.

That’s all for now friends. Tell me, what little things are giving you life right now?

Here’s to the beautiful month of May, to the fact that it is almost summer, to popsicle season and sunshine. I’m turning 39 soon and getting a tattoo with my best friend

Ashlee Gadd

in a few weeks, so it’s going to be a good month. Love y’all.