This year I’m not feeling too festive.
When my twins were born prematurely on December 26th, 1990, nobody talked about autism.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, I began to follow in RBG’s footsteps by fighting first for my daughter’s educational rights and later for her inclusion in a mostly-unkind and intellectually narrow-minded world.
If only our life back home could remain equally peaceful, I’d imagine I had died and gone to heaven.
Why didn’t I think of this 20 years ago?
Could there be a more hideous nightmare vision for any parent of a child with disabilities?
My daughter relies on idioms to support and adapt to her verbal challenges including word retrieval.
This is the real deal.
Life is paradoxical and full of surprises.
Everyone must navigate life’s challenges and prioritize what is best for them at different times.
I’m acutely aware that staying healthy is the best luck any of us can hope for.
As we bravely enter our new normal, each of us must decide whether the risks are worth the rewards. Stay home or go out?
How much longer will each day feel like Groundhog Day?
How does a privileged white mother explain to her autistic daughter about racism in America?
Peace and quiet are in short supply.
After Zooming, the rest of my day tends to go downhill.