Playschool?

My oh My! It has been a while since I blogged. Two months in fact! I have never before been so silent, and this is not like me… In truth it has been a mixture of over-busyness (most of the time) and lapses into deep laziness (temporary but so rejuvenating). It is not that there is nothing to report. It is more that too many fingers into too many pies don’t do much for Reflection.

The main event, the one that I have wanted to post about for a while but did not get around to, started a few weeks ago. In itself, it is one of those “little things” we take for granted. One of these steps that occurs as part of life with a young child, that parents (and grand-parents) celebrate but don’t make that much of a big fuss about, because it is expected, it is the norm. In Cathal’s case, of course, it is much more.


When Cathal’s Mammy was very small, she liked playing on her own in the house, but came to a stage when it became obvious she needed more. Also her little brother was on the way, and I needed more time for me. So at age 2 ½ she went to playschool. She was the youngest there, and started as a shy but observant little girl, not saying nor doing much for the first few weeks, just watching thoughtfully. Until one morning the teacher asked, in Irish, what colour was the object she was holding… perfect silence around the circle of children. And then Cathal’s Mammy timidly puts up her hand. You see, from birth her dad spoke Irish to her, and her mum spoke French to her, and she heard English all around… so colours in Irish were no problem to her, even at 2 ½! From that day on, there was no stopping her.

When her brother reached the grand old age of 2 years minus 1 week, something had to be done: he could not understand why his big sister was going to school and he was not. He would go around the house feeling sorry for himself, sighing, and generally looking so bored it broke my heart: I could recognise myself in him, having grown up as an only child until I was twelve, and having hated so much the loneliness and boredom due to lack of siblings around me. So the week of his 2nd birthday, he was farmed out to playschool a couple of mornings a week, and he loved it!

My children may have gone to playschool a little earlier than most, at least by Irish standards at the time, but it was inevitable that they would go, it was expected, it was part of the curriculum every child goes through.

Cathal took his turn to starting playschool a few weeks ago. In itself, nothing major about it. Except that it is a Montessori school. Not special needs. Not Early Intervention. Not Skip. Just good old-fashion, run-of-the-mill, ordinary Montessori school. And THAT is major for Cathal.

Finding such a school was not that easy. The fact that Cathal does not walk, and that he is still in nappies, meant a few “no’s” were expressed in what would have been his parents’ first choices. And then this one came on the radar. It is also a crèche, and the Montessori sessions (e.g. the school part of it) are also available to all the children in the crèche from 12 months of age. So bum-shuffling nappy-wearing little ones are not an issue there. Cathal was more than welcome.

The first time, he was there for just one hour. His Mammy reported that he was happy to see her, but not over enthusiastic at going home. The second time, he was there for two hours, and almost ignored her when she came back. Since then he does not want to come home, and is now staying a full three hours once a week. After Christmas, he will go twice a week, giving his Mammy a well-deserved break and quality me-time (especially before the new baby arrives!) Most importantly, Cathal gets right in the middle of things, follows the other children, gets involved in all the activities, has his 11 o’clock break like anyone else. The other children do not know any different. He does not know any different.

In short, total integration. More than anything else he has experienced in his life so far, that is the first true step towards independence. No matter what kind of education system he follows later on, mainstream or special, this little school is contributing to giving him his own space in society.

I am very proud of him for willingly accepting this new challenge, and very proud of his parents for ensuring he is given this chance. I am also very thankful to the playschool for saying “yes, no problem”. And I am wishing all educational places that come along his path in the future will have the same attitude towards him.

It’s the little things

Ce sont les petites choses


It is so easy to go along life taking things for granted, and then despairing that progress is not taking the more conventional route. Cathal is constantly reminding me that Little Things matter much more than I would have given them credit for.

Il est si facile de voyager dans notre vie en prenant les choses comme des événements naturels, et en se désespérant quand les progrès attendus ne suivent pas la route espérée. Cathal me rappelle constamment que les Petites Choses ont beaucoup plus d’importance que je ne suis prête à leur donner.



Little things like standing:
Most children start standing around 8 to 10 months, to start walking around 12 to 16 months. When a 10 months old child pulls himself standing for the first time, we naturally marvel at this new acquisition, yet we expect it. It’s the way it should be.

Des petites choses comme se tenir debout :
La plupart des enfants commencent à se tenir debout vers 8 à 10 mois, et commencent à marcher vers 12 à 16 mois. Quand un enfant de 10 mois se met debout de lui-même pour la première fois, naturellement nous émerveillons de ce nouvel acquis, mais en fait nous nous y attendons. C’est dans la nature des choses.


Cathal is 2 ½ years old and he does not walk. In fact he does not pull him to stand up on his own… Or does he? A couple of weeks ago, he was in my home and I was preparing a bath for him (he had asked me for it). There I was, getting it ready. There he was, sitting on the bathroom floor, flinging toys over the side into the tub. I turn around to take his sponge and bath gel, turn back – Cathal is standing up all by himself, holding on to the side of the tub, looking in with delight at the floating toys. Progress – Little Thing – Big Joy.

Cathal a 2 ans et demi et ne marche pas. En fait, il ne se met pas debout tout seul… Mais cela est-il bien vrai ? Il y a deux semaines, il était chez moi et je lui préparais un bain (il me l’avait demandé). Donc je préparais le bain. Il était assis par terre dans la salle de bain, lançant les jouets par dessus le rebord et dans la baignoire. Je ne tourne pour prendre son éponge et le produit de bain, me retourne – Cathal est debout comme un grand, se tenant au rebord de la baignoire, regardant avec plaisir ses jouets qui flottent. Progrès – Petite Chose – Grande Joie.



Little things like eating sweet food:
We expect all children to like sweet food, to be inquisitive enough to want to try everything, and develop a taste for what we perceive as “nice”. And Chocolate being a favourite for most people, we expect all children to like it. And most do.

Des petites choses comme manger des aliments sucrés :
Nous pensons que tous les enfants aiment les aliments sucrés, sont assez curieux pour vouloir tout essayer, and développent un goût pour ce que nous pensons être « bon ». Et comme le chocolat est un aliment aimé par la majorité des gens, nous pensons que tous les enfants l’aiment. C’est le cas pour la plupart.


Cathal is very particular about food. He used to eat very varied types at one stage, but at one point decided to eat only his favourites and nothing else. And his answer to the suggestion to anything outside of the list is “NO”, or more often a very teenage-sounding “Noooooo”!… Or is it? Lately he has been very interested in some biscuits that he takes out of the packet himself, when he thinks that we did not know what he was doing. But always staying well away from the chocolate ones. This until a few days ago, where one was devoured with great satisfaction, and then the proof was shown to us with mischief. Another Progress – Another Little Thing – Another Big Joy.

Cathal est très difficile en ce qui concerne la nourriture. Il fut un temps où il avait l’habitude de manger toutes sortes de choses, mais il a finit par décider qu’il ne voulait manger que ses aliments préférés et rien d’autre. Et sa réponse quand on lui suggère quelque chose qui n’est pas sur la liste est « NON », ou plus souvent un « Noooooon » aux accents d’adolescence !... Mais cela est-il bien vrai ? Ces derniers temps il est très intéressé par certains biscuits qu’il sort lui-même du paquet, quand il pense que nous ne savons pas ce qu’il fait. Mais il évite toujours ceux au chocolat. Ceci jusqu’à il y quelques jours, quand un fut dévoré avec beaucoup de satisfaction, puis la preuve nous fut montré avec beaucoup de malice. Un autre Progrès – Une autre Petite Chose - Une haute Grande Joie.

But the best little thing lately has been that Cathal, unlike most 2 ½ year olds, recognises letters, knows their sounds, and associates them with other concept. This clip gives a flavour – though of course as any true star he was more interested in watching himself on the camera screen that being recorded! This is more than just Progress, this Big Thing – Big Joy.

Mais récemment la meilleure petite chose est que Cathal, comme peu d’enfants de 2 ans et demi, reconnaît les lettres de l’alphabet, connais leur son, et les associe à d’autres idées. Ce clip vidéo donne une idée – bien que, évidemment comme toute star, il était plus intéressé à se regarder sur l’écran de l’appareil plutôt que d’être filmé ! Ceci est plus que du Progrès, c’est une Grande Chose – une Grand Joie.
(Petite explication qui ceux qui ne connaissent pas l’anglais : dans cette langue, le son de la lettre « i » est aussi le son du mot pour « œil »)

Little things make all the difference, show us that progress is happening, even though we might not believe so. Instead of thinking of what is not happening, we should always focus on what is.

Les petites choses font toute la différence, nous montrent qu’il y a progrès, même quand nous n’y croyons pas. Au lieu de penser à ce qui ne se passe pas, nous devrions toujours nous concentrer sur ce qui se passe.

Never Too Young to Start Reading James Joyce

Books have always been part of my life. I do not know when I was given my first book, but I know they are always there. My earliest memory is of a brightly illustrated version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. There was also at some point an Atlas of the World with illustrations of animals. I remember going over it, page by page, for years. So when my first child was born, I passed this love of books on to her. And the same with her brother three years later. They were barely a few weeks old and they would get to listen to stories, and hold the books and play with them. Meg and Mog were favourites. So were the Billy Goats Gruff. As they got older I was given the chance to catch up on the classics of English language children’s literature (having missed out of them as a child since I was brought up in the French language): the original Winnie the Poo (not the sanitized Disney version), the genius of Roald Dahl, the fabulous Narnia Chronicles (I have been slowly savouring those again in the last few months) but to name of few.

So when Cathal was born, the magic was passed on by his parents, and myself, and books appeared around him within a very short time. In a way, they became quite important for him, especially when he was very sick in hospital after his open-heart surgery. I noticed that reading to him a short book, pointing out to the picture, getting him to “touch & feel” were ideally suited to him at that time: easy activities as they required little physical effort, and just enough to get his mind off the pain for a while.

I have kept one of the books his mother and uncle particularly liked. I consider it a little treasure. We read it every time Cathal comes to my home for a sleep-over (this is our thing, just the two of us, with no one else involved). It is the Cat and the Devil, originally a letter written by James Joyce himself to his grand-son Stephen in 1936 and put into book form, with wonderful illustrations, with Stephen Joyce’s blessing.

As I read it to Cathal, he listens with great attention, as if enraptured by the rhythm of the long and musical sentences, and by the sounds of the language, or languages, as French appears in the end, spoken by the Devil himself. I am not sure if he understands the story, or if he gets the wonderful humour present at every page – as any good story, humour is as much at the level of the 4 year old to whom the letter was addressed, as at the level of the adults who must have read it out loud to him. I mean the Lord Mayor of a little French town is called Alfred Byrne (true, just like a very famous Dublin Lord Mayor), and the Devil when very angry “can speak quite bad French very well… with a strong Dublin accent”. Wonderful.

And then, once I am finished reading, Cathal invariably takes the book and reads it back to me.

This has reminded me of the inspiring Karen Gaffney, a young woman who just happens to have DS. Last year, at the World Down Syndrome Congress in Dublin I heard her say that her favourite reads were Macbeth and Harry Potter. And I then thought, nothing is impossible for Cathal, all it takes is encouragement. So there it is:

Didn’t I tell you? Never too young to start reading James Joyce.



And have you noticed that at the end he says “more” as he wants another book? Just like me, can’t put them down.

The Biggest News of the Year (so far)!

Or “In Line for a 2nd Stripe”



Yes indeed. I must have done something right in my position of Grandmother, and proven that I can fulfil all duties and responsibilities as per the Job Spec. Otherwise, I am sure Cathal’s Mammy and the Dad would not be offering me a 2nd stripe to pin on my shoulder by early next year!

That’s right: Cathal will be a Big Bro in February. Wooohoooo is what I say to this. I thought I was excited when I first heard about Cathal, but this is different, and so much better. Because this time I am more prepared for what’s coming. I know what it’s all about. And I am really, truly, totally looking forward to it. It’s like having a sweet tooth and being offered a very nice desert: while you know it’s going to be a pleasurable experience, you don’t know how scrumptious it is until you taste it. Then it’s this big “Whoa” taste and you can’t get enough. And while you are taking your time savouring it, you are told that another different desert from the same chef is on the way to you…! How much better can this get? Heaven!

I do like these kinds of promotions. Keep them coming is what I say! Though other thoughts have crossed my mind as well.

The thought that it will be nice for Cathal’s Mammy and the Dad to have a more “typical” experience of parenthood, without all the trauma and drama of the diagnostic, of the hospitalization, of all the watching and extra care. I know having and raising any child is a full-time job. But I have realised that raising a Special Needs child is like a “double-time full-time” job. So it will be a change for them and I welcome it for them.

Also the thought that it will be brilliant for Cathal, getting him to take on Big Brother’s responsibilities will help him grow. And I am counting on the new little one to challenge him, and pull him and push him, just as any younger brother or sister would do, but even more so this case.

The only thing is that, at the back of my mind, I am thinking that even before he or she is born, there is this added responsibility looming in the distant future, responsibility for a special bigger brother that may need a little help with life every so often. I have already heard this sentiment about siblings expressed by a few parents, so I know my thinking is part of a normal process. In the end it’s nothing else than life and what it gives us. The natural order of things means that Cathal’s little brother or sister should be around, keeping an eye on him, long after their Mammy or their Dad are gone. But this is on the cards for him or her already!


Having said all this, I can’t wait for the Love Elastic to expand and stretch, and welcome this new arrival. More love to feel, and give, and receive. More opportunities for cuddles and hugs and kisses and fun. Bring it on!

Imagine… Imagine… Imaginosity!

Our power of imagination is probably one of the best intellectual activities humans have developed over the last few millennia.

Our imagination helps us extract reality from day-to-day routine, conceptualise it, and then escape. It can be very rewarding letting rip it in fantasy-land. It can be a pressure-release mechanism. I remember some years back in another “life” feeling under dreadful pressure at work, as my boss (who happened to own the business) was a bully: as his demands and tantrums got steadily worse, and as I knew I could not afford to come home to my two teenage children and disintegrate once inside the door, I found a nice way to deal with the situation: I started “talking” to my boss as I drove home, on a regular basis. After some particularly rough incidents earlier in the day, I would tell him exactly what I thought of him, why his behaviour was unacceptable, how he needed to change to get back some respect from his employees, how I deserved respect from him... and so on, and so on... and with some choice words to boot, just for the right effect. By the time I got home, I always felt better. This went on for months... until I finally was able to handle my letter of resignation, and finally, finally, oh joy! see him do a major psychological u-turn, sing my praise, and beg me to stay. But no way Jose, I was out of there and I never looked back.

Though this story might sound as if I have serious psychic issues, but my imagination actually saved my sanity in this instance.

Our imagination also helps us to learn. The conceptualisation process it involves means we can transfer situations to a different environment, and toy with them while staying in control, testing various options. Children do it all the time. The “pretend” play is just that, learning to cope with, and behave in, various events and settings. And it starts very young. And the majority of us (could I say 99.9%?) continue to play, for the rest of our lives.

The beauty of Imagination and its younger brother Play is that they can make us forget what we think we can and cannot do, what our perceived limitations may be. Once we play, anything is possible.

I took Cathal to Imaginosity a couple of weeks back, just quality time for him and me alone. It was my first time there, and I found it a great place, with everything needed to let Imagination rip from small baby to 9 year olds. It has little farms, a puppet theatre, a stage, story times, a building site with a working crane, a tv studio, a bank, a post office, a restaurant, a shop, a library, train sets, a dolls house, a doctor’s surgery, an activity room, a garage, and much much more...

Cathal became very engrossed in some of the games. He totally got the “play restaurant” thing, and pretended to eat and drink for ages... though when I saw him repeatedly putting the plastic cutlery and cups in his mouth, after probably lots of other kids who did the same thing, I had to remind myself that this is good for him, helping him built his immune system...? Yikes!

But most of all, what I enjoyed the most, apart from the excitement of the two of us going from one game to another, was the fact that Cathal, who is now 2 years and 4 months, who does not walk, who doesn’t stand much, nor for any long period of time, who is an expert at spreading his legs at a right angle to land on his bum when we put him down and he thinks there is the slightest possibility we might try and get him to stand... this clever little boy totally forgot all this, not just on one, but on two occasions.

First when he was by the Builders Site. There is a wall to be built with foam blocks, just big enough and light enough for toddlers to handle easily. He saw a little girl placing the green and purple blocks, immediately understood what was required, and joined in the construction. It was fine when working on the base while sitting on the floor, but as the blocks got higher, Cathal had to stretch more and more. When he came to a stage where, despite all his stretching, he could not reach any more, I did not say anything, just put hands on his hips, gently pushed him up, and there he was standing, and bending to pick another block, and straightening to place it, and bending again. With no idea that he was standing and bearing his own weight, needing my hands only for balance... once built, the wall was knocked down, and the process repeated from sitting position to stretching to standing at least four times! I was amazed...!

Then we moved on to the dolls’ house. He became fascinated with opening the doors to see into each room, with the little wooden dolls and their cloths, arranging and re-arranging all their furniture into the rooms, placing the dolls around, making sure the one he put in bed had a pillow and a blanket. Yet again, the “ground floor” could be reached while sitting down, but he could access the first floor only by standing up. And again I helped prop him up. And again magic happened... he never knew the physical impact of his playing... he just, simply... played. His Imagination was indeed ripping!

I took very few photos that day, because:
a. I was too engrossed myself in the experience to bother with the camera,
and b. it’s not easy propping up a toddler and taking a photo of said action at the same time – I may be a great granny, but I am not a super-granny... yet!

However, here are a couple of examples of his concentration:

The only draw back of Imaginosity is that it is a Strickly No Buggie place. They spell it out very clearly on their website. I can understand why, as if it gets busy, here would be little room for the children to move around safely. Cathal had been there before with his mammy and his buggie was not let in.

My problem was: he is getting big and heavy, and I did not fancy carrying him around for the best of 2 hours or so. So I decided to braze it out, and for the first time (for me) play the Special Needs card. When you get there, you need to give the age of the child to be charged the appropriate rate. So the young lady at the reception knew he was two. I asked, very innocently if I could bring in the buggie. The answer was as predicted. So I said: “Then, I have a problem. He may be 2 and a few months, but he does not walk. He has Special Needs, he has Down Syndrome.” The effect was immediate. The poor girl became very apologetic, saying that she “did not see” (it’s true, he was in his buggy, and below the edge of the desk, so below her normal range of vision), and then confirming that of course I could take the buggie in. The only thing is that the lift between floors is only for disable access so must be unlocked by a member of staff at each level. But to be fair to them, every one of them was most helpful at all times. And the fact that it was early a Sunday morning must have help...

I just felt strange having to “play that card”. But then, it was the first time, it had to be done, and I have to get used to such situations...



And talking about Imagination and Play, Cathal has an Aquadraw mat, which is absolutely brilliant. See for yourselves – filmed last Saturday morning, early, just after breakfast...

That child has bettter powers of concentration in the morning than I have, what do his parents give him? My own brain was still asleep at that time.