When I was a little girl, I used to love making stuff—artwork, paintings, costumes, popsicle-stick birdhouses, pottery, you name it.
Now, when I look at Max struggling to grasp a bulb crayon or thick paintbrush, I sometimes flash back to my own childhood and I get bummed that he is missing out.
Then I snap back to reality and realize that Max doesn’t know any differently; he’s not sitting there thinking, “Damn, I can’t make my mom a woven potholder.” He’s just having a fabulous time painting squiggles or smearing icing on a gingerbread man. With Max, I need to leave my history out of the picture and let him create his own.
I guess that’s good advice for any kid, special needs or not, right?
Ellen blogs daily at To The Max