Another birthday of the twins.
They're 17 now.
Nice young ladies, with a bright smile, good sense of humor, and a sound opinion of the world around them.
It's the first time they're not waking up in the same house on their birthday.
It was still night when we prepared to fetch one of them, who came back from a schooltrip to Paris.
When the door of the bus opened she jumped out and embraced her sister, congratulating her.
Everybody was watching and one of the teachers said he liked the way they're twins.
Very independent, but at times a unity.
When we went home we heard lots of stories about Paris.
She likes the city.
When it was 00.00 hours of her birthday they were all in the bus and everybody sang her birthdaysong.
Two of the teachers had bought her a nice embroidered T-shirt.
At home she was so sleepy we said she'd better go to bed, and we all did.
In the afternoon we shared birthdaypresents, ate cake and did all the traditional birthday things.
We agreed that inviting friends over will follow this week or the week after, depending on school.
So it was a strange and quiet birthday. But a nice one.
Here you'll find impressions of my life as a mother of a few children with autism spectrum disorder and a person with heartfailure, some critical reviews of what going on in the world, including medical issues and political subjects. And everything else that keeps me busy.
I'm very honest about my experiences with autism, because only that way I can show how much of a struggle daily life with autism can be.
A series of posts
about lack of knowledge,
lack of concensus between disciplines
and the need for a formal diagnosis
with a psychiatric label
to get support for a unique individual
autism and (no) school.
One of our true autism stories Click the image.
Comments on this blog are made DOFOLLOW for the Google Spiders.
Comments are moderated.
Spam will not be tolerated.
Anonymous reactions will be removed.
Comments linking to sites with pornography, abuse or other content in conflict with my moral standards
will be removed.
Don't comment on my english
when you can't write my Dutch.