Our Land – A place where we belong

Today’s Our Land Series piece was written by one of my best blog friends – one that I hope that I’ll have a chance to meet in real life, and soon.  Stephanie, who authors Mommy, For Real, is an amazing writer and gives the rest of us a voice about what parenting is really like when we need it.  Stephanie is funny, introspective, brilliant and knows how to be “for real.”  Always.

Plus?  She’s a talented music therapist who has created a beautiful place where every child belongs.  One that’s helping the parents and children in her community get a little closer to making Our Land – the land where empathy and wonder rule – a reality.

I know.  Could you love her even more than I do?  No, no, you could not.  My biggest regret today is that I live too far away from her to enroll Tucker in her class.  Without further ado, I present the second piece in The Our Land Series:

A place where we belong 

I sat on the rug, surrounded by six children and their parents, strumming my guitar and singing hello to each one by name. After each child’s verse, we listen while they tell us about their day. They share things like,

“I went to school.”

“I had OT with Miss Anna.”

“I went to Papa’s house.” (Child’s mother patiently reminds her that she didn’t see Papa today, but she did go to the dentist!)

A grandmother shares the details of her nonverbal granddaughter’s day, holding her in her lap while she wiggles in excitement, waiting for the music to start again.

We are called Music Therapy Friends, and each week we meet for our own special music class, where we sing songs, play instruments, and move to the music. As a music therapist for the past 12 years, I created this class specifically to focus on the needs and goals of the kids who attend. We incorporate speech and language, social interaction, following directions, fine and gross motor skills, and sensory integration into each class.   The children who attend this group are extremely diverse; one child has autism, two girls have Down Syndrome, one child has Asperger’s, one extremely verbal little boy has sensory integration dysfunction, and one child is nonverbal, walks with assistance, and is diagnosed with a rare seizure disorder.

Several of the children are aware of their diagnosis (one day my chatty little guy Eric announced, “I hate getting my toenails clipped- I’m a sensory kid!) but the fact that they are each “different” from the others in the group escapes them. It simply does not matter.

One of the girls with Down Syndrome, eight year old Kayla, has become very attached to her friend Emily, even though Emily cannot speak to her. One day Emily wasn’t in class, and Kayla was terribly bothered by her absence, mentioning her frequently and even insisting we sing goodbye to Emily. While we sing, Kayla often snuggles right up next to Emily, stroking her face and helping her play the instruments.

The class all knows that the drum is too loud for Kayla, and Eric, who has assumed the role of class leader, makes sure that the other kids respect each other’s preferences. Eric and his pal Aidan, who has Asperger’s, frequently remind their friends that Alexis doesn’t like sitting too close to the drum. They have learned to read each other’s nonverbal cues and respond with kindness and respect. More than that, they have become protective of one another, and are truly invested in their new friends. Emily, who does not have the words to tell us when she is enjoying a song, lets us know by smiling and laughing happily- the kids immediately notice and are excited when Emily’s face lights up during her favorite songs.

Each class is filled with opportunities for social interaction; they pass instruments to one another during turn-taking songs, they dance together during movement to music, and they sit close together to play the gathering drum as a group.

It takes practice for them to pay attention to the others- each week we have several opportunities for the kids to be “leaders” during a song. Everyone watches Aidan while he plays the rhythm sticks, and then we change our focus to Sarah while she carefully chooses a different way to play the sticks. They are learning to follow each other’s cues, but one thing they haven’t had to learn is how to care for each other. It is innate.

When I named the group Music Therapy Friends, it was a somewhat arbitrary label. I had no idea that the kids who attend this class each week would become true friends. Their closeness with me, their teacher, has been equally moving. As we sang goodbye last week, Kayla leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Best friends,” she told me. I squeezed her hand and thanked her for being my special, sweet friend.

Over the past few months, I have noticed organic changes happening in our group- changes that the kids have initiated. They bring their own ideas and vision, and our classes have seamlessly evolved as the kids have created new challenges that they were ready for as a group. The kids are proud of their ideas, and I patiently try to accommodate as many requests as possible; they have all developed favorite songs and instruments, and they take ownership for the class experience. This is their group, and they are proud of it.

Music Therapy Friends is a sanctuary where each week, for one hour, the kids truly belong. I belong there, too; I am not part of their families- I do not struggle with their discomfort with nail-clipping, I do not carry them up the stairs to bed each night, I do not struggle to make sure my voice is heard during an IEP meeting- but in our music group, I am part of their family.

It is one of the most unique, inclusive, and sacred places I have ever been.  It is a place where we all belong.

—

Stephanie Sprenger is a music therapist, early childhood music teacher, writer, blogger, and most importantly the mother of two little girls. In her free time you can find her singing at the piano while being climbed on by a toddler, or frantically typing at her computer, drinking wine or coffee depending on the time of day.

 

 

See?  Told you she was awesome.  I just read this again.  Do I have amazing friends or what?

OH also?  Remember how once upon a time -like 2 weeks ago- I shamelessly asked that you vote for me all the time in TMB?  Yeah, me, too.  I stopped.  But I’m slipping.  All it takes is a click.  Every stinking day.  Please?  It’s that handy little brown button.  I’m not going to paste it here, too, although I know more of you would vote if I did.  It’s called training.  And begging.  And I am pathetic.

Also?  Do you want to contribute to the Our Land Series? It began because of this -and all that is required is that you want to make the world more full of empathy and wonder.  To submit a contribution, just use the contact form and email me.