My daughter found the heart of Lake Michigan on the Glen Arbor shoreline, and I found a piece of my heart there, too.
While walking the beach at Sleeping Bear Point near the Maritime Museum, she discovered a white stone with a perfect crystal-encrusted heart-shaped indentation. (I'm no geologist, but it looks like it could perhaps be limestone with calcite crystals.) This rock symbolizes more than family togetherness during our one-tank trip from Cleveland, Ohio. It's a reminder of the special lessons I learned there as a mom. I grew from this trip, and I felt like I made a difference for others, too.
First, some background...
Last week was our third visit to Northern Michigan. Previously, we stayed lakeside at the Homestead Resort, but this year we tried Great World Lodge in Traverse City. I'm NOT a water park person (the noise, scantily clad barefoot crowds, shared public space with dirt and germs, etc.), but I'll do almost anything to make my kids smile. And I want them to experience new things without my personal preferences and insecurities coloring their world too much (which, let's face it, they always will to an extent). It turns out, I enjoyed myself, too. My son took dozens of trips down the little red slide and laughed and played in the shallow current for hours under my supervision, while my husband and daughter rode the bigger slides and swam in the pool. We all floated around the lazy river (the double inner tubes are great for a parent and child), and I even went down the big tube slide a few times with my daughter (my knuckles are still white from holding on so tight). The pricey cabana I reserved "just in case" served as a semi-private, slightly more quiet retreat for my sensory-sensitive little one, but it turns out we didn't really need it. He managed just fine. (Progress!)
Then, it happened. One of my fears at any pool, the thought of which makes me shudder... Poop.
My son picked it up and handed it to me, thinking it was a rock on the steps he was climbing. Eff. He was confused. I was traumatized. I managed to stay calm (which surprised me) as I grabbed his hand and quickly speed-walked to the restroom to wash up. I was SO done. I told my husband we needed to leave, and we all went back to the room to shower.
The next evening, after a day of exploring the dunes, walking trails and dining out, the kids wanted to return. I didn't want to. I was afraid. What if it happens again? What if we get sick? My boy put on his water shoes, grabbed his puddle jumper, and I was a goner. Back to the water park I went ever-so-cautiously.
They loved it. We had fun. Even I did in my own uptight, reluctant sort of way. I especially reveled in how my four-year-old (who has speech and social-emotional delays) noticed a little girl in a Peppa swimsuit and -- on his own -- approached her at an appropriate distance, looked her in the eyes, waved and said "Hi! Hiya!" That alone was HUGE.
Then something else caught my attention. Since my son is on the spectrum, I'm more in-tune with the subtle and not-so-subtle signs some individuals with autism exhibit, many of which are easily hidden in an environment like this. A young girl I hadn't seen there before, who was taller and a little older than the others in the kiddie area, was enjoying the blue slides. I saw hand-flapping, a swim diaper and an older brother guiding her. I saw her cover her ears like my sensory-sensitive boy did when the big bucket poured water out in a loud gush. I heard squeals/screams of excitement without words. Up and down she went, smiling the whole time.
Then it stopped. The lifeguard blew a whistle and signaled for the pair to leave.
The brother motioned "why?" and the guard signaled she was too tall. He reluctantly ushered his sister out of the area. Rather than stand by and let their enjoyment get cut short, I approached the employee and inquired as to whether they make exceptions to their policy for children with special needs. The child was likely at the same stage developmentally as the younger kids there, the area wasn't crowded, and this girl was keeping to herself. Of course, if any child behaves in a way that puts themselves or others at risk, that's another story -- they should be removed. But this was not the case. The worker flagged down her manager to ask, and when he responded with "that's fine" I informed the brother and mother who were grateful. She and I connected on the autism Mama Bear front and wished each other well. It warmed my heart to watch this family have more fun, and the girl's twin sister joined in.
My eyes welled up, and I couldn't help but smile, realizing that had I not returned after the incident the previous night, my son would not have had that social growth opportunity with a fellow Peppa fan. And these twin girls' activities -- and enjoyment -- would have been limited. Whether the Great Wolf Lodge lifeguards and managers will pass this knowledge on, I don't know. The guard I spoke with apologized (unnecessarily, as she was just doing her job) and thanked me for the education, however. Does Great Wolf Lodge have ADA compliant accommodations officially documented for developmental disabilities beyond the pool lift I noticed for physical handicap access? I haven't researched that, and the hotel manager I informed at check-out time didn't care to discuss my experience further. But in that moment in the pool, I made a difference.
I learned that while fear can help keep you safe, it is also a robber. It steals joy. It sets limits. It prevents you speaking up, asking questions, trying new things, growing and realizing your potential. That includes your ability to help yourself and others.
Ohio may be the heart of it all and our home, but my heart grew in that state up north.
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