With every passing year, there is a brief time of reflection (about 3 days before NY and maybe 5 days after) on what transpired in those preceding months. Then, we prepare to dive, head first, into a fresh, new calendar. 365 unwritten pages. For me, this has been a pretty limit testing/rewarding year. I'm looking forward, gratefully, to the next 8,760 hours.
2013 opened my eyes in so many ways. There have been lots of superficial things that have made me think and made me smile or hurt my heart and made me cry (entirely more happiness over pain). And I take with me into 2014 and beyond, the wisdom from those grins and sobs. I'm also packing the enlightenment of anger. I'm pretty sure I can title 2013 as "The Year I Was Really Pissed Off". However, looking for the soft, gooey center of all that petulance was the clarity that followed. I generally go out of my way to avoid being mad. It took a long time to let go of the baggage of things that happened when I was little and I think I overcompensated. I undervalued the benefits of this less than pleasant emotion. It provides motivation to get a lot of things done. It got me through the hardest parts of the year. Thank you, Fury, I owe you one, but it's time to put you back into the holster. I promise I won't let you get dusty.
Milestones were bittersweet. The Oldest started driving lessons. Very little actually scares me. Except something happening to one of my children. It's a Craven/Shelley/King/Lovecraft/Poe/Manson/Bieber compilation of thought. My child operating a vehicle is terrifying. There was an intermission, though. For close to a month, he was unable to move much. Not sure which incites more trepidation - car accidents or surgical procedures. We spent about a week together in a small room in Cincinnati. Just staring at each other. His mole is gone. But scars now reside in it's place. And we learned so much about skin grafts. And the courage inside of my amazing son. He made the difficult choice to go through this painful surgery to avoid an uncertain future. (This is my side note vent at Melissa Etheridge, an avid reader of my blog: FUCK YOU LADY. It takes a lot of guts to take a preventative step to avoid cancer. Sure, you were talking to Angelina Jolie. But you were kicking dirt in the faces of those who make similar choices to control a potentially life threatening and volatile disease. You made a different choice and it worked out, because you're still here. Good for you, that doesn't make you Queen Shit of Cancer.) His determination paid off. "Benign" is my new favorite word. Then the little shit went and became a senior in high school. Not my little baby anymore. 2014 brings with it a graduation party and the big "18".
Soccer-mom-hood hit with a vengeance. The Youngest Boy discovered sports and loves it. I, of course, found a love for being a mom on the sideline. Cheering, quashing my internal loudmouthed Bitch, learning how to work a double elimination tournament bracket. Watching his fall team rock an undefeated season, bring home medals and trophies - made me really proud. His commitment to teamwork is pretty awesome. And, I didn't punch anyone! He is also reading well above his grade level. This pride comes with us. Soccer can stay too. (12 more days until indoor winter season starts) It's inspiring Miss Mini-Me. She packs a little backpack full of things to do during practices and games. She roots her brothers team on and plays with him at home too. There's a large net folded under my china closet, 2 small nets on the patio, a stockpile of cones in the living room, and this morning I tripped over his newest soccer ball. This is a result of their friendship (even though I am preeeeeeety sure she slapped him a few times).
I gained a new respect for the teaching profession. Teaching The Middle Son at home has been very taxing on the soul. Saluting all the teachers out there, high! I have to know my own limits, though. The silver lining of this experience is that had it not happened, it would've taken a lot longer to get a diagnosis. We needed this. Next week, he will rejoin society and public school. Fortunately, I'm only seconds away. It's going to be interesting and exciting. While I won't let him sink completely I'm also going to be letting him do a lot of his own swimming. I won't be around forever and Autism isn't the end of the world. He's high functioning and he's not going to adapt if I shield him. Advocate, not shelter. So I need to put the strength from the last year into my carry on luggage.
For me, the resolutions I've set for myself are cliche. Eat better, take better care of myself, workout more, increase my volunteer hours, and write. Usually, they are silly and easily attainable. Though, I blew the "I won't say 'farfegnugen'" resolution of 2011 within the first 2 weeks. I am going to throw in a "I won't operate a shopping cart faster than 2 mph" for 2014. And maybe a "I won't flip my neighbor off" (not the ones immediately on both sides, more like the ones across the street and 2 doors down on the left and 3 down on the right). I might do something reckless, too - trim my hair, wear pink (I hate pink), shoot a gun (I hate guns), beat ZombieU, and get arrested for Public Intox at a high school graduation.
I wish the best for everyone reading this. While my follower list is quite small and consists of a handful of friends, this blog did cross the 4000 hit mark a few weeks ago and I got my first writer's paycheck. The hit count means a lot to me. It means that you're here on purpose. So, thank you. Go do something fun tonight and try not to end up in jail.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 27, 2013
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
A little over a year ago, I began to have some serious concerns about my, then, 9 year old son. I butted heads with his teachers and eventually removed him from his conventional brick and mortar school. He was not thriving in any way. My gifted little boy, who could read just about anything you put in front of him, was failing every subject. He couldn't make a friend to save his life. He was as blunt as a 2 x 4 to the back of the head. He was drowning and it was the only thing I could think of to help him.
Within months of attending an online school, his teacher made a very difficult phone call to me. She was concerned that there was something much deeper going on. She offered to help me get him on the right track and suggested we consult his physician. His doctor is the most amazing woman, so easy to talk to. She reminded me of a similar conversation that we'd had about 2 years ago. He has issues with effective social skills. She asked me to follow up with her if that didn't remedy itself. At this point, she asked me to complete an assessment and return it to her. His teacher filled one out also. Rather than scheduling a follow up appointment, his doctor called me to refer us to the local Children's Hospital to help pinpoint what was going on. She immediately dismissed ADD or ADHD.
A few weeks went by before I heard from the referral nurse. And when I did, she proffered up a word that I wasn't anticipating: "Autism". But, he can talk and function. Isn't Autism where they are low functioning? I've met a few Autistics here and there and The Middle Son is really nothing like them. Not that he's "better" or anything. Just not what *I* thought of when I thought of Autism. She explained to me, very lightly, what "Asperger's Syndrome" is. High functioning Autism. She recommended we get to a therapist quickly. The earlier the diagnosis, the better. He's NINE. How is this just now on the table? He's worked with a therapist before, shouldn't this have been caught by now? Surely, he is not Autistic. I have to say, I was reeling. Confused, scared, shocked, worried, speechless, curious. I think I even laughed a little. But, we got appointments scheduled. Then we hung up. 15 minutes ago, life was totally different.
I began to research. And research some more. And then, there was some more. The more I read, the more I cried. Pretty sure that I sat here, for hours, with tears streaming down my face. Not tears of sadness. Relief. Realizations. MY KID ISN'T AN ASSHOLE! (Every Aspie parent has that initial fear that their child is just a jerk, at some point in the diagnostic process) Suddenly, 9 years all made perfect sense. These signs have been there for so long. But they got buried. Divorce, moving, anxiety about schools, 2 more siblings. We just kind of thought he was having adjustment issues. Well, no shit.
He has a wonderful therapist. She's fun, sharp as a tack, and relates to him. She doesn't dilute his therapy. Initially, we didn't mention the "A" word. Then, he hacked Disney's gaming site. Here he is, at 10, developing and creating video games. Learning some programming code. Taking to it like a duck to water. But ask the kid to tie his shoes. He can give you a detailed history of Godzilla. When I say "detailed" I mean EVERYTHING. A few weeks ago, I filled out another set of forms. If I had doubts about his diagnosis - I didn't after that. 28/30 spaces checked in the affirmative. Absurdly high vocabulary. Has anxiety walking down certain types of stairs. Can't stand denim jeans. Has no understanding whatsoever of the concept of other people's feelings. There's no filter on what comes out of his mouth. He can smell what neighbors 2 streets over are cooking. Things taste very strong. Sounds are really loud. Lights can be very bright. When that all gets to be too much - the punching ensues. Not directed at me or anyone else. Just himself.
So, just before Christmas, we got the official Welcome Kit to the world of Autism Spectrum Disorder. What a difference a year can make. All of a sudden, I want to make this place more understanding for him. But there's a balance I haven't quite figured out yet. He can't go through life thinking that he can just drift without consequence. Armed with an official diagnosis, I placed him back in a public school. We will see how it goes.
One day, my son was an average boy, on an average street, doing average things. The next day, he's Autistic. It knocks you back a few ticks. Thinking back to all the things you punished him for that were his condition breaking the surface. This is probably where having a schizophrenic biological mother comes in handy. She can't ever shut off her hallucinations, her eccentricities, or her symptoms. She is no more responsible for her conversations with the Planter's Peanut Guy than I am. That's something I learned a loooooooooooong time ago. Maybe it was a way to prepare me for raising an Aspie. I don't get offended anymore when he looks through me when I'm being emotional. I'm a lot more patient when he needs a few extra minutes to make it down the steps. He has taught me a lot about life in the last year. Slightly scared/nervous/excited/proud to see where it goes from here.
Within months of attending an online school, his teacher made a very difficult phone call to me. She was concerned that there was something much deeper going on. She offered to help me get him on the right track and suggested we consult his physician. His doctor is the most amazing woman, so easy to talk to. She reminded me of a similar conversation that we'd had about 2 years ago. He has issues with effective social skills. She asked me to follow up with her if that didn't remedy itself. At this point, she asked me to complete an assessment and return it to her. His teacher filled one out also. Rather than scheduling a follow up appointment, his doctor called me to refer us to the local Children's Hospital to help pinpoint what was going on. She immediately dismissed ADD or ADHD.
A few weeks went by before I heard from the referral nurse. And when I did, she proffered up a word that I wasn't anticipating: "Autism". But, he can talk and function. Isn't Autism where they are low functioning? I've met a few Autistics here and there and The Middle Son is really nothing like them. Not that he's "better" or anything. Just not what *I* thought of when I thought of Autism. She explained to me, very lightly, what "Asperger's Syndrome" is. High functioning Autism. She recommended we get to a therapist quickly. The earlier the diagnosis, the better. He's NINE. How is this just now on the table? He's worked with a therapist before, shouldn't this have been caught by now? Surely, he is not Autistic. I have to say, I was reeling. Confused, scared, shocked, worried, speechless, curious. I think I even laughed a little. But, we got appointments scheduled. Then we hung up. 15 minutes ago, life was totally different.
I began to research. And research some more. And then, there was some more. The more I read, the more I cried. Pretty sure that I sat here, for hours, with tears streaming down my face. Not tears of sadness. Relief. Realizations. MY KID ISN'T AN ASSHOLE! (Every Aspie parent has that initial fear that their child is just a jerk, at some point in the diagnostic process) Suddenly, 9 years all made perfect sense. These signs have been there for so long. But they got buried. Divorce, moving, anxiety about schools, 2 more siblings. We just kind of thought he was having adjustment issues. Well, no shit.
He has a wonderful therapist. She's fun, sharp as a tack, and relates to him. She doesn't dilute his therapy. Initially, we didn't mention the "A" word. Then, he hacked Disney's gaming site. Here he is, at 10, developing and creating video games. Learning some programming code. Taking to it like a duck to water. But ask the kid to tie his shoes. He can give you a detailed history of Godzilla. When I say "detailed" I mean EVERYTHING. A few weeks ago, I filled out another set of forms. If I had doubts about his diagnosis - I didn't after that. 28/30 spaces checked in the affirmative. Absurdly high vocabulary. Has anxiety walking down certain types of stairs. Can't stand denim jeans. Has no understanding whatsoever of the concept of other people's feelings. There's no filter on what comes out of his mouth. He can smell what neighbors 2 streets over are cooking. Things taste very strong. Sounds are really loud. Lights can be very bright. When that all gets to be too much - the punching ensues. Not directed at me or anyone else. Just himself.
So, just before Christmas, we got the official Welcome Kit to the world of Autism Spectrum Disorder. What a difference a year can make. All of a sudden, I want to make this place more understanding for him. But there's a balance I haven't quite figured out yet. He can't go through life thinking that he can just drift without consequence. Armed with an official diagnosis, I placed him back in a public school. We will see how it goes.
One day, my son was an average boy, on an average street, doing average things. The next day, he's Autistic. It knocks you back a few ticks. Thinking back to all the things you punished him for that were his condition breaking the surface. This is probably where having a schizophrenic biological mother comes in handy. She can't ever shut off her hallucinations, her eccentricities, or her symptoms. She is no more responsible for her conversations with the Planter's Peanut Guy than I am. That's something I learned a loooooooooooong time ago. Maybe it was a way to prepare me for raising an Aspie. I don't get offended anymore when he looks through me when I'm being emotional. I'm a lot more patient when he needs a few extra minutes to make it down the steps. He has taught me a lot about life in the last year. Slightly scared/nervous/excited/proud to see where it goes from here.
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