Just Like Everyone Else

Most days are rewarding.  Chico and exist in a place of peace and admiration. We have conversations about just like any other mom and son.  There are shared interests and activities.  Give and take abounds in this space, and we laugh, and it's great.

Some days are challenging.  Chico and I speak our different languages to each other, and no one understands much of anything.  After bumbling about trying to find something we can enjoy together, we both retreat into our individual interests.  But it doesn't feel like a break to recharge so much as it feels like hiding and avoidance.  We tiptoe around each other, and speak in one-and-two word phrases, and it's lonely.

This is the reality of parenting at my house.  There are great, glorious days when I feel like "I got this!".  There are hard, disappointing days when nothing much seems to go right and I feel like my son got the short end of the cosmic stick in having me for his mother.  Not so different from the parenting at any other house, I'd wager.

That similarity is what I try to stress to people.  I think that as long as they continue to see C as fundamentally different from their children and the children they know, they will be either pitying or unsympathetic towards him, neither of which is helpful.  C is not a tragic figure, nor is he spoiled.  He is neither indifferent toward humanity, nor a saint meant to save us.  He is a person with a loving heart, good intentions, generosity, a bit of self-interest, and all of the other complexities that a human being can possess.

Just like everyone else.

His greatest challenges lie in navigating his world with a heightened sensory palette, in words that sometimes won't come when they're needed the most, and in trying his best and hardest every day despite the lack of understanding he regularly encounters.  His most trying days come when he attempts to stifle the things that help him to cope (some would call them stims) in order to blend in and not be stared at, or judged harshly.

April is Autism awareness month.  The message my family and I will try to convey is this:

Our son is just like you.  Our parenting is (mostly) just like yours.  Our family is just like yours too.  I would venture to say that the same is true for the families of most Autistic individuals*.  So be kind, give the benefit of the doubt, and venture a hello.  You never know what  you'll learn.

*if you are rabid about person-first language, that's your choice, yo. Ain't nobody got time for that argument.

Titles are Overrated

I can't believe how many posts are in my drafts, and how many more I delete altogether, just because I can't think of a title for them.  This morning it occurs to me that I can just leave that little box blank if I wanna.  Who's gonna stop me? Nobody, that's who.  Firstly, there's not such thing as the Blog Police.  Secondly, no one cares.  Thirdly, read Secondly again. 

I spent last week in warm, sunny, dusty New Mexico.  I loved the beautiful scenery, visiting with my parents and extended family, and having a week long break from our normal routine.  Strangely though, I just felt like a visitor.  I guess Utah is home now.  The morning we left, I watched the lights of our little home town slowly fade from view, and I didn't cry.  I just pulled out my Nook and settled back in my seat for the drive back north. The last couple of years we've shifted from actively planning to move back to embracing where we are.  I guess it worked. 

This trip was especially exciting because I was there to throw a baby shower.  Sister is having her first baby, and it's a girl!  We're currently a family with three grandsons, so we're all pretty stoked to get to buy girlie things for this little one.  My sister's going to be a great mom, and I'm  just thrilled for her.  We have about three months before she's due to arrive, and I just hope I can make it to Arizona in time for her birth. 

My nanny had some relationship drama the week we were gone, and is split from her live-in-bf of a year.  She's back to clubbing with her daughters, and I'm not sure how that's going to impact our childcare.  I don't have any concerns about her ability to care for Chico, it's purely an issue of staying out until the wee hours -->not getting to our house on time -->making me late for work and negatively impacting my work image.  So we'll see how that goes. 

When the Story Isn't Yours to Tell

I avoid gossip.  Not simply dislike, not indulge and then try and find some way to justify it to myself and others, but actively, disdainfully avoid it.  Like a crumpled tissue left on the pediatrician's waiting room couch level avoidance.

I'm not above walking away from you mid-sentence if you try to engage me in that mess, is what I'm saying.

And listen, it's not easy.  I'm not looking to win gold in the Christian Olympics.  I fall short, often. Sometimes it's just so tempting to get in on the latest chisme.  Sometimes I have to try really hard to avoid spilling the juicy details that I know.  Sometimes I don't try hard enough.

My bordering-on-the-pathological fear of being a tale bearer is part of the reason that my posts here have become so scarce.  I start to write, and then worry that I'm not painting someone in the best light, even if what I'm saying is true.  So I delete.  I wonder if I'm looking at things from all the angles (by far my biggest obstacle when it comes to Getting On With Things).  So I delete.

I know that blogs are becoming passe. The other social media outlets are just so convenient, and they only allow you to think in groups of 180 characters or so at a time.

Still though, I love this space.  I love the community that used to exist among bloggers.  I really love having this little account of my family and our story.  I just wish I could figure out how to write here again. 

The stories I want to tell are my own, but when others are involved it makes things much, much harder.

On Comprehension, and Responsibility

This was a tough morning.  C woke up in a good mood, but was instantly miffed when he realized that I'd put up both his ipad and video player.  I reminded him that we were going to get our school work done early, and then he could have some electronics time.  He would not be assuaged though, and eventually he slammed off to his room to grumble about his mean old mom.

I finished my devotions and coffee and went to see if he was ready to get to work.  He grudgingly agreed, and we sat down in the school room.

He got through the first item on the schedule and the beginning of his math lesson, then things started to come apart.  His attention wandered from his math work and began guessing at answers.  I gave him the correct answers to those he had missed, and that was it.  He started a meltdown severe enough that I shut the book and sent him to his room.  He went, and slammed the door behind him.

He spent a good 20 minutes in his room, slowly winding down from crying/screaming, to loud-voiced grumbling, to softer grumbling, and finally, to a calm(er) quiet.

I called him back, invited him to sit, and then we had the talk.  The "I know some things are hard, but that's how we learn, and it's okay, and you have to work hard and concentrate on your work, and mom will always help you." talk.  This time, though, I added the caveat that if he feels like he can't work with me at home, we can look into another type of school.  He disdainfully said, "I don't want to do that," which is always the answer I get when I ask if he's interested in the traditional school paradigm. 

I struggle with figuring out how much C comprehends sometimes.  There is such a fine line between coddling to the point of holding him back, and asking so much that he's unable to meet my expectations.  My goal is  to always assume competence and ability, and try to give him multiple occasions for success in every school day.  In this case, I have to presume that he means what he says when he tells me he does not have any interest in traditional school.  I also have to ask a certain level of responsibility from him, because my gut and heart tell me that he is able to carry that.  Sometimes I feel like I know him better than anyone, and times like this, I wonder if I know anything at all.

Christmas 2012 Recap

 Christmas of 2012 was probably the best one we've ever had.

With the Newtown Connecticut tragedy so fresh and recent, I found I just couldn't be stressed out about the things that normally seem like huge deal.  Gift buying and wrapping, deciding which treats to make or not, choosing pictures for our Christmas card... all of the decisions that I usually agonize over just seemed so small in the grand scheme of things.  I made choices and moved on to the next thing; enjoying the time with Q and Chico, and marveling at my luck in just having another day to spend with these two.

Our Christmas Eve church service was a fun mix of caroling and a moving sermon from pastor Matt.  That my brother and his family were able to join us just made the night that much better.  I just love our church. It's so nice to have a place that just feels like home.

After church, we came home and let C dig into his gifts.  He was thrilled that everything on his list was under the tree.  The Hot Wheels Power Tower and the Angry Birds AT AT Attack set were the two most popular items of the evening.

Q and Chico commenced to breaking in the new toys, while I fixed some red chile to go with the posole I'd made.  We skipped tamale making in favor of decorating sugar cookies this year, so dinner was a light affair of posole, chips and queso, and crudite.

This is the first year that I can remember having absolutely no guests on Christmas Eve.  We were expecting M and his family to join us for dinner, but they decided to get their own little one home to his gifts instead. We definitely missed the fun of our usual family get together, but a relaxing evening made for three was nice in its own way.

Christmas Day was luxuriously relaxed and lazy.  We played, ate, watched a move, lounged on the couch, and reveled in the fact that we had no where to go.  My brother, sister-in-law, and nephew dropped by for a visit in the afternoon, and we had a fun time chatting with them.

Christmas was different this year, but wonderful all the same.  I did less, enjoyed more, and didn't worry so much.  I'm so grateful for the perspective I've gained this year, and I hope that I can remember what I've learned for years to come.

The Lucky Ones

As I logged in to check my feed reader on Friday, the headline caught my attention.

Another senseless shooting; an unknown number of children and educators whose lives ended too soon.

I blinked back tears as the number climbed higher throughout the day.  When I walked in from work, I hugged Chico just a beat or two longer than I normally do. 

I didn't tell him to turn down the volume in his ipad as he danced to the Mad show theme song. 

I didn't tell him to put up the toys he was already playing with before he took out something else.

I let him have buttered toast, his favorite crackers, marshmallows, and milk for dinner.

I held his hand as he fell asleep, and then sat there in the darkness, not wanting to unwind his fingers from around mine.

On Friday night, loud music, scattered toys, and a junk food dinner didn't matter at all.  All that mattered was taking in his smile, and his voice, and the smell of coconut conditioner in his hair.  All that mattered was that this child I love more than life itself was here with me.

We are the lucky ones.

May we never forget.

Holiday Cheer, Holiday Struggles

We've found that Chico shows more awareness of the holidays as the years pass.  I've long suspected that his perception of time differs from mine on a very basic level, since it seems difficult for him to fathom a time other than the immediate.

This year, he asked for Christmas decorations in October, and was so excited when we decked out our house on the first of December. He eagerly dove into the toy catalogs as they arrived in the mail, and pointed out those he wanted to add to his list. Most coveted are the new Star Wars versions of the Angry Birds toys, when the ATAT Attack set seated firmly at the top of the list.  We've watched lots of Christmas movies together, and he notices holiday decoration everywhere we go.

Yesterday, I watched as he stood gazing at the tree in our living room.  Thinking that his attention had been captured by some ornament, I chatted about this and that one, trying to start a conversation with him.  He didn't bite, and I was confused about what might be drawing him so strongly to the tree.  Then, he leaned over, and with cartoon-like exaggeration, pointed under the tree, where it was obvious that no gifts resided.

"No presents?"  I inquired?

Again he pointed, then threw up his hands and shrugged.  

Fortuitously (or not), I had just the day before received an Amazon delivery that contained several items for C, including the very AB set he wants the most.  I quickly excused myself, and got those babies wrapped in record time.  I thought it would make his day to come back to the tree and find a pile of packages underneath. 

Instead he was upset at not being able to tear into them immediately.  I thought I'd help him by numbering the days left to Christmas on the calendar, but that only upset him more.  The evening ended with four hours of intermittent weeping and heart-rending whimpers from C's direction.  This child never cries, and it broke my heart to hear his sadness.  I ended up putting the wrapped gifts away in a closet, with assurances to him that they were just going to stay there until it was time to open them.  I didn't want him getting the impression that I was taking them away for any reason. The calendar, with it's offending glittered numbers and be-bowed package drawn on the 24th, was shoved into a drawer.

It was all I could do to keep myself from letting him open everything right then. I felt so bad about his sadness, but I reminded myself that learning to delay gratification will serve him well in life, and that we have lots of other fun activities planned for the next couple of weeks.

Zee learning, eet never stops around here.