Why I May Have to Abandon the Best Coping Skill I Have Ever Had

I wrote this one year ago today. As all of our social media accounts have thinned the herd so to speak to show posts from people who are more like minded or we have all done so on our own, there are days I still feel the same. But as people reconsider the last year and perhaps have changed perspective, the divide has grown deeper with those who hang on to their belief systems as history and policy begins to unfold. Many of us have been spawned out into political action to protect ourselves and our interests….on “every side” and may have entered territory and conversations we never thought we could have. As I sit here contemplating my words from 365 days ago, there are days I feel the same about shutting everything down but I glad I did not. I spent a good deal of the summer researching , advocating and educating others on the dangers of removing healthcare policy and instituting new policy that would ultimately devastate the lives of the disabled and ultimately devastate the lives of everyone else too. I was able to talk about how Medicaid actually benefits everyone, even the individuals who never need to access it. My tiny social media reach may not ultimately be influential, but when considering the big picture and ensuring all voices are heard, it is hard to know what the ripple effect could be.

Does social media continue to be a huge time suck and anxiety generator in my world? Yes. But the advantage of influence, the scope of message and finding , connecting and forging new relationships took precedence. But let’s face it….we have all been there since adding a blue and white bird or letter F to the screens on our phones and I suppose we at least all have that in common…

Running through Water

facebook-1563273_1920

My heart is sitting in a basket on my desk next to my computer.  I stare at it wondering if I should leave it where it is or if I should shove it back in my throat where apparently it now belongs.  I  am faced with a dilemma I have fleetingly looked in the eye before but this time I pause much longer as if memorizing the outline of the face of a loved one I may not see again.

I love Facebook. I am like a Pavlovian dog when I hear that DING! and will switch over from work to see whats going on my feed.  Facebook is the most existentially layered version of the real world I can imagine. Everyone from my closest friends to those folks who have crossed paths with me for a brief yet meaningful time are there.  It’s the place where my elementary school…

View original post 830 more words

Autism Awareness Month. Day 2 2017: B is for Blogs

home-office-336378_1920

About 9 years ago when A2 was 3 years old, he attended a social skills group with a speech therapist and 3 other minimally verbal children.  A2 was by far and away the most pleasant and social of the 4 kids in the group and at that point did not have an Autism diagnosis.  I didn’t know WHAT was happening with him for sure. I sat in that lobby week after week wondering what A2 could possibly be getting out of the group given none of the children had any functional verbal language and a great majority of the time the adults were wrangling to keep the kids all in one spot.  After the final session, I sighed at the speech therapist and asked her what she thought was going on with my beautiful boy.  She asked me if I had ever heard of the book Schuyler’s Monster by Robert Rummel Hudson.  I had not.  It is a memoir written by a father about his wordless daughter.  A2 and I left the speech session and immediately went to the library to find it.  I suppose I would have been reading more about parent perspectives of young children with disabilities had a known my child had a disability.  But he was 3.  He had delays.  A gross motor delay, a fine motor delay, a speech delay.  He flapped.  But he also looked at me and smiled, knew his name and cuddled.  Other than the cache of bewildered parents who sat in lobbies at therapies, I had no connections to others going through similar circumstances. As an action oriented person, I didn’t know I needed to have those connections.

That is until I read Schuyler’s Monster. 

In some ways, I feel like that is where my story begins.  It started as an easy read because Rob is poignant, funny and his words wash over the pages and get right into your brain.  And. Then.  To put it simply…I was knocked on my ass. He was telling my story.  He was me.  And Schulyer was almost exactly A2.  Right down to the personality.  I had to set time aside to read when I knew I didn’t have to be “on” because I wasn’t sure how what I would read would affect me for the rest of the day.  Schuyler has a rare genetic disorder called Bilateral Perisylvian Polymicrogyria.  I called A2’s neurogeneticist at the Cleveland Clinic and insisted he himself go back and read A2’s baseline MRI and not rely on the radiologists report. He humored me and alas, A2 and Schuyler did not hold this in common.  I finished the book and felt like I was underwater. What was I going to do without Rob, Julie and Schuyler?  I felt connected to something and yet I had never felt so alone in my whole life all because a piece of cardboard filled with paper and a beautiful little girl on the front told me life might not be what I think it is.  I was not an avid reader of blogs and at that point was not on social media.  I found his blog Fighting Monsters with Rubber Swords and reconnected with his words.  Soon, I found another blog that spoke to me much in the same way written by a teacher who had an autistic child called Flappiness Is.  At this point, we had an autism diagnosis and I was in the throes of learning to advocate for my child in ways that rocked my world. Leigh was there to say the things I couldn’t say. Then there was another (which is no longer around) that made me laugh about our situation when I needed to laugh about it.

I now had a community and resources I could access whenever I needed it.

I am an accidental blogger.  I wrote 3 posts back in 2010 and when I realized I really had nothing to say, I was done.  It wasn’t my time to talk.  I don’t know if it is really my time to talk now, yet here I am.  Instead of following 3 blogs, I follow dozens and all for different reasons.  I have met the most amazing folks along the way because of it including the now very grown up, very kind and very inspiring Schuyler.  And she seems to be exactly the person I hoped she would grow up to be when I met her as a little girl as typeset words sitting on my couch 9 years ago.

There is no need to be alone if you cannot find “your people” in your community.  I never dreamed that some of my closest confidants are people I have never met or only briefly met in person. This list is not exhaustive…..and most categories will overlap, but my resource list of favorite blogs/social media folks you might want to check out (note also most blog links will be the same name on Facebook):

Day 2 2015. B is for Boredom

Day 2 2016: B is for Behavior

DAD PERSPECTIVE

Bacon and Juiceboxes

Jason Hague, Writer

Just a Lil Blog

Dad Enough

Autism From a Dad’s Eye View

Autism Blues

Stories About Autism

The Spectral Zone

The Autism Daddy

PERSPECTIVES FROM THE SPECTRUM

Autistic Not Weird

Autcraft

Seriously Not Boring

Deciphering Morgan

Autistic Speaks

Kerry Magro

Anonymously Autistic

Autism Uncensored

MEMES/HUMOR/KEEPING IT REAL

Autism Odysseys

Just a Minute My Cape is in the Dryer

Ink 4 Autism

Rantings of an ADHD Mom

ALL THE REST

David Snape and Friends

Carrie Cariello

Love That Max

Finding Cooper’s Voice

Take Another Step

Autism With a Side of Fries

Herding Cats

From Motherhood

Our Adventures with Riley

Special Ev

Walking With Drake

A Day in Our Shoes

Special Books by Special Kids

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Holidays! I’m the Room Parent. I Know You Have Never Heard of My Kid, But……

fullsizerender32
Pinterest success for a classroom party.  Though, watch out for that reindeer in the second row on the right…he clearly is up to no good.

How we got to December already is beyond me.  I feel like I just put up my Halloween decorations on the house and made my contributions to the Harvest party at school, yet the red and green bins from the basement are now out and I am filling out Evite forms and combing Pinterest to figure out what I will ruin three times before bringing it to the holiday party at school.

I am a working mom with  a 5th grader and a 7th grader.  In the last 7 years, I have:

  • been a room parent 7 times (including the year I was room parent in BOTH my kids classrooms)
  •  planned 9 Halloween classroom parties and 10 winter holiday class parties.
  •  baked an estimated 1000 gluten free friendly treats for classroom and school wide events.
  • been a chaperone at EVERY  Walk-a-thon, school celebration and field trip (one year at the Valentine’s fair in school I lost a kindergartner….and in all fairness and disclosure, no one told me he didn’t speak English….and I found him…)
  •  volunteered weekly in 4 different classrooms, shelved books in the library for 3 years and worked the cafeteria snack table
  • sold crappy novelty items no kid NEEDS at the school store weekly for 4 years
  • stapled, folded, stuffed flyers, envelopes, book fair propaganda, changed out bulletin boards, helped clean the building before summer break, cut out thousands of shapes for projects, hole punched writing projects, graded math papers, labeled book shelves, organized folders, passed out ice pops, redirected children, gave out hugs to kids I didn’t know, tied shoes, located ice packs, made meals for teacher appreciation days

I think you get the picture.  An estimated 2000-2200 hours of my time since 2009.  Basically….a 40 hour a week job for one full year. I rarely see my child during any of these hours spent at school. And before anyone thinks I am judging the non-volunteer moms, I am NOT a sanctimommy. And no,  I do not want a cookie, a prize or personal recognition from anyone.  Other than to say this….

I have had to land my helicopter on the roof of the school for two simple reasons. I have a child who doesn’t have the capacity to tell me about his friends and a school that only recently took steps to discussing making that meaningfully different.

This is not an unusual phenomenon.  I had a conversation with a special ed coordinator in another school district about this once.  She also “lives in the field” like I do having a couple of kids on IEPs.  I mentioned this struggle to her at which point she stated “I understand, but at some point, this isn’t the school’s responsibility (to help special needs parents get to know each other).  Since I was visiting her district professionally, I didn’t say much mostly because I had a feeling that her IEP-ers at home are verbal.

I didn’t start off this way.  I was your regular, run-of-the-mill, elementary school, product of divorced parents volunteer mom.  While the 1970s were not known for tales of excellence in parenting,  as a child, I was aware of the presence of the other moms who volunteered or were there for events during school. I promised myself I would one day figure out how to be one of the moms who ran the mimeograph machine on Thursdays.

Then Autism came along and and early on  I realized volunteerism wasn’t going to be a once-a-week-show-my-kids-I-care kind of activity.  My youngest was turning 8 and for the first time expressed excitement over his own birthday. “CHUCHEE CHEEE!”,  he exclaimed after I asked him where he would like to have his party.  Since he had not been invited to any  birthday parties since starting school, I wrote several school staff asking if they could help with names.

The only response I got was from the regular ed teacher with a polite reminder that due to confidentiality, she could not tell us the names of his friends.  She also reminded me that she would not be able to pass out any invitations if we weren’t inviting the whole class.  And that was it.

I was perplexed.  She did know my child had a severe communication disorder, right?  I politely acknowledged the ramifications of what she was saying and pondered in the follow up email if there were anything she could do to help us figure out a solution.

No response. So after a week,  I wrote again but with a much more explicit message.

My message was: “As far as I know, it’s not a confidentiality issue when one child approaches another for their name and phone number.  That’s how typical children do that.  We have programed the following into his talker (speech generating device):

“My phone number is ***-***-****.  Can you have your mom call my mom?”
OR
“Can I have your phone number?  My mom wants to talk to your mom”
Given its on his IEP –the need to prompt him to initiate social interactions as well as guiding him use  prompts on the talker, I am sure someone will find the right opportunity to help him with this interaction.  Its amazing to see how far he has come.  As any parent would be, we are so proud and excited for him.”

Fortunately, the principal at the time appreciated the value of enlightened self awareness and stepped in to make this happen. He had the most glorious time with his friends at his own party. While he was blowing out the candles on his cake, I took the instructions handed to me by the school on “intro to helicopters” and filed it away for later.

(For those of you who don’t know,there is nothing in FERPA (Family Education Privacy Act) that would actually prohibit a teacher from giving you the first and last name of any student your kid is hanging out with as long as it is directory information and there is no expressed exclusion in writing from the family, or if the child gave it on their own.  So no…its not “confidential”. This includes special education students…FERPA would prevent her from telling you that the child was receiving special education services, not from giving you their name…and I get it….I wouldn’t want my name and phone number handed out willy-nilly either…except my friend’s child with language hands hers out all the time simply because he can)

I am privileged to be self-employed and have a job that affords me the flexibility to work around my kids’ schedule and needs.  When you have a child with a disability, weekly mid-day therapy appointments, meetings and emergencies are part of the deal and already require us to be like Navy Seals.  We are flexible on a moments notice to switch gears and take care of whatever arises unexpectedly. But those 9-5 parents or single family households with special needs kids are truly super-parents….Space monkeys exploring uncharted territory  different than typical families with similar scheduling issues. They do not have a finite number of years in which they have to sweat it out every day, and they certainly don’t have an ounce more  flexibility to find time to sit glassy-eyed in an empty classroom pulling staples out of a cork board.   Volunteering for the purpose of  learning every nook and cranny and connecting with the people in my child’s world just to have a frame of reference would likely happen anyway for me but definitely not with the volume or tenacity.  I am lucky to have this as an option, but many…if not most working parents of special needs kids do not.  The onus is on the parent to try to figure out how to connect the dots to create a fulfilling world outside of school for their kid and many times they aren’t even given a pencil to do that.

So when you get that email or phone call that it is time to start collecting money for your teacher’s end-of-the-year-gift and its from the two moms of kids you never heard of (because each spend a total of 1 hour a day in the classroom), now you know why you don’t know who they are.  Reach out to them….because they don’t really have time to be collecting your money…but they will make all the time in the world to find out more about your child.

**The inspiration from this piece came about a month ago after yet another disheartening situation. A few weeks ago we had a meeting where I had to be very firm and direct to make sure this message was heard. I believe it was heard by most in the spirit it was delivered. Most of the team who work with my child have worked with him since the beginning.  Those direct workers are caring people for certain and they are working on a plan to rectify some of this type of issue.  Stay tuned…if you are in this dilemma for your child!

.

Why I May Have to Abandon the Best Coping Skill I Have Ever Had

facebook-1563273_1920

My heart is sitting in a basket on my desk next to my computer.  I stare at it wondering if I should leave it where it is or if I should shove it back in my throat where apparently it now belongs.  I  am faced with a dilemma I have fleetingly looked in the eye before but this time I pause much longer as if memorizing the outline of the face of a loved one I may not see again.

I love Facebook. I am like a Pavlovian dog when I hear that DING! and will switch over from work to see whats going on my feed.  Facebook is the most existentially layered version of the real world I can imagine. Everyone from my closest friends to those folks who have crossed paths with me for a brief yet meaningful time are there.  It’s the place where my elementary school besties and bullies post about their versions of how they turned out. People from a former life who hold keys to doors which ushered me to my current self are there too. There are writers and authors and even a real-life famous person here and there (sorry…I won’t out anyone) in the cache of my 560 nearest and dearest.  And I have access to all of them at the same time all of the time.

I take real 1-2 minute life diversions on Facebook multiple times a day.  It’s a weird and somewhat pathetic paradise.  Being a working mother is complicated enough, but I have a few extras thrown on top including a husband that travels and kids with varying special needs which means extra meetings for school, schlepping to therapies, staying current on research, hiring, supervising and managing a home team…and that’s all before actually dealing with the territory of settling in at the end of the day with  kids who just need extra.  Just when I might be taking myself a little too seriously or am feeling a little too isolated…boom….a cat video or Joe Biden meme reels me back.  Connecting in cyberspace is so much more my style and because of that connection I know I am not alone in this.  When I deal with work situations that matter to me, I am a rock star.  I have a purpose and can completely focus externally on the needs at hand.  But socially…yikes. Eye contact, staying focused, not accidentally making a connection out loud as to how the topic focuses back on something I can relate to better….none of those things are my forte.  When posting on Facebook–I can be funny and smart in sound bytes. I can get hoards of people invested in an ongoing saga about my fear of spiders.  I can walk away from a conversation mid-sentence without consequence.  I don’t have to think about where to look or how I am coming across because unlike in real life, by the time my human brain catches up to my monkey brain I have not yet hit “enter” and can edit what I REALLY wanted to say.  Sometimes those two things don’t catch up and that is what the “delete” button is all about.

Facebook levels the social playing field for quirky people like myself.  It gives me a social outlet when I don’t actually have time for a real one.  It keeps me invested in people, events and causes that are important to the real world all around. It provides an escape into brief, clever and timely humor.  It helps me find like-minded people.  It expands the repertoire of  discussions and ideas of which I might not otherwise be exposed.  And I can have all that in tiny spurts all day as needed. It really is miraculous if you think about it.  Communities of individuals who never stood a societal chance before are finding their communities right here on Facebook.

We know to take the good and the bad here. On good days, Facebook is my outlet. Internet trolls and maddeningly misinformed opinion presented as fact are the yin to the yang of my Facebook fascination.  I can roll past things or people who ultimately shouldn’t matter to me.  Something that I fail to do all that well in real life.  But this is changing too quickly for me to cope with in a way I find  acceptable by an election that divided the country before I had any idea we were THAT divided.  I am overwhelmed by Facebook friends and their words of hate or indifference being presented on a platter and served up as just another white meat with no other options for dinner.  I am breathless because I don’t feel like I can scroll past any article that has anything to do with leadership appointment, policy or ideology that may affect my family or anyone else I love.  Suddenly, realities of Facebook friends as minorities, the poor or disenfranchised are inundating my news feed faster than I can read, process and consider and as a seasoned social worker I feel like I am back to my overwhelming roots of weeding which causes need to get the majority of my energies and time.  I have a list of issues and phone calls to congressmen that will trump my everyday life tomorrow.   I am sad and fearful and agitated and distracted and rightfully so. While I have felt this way before on social media, I shut my computer down for the evening, be completely present and come back to a virtual life renewed. I can go back to meaningless status posts that make at least me chuckle at myself. However, in this political climate, I would be this way without Facebook and am having trouble finding meaning in those meaningless status updates. And with it?  Well, I feel much like I often do about real life.  Like I need to take a break from it.

Now I lay me down to sleep….

cherub-retouched-2

4:17am

My beautiful boy wandered into my room tonight.  His curly hair tousled around his cherub cheeks, pajama bottoms twisted in a spiral around his hips from tossing and turning…he marches in quickly as if he had somewhere important to be and then suddenly stops at the foot of my bed with purpose.  He rubs his dazed eyes all the while smiling that big Cheshire Cat grin of his. “Hug”, he says as he makes that long trip to the other side of my California king.   I can’t say I hate it when that happens.  He is warm and cuddly and doesn’t thrash and kick like he used to when he was little.  To the best of my knowledge, A2 has never slept a full night in his life and no one can tell me why.   As he gets older, he seems no worse for the wear for it either.  The stretches between night time explorations have become longer and my husband and I have become a tag team settling into separate sleeping arrangements at night over the years to ensure at least one of us wakes to the new day refreshed.   He tells me “scootch magooch” as he encroaches on the sliver of bed where I sleep and drifts off as swiftly as he made his declaration of his sleep intentions.

The thing is, my husband and I never wake up fully refreshed.  There are Things That Keep Me Up at Night. Who will hug him when we are gone?  Who else will find his sweet smile so endearing even at 3:00am?  We try to be optimistic about his future.  A2 will likely never be able to live independently, but dammit, we bought him a house and we rent it out to people today so in 15 years he will have a place to live….maybe even with 24 hour support staff and 2 or 3 other guys who are sweet spirited sports and music fans like he is.  We live in an expensive school district despite struggling to afford it to make sure he has the best education and connections for his future.   Though we are socially isolated as a family because such is the nature of autism, I remain involved with my religious congregation so he is never alone. SOMEONE will always know and recognize him.  I advocate and I write and I stay present in the disability community so he will always have that community too when it comes time for some else to step in as a guardian when I can no longer do it. A touchpoint for that kind stranger to get guidance or direction. We save the best we can.   We plan for the best possible services and outcomes to give him a meaningful life worth living. We are uncertain what services  will help house him, feed him, care for him.  We can’t be sure that there will be vocational training or health insurance or social security disability payments. All of which is unnerving when you know there will be no one to love him or snuggle with him or wipe away tears.  So we plan as best we can knowing surely, there will be some kind of services for him.

But tonight there is no sleep because now I am not so sure.  I know in the morning light I will look at everyone with a suspicious eye and wonder who around me willingly voted for another reason to keep me up at night. Half the population wanted political change and they got it and whether the overt intentions were there or not, they were willing to make children like my child the sacrificial lamb.  My child will always be dependent on others to be his voice, to protect him….his rights, his body, his dignity . My child and others like him often have no option but to live in poverty and have no political influence as adults.  I am terrified for him because no matter how much we plan, no matter how much we go without today, if it is acceptable for the leader of our country to marginalize him, make fun of him, call him the R word what does that say for the people around us who brush that off and traded my baby in for not voting for the vague “yeah, but she’s worse”?   What happens when it is a decided that my “standard retard” is a drain on the system making everyone elses’ life more difficult?  There will be a supreme court in place likely for the rest of his life who will err on the side of believing that as a universal truth.

The only politics I ever talk about in my writing is my belief that most people are good but misinformed. Perhaps not in my lifetime, but certainly in his, I believed that it was possible to change the world around him enough that true inclusion and a dignified life were possible and through that, the need for the work of disability advocacy would dwindle.  Perhaps I truly believed all that because I see the innocence in his eyes.  He is a pure soul who has helped me see good first and maybe I can spread that message for him.

So, forgive me if you were one of the people who so desperately wanted political change if I seem a little distant from you.  While I am hopeful that my fears are akin to “they’re taking all our guns from us!” it’s a bit harder for me not to be devisive when we are talking about my baby.  But don’t worry….A2 won’t judge you.  He is forgiving and will love you anyway.

Gratitude with an Attitude. The Bigger Picture of Advocacy.

fullsizerender33

It is time again for the November Thankful Challenge on social media. For 30 days people publicly declare the things in their lives for which they are grateful.  As a therapist, I can tell you its an excellent daily exercise in mindfulness–a way to connect and be present for those things we tend to take for granted.  Soul soothing salve in the bustle of every day life.  If we take a few minutes every day to reflect on the things that are going right amid the trashcan fires of life all around us, over time we can actually retrain our brains to become more centered, less reactionary and supposedly just happier in general.  It becomes a good habit.

So, why don’t most people take appreciative stock every day? 

I believe its because most of us have what we need (most and need being our operative terms.). So even if you don’t have much, you DO probably have a roof over your head, access to clean water, some kind of education and likely one person in your life who cares when your birthday is.  Those are things we easily take for granted.  This doesn’t always feel so much like gratitude in comparison in our rich-kids-of-Instagram kind of society and things like rampant poverty in the streets or young people regularly dying from things like dysentery or malaria are not infused in our every day life. Yet as special needs parents or as a disabled people, it feels like we are expected to display this type of gratitude in circumstances that at times feels just this imbalanced.

I have somehow won the life lottery and I didn’t do anything to deserve that any more than some starving, orphaned toddler in a war torn country did to deserve his lot.  There are many people who might look at my family and think otherwise since we were dealt the hand of having a child with a disability.  We have a life that can be exhausting and lonely and sometimes just very scary but what I find is that when life is that way, it is rarely because of anything my child has done or his disability itself…its more about the circumstances around him that prohibit understanding, access, equality or equity.

And thus the rub of the special needs parent and the expression of gratitude toward professionals who serve their child.

If someone asked my child’s providers,”Do you think A2’s mom is grateful for the services you provide her child?”, my guess is that at least 80% of them would answer no. They would be completely wrong, but still.  If that same surveyor could time travel and go back year by year to 2007 when A2 first started getting help and ask the same question, I  suppose that the percentage who would answer “no” would shrink in proportion to year asked.  In the last several years, regardless of how many holiday gifts, number of hours I volunteer, amount of money I donate, number of thank-yous doled out, at this point I am still going to be seen as a wistful pariah to those whom I ask more.

As A2 ages and the disparity in needs between he and his peers grows, so does the need for advocacy.  There is a pervasive belief system which keeps those who are disadvantaged in some way from asking for more and it is through the guise of gratitude and the false belief that the basics are a form of entitlement.  You are lucky to get what you get….even if it is not meeting your needs.

  • 20 sessions of speech therapy for your non-verbal child?  Well…at least your insurance gives you that much. Some people can’t get speech therapy approved at all!
  • I’m not really seeing progress in my child, but the aides are nice to him and he seems happy.
  • He doesn’t need a bus aide.  He can make noise so its not like it would turn out  like  that boy who died on his bus because they forgot about him all day….
  • Sorting nuts and bolts is a career for lots of people. She may have an above average IQ but she’s lucky anyone is willing to take a chance on her
  • Kids just love him here at school, but no….we can’t tell you who any of them are so he can invite them over and extend those friendships to the community.  At least kids play with him here, that says a lot about the kind of person he is.

When exposed repeatedly to systemic issues that shame you into to accepting less, you get a little crisp when it comes to the process of fawning over people doing the jobs they chose. Can you imagine for one minute being OK with your child failing a subject at school and then thinking, “well…at least no one is hurting him there”?  No…those things are not interchangeable.  Ever.  As parents, we want to always feel and show gratitude to those whom we entrust our children, but when trust is bent it dulls the surface.

A couple years ago, one of the school administrators let me know just how stinkin’ cute A2 is and how he brightens everyone’s day and how much kids just love him.

“He has made so much progress..he comes right up to me now and always asks to see the PA system!” she exclaimed.  I nodded and smiled and said nothing about how platitudes like that can ruffle the feathers of pre-adolescent special needs parents because, you know….gratitude and grace. We have to show ours a bit differently. It’s not that we don’t like the compliment, however very soon, that go-to strength of his of being little and cute, the thing that draws people to him and keeps people friendly  will be gone. Drinking out of a sippy cup with a full beard is not adorable. It will be confusing and odd to people who don’t know him.  And it scares the hell out of me. So instead I say nothing for fear of not seeming grateful for at least that.

“Yes, progress.” I say. “Though I worry. He still cannot read, we still have not cracked that code and he only has one more year here.”

She side eyed me with a friendly smirk , lifted her finger as if to gently stop me and said “Mrs. ATeam, you GOTTA focus on the positives.  You just gotta.”

Do I though?  

Focusing on the positives is actually WHY I have to advocate and ask for more. It is not for the purpose of making sure other people can see the gratitude.  More out of the box thinking, more time, more energy, more inclusion.  I see what he is capable of achieving all while being systemically reminded in IEP meetings of things he still cannot do, how services won’t be expanded to accommodate that fact and how planning for a future where if we are lucky, he will get to be a marginal member of society. Unfortunately when faced with this frustrating reality, as a mother I don’t have enough energy left over to make people feeling good.  I used that energy up in the front end.

My child lives in a society that sees the deficits, that sees the differences and believes that the slightest hint of meeting his needs because of his differences is an entitlement.  A society that believes that being adorable is a strength. A society that makes heroes and saints and examples out of others showing my child dignity when they come to work or are being a friend.  A society that doesn’t hashtag abuse, neglect, bullying and even murders against children like mine.

So team members…if you are confused about my level of gratitude for your involvement with my child, don’t be.  I am never short on gratitude and when my child is happy and progressing, what our collective efforts are doing is working. There is nothing I could be more grateful for, just like any parent.

But I understand.

I too have a job where the pay is low,  the paperwork is tedious and 100% of my work is about helping other people. I too am rarely told thank you. But that is not why I do what I do.  I am trying to make the waves to change systems and influence the way the world sees people who are at a disadvantage. By accepting less simply because we are told we should be grateful for what we get is the dysfunctional thinking that will keep things inequitable.. always.  I am doing the future of disability advocacy and everyone who works with kids like mine a disservice by this act as well. When I am sitting on this side of the table,  its my job to check and double check your work, ask questions and tell you when something isn’t working.  That is not the opposite of gratitude, that is showing you that what you are doing matters. Its the ultimate compliment.  My kid is your boss and I am trying to teach him to always get what he needs based on HIS different needs in this world.

I’m just trying to do my job as his mother, one that is universally never the recipient of gratitude is often met as if I am a villain and yet is still the most rewarding job in the world.

Day 10 2016:J is for Just Ask

IMG_4894

J is for Just Ask

When I sat down every day last year to do this A-Z project the my biggest take away were the candid responses from friends and acquaintances.  Many of whom told me that they wanted to reach out but often times they didn’t know what questions were ok to ask. I understand that on a few levels:

  1.  As an inhabitant of this earth, when we see something we don’t understand or is different we feel compelled to want to know the “why” or the “what happened”.  Perhaps its part of the survival instinct.  A primitive way to avoid something that is contagious or preventable.  So, often times when it’s not thought about and someone approaches me and says “what’s wrong with him?” my instinct is to say back “rude people are what’s wrong with him”.  When I shift my schema and recognize that even in those awkward moments there is the possibility to make it teachable, I can have a lot more empathy for the individual asking.  After all….I am not sure I am that much more comfortable with a stranger asking me a more direct question either. “why is he making that hooting noise over and over?” when really I might have absolutely no f-ing idea myself in the moment but I would very much like it to stop.  Parents…whether we like it or not, we are the conduit to bridging our children with this society.  Many of us are  their voices.  Even if one person out of 10 who ask are asking to be nosy or rude…if we do not respond as an advocate, we make the assumption that all people who ask in that way are being nosy or rude.  So, instead of “mind your own business” or “whats it to you”….try “I think what you meant to ask is that you notice that he can’t talk.  This is his speech generating device, would you like to see how it works?” or “My child can understand everything you say and the way you asked that in front of him makes me uncomfortable.  There is nothing wrong, but it seems like there is an aspect of his behavior that you would like to know more about.  He has Autism and maybe one of us can tell you more”.   Pollyanna much?  Yes. But the only way we will change the asker’s behavior is by gently alerting them to the problem, offering a solution and giving them a reality check.
  2. On occasion, people want to ask how they can help.  A lot of times people don’t realize we need help.  For those of us who have kiddos who don’t have a tremendous amount of trouble in the community….many of us move along to normalize our experiences. I have been told that I give off the air of having everything under control and that I don’t need anything.  Part of this is for my kids benefit…no one wants a hot mess of a mom in public.  Another part of this is because as my job as a therapist in this close-knit community I feel like I need to maintain a balance of vulnerability  and strength…again…the hot mess part needs to ride in the back seat and can ask “are we there yet”.  There are other parents whose kids CANNOT safely be in public places.  So you just don’t see those people.  Their life behind closed doors is like an invisibility cloak…..they are not getting asked often for those reasons.  And frankly, many of us have NO IDEA what to tell you how you can help.  When I do have family visit, they come infrequently enough that to dole out a honey-do list also requires having to walk them through where things are, etc…..which means more work.  If there were an emergency, they are not enough of a trained listener to know what he needs if he tells them.   When a friend asks if they can watch your kids so you can get out…how do you explain that you can’t imagine asking them to change a 10 year old’s diaper ….or the fact that they probably won’t get to sleep through the night and need to keep one eye open when they are sleeping.   And sometimes people ask to help….they just don’t want to do what you do need….so their perception becomes that you are unreasonable or are not taking their help.  All can serve as barriers to asking the right questions….or giving the right answers for assistance.
  3. People make assumptions instead of asking at all.  Just the other night, a young woman I work with asked me for advice in a situation about a member of her not-for-profit youth group.  This teenage girl has Autism and when the entire group is together she tends to get very dramatic and will end her tirade by running out of the room.  This young woman sighed and said “she only does it in big groups…..attention….We are thinking of ways to let her know that maybe this group isn’t a good fit for her…its not-for-profit so we can’t tell her she can’t be part of it.” We discussed the fact that perhaps they were misreading the function of the girl’s behavior.  The consequence is what sustains the behavior….and if no one is rushing out after her, what is the likelihood that this behavior is to get attention and not escape or something internal due to the stress of being in a large group?   She wondered aloud if they should contact the girl’s mother to try to figure it out.  I wondered aloud what would happen if they just asked the girl herself, since she is her own expert.  Use the time and energy to find out what she needs to be a part of the group in a way that works for her rather than using that energy to figure out a way to help her move on.  (coincidentally, just the day before, someone sent me this video….I was able to share it and help her understand the impact she could make by just asking.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8qFqCFHQfE&nohtml5=False).  We cannot help but to look at others using our own lenses.  But sometimes our lenses are smudged, are rose colored or even broken.  By not asking in this kind of situation, others assume they know what is best.

Lets face it…its uncomfortable to ask about people who are different than we are.  We may be curious, afraid of coming off as rude or misread other’s cues.  We may not want to know the answer, we may not want to change our own ways.  We may already have assumptions and think we are right, we may be uncomfortable due to our own scripts about social norms and frankly….some of us…we may just not care.  For those of us being asked…..we may be offended, we may be hurt, we may not want to talk about it.  We may not know the answer, we may not want to admit to an issue or call attention to it…we may not want to be reminded.  We may not want to be rejected.  So….let’s all agree on something….asking and telling can suck at the outset.  Let’s move past it. Those of us who are Autism Families…we ARE the awareness….how you choose to let that manifest is up to you.  In my world, however, if you ask me, I promise to tell you……

Sliding Doors. Looking Forward. Looking Back.

FullSizeRender(9)

A few weeks ago I was stuck in traffic.  Albeit Midwest traffic, but a standstill is a standstill.   A1 was incensed in the same way any curmudgeonly old man dealing with road lock might with a loud “C’Mon!!!” and a quivering fist in the air.  Except for the fact that he is a 6th grader who was going to be late for religious school.  And he has never  personally navigated traffic of any kind.  I calmly explained to him that sometimes life is quirky.  Had we left 15 minutes earlier we might be part of the accident slowing everything down.  Or maybe by showing up 15 minutes late he might miss the most boring part of class.  For all we know inconvenience is a blessing in disguise.

For all we know.

Netflix is showing the movie Sliding Doors this month (and serendipitously also showing Serendipity, a way more palatable existential rom-com).  It stars Gwenneth Paltrow as a woman who has parallel lives occurring based on minor differences in circumstance that alter the outcome of her immediate future.  Ultimately  three things are revealed: #1.  The event that changed everything was out of her control, seemingly extraneous and unnoticed by her #2. Everything that happens happens in parallels whether she is part of it or not  #3.  The outcome somehow is going to be the same regardless of the path.   I showed this movie to A1 to drive a concrete point home in the spirit of control and lack there of.  I have this funny thing with the idea of omnipotence and omniscience at the same time….a notion that seems cruel to those of us whose minds cannot conform in that manner no matter how much salvation sounds like a cozy deity-down comforter everyone else can snuggle in.  It means people like me and A1 are damned from the start because we just CANT …and it was planned it that way.  Like being forced as a child to hug and kiss a relative even when that relative knows it makes you uncomfortable to do so.  All in the name of making that relative feel warm and special.  Except what kind of weirdo feels all the good feels by making a child squish their body against theirs against their will?   That is why I show Netflix movies to my kid instead of reading parables.  I’d rather he believe that people just think he has bad taste in movies than that his life and choices are meaningless and filled with anxiety because his synapses don’t fire in a way that will ultimately please an all knowing being who made him that way.  We cannot help thinking about how our moments might be affecting an unknown future.

A2 operates differently.  These things do not need to be explained to him because he is only in the present.  I am happy because Daddy is here NOW.  I am not happy because I want Daddy here NOW.   NOW I am happy and screw Daddy because we are on our way to Chuck E. Cheeses.  If all is no worse than status quo then  optimism and hope are not necessary if you are only worried about right now.  It really isn’t until someone introduces you to unrealized expectations or well conditioned responses that we develop a sense of disappointment, dashed hopes and anxiety of an unknown future.

In recent years A2 has also taken to obsessively asking “what is the time?” and watching any clock either as if it is a piece of art to be analyzed and admired or else as if at any time it might fly off the wall and attack him like the starlings from The Birds.  His authenticity and ability for stopping and acknowledging the moment in the the moment realizing there will be a new moment soon is a gift.  As we stand on these tracks together I think about how Autism has robbed A2 of a regular childhood but probably not because he views it that way but because I do. There is a lot of track already behind him but there is much more ahead and I strain to see the horizon in case a train comes barreling down the tracks…..because at some point there will be a train. And there is nothing I can do to stop that.  However, A2 only looks at the rails beneath his feet being careful not to trip and he only looks back to look at me.  If he were to hear the distant whistle I am sure he would simply step off the track in that moment so he could watch the train go by.  Because my focus is on the horizons while stumbling down the rails I run the risk of getting my foot stuck between the slats and then panicking thinking about the possibility of the oncoming engine .  I am hoping that in 2016  I can continue learning from A2 as I struggle with the concept of mindfulness especially when the moment seems bleak.  I hope for the ability to recognize each moment as unique and not as good or bad and that I can cherish the people and things that are important to me regardless of how time seems to be treating us in the moment. I just need to remember to point to my wrist and ask “what is the time?” and know that it will be different soon.