Some Rough Days

The Boy has been having some rough days at school this week.  Lots of talk about people being absent from school, and students who have “left” school and may never come back.  None of it is true, but he has emotional reactions to these “events” and we are left to try to figure out what is at the heart of it. Add that to lots of perseveration on his favorite topics, and anyone can see he’s anxious about something.

His teacher emailed me the other day commenting that he seems to let one small correction bother him, and then add real infractions to ensure he gets “punished” or sent home, or some judgement that seems worthy in his mind.  I let her know that this is a common occurrence at home, as well.  Yesterday, I could tell she was frustrated because her email started with “Another bad morning today…” at 10:07am. Rather than respond, I let it ride. She’s young, and doesn’t seem to have the patience the job requires all the time.  Maybe she just needed to vent. I wanted to remind her of Rule Number 1: Behavior = Communication, but I didn’t.  People don’t like it when you tell them how to do their jobs.

crabby

And sometimes he’s just crabby… Kiddos on the spectrum are allowed to have emotions, too.

I’m not sure what’s going on with The Boy, but he seemed much happier yesterday afternoon than he has been in about a week.  I hope that whatever has triggered this latest round of rough days has resolved itself, but only time will tell.  The Boy and I did talk yesterday evening, and I got the sense that we had turned a corner.

Sometimes we figure it out, and sometimes we let it ride and walk on eggshells for a bit. As our very favorite teacher always used to say, “Tomorrow’s another day.”

Acceptance

Sometimes, I look back on my time being a single mom rather fondly.  Doing it on my own was something I needed at the time.  In many ways it was very liberating, and I bonded with The Boy in a way I never could have as a married parent.  And then I remember how lonely it was, as well, when I thought it would always be just the two of us.  When there was no one looking out for me besides myself, money was tight, and I had to fill every adult role. Being ill was completely out of the question because there was no one to take care of either of us.

And then I remember even further back when I was married the first time, and one of my friends tells a story about a time soon after The Boy was born when I was so ill that I called her to take me to the hospital.  She tells the story because I have absolutely no memory of it (funny how the brain works). Yes, I was married at the time, and when my friend tells the story, she says that when she arrived to pick me up, she watched the ex step over me, lying prone on the floor, on his way out to his grown-man basketball league.  I guess I was dehydrated, for which I have gone to the emergency room a couple of times in my life, and apparently he had no inclination to take me to the hospital himself, regardless of the fact that I was very visibly ill, and we had an infant at home.

Some single moms get very vocal and agitated when married moms say they feel like single moms.  I’ve been in both positions and try not to judge.  Life as a single mom can be very, very difficult, and life as a married mom can be very, very difficult, as well.  Both positions can also be incredibly rewarding and satisfying.  And unless you are living someone’s life 24 hours a day, you really have no idea of another person’s challenges.

I find the same type of vocalizing and agitation in the autism community on various topics, and judgement all around. Words like “aspie” and “high functioning” can cause full-throated arguments, as can person-first language, vaccines, Autism Speaks, and even the varying parts of the spectrum and who has it “harder”.

I don’t often swear in my writing, but I call bullshit.

EarthEveryone, EVERYONE on this planet has their own struggles, some more visible than others.  Everyone also has their own opinions.  And there is very little in this world that is truly black and white, right and wrong.  Our diversity and duality make us human, and dare I say, interesting.  We don’t have to agree to like each other, learn from each other, or coexist.  We don’t have to compete for whose life is the hardest – there is no trophy.  But I have learned that experience is the best teacher, and if we can be civil to each other long enough to listen to one anothers’ experiences, there is a lot to learn about our kiddos, ourselves, and these interesting people with whom we share this space on Earth.

The Man, The Teacher

Can I just start this post off by saying I know how incredibly lucky The Boy and I are? I know there’s a lot of single mamas out there with kiddos with special needs, and I know that loneliness, and that feeling of hopelessness that you may never find someone to share your joys and burdens. I write this post in gratitude that life, circumstance, karma, or whatever or whoever you may think had a hand in it, helped us get to be this blended family of three.

The Man is a natural teacher and kid magnet.  Whenever we go to the beach, he picks out a couple of kids who show even  the slightest interest in his surfboard, puts them on, gives them a few pointers and lets them fly.  And after about 10 minutes, a whole beach-full of kids wants a turn.  Our little neighbor often comes over to see if The Boy wants to play, and just as often ends up “helping” The Man with his projects around the house, wearing his tool belt, and learning how to use a power screwdriver, under the closest of supervision, of course.

He shows me how to do stuff all the time.  I put windows into our trailer flip all by myself, you know, and I didn’t know how to do that before I met The Man.

He was the one to teach The Boy to ride his bike.  He taught him how to pee while keeping his trousers up.  He’s taught him how to surf and mow the lawn.  The other night, The Man had brought home some m&ms for The Boy and had told him he could have them when he was done practicing the tuba. But when The Boy and I ended the practice session, I was frustrated.  He is so freakin’ smart that he thinks it’s funny to play it incorrectly and doesn’t know when to stop joking around and get work done.  This is something we’re working on, and this lesson just didn’t go right. I was tired of everything and decided to go to bed early.  The Boy quickly grabbed the m&ms and headed to his room.  In his mind, he was done practicing which meant he could have them, while The Man and I both agreed that you only get rewards when you do things the right way.  I gave up and headed to bed, very aggravated and  unwilling to fight anymore.  The Man stepped in and I could hear him speaking to The Boy through the bedroom door. He came to bed and said he had explained that we needed to save the m&ms for when he actually got the work done on the tuba, and asked him to think about it, and also suggested that when he returned the m&ms to the fridge, he needed to come and tell me he had done so.

I was so impressed. The Man had calmly explained the reasoning and left it in The Boy’s hands to do the right thing.

Not five minutes had gone by when we heard a knock on the bedroom door.  The Boy entered to tell me he had returned the m&ms, and I assured him he could earn them the next night by completing our work on the tuba. He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t melting, either, and he had made the right choice, guided by The Man’s words.

This is something that would not have occurred if his dad had been around.  This is something that would not have occurred if I was still doing it all on my own.  This occurred because The Man is a good teacher, and a good parent. I am grateful.

On-Again, Off-Again Dad

The ex has called a couple of times over the past month or so, after a couple of months of not calling. He said, “I get him for Christmas this year, right?” Ummm, ok. So after making use of your liberal visitation schedule for two weeks out of the last 104, you want to stake your claim? Sure. Yes, you actually are supposed to have him starting on Christmas Eve, as it is an odd year. “I’ll try to get some time off, then,” he said. Sure, I thought.  Like last Christmas.

He called once more, spoke to The Boy only for a little while, and that was the last we heard anything about Christmas.  The Boy’s birthday was Wednesday, and his mom had sent gifts, one from her, and one from his dad. Her card said they were looking forward to seeing him at Christmas.  But the ex didn’t even call his son on his birthday.

What?

My mom told me that recently, she and The Boy were at Walmart and he said he really hoped he’d get to see his dad at Christmas, because he hadn’t seen him since April.  Yes, it hurts him more than he’ll admit to me, and yes, he does keep track.

As The Man says, kids are only young once. He’s going to miss it completely.

Angry for The Boy and pity for the ex. And partly angry for me too, really, because I have my own life and family that will be affected by his inadequacy. But mostly angry for The Boy.

Behavior Really Is Communication

Behavior is Communication.  This was one of the tenets of autism I learned early on.  I remember sitting in a workshop with my then-husband, who really just didn’t get it, and this was the key piece I walked away with – I already knew it, but the workshop had reinforced it, and I had hoped my then-husband would have an a-ha! moment, but it never came.

The ex has now cancelled on The Boy for his week of visitation next month, and I broke it to The Boy late last week.  He had equated this planned trip to his dad’s to the escape plan of the tank fish in Finding Nemo, and would talk about how he was looking forward to seeing whether or not the escape plan would work.

Well it didn’t.

And at first, The Boy seemed OK.  “I guess the escape plan didn’t work.  I guess we’re stuck in the tank,” he would say.  I knew he didn’t really feel like he was stuck here with us, but that the plan fell through.

As the weekend wore on, and we began to witness more teenager-y behavior (refusal to do things we asked, etc.), it took my mom pointing out to me that this behavior was probably coming from the cancellation of plans.  And I had a Doh! moment.  I should know better, because of that basic rule, BEHAVIOR = COMMUNICATION.

Of course, that explains why he was being such a jerkface this weekend!

It’s still a sore subject, but figuring it out has helped The Man and me gain a little perspective, and retain a little more compassion for him right now.  Sometimes it’s hard to be compassionate to someone who is being a jerkface, but The Boy is still just a kid, and a kid who has been cancelled on again by his dad.

“I knew this escape plan wasn’t going to work.  Do you remember me telling you that before?”

:(

 

 

Equality and Divorce

In the state where I was married (and divorced) before, in any marriage lasting 10 years or longer, spouses are automatically granted half of their former spouses retirement, no questions asked.  Therefore, even though the ex was college educated and quite capable of getting and maintaining his own job with a retirement plan, but chose not to, he is entitled to half of my retirement.

For the same reason that I disagree with “no tolerance” policies in public education, as well as all-or-nothing inclusion policies, I find this law completely without merit.

I understand the reasoning behind its inception: it was designed to protect housewives of yesteryear who were often left with no way to support themselves financially after a divorce, having given up any career options they may have had to stay home and raise the children or what have you.  I applaud the thought behind it, and I’m sure it did a lot to even out the playing field in years past.

But now that it benefits someone like the ex, who chose a seasonal, menial job over a salaried position using his degree in graphic design, and chose to take unemployment all winter rather than find a different type of job for those months, who chose to use that time at home smoking pot and doing very little of anything else that might contribute to the running of the household, now this law has jumped the shark.  It has ceased protecting the people it was designed to help, and instead is benefiting those who clearly do not deserve the benefit.

One of the newspapers posted a story about dads fighting back in the court system in regards to custody and child support, and me with my big mouth decided to comment in the comments on the facebook link that it would be great if they could also review that archaic law that decides that 10 years of marriage means you deserve half of someone’s retirement, and guess what?  Yup.  Just about every misogynist on the internet responded back to me.  That we women wanted equality, and now we have it so just suck it up and “pay up Buttercup.”

Bleh.

Never once did I bash men in my comment.  I asked for a review of the arbitrary law, and declared that I would like a more thoughtful approach to the division of assets.  But in response, several men decided that I was the source of their misfortune in life, and that I should pay for the wrongdoings of every woman who had ever wronged them.  Nevermind that a review like the kind for which I advocate could and obviously would benefit at least some men, including these men who have been so wronged by some apparently evil women.  Nope, that didn’t matter.  All that mattered is that I was a woman, women have asked for equality, and now that “we have it” I should shut up.

We still have a long way to go, ladies, if men are against any of our ideas, even if it would benefit them, just because a woman has voiced them.  A long way to go…

 

The Boy is Back

The Boy, still sleeping, catching up from Spring Break at his dad's

The Boy, still sleeping, catching up from Spring Break at his dad’s

The Boy is back and seemingly had a good time.  And I am glad.  I’m glad there were no emergency phone calls asking me what to do because he is having a meltdown.  I’m glad it sounds like they actually spent time together, which hasn’t been the case in the past.  And it’s early days yet, but I’m glad that The Boy seems to be happy to be home, with no lingering ill-effects like cat scratches covering his hands, or a fear of the bathtub.

I am happy to have him back, and I am happy he had a good time.

That does not mean that I trust things with his dad have changed.  While setting up this trip, his dad talked about taking him to Disney in May, because he knows someone who works at Discovery Cove and could get “us” into all the parks for free – you see, he wanted The Man and I to share in this adventure, most likely because he wanted us to drive The Boy down to Orlando to meet him.  I asked him not to mention this idea to The Boy, and told him May wouldn’t work, as The Boy is still in school at that time.  When we met for drop-off, the ex explained that it would have to be postponed, and that the cost of Discovery Cove would be $150 each for he and The Boy, and if The Man and I wanted to go it would cost us $400 a piece, so maybe we wouldn’t want to do that.

So says the ex, who is almost $800 behind in child support.

So you see, I am happy this trip was able to happen.  I am happy The Boy seemed to have a good time.  But not for one second do I think things have really changed.  Not for one second do I believe the ex is done hurting The Boy, albeit unintentionally.  Plans will continue to be cancelled, phone calls left unmade, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…  Maybe it’s pessimistic, and distrustful, but it’s also evidence-based, and I am too protective a mom to think otherwise.

The Handoff

A co-worker asked how my weekend was, and I think I responded something like, “Meh.”  Because it was a nice weekend, and The Man and had a tiny vacation, but I had to give up The Boy, so there’s that.  The truth is I hate giving him up, but I have an undying hope that he will be able to salvage something of a relationship with his dad at some point, and so I know this is good.  Or has the potential of being good.  But having him gone is like not having an arm for a week.

And so, while the weekend was a nice little getaway, and I could do nothing but smile at The Boy’s insistent questions (“How much longer?  Are we there yet?  I wonder what kind of lights Dad’s new car will have…”) and statements (“I can’t wait to see the new puppy!”), it still just sucks and my emotions are a little raw, a little closer to the surface.  I will (and already do) miss being a mom, at least in the active sense, this week.

Here’s to hoping it goes by quickly, uneventfully, and as painlessly as possible.  Tomorrow’s another day.

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