Change, The Only Constant

A year ago, I posted about my parents moving in. It has been so, so good for all of us. I realize every day how lucky I am to get along with my parents so well. Emotionally and mentally, I am better than I was. I think The Boy is better, as well. We both have fantastic therapists, and are involved in our hobbies (Tae Kwon Do for him, and writing for me).

But change is constant, isn’t it? And when I posted a year ago, I alluded to more plans in our future. Well, things are FINALLY starting to roll. I am purchasing a 35′ camper early next week that is stationary at an RV park nearby. This is where The Boy and I will live for the next year and half!

Downsizing to 285 square feet presents its own challenges for anyone, and for The Boy, we’re considering just which belongings will come to the camper, which will not, and just how we’ll manage all the new ways of being in our tiny home.

We are also selling our current home and shopping for a home about 5 hours away in a college town/state capital that has multiple Targets and even a Whole Foods. Civilization, y’all. Grammy & Poppy and the kitties will move in there and get it ready for us.

I’ve missed living in a city. But more importantly, as my parents age, and my son ages out, I’m going to need some help, some resources, and some respite. I can’t get any of that where we are. The Boy will need to find meaningful work – there’s nothing remotely like that here for him. The people there are diverse and tolerant. The people here are significantly less so.

Today, The Boy’s room gets painted a boring beige in preparation for showing the house. This is his biggest anxiety about our current changes. He loved those Toy Story clouds on blue sky ❤

New adventures for us on the horizon. I’ll keep you posted! blue-sky-clouds-countryside-1048039

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The Real World

The Boy has had a helluva week. That means I have too, by proxy.

After a day and a half at a private driving school class, he was kicked out. Despite assurances to the contrary, the staff was not willing to work with him and for him to make sure he learned the material. They acted like I hadn’t been explicit about what his learning needs were. I asked if he could stay in the class just to get the instruction without taking any assessments. Not only did they refuse, they would not refund my money.

Then I found out that this entire summer, when my son went to the local pool three times a week with his autism camp, one of the lifeguards belittled the kids from camp, even commenting that she didn’t get “paid enough to deal with these retards.”

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I’m not naive enough to have ever believed the “real world” is or ever was prepared for our kiddos. But it’s extremely difficult to watch your child get pummeled by the ugly out there. (And I use “ugly” as southerners often do, to describe someone whose soul is full of hatred, venom, and bile.) It’s even more difficult to watch the “real world” get uglier to “the others” in our society by leaps and bounds, every damned day.

It’s very hard to hold on to hope.

This kid has been rejected, abandoned, and discriminated against far too often in his 16 years on this planet. And he doesn’t deserve it.

Waiting

(This post was written in April, but I haven’t published it until now.)

Here I sit, waiting.

The Boy and I are at an amusement park on a two-day band trip. And he is waiting in line by himself, to ride a rollercoaster by himself. And I wait, hoping he understands any directions given to him, and isn’t taken advantage of by others in line. But when I offered to go with him, he declined. He’s a teenager.

No one in the band offered to include The Boy in their group today. No teacher made the effort to ensure he was included, so he just wasn’t. He has to pal around with his mom all day, wondering what the other kids are up to. Not that he really minds, but this isn’t inclusion. This is separate but equal.

I can’t make other kids include him. And when I suggested a peer mentoring group to the school administrators, I was ignored.

So, I wait. And I hope that someday, a peer will take the initiative to befriend my son as s/he would any other person, and include him. Until that day, we make do with what we have, each other. Allowed to come along, but not really a part of the whole.

*ps* He enjoyed the ride and even went on a different ride by himself later.

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Occupational Course of Study

Food Barn pin from first paycheck job. / c. 1989

Food Barn pin from first paycheck job. / c. 1989 – Nate Hofer

As part of The Boy’s course of study, he must complete 225 hours of competitive employment outside of the school day, which means he has to get some kind of job. The letter from the coordinator basically said to ask friends who owned businesses or worked for one to find a position for him.

At first, I thought he could volunteer with the dog rescue that I’m affiliated with. We went to help socialize some kittens one day, and the urine smell was too much for him. He wandered around, not helping, and it was kind of a disaster.

Since I don’t have too many friends here, and the ones I do have are not in a position to hire The Boy, I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around just how he will get this graduation requirement completed in the next two years.

I met with a woman from Vocational Rehabilitation, a state agency that helps the less-employable with finding a job, training, job coaching, and in The Boy’s case, transitioning from a school-sponsored work assignment to the real world upon graduation. I asked her if we could get help finding a job for this requirement, and she had no idea what I was talking about. (Really?…)

Next, I emailed the district coordinator with my concerns: Finding a job that would allow him to work 10-15 hours a month, with someone who has an inkling about autism (keeping in mind that it took me 5 MONTHS to find a job when I moved here), and there was no job coaching or anything available.

Her response was fairly glib, and included an offer for him to do volunteer hours if I was “uncomfortable with him working in the community.” She also admonished me to not be “afraid to allow him to keep moving forward vocationally.”

(Excuse me while I go punch something)

Afraid? I asked for help identifying businesses and owners who may have worked with kids in the program before, and I got passive aggression and vague suggestions of libraries, dry cleaners, potato farms, and movie theaters.

Kids become adults. Kids become adults. Kids become adults. Kids become adults.

Kids become adults. And the fight continues.

Time for the Truth

It’s common in the autism community to hear that as our kiddos get older, the challenges just change. They’re no more difficult or less difficult to handle, they are just different. That’s what you hear, and it’s supposed to be reassuring, I guess.

And maybe that’s the truth for some people. Maybe even most.

But I can’t say that’s been our experience. Things are harder now than they’ve ever been.

And maybe that’s not all autism’s fault. I’m sure the fact that I keep marrying losers who leave doesn’t help, and moving to a state that has substandard resources and a less than stellar educational system contributed. But at the end of the day, autism itself isn’t what has made things so difficult. It’s the anxiety.

Anxiety often shows up on the coattails of puberty, waving at you with a smug look on its face, saying, “I’m moving in and taking over now. Take a seat.” It shoves you down on the couch, flexes its muscles and commences to shattering and dismantling progress you’ve made, trust you’ve built, and your sense of safety.

The Boy is on medication for anxiety in addition to the meds he’s taken for a long time to help him focus at school. The medication helps. Most of the time. But there are times when the anxiety is too strong, and it combines with the confusion caused by being wired differently, and the roller coaster ride sets off. Every three minutes, a wild mood swing, sometimes accompanied by erratic behavior and lashing out, physically and verbally. And you just have to hang on for dear life until it ends, which is sometimes hours, sometimes days. And by “hang on,” I mean worry as hard as you’ve ever worried about your kiddo before.

And when things have calmed down, you find that you are a special kind of tired you’ve never been before. Physically and emotionally, a bone-weary tired that makes you fear going home because there might be a turnstile at the door, with another roller coaster ride waiting for you.

I’ve heard in the autism community that the anxiety lessens as they get older. And maybe it does for some people, maybe even most.

But what if it doesn’t for us?

Communication Skills

Today’s timeline:

10:32 AM – I get an email from The Boy which seems to indicate that A) someone told him drivers’ ed is not available for him – unsure if they told him “never” or “not right now,” and B) someone told him that he can’t hug girls – an ongoing issue that the school has admitted they have no idea how to handle. Two negative interactions with authority figures, and he is upset.

11:18 AM – The Boy’s Business teacher emails me and the special ed teacher to say he had arrived 15 minutes late – an ongoing issue that I don’t believe has even been addressed, other than to mark him absent (?) – and also that The Boy sat down and began to “color.” When asked to put it away, he got angry and left class. (Why they insist on saying “color” and “coloring” as if he’s a toddler, I don’t understand. It’s super dismissive. He is drawing, but I digress.)

11:27 AM – The Boy’s special ed teacher responds, asking if he returned to class because he had brought his “coloring” stuff back to her room and left again.

12:09 PM – I respond asking someone to update me, and if my son is ok.

It is now 12:35, and no one has responded to me.

If he had an aide, like he had in middle school, the aide would have known he needed to decompress upon entering Business class, and explained to the teacher to let it go this time (and indeed, would have made sure he was on time to class). If he had an aide, she might have been able to help him regulate his emotions so he could stay in class. If he had an aide, they would no where my child was. If he had an aide, maybe she could respond to me to let me know my son is safe and sound.

Three weeks ago, something similar happened when he got upset upon boarding a bus for a field trip and noticing the girl he has an interest in was absent. I received emails from him saying he got left behind, that he couldn’t find his special ed teacher, yet no email or notification from the school. When I called, the secretary kept trying to put me through to the special ed teacher’s room, and there was no one there. Finally, I sent my mom over to find out if they even knew where my son was. He had started walking toward the highway, and the new assistant principal (who kept advocating for him to just go home with my mom) didn’t alert anyone that she had him. The principal and the police liaison got in a car to go find him… After my mom arrived, SHE called me to update me, and it wasn’t until much later that the principal called to tell me what had happened.

I shouldn’t have to wonder about my son’s whereabouts and safety. I shouldn’t have to contemplate a $500 monitoring system like AngelSense because school personnel can’t be bothered to let me know what’s going on.

I think The Boy is much better communicating, at this point, than school personnel. When/if they get back to me to let me know my son is safe, I’ll be requesting a meeting, ASAP. This is beyond the pale.

On a Different Page

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One of the downsides to living where we live is that it is difficult to find some kinds of medical care for The Boy. Medicaid covers quite a bit, and I am so, so grateful. But not all providers take Medicaid. There is basically one dentist we can go to, who is awesome – Thank heavens! And I have found exactly two counselors for therapy, both a bit of a drive from home.

Since one of The Boy’s major anxieties deals with absences from school (usually other students and teachers, because he never misses school), we eventually settled with the one who offered evening appointments, because missing school when you are anxious about absences is not an option.

The problem is, this counselor claims to have experience with kids on the spectrum, but I’m beginning to have my doubts. She told me last night that her brother has ASD, and I immediately thought of my ex-husband who knew he would be a great dad because his sister had 10 kids (at the time)… correlation not causation.

Red flag #1: She used the word “coddle” when asking if I could have “put my foot down” in the following situation. Grammy, Poppy, The Boy and I were on a long weekend getaway. Our hotel had spotty WiFi that The Boy had difficulty accessing at all. A meltdown was brewing, so we checked out and went to a different hotel. According to the counselor, she thought that I was “coddling” The Boy, and wondered what would have happened if I had “put my foot down.” I looked at her and said, “Most assuredly a meltdown that could have included a violent rage, possibly involving other patrons and property of the hotel.” No WiFi = not an option, and I don’t think there would be too many autism families who would disagree with me.

Red flag #2: She continues to ask open-ended questions. For example, last night, she was pulling cards from a “thoughts-and-feelings” game that you would only find in a counseling office, and gave one to The Boy who was reading them aloud. “What is the worst thing that ever happened to you?” I get that this is commonplace in counseling. Treating patients with autism may require a little more finesse and effort on the part of the counselor to get at what the kid is thinking without him parroting back whatever you said – I’m sure it can be done. Asking him to answer that question? SMH

There have been more, but I think you catch my drift with these two examples. I’ve decided to continue with her because A) there is literally no one else, and B) she doesn’t appear to be doing him any harm, yet. He likes her, and I think he enjoys having another outlet. But I’ll be monitoring the situation closely. She was headed in a very wrong direction regarding something else last night, and if I begin to feel uncomfortable, I will pull him, and we will continue our search anew, possibly driving further to see someone with weekend appointments if such a unicorn exists.

Suffice it to say that access does not equate with quality care, and I wish for the sake of our kids that we Americans cared more.

Change Begins at the End of Your Comfort Zone

We are now multi-generational household! Aren’t WE trendy!

Grammy, Poppy, The Boy and I are all living under the same roof now, along with two disgruntled felines, and lots and lots of stuff that either has to find a home, or find its way to the dump. Change is always difficult, especially the older we get, and also especially for those on the spectrum. So while there is lots to be thankful for here (no chance to be lonely in this small house!), there is also adjustment – poor Grammy doesn’t really have a space to her own, and we’re still bumbling our way through setting up boundaries and routines.

But this is all in preparation for the long game. This will save us money, time, gas, and provide a little more support to The Boy and I. It’s also going to help us move toward our next step – something I’ll share more about when we know more. This split has been harder on me in many ways than my first divorce. That one was expected, and a bit of a relief. This one was neither. I didn’t want this, so working through the stages of grief will take more time, especially since there wasn’t really any closure.

The Boy, too, is still struggling, even though having grandparents here is mostly a good thing for him. Change is change in his eyes, and it’s unsettling. But the nightly upsets have decreased, and he gets more time to do what he likes after school because he gets dropped off at home now, which I think he likes.

I’ll post about the normal autism-related stuff we’re going through soon. Can you believe he’s a month away from turning 16? I sure can’t.

Cheers to all of you for hanging in there with us!

 

Tracking

A big component of my plan to start a planner of sorts for The Boy is tracking. I would like to track several things like his diet, his moods, and the-results-of-his-digestive-system-if-you-know-what-I-mean.

In fact, I’ve already begun tracking something that has given me insights. If you’ve spent any time on this blog in the last couple of years, you know that emailing me has become a calming strategy when his anxiety gets the best of him at school. It came from a bit of self-advocacy, and it has worked well. The number of emails I get in a day also correlates to the “quality” of the day: more emails means more anxiety and less learning, fewer emails means less anxiety and more learning. It’s a loose correlation, but it’s there.

In prep for our meeting with a new therapist tomorrow, I went back through my emails since the beginning of the school year and did a simple tally, putting it in calendar form. Just that simple act allowed me to see…

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Whoa. Mondays have been a bit of a problem! I would do well to work more at home on Sundays, preparing him for the transition back to school, it seems. Wednesdays seem pretty chill, and then the anxiety comes back on Fridays, I’m guessing when parents pull his friends out of school for the weekend… Wish I had done this sooner, but at least there is benefit in the tracking, and I have high hopes for my planner.

Biting My Tongue

My fingers are itching. Itching to write a response to an email. I’m refraining. It’s a Herculean task, but I’m managing.

After two days of just trying to keep my kid in the school building due to his raging anxieties about the absences of his teachers and friends, I get an email from the-special-ed-teacher-who-has-no-clue. “Up until today, he has consistently missed class since spring break due to stress,” she writes. She says she and the aide have been “unsuccessful in getting him to complete anything in class.” She ends with, “Please continue to encourage him to come to class and just do his best. I keep reassuring him he will not fail class as long as he is showing up and doing his best.”

Have you seen the funny videos where husbands and wives text each other, but you get to see the various things they’d like to text before they are deleted and something more appropriate gets sent?

Yeah.

“Damn skippy he’s not going to fail…”

“Do you even know what fight-or-flight is?…”

“That’s right – YOU’VE been unsuccessful…”

“HE HATES SCHOOL BECAUSE OF YOU…”

“Do you even have a working definition of autism in your tiny little brain?…”

Nope. Nope. Nope. Can’t send any of that.

That’s why my fingers are itching. She’s gonna be my kid’s teacher for another 3 years and 22 days.

Not gonna reply.

Heaven help me.