Back to Single Motherhood

My marriage has ended. The Man finally moved out on Monday, and will now need a new nickname, although I am not supposed to write about him anywhere. It was unexpected, and there was no reason given. It made for a hellish summer. And that’s all I’ll say about that. Now it’s over, and we are looking forward to new habits, ways of being, and opportunities.

It is good (and also sad) that I have experience to fall back on and help carry me through. I’m watching The Boy like a hawk, and have also had him in counseling for other issues this summer, and I think it helps him to have another outlet. There has been much upheaval in his world, both at home and at school, and there is more to come. It’s so hard to be a teenager. And then add autism. And then add people leaving you unexpectedly (your stepdad, band director, favorite assistant principal…). Through all this, he’s been handling everything like a pro. LIKE A PRO. He had one major meltdown this summer. ONE. His transition back to school has been smooth as silk. He amazes me every day, and I am so thankful for him. So thankful.

I am getting back into my writing, and it feels amazing. I’m preparing for NaNoWriMo this November, and have been selected as a Municipal Liaison for my region (which means I help coordinate events and support for others participating in NaNoWriMo). I’m also taking a writing course offered to NaNoWriMo participants through Wesleyan University in Connecticut (online), and it has been an awesome experience and quite validating.

As always, my closest friends, and my incredible parents have been my rock and have seen me through to the other side. Thank you all for being so patient. Onward and Upward, or as my favorite Doctor (#10) from Doctor Who says, “Allons-y!”

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The Boy and I at a bowling party hosted by our local Autism Society Chapter this summer

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A Few Changes

Like I tell The Boy, change isn’t necessarily bad, but it is inevitable.

I’ve done lots of thinking over the past couple of weeks about this blog – you may have noticed my “radio-silence”. SimpleIJustDo has provided me a great place to share and vent, a small community of support, and lots of self-reflection. As The Boy gets older, I am starting to feel like he is becoming the steward of his own story, and although this has always been a place for me to write about me and my experience being a mom to him (and never meant to replace his own story), I feel like I need to take a step back.

Let me be clear: This blog isn’t going anywhere. I will continue blogging.

But, I’m going to concentrate on quality over quantity. I need to balance my need to share and vent, and The Boy’s right to privacy and self-advocacy. I may post less and try to interact more via social media (if you aren’t following on Facebook or twitter, now might be a good time to look me up).

This will also allow me a little bit more time to focus on my long-term writing goals, too, which involves novel-writing aspirations (wish me luck!).

I hope you’ll hang on and bear with me through this adjustment period. We still have lots to share. But we may do it in a little bit different forum or format. As always, thank you for showing interest in our story. I’m still amazed at how far across the globe my voice can go!

Much Love,

~Annie

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Not goodbye. We’ll see you soon!

Back to School

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The blog has been quiet this week, and I’m sorry for that. It’s a busy time of year, and I’m sure that most of you are experiencing some of what we are, too.

Most autism households are experiencing anxiety and behaviors right about now, too. Mama Fry from Autism with a Side of Fries is experiencing this in spades right now, and I read her posts and think, “Is there any doubt that our kiddos need ESY?” Come IEP time, I wish we could show the team video of what we experience at home these first few weeks of school. At our house, it includes perseveration about fire alarms and drills, fixation on the time the bus leaves school, and the fact that his middle school email address no longer works. There’s a lot of pacing, and more than a few angry outbursts. And in our case, lots of emails from The Boy at school to me at work, explaining his plans to fix all of his imaginary vehicles because they have all broken down.

In a word, anxiety.

So that when the district insists that he doesn’t qualify for a program to provide him continuity, we can say, “But this is what happens after break. Autistic kids need consistency, and if you offered year-round school, we’d be the first to sign up.”

Good luck to all of you tribe members. It’s a tough time of year.

 

Perspective & Paradigms

I had dinner with a new friend the other night. She has been a friend to me in several ways this year, but we actually met for the first time that night. She is a mom to three boys between the ages of 13 and 18. And they are all neurotypical.

We talked about the apparent lack of student support for The Boy and his friend in the marching band. She carefully and respectfully defended kids like her son who are more than happy to interact with a peer on the spectrum at home, but not necessarily at school, where peer pressure can be a hard thing for any kid to overcome. She said in middle school, everyone is trying to fit in, and in high school, everyone is trying to get out.

After 17 years teaching at both levels, I get that.

But to my ears, it rang as old-fashioned as the tired phrase, “Boys will be boys.”

Of course, I understand and fully believe how difficult it can be for middle school-aged children to look beyond themselves to see others who need help. It’s Child Psychology 101 – at that age, as you may remember, they see themselves as the center of their own universe. Remember thinking everyone would laugh at you for that zit on the end of your nose, or the bad haircut, or the crazy sweater your aunt bought you? But they really didn’t (unless they were mean kids, anyway), because they were too busy worrying about their own zits, and haircuts, and sweaters. Indeed, some people never grow out of this psychological stage, but that’s another post.

Most of us do grow up, and realize it’s in the caring for others that we find ourselves.

And what we need to realize is that our kids need assistance in growing up and out of this psychological stage. Yes, it’s normal, but we don’t want them to stay there. Just as we taught them to walk and tie their shoes, we need to teach them to be their own person. We as parents need to help them understand that “different” is not inherently bad, and we need to expose them to “different”, whether it be people, foods, cultures, or ideologies. Seeing and learning about differences is how we figure out and find peace with ourselves. What a gift it is to learn that we are not alone in our weirdness! Who wouldn’t want to help their children find that awareness??

Yes, it’s hard for typical middle schoolers to break out of their comfort zone and befriend someone perceived as different in front of other middle schoolers. But what a teachable moment, rife with lessons! Pick up the baton, parents, and show them the way.

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The Boy, The Teacher

One of The Boy’s areas of intense interests is (and I believe always has been) cars and trucks. He knows an incredible amount about makes and models, when they were produced, and various other trivia. He can even identify cars makes and models at night. How he does it, I’ll never know.

Yesterday, we were at a traffic light, and to engage him in conversation, I remarked on the bright blue car waiting at the red light across the intersection. “It’s a Dodge, I think,” I said.

“Yep,” he said.

“It’s either a Challenger or a Charger. I can never remember which is which,” I said.

“It’s a Charger. You can tell because it has a rounded top. It also has four doors. The Challenger has a square top and two doors.”

I looked at him, amazed. He was teaching me how to differentiate between two car models. It was clear, simple, and he had taken advantage of a teachable moment for me. I sure hope we can figure out something meaningful for him to do post-high school, because he has so much to share with this world. Me included. 🙂

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Negotiations

Yesterday, Grammy and I were texting back and forth regarding strategy to try to get The Boy to take the immunizations. She told me she wasn’t sure she could convince him to go ahead with the three shots he needed. “Bribery?” I suggested. I also let her know we could rescheduled if he just wasn’t ready.

She suggested to The Boy that if he went through with it, she would take him to his favorite place for lunch, a restaurant with pizza and video games called Ioanni’s. His reply was classic, “I’ll do lunch at Ioanni’s, but I’m not doing shots!”

Needless to say that was exactly how it went down, and when I picked him up, he was no calmer about the prospect of shots. He insisted that he was too old, and that he would have to miss school, as he did the last time. In the meantime, he had gone to the bathroom and put a bandaid on his leg to convince me he had indeed already had them done! Then he insisted we get them done on the Friday before Labor Day, as he had done before… In these situations, asking why will only make your brain hurt, so we just roll with it.

 

I told him they may not be open that Friday (I really just wanted him to get them done before school starts), and had already rescheduled him for this Friday – could that be our plan B if they weren’t open the Friday before labor day?

“Can that be our plan C??”

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So many backup plans…

“What would plan B be then, Bud? If they aren’t open on the Friday before Labor Day, when would you feel comfortable going?”

At first he said next Friday, but when I reminded him that he has a marching band show that night, he quickly changed his mind and said this coming Monday. Why? Again, I don’t go there.

I asked him several times if he was sure, and reiterated all of our plans to him a few times last night to make sure he was feeling comfortable about all the options. And this morning I called to reschedule for Monday.

What doesn’t seem rational to us neurotypicals makes perfect sense to him. He was just using reason in his own way. I’m glad we could negotiate a settlement, regardless 😉

Heads Up

Grammy took The Boy to a doctor’s appointment today. She does that for me in the summer so I don’t have to take time off work. And I don’t really need to be there unless I know something big (like shots) are happening. If all we’re doing is weighing and measuring and asking if everything is going well, Grammy can handle that.

Except when they don’t tell you in advance that shots are necessary.

doctor-medical-medicine-health-42273Three shots, to be precise. When Grammy texted me, I thought, “Maybe he can be coaxed into it, but my guess will be no.” I was right. She took him to lunch, and I called to reschedule.

It’s the preventable stuff that just kills me. Because it doesn’t have to be this way. I get that your office is busy. I know medical receptionists have a lot to do. But is it possible, just maybe, that with your patients on the spectrum, you could give them a heads up, so we don’t have to waste all this time and unnecessary anxiety?

I know what I ask seems outrageous, but in this day and age of “patient portals” (ours currently doesn’t work), and texts to remind us of appointments, maybe it’s an overlooked possibility. I’m just sayin’…

I Had to Block My Aunt

Recently, I wrote about my need to get political here. I mentioned that I am not shy about politics on my own personal Facebook feed, and that while courteous discourse is always well received, I tend to “unfollow” friends who post obnoxious, hate-filled memes and stories with less-than-credible sources.

This election, and one candidate in particular gets my blood boiling, for many, many reasons, the most important of which is that he mocked a disabled person on national TV.

How you treat others is very telling of your inner dialogue, your conscience, your humanity (or lack thereof). When “the others” you are dealing with are children, animals, and people with disabilities, it is very telling, indeed.

So when an aunt of mine (who I have already “unfollowed” long ago) decided to send me messages with stories about this particular candidate to apparently show me how he wasn’t really racist, I responded. I told her that, with all due respect, she and I would never agree politically, and that this candidate is a dangerous, selfish, narcissistic xenophobe with a long history of making racist and sexist comments. I told her that if she chose not to see that, it was her choice, but out of respect for her great-nephew with autism, a disorder that this candidate erroneously and dangerously attributes to vaccines, I ask that she not send me these messages.

Her response was the same response you often get when challenging someone who uses the r-word: “I only asked a question – no need to explode over this.”

Those of us who live with a special needs child do not have the luxury to be lax with our opinions. I’m pretty sure I won’t live forever, which means that my son’s future is in the hands of others. And if those others think for one second that it’s not a big deal when someone openly mocks a disabled person or espouses junk science, someone who could have a very direct affect on my son’s future through messing with medicaid coverage or social security disability, or education funding, or mental healthcare, or caregivers wages… It’s my job to help you understand that it is a VERY. BIG. DEAL.

And that fact that I haven’t “exploded” on you already is a testament to my patience and mental fortitude. Check your privilege. I don’t have any more time for your nonsense.

You Need a Village

Yesterday was a classic Monday.  One little change to our routine made me about five minutes behind, which ended up with our leaving The Boy’s lunch on the counter, and my breakfast behind. The night before, we had also realized that we had left his swim trunks and rash guard at Grammy’s the previous Friday, which meant she had to throw them in the dryer so he could change into them when he arrived to her house.

Needless to say, Grammy made sure he had dry swim clothes and a full lunch for camp on Monday. Without her help, we would have encountered major interruption to the day, and in all probability, a meltdown to go with it (maybe two, if mine count).

While I don’t have a ton of friends down here to rely on, I do have my parents, and we need them. Everyone needs a village. When we lived up north, I relied on friends and The Boy’s tribe. There are times when you can’t do it all, when things fall through the cracks, and when you just need a damned break.

It’s a difficult thing to find and build your village, but it’s very necessary. I just don’t know how I could do it without some kind of support (besides my wonderful husband – sometimes even the two of us need additional hands!). And I don’t pretend it’s easy. The very nature of a special needs household may preclude being social with other families on any kind of a regular basis. But there is always a way. Don’t forget that I found Fantastic Babysitter (who is now one of our dearest family friends, and was/is a huge part of The Boy’s tribe) on Craigslist…

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My Reflection

This morning, pulling out after dropping The Boy off at Grammy’s, I actually thought, “Why do we always have rough mornings when I am the most stressed?”

I must be new here.

Autism knows no time schedule. It doesn’t take a break because I have a million things to do between now and this weekend, and not enough hours in the day to do them. Nor does it sit back and say, “Your right. This is completely irrational and poorly timed.” It is what it is, whenever the hell it wants to be.

But there’s more to it than that. The Boy doesn’t get upset and wound up in spite of my stress. He gets upset and wound up because of it. There’s no lack of empathy – that’s a complete myth. There is an overabundance of it. The Boy picks up on my stress, nervousness, anxiety, and mirrors it right back to me.

For some reason, this is a lesson I find myself having to re-learn again and again. Someday I’ll catch on.

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