I have a confession for y’all. I feel guilty about my sons diagnosis. There. It’s out there. Let’s let that sink in a moment.

My son faces struggles everyday that I don’t know about. He manages really well to hold himself together most of the time. I’m in awe of the gains he’s made over the past few years. There was a time that the meltdowns were daily and could last the whole day. These days, the meltdowns have weakened in both intensity and duration. That statement feels like I’m bragging or boasting. You see, I have friends whose kids meltdowns haven’t weakened, they have gotten more intense. Big Brudder is hyper verbal. Always has been. Again. It feels like a brag. In fact, in his younger years it was somewhat a party trick. “Here Big Brudder, tell them everything you know about plants or dinosaurs or trains. Show them you can read this giant text book.” I am proud of how smart Big Brudder is. I’m equally proud of the Wee One’s intelligence. At the same time, I feel like something of a fraud with my Autsim Awareness bumper sticker, my Autism In Our House Facebook page and website.

It sometimes feels as if it’s an injustice to those who struggle in a more profound way. I’m in no way diminishing my sons struggles, or my own as his mother. It’s a hard walk, yet it is one I wouldn’t change. But my son cancommunicate. My son can be his own best advocate.

So, irony. Just hit me. Like a ton of bricks. As I was typing this out, I got a call from the boys writing teacher. He is refusing to work. Refusing to cooperate. Crying. Nearing meltdown. I can feelit. And I’m an hour and a half away. An hour and a half.. I feel helpless. He is the only one right now who can help himself. I am not in control of this situation. I’m not in control of the future either. Hell, I’m not in control of the next five minutes. Is that ALL parents common bond? Giving up the control? You let me know when you figure it out. Deal?


New website

New website

We now have a new website. Exciting, huh? I’ll post over at http://http://www.autisminourhouse.com from now on and post the links here.  As of now, there is no new content and it’s a work in progress so be patient with me. 

I’m super excited!

The Kindness of Children

Today started out bad. The kind of bad where Big Brudder wakes up at 4 am full of anxiety about an upcoming field trip and can’t get back to sleep. I agreed to walk him in to school so that I could visit with his teacher about it and give her the low down about the bus anxiety.

Big Brudder is becoming increasingly anxious and whiny as we walk down the hall. I tell him that I won’t be able to walk him in anymore if this is how it’s going to make him start his day. We’re both exhausted; we are all too aware of how raw exhaustion makes our emotions. Especially if you are an already emotional person and it’s the full moon…

As I stand in the hallway talking to Big Brudders teacher, I peak in the door. Big Brudder has crawled under his desk. This is his go to place when he is overwhelmed, so that’s not a surprise. What I saw with him made my heart break and smile all at the same time. There on the floor in front of Big Brudder was a girl, sitting with her arms hugging her legs. Talking so kindly and gently to him, no exasperation in her demeanor. Also there on the floor were two other kids, clearly listening to what my boy had to say.

I am so thankful to have been witness to this moment. Big Brudder feels alone and nothing I say or do can change that, but knowing kids care about him and for him makes me happy. My wish is that one day, sooner rather than later, he can feel the love, accept the love and put it in his pocket for another day.

This post originally appeared on autisminourhouse.blogspot.com


A Letter to Big Brudder

A Letter To Big Brudder
Not too long ago, I shared a story about the Wee One and a conversation I had with him in a moment where he wasn’t doing so well. Today, I’m sharing a letter to Big Brudder.

Ten years ago, you came to us, this tiny little bundle with your wide smile and knowing eyes. You melted our hearts. To this day, my favorite story is that of mama’s best friend coming to see you the day you were born, holding you, looking at your face and saying, “Does he have a birthmark or something so you know they don’t give you the wrong baby.” I looked at her and smiled and laughed, “you mean something other than his cleft lip?” That moment is perfect to me because she looked at you and loved you and saw you in your perfection. Because you were born perfectly.

A few short months later, we said goodbye to the wide smile we’d become so accustomed to. I never knew how hard it was to hand your child over to a surgeon. I will never forget those hours you were in surgery having your lip repair. Never. I’ll also never forget the other times I’ve had to hand you over, sometimes screaming and crying, to the nurses who would hold you and care for you in the surgical room.

I will never forget the way when you were a teeny tiny baby you would look around, seeing the world, exploring the world with enthusiasm and care. I will never forget the way you always had to figure things out before you would play with them. I will never forget the way you loved bugs and had to know everything about them. Then came plants, trains, dinosaurs, pokemon, all things aquatic. I will never forget you thirst for knowledge, your love for your family and animals, and reading. I will never forget you walking with the speech pathologist to your appointment and when she said with astonishment “I have heard all I need to in the walk from the waiting room to the appointment. I’ve never heard an 18 month old with this kind of vocabulary.” I’ll never forget at the same appointment, her being equally astonished that you knew your alphabet by sight and the letter sounds and that you could read small words.

I will never forget the first time I asked the pediatrician about Autism. “He’s too social,” they said. I’ll never forget the years we struggled with food aversions, “He’ll eat when he’s hungry,” they said. I’ll never forget the years you had fever of unknown origin. “He looks so healthy,” they said. I will never forget every time you have persevered “He is a survivor,” I said. I will never forget the day I decided to ask for an autism evaluation through the school, “But he’s doing fine,” they said.

Here we are. You are a freshly turned ten year old boy who has the rest of his wonderful life in front of him. I can count on one hand the number of times in your life you’ve ever said, “That’s not fair.” I can not, however, count how many times you’ve said, “I love you” to someone. I can not count the number of ways you’ve made my life better. I can not count the ways that you amaze me. I can not count the number of times you’ve made me proud. I know that no matter what you decide to be when you grow up, you will have the drive and determination to make it happen. So many people have the luxury of walking through this world with no real challenges. You? In your ten short years, you’ve faced more challenges than I have in my lifetime. But with each and every challenge, you learn, you grow and you survive. Because of these challenges you’ve already conquered, you are ready. You are ready for more. You will face them head on, with determination like no other human I’ve ever known, and you will come out on top. I know this. I can feel it in my bones.

You, my love, are my heart. You are special. You are amazing. You are YOU. My hope for you is that you remember these things. That you hold on to the sense of self you have now. I hope that you remain true to yourself and your convictions. I hope that you find your people. Finding your people makes this life so much more bearable. Find the ones who love you not despite your quirks, but because of them. Find the ones who love your sense of humor. Find the ones who love your mind and your freckles. Find the ones who don’t mind you aren’t sporty, the ones who you can talk about books and art and documentaries with.

You, Big Brudder, are destined for great things. I can not wait to watch you go and get them.IMG_0056

This post originally appeared on autisminourhouse.blogspot.com