My Whac-A-Mole Life: autism   

She Talks Funny

My Child Is Not Your 'Teachable Moment'

We're perched at a rectangular, kid's-size table in the art room of an indoor play gym, and she is painting a collection of methodically selected picture print-outs. Embracing her focus and age-appropriate activity - ephemeral as it will be - I attentively respond to her endless, artistic demands like an attendant in an operating room. I don't want to break the spell.

Her word approximations erupt loudly, jumbly and jolty: "Wa du"..."On-ch"..."hep." Instinctively, I know to present water for her paintbrush; fresh, orange paint; and the help she wants un-sticking her painted papers - all the while, rewarding and validating my autistic, apraxic child's emerging language and articulation.

A younger boy enters, maybe around 4 or 5, his mom by his side. (I know this because be calls her "mom" with the startlingly perfect clarity and tone that sucker-punches me every time. It shouldn't surprise me to hear children half her age orating like rock stars, but somehow it still does.)

Awareness Galore: A Collection of Autism Awareness Month Posts


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Light This Way: Musings on Autism 'Awareness'

It's April - the annual 30 days where we commemorate, celebrate, showcase, discuss, debate and generally spread "awareness" for things like Jazz (appreciation); Poetry; Confederate History (observed only in the Southern United States, according to the source - um, duh...and um, really?); Mathematics (curiously dubbed Awareness not Appreciation); and the obligatory list of disorders/differences/diseases and such, including Diabetes, Parkinson, Asperger's* and Autism.

Get "lit" for autism: A collaborative piece
by the bloggers of My Whac-A-Mole-Life; Pancakes Gone Awry
Yeah. Good Times.; Disability and Representation;
and, of course Edvard Munch.
On top of that, Autism gets its very own worldwide DAY: April 2nd. But surely you know that because anyone with a pen, keyboard, quill or cave wall has told us that already. And in the volatile blogosphere, boy did they! Take your pick. You've got your serious, snarky or poignant. Perhaps you prefer your awareness flavored indignant, sanctimonious, or rose-colored? There are posts ranging from curmudgeonly to cheerleader-y...and many combinations thereof. Are you pro-blue? Are you pointedly not? There's a blog post for you.

So where am I planting my flag today? The honest truth is, I don't know what to think.

We diagnosed my little girl very early, due to her pushy, uber-"aware" mom (ahem). Autism Speaks has a large presence in these parts, and it was the go-to resource. Their messages, videos ("No, I can't go for a bagel"**), and community spoke to me.

Then I became immersed in behavioral and educational endeavors. I read Jenny McCarthy's books. I fell in love with Holly Robinson Peete. My autism identity crises progressed to Floortime vs. ABA; sensory fulfillment vs. academic goals; the pros and cons of eating bark.

A Broken Keurig, Instant Grits & Other Travesties: A Morality Tale


At its heart, autism is a communications disorder. The DSM-IV checklist lists "qualitative impairments in communication" as a diagnostic criterion. 

My daughter? Check. Plus.

She also has - by anyone's diagnostic standards - a voracious appetite. I wouldn't call her a "picky eater" (tree bark, anyone?), but she can be fickle and demanding at times. Girlfriend knows what she wants.

So, chasing her into the kitchen yesterday, I found her ripping open a package of instant grits. (I didn't even know we had that!) Ever self-sufficient, she proceeded to dump it into a disposable, hot cup and pivoted around to, apparently, run hot water through the Keurig to complete her snack.

I know it sounds like she's an independent, little chef, but we do not allow her to operate anything in the kitchen alone. We know better. So does she!

What she didn't know was that our beloved Keurig didn't work anymore (boo hoo!), and I had removed it to try and return it. 

I wish I could have captured the look on her face. The Keurig might possibly be the most important, frequented appliance in the house. Poof! It was gone!

What would your 8-year-old do? I imagine, at this point, many would call for Mom (I was standing three feet away), ask where the machine went, demand help.

I watched with curiosity. Ever resourceful and independent, my daughter simply turned to the refrigerator and  filled the cup with water from the dispenser.

Of course, now her grits are ice cold (as well as completely over-saturated, but that's besides the point). 

Now, does she ask for help? Uh uh. Oh, she's very frustrated, yelling a little, but she just decides to move on to the microwave - where our story must end with an angry intervention. No, my autistic 8-year-old is not allowed to use the microwave.

The whole incident reminded me of my years-ago Floortime training...learning to create a "circle of communication," a reciprocal, back-and-forth interaction. 

Nope, not a single circle of communication going on here, but there were numerous opportunities to create them.

One Floortime strategy is to engage a hard-to-reach child using a "playful obstruction." Do something that will get their attention! Wear an unexpected, silly hat. Join the child while they are lining up cars, and then make the cars crash. Any resulting eye contact, interaction or response to the action counts toward your Circle.

No hot water? No coffee? You certainly have my attention! 

Yet, communicating with me to help her solve her problem didn't even occur to her. 

While she's come a long way, communication always will be hard for her. She's severely apraxic, so the actual act of speaking clearly is a huge obstacle for her. Sign language and augmentative communication devices like her iPad offer wonderful alternatives, and I am grateful every day for them. However, they only work when a person is motivated and interested in communicating. 

Wouldn't you agree that communicating and interacting with me to solve her devastating, instant-grits problem was the most likely, obvious and best course of action? 

Unfortunately, for her, it also was the hardest. 

Collateral Damage

When you see my daughter, I am rarely far behind.

I remain Mommy on the Run, following her unpredictable lead and trying to channel her enthusiastic energy safely and "appropriately." For example, while I respect and support her interest in teeth, I cannot allow her to put her hands in others' mouths. That's a social confine that - no matter how "neuro-diverse friendly" you are - simply will not bend. ***


I've noticed a shift, however. A pattern that - in my completely non-expert opinion - signals marked improvement in her understanding and engagement in our world.

In the past, an hour with my sweet, Tasmanian Devil might result in random acts of destruction aimed at furniture, kitchens, walls, cars and so on. Turn your head for a second, and you might be fishing her or her iPad out of the toilet. Theorists advise that every action really is a form of communication - especially since she's largely nonverbal - but translating some of these doozies was nearly impossible...except to acknowledge that she was frustrated (and so was I).
With appreciation for Sunday Stilwell
http://www.autismwashere.com

Moreover, I will not discount my daughter's proclivity for mischief. Even without the big A, she no doubt would be a charming rule-breaker. So, as you can imagine, my extreme-helicoptering was required simply to keep the house in one piece. 

Lately, while things are still getting broken and such, I can see some clear rationale to her actions. It's no longer me muttering to myself that she must be bored, frustrated or sensory-deprived.

See, we've loosened the metaphorical leash - just a bit. We recognize that she knows more than ever when she's doing something inappropriate. She'll probably still do it, but I have fair warning since she'll give me that sneaky smile before dashing off. So her actions are closer to the the "all kids do that" behaviors you might read about in "What to Expect" articles. So most days, while she requires infinitely more supervision and direction than your "average" eight year old, she's able to at least spend a few minutes independently - in the bathroom, reading something, watching something, or YouTubing (as long as I listen closely for sounds of bloody surgical segments, that usually are accompanied by her giggles and a gleeful, "ewwww").

Recently, during a moment of freedom, she raced upstairs and grabbed her father's electric razor. It occurred to me afterwards that we were talking about shaving (probably me wondering when I last shaved my legs). Another time, we instructed our son to go brush his teeth, and I soon found her in the bathroom, squeezing a tube of toothpaste all over my toothbrush.

My laptop's monitor is shattered because of her interest in using MY computer, rather than her very own iPad.

Here's a good one. She drew on our inside window curtains recently, something that might elicit shock from some parents (clearly not autism families). But that's not even the significant part. What's interesting is that it was not a childish drawing. She'd outlined her desired plans for the day in a simple list form ("doctor" included), much like on a whiteboard.

Then this happened. I've been spending a lot of time at the eye doctor lately...my aging eyes are rejecting my beloved gas-permeable lenses of 30 years and I'm trying to switch over to soft. "Putting my contacts in" has become a process instead of the usual pop in/pop out. Yesterday, when I went to put them in, I found one missing and one dried out from exposure. I'm not sure whether she was attempting to clean them, wear them, or "help" me, but I suspect it was soon after a mention of said lenses.

This new pattern of damage is of a different variety than her earlier destruction. She's listening! She's engaged! She's trying to be helpful! She's imitating mommy and daddy! 

Now I might have mentioned before that one of the best things ever taught to my daughter was mimicry (see Do Children With Autism Lack an Ability to Imitate?). I am not trying to make her into a robot; she simply must learn how to learn. It's critical that she knows how to copy vocal sounds (PROMPT has been so helpful), gestures (to nod yes or no), and actions (brushing teeth). There's a lot of research out there about mimicry as a communication foundation. 

So my epiphany here is that while I'm still Mommy on the Run (or Mommy with the Hoarse Voice from yelling and repeating myself), the destruction is different these days...encouraging even. She's interacting with our world...in the now! She's communicating by participating.

The is the kind of damage I completely welcome from her. The frustration, inconvenience, cost and toll of my daughter's destructive activities can be attributed to collateral damage: an unwanted but necessary byproduct of a greater strategy.

***Footnote:  Instead, of touching strangers' teeth, she spends hours on her iPad watching and playing dentistry and medical-related media. We "wave" at every dentist and orthodontist office that we pass. She loves to play on http://mydoctorgames.com. Hey, it's better than her phlebotomy phase, for sure!

Did I Say That? *Autism Edition*

This week's writing prompt from Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It was too good to pass up: Write a list of 10 things you have said to your kids that other moms might not say.

You know, those times when something comes out of your mouth with your super-serious parent voice and you suddenly realize how absurd you sound? (It was warranted, trust me, you just had to be there.) Yep, those. Oh, but I did modify the assignment a bit:
    • First, I enlisted the help of some friends - because think of how great it turned out when we collaborated on our list of -INATORS. (Plus, I didn't have to write it all myself.)
    • I narrowed the focus: Welcome to the AUTISM EDITION.
    • I didn't stop at 10. You're welcome.

SENSORY EXPLORATION (where licking emerged as a common theme)

MANAGING STIMS AND OBSESSIONS

RIGIDITY (with compassion for Glass Half Full)

  • I'm sorry I put your milk on the right side of your plate instead of the left. Stop screaming at me. - Glass Half Full
  • I'm sorry I didn't put your socks on at the same exact moment you wanted them on. Stop screaming at me. - Glass Half Full
  • I know you hate people, sweetheart. I hate them too, but they have to be dealt with. - Pancakes Gone Awry
  • I know you hate utensils, but you can't throw forks across your classroom. It's just not safe! - Glass Half Full
  • I don't care that you think it's stupid, you have to do it, anyway. Life is full of stupid things. Get used to it. -- Woulda Shoulda Coulda
  • Who ate all the bottoms out of the bag of hamburger buns? - Yeah. Good Times.

Mama’s Losin’ It FROM OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: 


Thank you to all of these contributors. Got some good ones of your own? We wanna see! Please comment and share below.

***For more autism parent humor (is that a thing?), check out: You Might Be An Autism Parent If...

Things Aren't Always What They Seem: A Lesson in Generalization

One afternoon, my boy nonchalantly relayed this story to me:
Child X is playing a game on his laptop, and Children A and B are oohing and aahing over his shoulder. My curious son joins in to watch, but Child X covers his screen and says:
"You can't watch me play. Go away."
OUCH! My bully radar soared to red alert; my fangs and talons were itching to strike. Yet, I tried to remain calm and rational. I took a breath, and reminded myself that things aren't always what they seem.

I probed a bit: What EXACTLY happened...How did that make you feel...What did your friends do/say...Why do you think he said that...Who the hell is this rotten kid anyway?

At this point, I started to get a bunch of I don't remembers followed by a Can I please just play my game now.

Between you and me, let's just agree that kids aren't so smart. How could they be? They're uneducated, totally inexperienced, and have underdeveloped, unseasoned brains with absolutely no context for their thoughts. Now, pair that fact with the idea that a number of children with autism - as well as some other neurological conditions and learning disorders - struggle with "generalization."

Generalization, as I've come to understand, is the ability to apply something you've learned across settings, circumstances and situations. A common example is: You teach a kid not to cross the street alone. Does the child understand that lesson applies to all streets or just THAT particular spot on THAT particular street? It's an extraordinarily different way of thinking.

You know what makes generalization even more challenging? Rules. Especially rules with exceptions or inexplicable, social expectations. So now, you tell him, go ahead and cross that street when the light changes. Or at the crosswalk. Or if you look both ways. Or if there's a guy wearing a yellow hat waving you over. OH MY GAH, it's so confusing!

With that mindset, a kid so easily could "disobey," get it wrong, or just meltdown at the thought of trying to keep up with all these street-crossing regulations.

How revealing it can be when children actually explain their unorthodox behavior - which, often, seems completely rational and logical in their own minds.

For example, it was driving me batty that my OCD-stricken son's hands always were wet. He was struggling with classic germ phobia, and was washing them A LOT. (I'm pretty sure patterns and rituals were involved, but he's stealthy about that.) Of course, I assumed he simply forgot to dry his dripping hands. When yelling didn't fix that, I then got him to agree that it was because he didn't think the towels were clean enough (I get that), so I fancied up his bathroom and mucked up the environment with disposable hand towels. He still dripped all over the place.

Finally, when the lights were low and the mood was right, he explained that, since our treatment plan involved restricting hand-washing, as well as limited discussing and reassuring him of cleanliness, he prefers to keep them wet because then he is sufficiently reassured that they are clean. Oooooooooh, of course.

Similarly, my friend over at Snagglebox (who just wrote a fantastic post about literal thinking) shared this anecdote:
My son tells me that he finds playing tag stressful because, "When you touch somebody else to make them 'it', technically the energy is bouncing back and forth between your bodies as you touch. So how do you know who is actually 'it' when you let go?"
Guess who probably avoids playing tag...and imagine how this would play out if he couldn't explain himself. 

Does your child also suffer from "perceived injustices" (a term I borrowed from my friend at Try Defying Gravity)? My son once spent a year snubbing a really, sweet kid (who had absolutely no idea he was being snubbed, mind you) for something quite innocent he said that my son found hurtful. He told me about it years later. And this is my verbal child!

My daughter is required to navigate the world without the ability to express herself or explain her behaviors.

We were having lunch at a particular friend's house last week for the first time in several years. My autistic daughter went all Taz on us - screaming, running around like a whirling dervish, and repeatedly asking for dessert. (I was reminded why we don't have lunch at friends' houses more often!)

However, using my parental telepathy, I finally figured out what was going on. Last time when we were at this home - maybe 3 years ago - she was served a particular cookie. Clearly, she wanted/expected that same cookie to be served again. Because - in her orderly brain that seems so chaotic to the rest of us - that's the pattern established in her memory. This house = delicious cookie dessert. That's the rule. Unfortunately, others probably just see an out-of-control kid.

Now, let's circle back to the brat bullying my son. You'll never believe what really happened. Miraculously, my little talk with my son paid off. He returned to school, and somehow "discussed" the situation with Child A and Child B. Together, they approached Child X, who apparently meant no ill will. He was simply following THE RULES.

What he said: "You can't watch me play. Go away."
What his mother had told him: "Don't let anyone you don't know use your computer or watch you work on it."

Child X (in another class) already knew Child A and Child B. He'd never formally met their other classmate - my son.

Oooooooooh, of course. See? Things aren't always what they seem.

Meditation For An Autism Mom


This is not my fault.

I am doing the best I can, which means acknowledging that it will never feel like enough. I am only human.

I am gaining patience, resilience, wisdom and strength. I don't see it; I don't necessarily feel it; but it's true. It just has to be true.

My home is a disaster - whether due to my Tasmanian devil child, diminishing time and money, or pure, unprecedented exhaustion (or a combination thereof). I must learn to care less.

I have lost sight of my identity, my friends, my professional drive, and my peace because I am laser-focused on my child's well-being and future readiness. Still, I can take baby steps for my own sanity. For example, today, maybe I'll shower.

I find myself saying and doing things I never imagined due to my child's absurd, unpredictable behavior, interests and needs. I want to cry on many occasions; but it always feels better to laugh.

I am overwhelmed by the seemingly infinite cures, therapies, medications, treatments and diets that I am told will help my child. Some will help; others won't. We'll unapologetically do what works best for us, when it works for us - holistically, logistically and practically.

Each year, I will continue to search for the perfect school scenario for my child; nothing will ever fit quite right. I will take it day by day, year by year.

I am my child's best advocate. I will trust my instincts. I will consult with professionals, doctors, teachers and psychologists; but mostly I have to learn to trust myself.

I will feel judged. Sometimes, I really am being judged, so I should grow a thicker skin. More important, however, I am judging myself, and I need to learn to be kinder to myself.

I Dropped Out Of Baby Gym. Twice.

The comfortably padded walls, blinding primary colors and off-putting, patchwork-clown puppet at HappyBabyGym had lured me in again. This time, I assured myself, I'd claim my rightful share of HappyBabyGym moments.

See, as a new mother, you’ve miraculously attained a baby; somehow managed to feed, clothe, burp, change it; and maybe gone outside for a stroll. Still, you’re tired, lonely and – let’s be honest – bored. Baby’s not exactly Dorothy Parker. You need to pack that intimidating diaper bag and escape the house. So, with my second baby in tow, I once again found myself at HappyBabyGym.

I was pleased that, four years later, the routine and songs remained exactly the same. I dutifully cajoled my daughter to clap, stomp and pop bubbles on cue, silently begging her to conform with me.

The Dreaded Checklist
The same moms chattered enthusiastically, although they had little in common aside from parenting a child of similar age. They didn't yet know that even that bond was weak, held together only by a checklist of milestones.

My son had been born with a condition that could result in physical and/or cognitive challenges. We were told it would not be possible until he was older to assess the severity, and we had to "wait and see." I can report now that he would, indeed, grow into his "best-case scenario" and his challenges are, relatively, mild. However, each week at  HappyBabyGym, we'd only know that he had missed yet another milestone on the list.

His delays were amplified, scrutinized and assessed competitively to a point that, at circle time, I'm pretty sure I exaggerated his mastery of the sippy cup and other weekly accomplishments. Sure, the mothers would be sympathetic, at times making a big deal of placing little Johnny next to my son to roll a ball together, but when numbers were exchanged, nobody asked for mine. After I strategically lunged for the only instrument my child could grasp during the baby band jam, we'd partner up with the group’s lone nanny and her charge.

No, I was not joyous and self-satisfied, like the moms on the brochure. Nor did my son giggle gleefully under the colorful parachute. He was the one screaming in terror. We often cried in unison as we drove home.

So when I returned years later with my daughter, I felt entitled to a picture-perfect HappyBabyGym experience. I deserved this.

Alas, just because she could perform their tricks did not mean she wanted to. Instead, like her older brother, she cried. Or ran in circles. Or sniffed the other kids’ hair. So we put our shoes back on, and I walked out of HappyBabyGym for good.

Soon after, we found solace, companionship and comfort among moms and children elsewhere: in waiting rooms and doctor’s offices, where she aced another checklist: the signs of autism.


read to be read at yeahwrite.meThis post is part of the Yeah Write Summer Writer's Series. I had my choice of three writing prompts and chose: "Describe a time you felt alone." I am proud to be part of this talented, supportive writing community.

The -INATORS

Whatchadoin?

We're watching a lot of Phineas and Ferb this summer. I'm not complaining (much) since it's scads better than our Month of Teletubbies; or the Decade of Dora; or our Year of "Here Come The 123s" (which started out just fine but, wow, it got tiresome after a few months).

So, for those of you not familiar with our little Disney Channel friends, here's what you need to know. Phineas and Ferb are clever little inventors trying to keep busy during their 104 days of summer vacation. Perry, their pet platypus, is Secret Agent P - deployed by the O.W.C.A. (Organization Without a Cool Acronym) - to thwart Mad Scientist Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz (of Doofenshmirtz Evil, Inc.).

Now, in each episode, Doofenshmirtz conceives of a scheme or invention, usually dubbed something-"Inator", which is intended to help him take over America's Tri-State area (not the world, mind you, because he's not greedy).

The expert folks over at the Phineas and Ferb Wiki (yup) describe the -inators as "typically grandiose in scope, involving a complicated solution instead of applying a simpler, more practical method. The motivation behind their development is typically a need to exact revenge for an unpleasant incident in his life, or to resolve a situation that annoys him." Naturally, something always goes wrong, and no, it wouldn't have anything to do with the built-in, self-destruct buttons.

In homage to our Summer of Phineas and Ferb, I, and some bloggy, autism-parent friends, have brainstormed some INATORS that we think would help us dominate our own homes. That's right, just our very own homes. Are we asking too much? Yes. Yes we are.

Household Helpers
  • Lunch-Make-Inator automatically assembles lunches with the designated number of chicken nuggets (counted meticulously); packed with the correct juice flavor of the day and switched out instantly (regardless of what's in the fridge) when minds are changed; and placed without fail into the RIGHT kid's backpack.
  • Lego-Disappear-Clean-Up-Inator --Patty Porch-Hooper, Pancakes Gone Awry
  • Door-Lock-Inator makes gates, locks and alarms magically appear to block access to all things dangerous, fragile or off-limits.
  • De-Shitify-The-House-Inator --Tim, Both Hands and a Flashlight  
  • Wife-Inator (because I need a wife to help with appointments, paperwork and household tasks.) --Amanda Griffiths, Confessions From HouseholdSix
Sanity Savers
  • It's-4-O'Clock-Somewhere-Inator makes the perfect adult beverage --Kelly Hafer, Unplanned Trip To Holland 
  • Screaming-Kid-In-Car-So-Let-Me-In-Your-Lane-Jerk-Inator clears the path instantly
  • Spit-It-Out-Inator (aka the Not-For-Mouth-Inator) --Jennie B., Anybody Want a Peanut?
  • Divide-The-Parking-Lot-Like-the-Red-Sea-Inator keeps kids safe whether they meander, bump, or tantrum in a heap on the ground
  • Change-The-Song-Inator instantly changes whatever theme song/toy jingle/etc. to something tolerable. --Jennie B., Anybody Want a Peanut?
  • Sleep-Inject-Inator --Tim, Both Hands and a Flashlight
    aka  Fast-Asleep-Inator --Flannery, The Connor Chronicles
  • Caffeine-Inator to quickly give tired parents a jolt--Alysia, Try Defying Gravity
  • De-Script-Inator to stop the endless loop --Flannery, The Connor Chronicles
    aka Echolalia-Inator which stops the incessant repetition for a few moments. --Patty Porch-Hooper, Pancakes Gone Awry
  • Calm-Inator -Jennie B., Anybody Want a Peanut?
  • Groom-Inator (for instant cleaning of teeth, nails, etc) -- Jennie B., Anybody Want a Peanut?
  • Sniff-Inator (Alex has been sniffing things) --Lizbeth Cole, Four Sea Stars
  • Mom-Inator - they already did this episode, but clone me so I can be in three places at once. --Alysia, Try Defying Gravity
  • Monopoly-Inator to make it go away for me --Lizbeth Cole, Four Sea Stars (Lizbeth's son is OBSESSED with beating his mother at Monopoly)
  • I-Thing-Duplicator (or Special-Interest-Maker) for those times when just one won't do. --Lizbeth Cole, Four Sea Stars (*Lizbeth failed to follow the "inator" rule of this game, but we'll let it go because, well, it's Lizbeth.)
  • Squishy-Hug-Inator for those needing deep pressure --Alysia, Try Defying Gravity
  • Thanks-For-Sharing-Captain-Obvious-Inator because Ted constantly tells us the obvious --Kelly Hafer, Unplanned Trip To Holland
  • Answer-Question-Inator provides the exact answer Jacob expects to hear when he asks his questions over and over again --Varda (SquashedMom), The Squashed Bologna
  • Fairy-Godmother-Inator to make all his impossible wishes come true --I'm Looking For Blue Sky
  • Poop-Goes-In-The-Pot-Inator to instantly render Ted potty trained --Kelly Hafer, Unplanned Trip To Holland
Educate and Advocate Assistants
  • Stop-Staring-It's-Autism-What's-Your-Problem-Elim-Inator
  • Aware-Inator that spreads awareness and acceptance all over the Tri-State area. This one does not have a self-destruct button! --Alysia, Try Defying Gravity
  • IEP-Inator/Due-Process-Inator/Services-Inator --Patty Porch-Hooper, Pancakes Gone Awry
  • Fill-Out-All-These-Effing-Forms-Inator --Tim, Both Hands and a Flashlight
  • Talk-To-The-Hand-Inator for people offering stupid advice --Tim, Both Hands and a Flashlight
See, this is fun, right? Share your ideas below or you know what we'll have to do.
Say it with me, now: "Curse you, Perry the Platypus!"

Guest Post: My Family Just Doesn't Get It

Editor's Note: I've opted to keep my blog identity separate from my IRL self for several reasons (you can read about them here). Overall, I stand by that decision, even though anonymity is not easy...not to mention nearly painful when I have nothing to show for a day's work! Others in the special needs blogging world do not hide, and have found that everyone from their school district administrators to their mothers-in-law offer unsolicited feedback on their blog. It's cathartic, influential...and sometimes, they tell me, restrictive.

Here, a mother shares her disappointment in her family of origin's response to her daily autism reality. For her own, personal reasons, she is not ready to share her feelings with them (at least in this forum). So, I offered her - and other "out" bloggers - a quite, safe house, for when they have something to say that's too raw, too personal or too whatever for their own blogging space. She has a fantastic blog, but I cannot tell you about it here, because she has now joined my circle of trust.

I'm delighted to welcome my first guest blogger. If you are interested in guest posting (anonymously or in all your glory), please email me at whacamolelife@gmail.com...because I really could use the day off. 
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My Family Just Doesn't Get It

Since my husband had to work long hours all weekend anyway, I decided to take the boys on a five-hour journey across state lines to see my family. I'd like to go back to when I made that decision and talk myself out of it.

I know at the time, I was feeling a bit homesick and nostalgic. I missed summers as I knew them. I missed the big extended family gatherings. I missed being on acreage. I can officially say I am now cured for awhile.

I had told the family prior to the visit that the boys are autistic. That the little one has several severe food allergies. They said, "OK." They even seemed to understand a little. It seemed too good to be true. I should've known then that I was walking into a trap.

When we arrived, I got peppered with questions about the boys and autism. Almost everything I said was met with, "but most kids are like that." If I heard that phrase again, I was going to throttle someone. Thankfully as it became less and less apparent that "most kids are like that," they stopped saying it.

They may think I didn't notice the looks, but I did at meals. Yes, I let my younger child get up from the table before everyone else was done eating and go play. Yes, I made him a separate dinner. It was for our collective sanity in the situation. Just be thankful my older child not only tried what you cooked, but ate it all. Normally he'll take a plate full and then decide about five bites in that he in fact doesn't like it. This is only after he's sat and played with it long enough for the plate to get cold and icky.

Newsflash: kids get dirty when they play outside. No, I did not allow my children to play in the pond. There are snapping turtles in it, and the top was covered in algae due to the hot, dry weather. Yes, contrary to what you think, I was watching them ALL day. In the off chance I went to pee (heaven forbid), the cousin whose child they were playing with had an eye on them. Plain old dirt causes black feet too, and I find it funny that I had to wash them to let them in the house for a bath.

I got an eye-opening experience to what a gossip you are, dear aunt. I can only imagine what you will be saying about us since we left. I really don't care. I bent over backwards to try to make sure my boys conformed to your anal ways (even by their OCD standards). It was just too exhausting to stay with you. Next time, we'll either choose someone who remembers what it's like to have children (and central air), or we'll just get a room of our own at the nearest hotel. It will be best for all involved.

When someone didn't remember us, and you reminded them we're "the PA relatives," I am now almost relieved. I am over five glorious hours away from the gossip and drama that you all endure - living within about a 20-mile radius of each other. I am homesick for my family no longer, and I am thankful to my one aunt who was packing a flask and made me a gin with a splash of tonic at the family picnic to make my stay a little more bearable.