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Tonight, I just want to quit.
I want to call up the autism boss and say, I Have Had It. We are done with this whole mess.
Really, I want to FIRE autism. Autism? You hear me? You are out of here.

The thing is, I don't think we're even getting autism right. I have bought a trillion books and joined fifty dozen web sites and our ism is the sore thumb. Don't read this that I'm saying there is no ism here; surely, beyond any doubt, things here ain't as they should be. BUT. I am so confused and tired and SO TIRED OF BEING TIRED and confused that it stymies me.

As soon as I got a little used to the improvement (it took getting used to because it meant that the painful diet and other measures were working and needed to become a way of life) and the good news from school, now of course it's all negative.

I can't even call it regression, really. We don't do anything as clear and obvious as that. The rooster's language continues to be more clear and focused. He rarely says much that resembles a script, he's using less jargon, and he isn't perseverating around me at all. His sentence structures are more complex and he can use more abstractions. He initiates friendly conversations with people he knows and strangers.

The one thing I have to say that is clearly wrong with the rooster is this: He cannot regulate his behavior. His behavior is utterly noncompliant. He is only happy and getting along with others when the agenda is wholly under his control.

And I want to fire whatever it is that causes that. I want to evict it. I want to give it a piece of my pissed off mind.

The rooster has a great heart. You just have to get beyond a mile of bullshit to see it.

The rooster gets upset if I am hurt. He hugs me tightly and kisses me sweetly and tells me how much he loves me. He makes sure his sister always gets a turn at anything good, unless it means he has to wait or give anything up himself. He says thank you and please almost all the time. He delights in showing me cool things. He beams with pride when he does something well, like dressing himself today. The rooster loves to say hello to people and ask them to play. These are good things in my little boy, almost four.

But. Holy cow. Holy cow, holy cow. A weekend is a tough sentence. I mean to tell you. NON COMPLIANT. He is the King of NONCOMPLIANT. The poster child. We could make a video. We could knock the Super Nanny on her butt. Our days are wall to wall struggle.

And I have no idea how to tackle it. I STILL have no idea which approach or method or treatment or therapist or book or what will help, or how to decide, or where to begin. We will get a classroom shadow in the next few weeks, and that might help, I have no idea. Reading about it until my eyes fall out has enlightened me exactly NONE. We only can tell you what doesn't work, and the list is long, filled with things everyone else seems to find effective but us. The rooster is one of a kind and has an iron will, a bad attitude, and too much power. He is seething mad but does not know why, and he's ready to fight more than 99 percent of the time.

I freak out over how much time has passed without any interventions, but then when I realize the strides he has made on his own that makes me pause, too. If he'd had help over this time, isn't it just possible that he would have made exactly the same progress, all of which we would erroneously chalk up to the ists? It's just a question with no answer that runs often through my mind; of course I know we still plan to get him all the ists we can get him. We're on every waiting list and have calls out all around town.

This is an endless job among endless jobs, lost in a maze, buried in a conundrum, dark and murky, and there are times I just don't want to work this hard. Doesn't sound like me -- I LOVE to work hard -- but I'm about to fall over.



And yes, we even got a baby sitter this weekend, so all of you who tell me to take a break can be assured I try to, but I need more than a break, and even at getting a break I'm doing the best I can. Or at least I'm doing the most I can. I don't know if that's the same or not.

Rambling isn't pretty, but neither am I.

Thank you for reading my drivel. I would say you might not see me for a while, because I want so badly to turn my back on autism entirely, but you'd know that would last 10 seconds. Rooster Calls is about all I have by way of community in my life. The beautiful people who read it, lurkers or not, are the sustenance that forms my life support.

I'll be here. I'll be working. I'll be venting. It's all I can do, until I can't do any more.