How Are You Doing with That?

I left town for work, and that passed my Guilt-o-Meter. But I extended my trip for fun, and today I transition to the fun part. As I sit next to another conference attendee who is leaving today, someone I only met hours ago, I explain that I am staying on to enjoy myself a little with friends and mark some celebrations, and as I say it, there is no chance I can resist the urge to confess my guilt. I explain I have two kids, that they just started camp this week, that for one it's the first time at camp, that the other one has autism, and that I have guilt. She says, "And how are you doing with that?"

I answered with statements that all sounded like questions. "Like I said, I do feel guilty? But I know it's good? Because I've been a way for a few days before, but not this long? But it's okay? Because I got everything ready before I left? And I have been checking in? And it's all about baby steps? And we can't hover all the time? But, you know, it's... I... um, I feel guilty?"

And Katie says, "How are you doing with that?"

That's a good question. I guess this is how I'm doing with that.

How are you doing?

We're All Full Up Here

My son goes to public school R. We've had our share of issues there, but it's had good points, too. About a mile away is public school W. It has an outstanding rep for being the best public school for spectrum kids and simply outstanding overall in every way. The parents I know who have kids with autism there talk about it like it's the haven we've all been waiting to find. Of course, I put Rooster's name in for the "Open Enrollment" lottery. He was selected. Cheery acceptance letter, celebration. Then they found out he has autism and that the IEP we just did a week ago gives him additional services next year. (We were NOT keeping it a secret in any way.) Now school W will not take him. "We already have too many kids with autism. Our resource program is full of kids who are 'residents.'" No room for more of "those kids"...

Crazily, I am taking school law class right now, and last week was on spec ed law. I am nearly certain school W is breaking the law. And they are being so heartbreaking in the way they are doing it. It seems very wrong to me.

I can't decide if I should fight. What to do? For my son, I don't want to put him where he isn't wanted, he's too amazing and adorable for that, and I know that sooner or later he's probably going to get into the wonderful charter school that his sister is going to as a sib. I think he's going to be ok. But to not fight, doesn't that mean I fail ALL the kids with autism? Shouldn't I stand up for what is right? I don't mean to get too Ruby Bridges, but it feels like a civil rights issue, like the dogs have been unleashed on my family.

If anyone has advice of a legal nature or otherwise, I am open.

All in the Family

So the other day I was talking about how the children of employees at a local prestigious university can get free tuition if they get accepted.

"Just think," I said, "Can you imagine if I could send Peaches to a school like that for free?"

Oh. I am so ashamed that I said that. Immediately I thought of an Archie Bunker episode I watched sometime before the age of ten that I have never forgotten. It was about feminism, and a character told this "riddle" about a boy who is with his dad when the boy gets very badly hurt. The dad rushes the boy to the hospital. Just as they take the boy into emergency surgery, the surgeon says, "Wait. I can't operate on this boy. He's my son." The riddle is, how can the boy be the son of the surgeon as well as the man who drove him to the hospital? It was the 70s, and no one could figure it out, because "those were the days" when no one's mind could readily come to the conclusion that a woman could be a surgeon. Even in elementary school, I got it, and I felt enraged. I hated the assumptions, the minimization of my gender. For one brief moment, I forgot that I stink at science and I forgot that I wanted to be Charles Kurault when I grew up, and instead I wanted to prove the disbelievers wrong, I wanted to be a great scientist.

So a friend heard my mistake, heard me make the offensive university remark, and she shot me a look. "Can you imagine sending BOTH of your children there for free?"

I felt enraged, at myself. I hated the assumptions I had made about my own boy, the minimization of kids who have autism. But ever since that moment, I have been thinking how much I WILL believe that my boy can do anything he wants, anything he sets his mind to, and that includes going to a highly competitive university when he grows up.

I DO believe. Sometimes the group think of assumptions clouds things for me for a while. Sometimes I confuse belief with hope. Belief is easier, hope is scarier. But for my little seven-year-old boy who is on the spectrum and has ADHD, and for kids like him, I'm not going to give up on either. If you see me make a ridiculous mistake or an offensive assumption again, please, shout at me.

Just say, "Stifle yourself!" And I'll stop being a meathead.

Lost and Found

The other day, I told my son he could not watch a movie, and he lost his temper.

First, he brayed like a donkey. I remembered in a flash that sound, and thought how long it has been since he did that, before he had the power of his impressive vocabulary.

Then, he stomped around. Reflexively, I looked to make sure all of us were out of reach, and then caught myself -- he no longer uses his hands to express frustration, just stamps his feet as he learned to do as a better alternative during our ABA sessions.

Then, he screamed, "I HATE my MOMMY. I HATE you, mommy." And the sting barely lasted a millisecond. I knew, with complete conviction, he would later apologize; in fact, within the half hour, he proclaimed his enormous love for me, topped with hugs and kisses.

I am so glad that my son lost his temper the other day.

It showed me how far we have come, how many tools he has, how our hard work has paid dividends. It showed him that he can get upset, and then he can turn things around. It reminded him that he doesn't have to get so upset, but that when he does lose it, the world will not end, and he can fix things himself.

Everyone loses their temper sometimes. Sometimes it's not what you lose, but what you eventually find.

Rooster Style

My Roo loses teeth a bit like how he was born... slowly, needing a tug or two, and in somewhat of a dramatic fashion. He does things his way, that sweet boy of ours, and tonight he lost a tooth Rooster-style.

For the last few days, he has started crying unexpectedly. It caught us off guard. He isn't prone to fits of sadness. But what really threw me? When I asked him what upset him, he said, "I am going to miss you when you die, Mama." The mantra he tells me lately: "Mommy, you are going to get old, and then I'm going to be alone. I don't want you and daddy to die."

My husband wants me to tell our boy that we will never die. I can't lie, though --- it's virtually beyond my powers to tell lies. Plus, what would the DEITIES do with such a pronouncement? So I tell my boy, "I have no plans to go away, my love, I'm right here with you now, hoping to be here a very long time, and I love taking care of you. Let's go make some happy memories right now, okay?" He dries his eyes and nods.

There are people who know my boy who can't stand his unique ways; they find him too loud, it bothers them how he takes his own time meander along while they race from A to Z, and they would like to control him, soften his dramatic edges. But there are others who respond to him with an affection similar to that which he stirs in me, who catch his contagious enthusiasm and delight in it. These people make a point to tell me things like, "You know, he is a special boy." I realize lately that I divide the world into these two camps, and lately I only have heart for the latter. Someday I hope to have the patience and good will to reach out to the others, to teach them the error of their ways, to help enlighten them to what they miss when they choose not to make a friend in my little guy. For now, though, I have no time for anyone who does not dearly love a little boy with a jack-o-lantern grin, an elfish run, and a heart bigger than the sun and moon and stars.

Lucky Seven

Magical milestones to celebrate as my boy turns seven:

• He asked for a party.
  
• Friends came to his party.
  
• He had fun playing with friends at his party. (Yes, these are milestones. Take that, autism.)
  
• When the party venue offered him free ice cream and I had to say no, he can't, he didn't even say a word, just enjoyed the special cake I baked him.
  
• He could read his cards to me himself; at least, when he had enough patience to read the cards and not rip into the box... often it went something like this. "Have a happy birthday and I hope....OOOOOH, MOMMY, I think there are RACE CARS IN HERE!!!!"
• He played a game. For. An. Hour. With the option of quitting sooner. Nope, he wanted to PLAY! With his buddy! And, when no one won, well, I think maybe we all did!!!!
• He smiled and said "cheese" for a few photos ... sometimes even looking in the direction of the camera.
  
• The photos show the big gap where he's missing a tooth; one more hangs by a thread. He looks adorable! But I am biased. But I'm also right. And he's also adorable. Because I adore him. So there.
• I promised him a pinata, and I bought him one, but the party venue said no. Meltdown? Drama? Tears? Whining? No, no, no, and no. Score!
• He wore his very special and dearly loved knight costume for the party. Another child asked to wear it. I bet by now you can guess what happened. SHARING! Happiness!
• Someone gave him a movie he loves as a gift. He asked to watch it tonight. I said he could see a few minutes. Drama? Tears? Score again! My boy was just happy. He said he loved his day.
  

OKAY, deities, listen up, because this is serious. My little Roo had a good birthday, and I need to say it. Once every seven years or so, I expect a free pass. So. Back. Off. Let seven be our lucky number, and let the good times roll.

Math. How is That for a Title?

Sometimes I say out loud, "I wish I could find..."

And sometimes the universe hears me and answers by way of the blogosphere.

If you are interested in helping students who have autism learn math, as I am, read this:

http://www.freetech4teachers.com/2011/05/individualized-technology-plan-helps.html

It was posted on my very favorite education blog for practical resources, freetech4teachers.com. Even my husband knows I have an intellectual kind of adoration of Richard Byrne -- or whatever. It is a phenomenal place to go for straightforward tips about tools, learning, instruction, school, etc. Subscribe to it! You will never be sorry. But this post is a guest post by Torrey Trust (http://www.torreytrust.com). I am headed over there right now to see what other gems I can discover. Already I am adoring Torrey, too...