Official blogsite of Beth Freudenburg; Proud advocate for those on the Spectrum

Cardboard Plastic Reality

2016-11-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

Autism is a funny 'thing.'

I don't like that word . . . 'thing.' but in this case, it works. It works because as long as I have lived with Autism, as hard as I have tried to understand it, as much as I have tried to define it, for all my analyzing, researching, reading, learning and discovering . . . I still have no idea what Autism actually is. I don't believe that Autism is a disease. I cannot bring myself to commit to the idea that Autism is a disability, or a disorder, or anything else.

I'm certain I am not alone here in this world of not understanding. Twenty years of reading research papers, listening to podcasts, reading books and now, watching documentaries . . . and we are no closer as a world to understanding how Autism happens. The only piece of the puzzle that I know certainly and without question is that we are still afraid of it.

We are recycling the same arguments that had been presented, represented, tested and dismissed again. Maybe we missed something the first time. Autism is going to be our eternal cold case file - the mystery that we just cannot seem to crack. I believe this because every time we witness some remarkable breakthrough, we are astonished by how close we were to the answer and didn't see it. We were looking everywhere except directly where we stand.

Did you seen the Google Cardboard Plastic April Fool's Day advertisement? It was hilarious, tragic and likely no truer words were ever assigned to a marketing department. The concept is way too close to reality not to give pause. It's sad.

If you watch it you may wonder as I did, "This could be true on so many levels." I hope we haven't missed something so elemental on a far grander scale.

Yes, I understand that clinically, Autism is a disorder. But Autism isn't always a functional disorder. Sometimes, it seems to me as though, Autism is really a functional difference. Sometimes, we (the neuro-typical) are those with the largest deficit to understanding. This means that we are the ones with the disorder. We are the group who lack understanding and struggle to rationalize behavior. Have you ever thought how struggling with a disability feels to one who embodies that situation? I'm certain this there is frustration, but there is likely far more acceptance than we permit.

What if we did . . . permit differences.
What type of place would that be?

A girl can dream, can't she?

Thankful for our Disability

2016-11-28T10:03:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is behind us and now we move, full speed ahead at what feels like a very reckless pace, toward the Christmas and New Year’s holidays. Time will effortlessly slip by and stress, some task (important or not so much) will be forgotten, meetings will be cancelled and time overbooked, technology will fail us at some point, a few truly great ideas will never make it to the planning process. We'll decorate and dress for the occasion in an effort to put forward the image that we would like others to perceive us as. All of this seems to happen every year. But let’s try to keep it in perspective. Let’s try to keep focused on what it is that keeps us coming back to the Thanksgiving table.

In the quiet moments of the holiday week, pictures rolled in of all the extended families and friends who were also celebrating the unique and individual greatness-es within their respective families. All so beautiful and so appreciated by those proud people close to them. Each fulfilling their place and being exactly who they are.

This year, I asked everyone around my Thanksgiving table what they were thankful for and received very similar answers. My family was thankful that I cooked. I was thankful for each of them. They do not understand how valuable they are to me. Even in those few minutes of communal time spent at the dinner table they are incredibly priceless to me. As time continues to rush by, I’m certain that each new year will bring more reasons to stop . . . an be conscious of just how thankful I am – for all of them.

My family is far from perfect, but they are mine just the same. We are all flawed in our own way. We all came to my table with our different personalities, our daily frustrations, the temporarily suspended yet nagging demands of our work, our internal random thoughts, our unspoken reasons for wanting to stay or leave (football games that need to be watched, girlfriends that need to be called . . . ), the circumstances that distract us from those golden moments spent in the community of our family.

Yet, we are still extremely thankful – for all of it – for each of us – just as we are in those moments – each with our own unique abilities and dis-abilities.

The Merriam Webster Modern Dictionary defines ‘disability’ as:

dis·a·bil·i·ty

ˌdisəˈbilədē/

noun

1. a physical or mental condition that limits a person's movements, senses, or activities.

This seems to fit just about everyone who was seated around my Thanksgiving table or our Thanksgiving bonfire in some way or another and also not a single one of us. We are all, none of us, perfect, unimpaired or without some condition that affects us in some way; visible, detectable or otherwise. Not everyone can be a squirrel. Some of us have to be queens, balloon carriers, champions, order keepers and cheerleaders.

My family spent a wonderful (and sometimes stressful) three days together. At this stage, we are all adults by definition. At the same time, we are all independent, smart and strong-willed – and yet so different. We each have strengths, gifts, talents, flaws, and tasks that we are just not good at. My oldest son is great at keeping up with all our household electronics, but pure rubbish at cleaning anything. My husband is a pragmatic handyman, but not the greatest at multi-tasking. My youngest son is a great, practical problem-solver, whatever the issue, but he gets bogged down in the emotions around too many choices and options. My Mother is a creative force to be reckoned with, but her functional side is sporadic and gets lost easily. She’s starting to need more help with her daily activities. She needs someone around to keep her on track.

Me? I make it all look easy . . . taking care of everything, working and making certain that everyone has what they need when they need it. It seems second nature to me. I’ve been fulfilling this task in one family or another since I was a very young teenager. But the weight of my responsibility leaves little time to stop and think about what I need or what I’m thankful for. As my children grow and become their own families, I will inevitably have more time to enjoy the company of my husband. I will also have the new task of looking after an aging parent.

My life will continue to change. I will continue to be surrounded by my family of talented, unique and uniformly -abled and dis-abled members. They are perfectly normal and abnormal and I am incredibly thankful for all of them – each in his or her way for what they have brought to my table.

I am thankful for each of their personalities, each of their gifts. And I tend to luxuriate in each of their choices as to how to manage; to find opportunities to exploit their strengths and dismiss their imperfections as nothing more than they are – a unique and independent lack of expertise in some area. I choose this as opposed to choosing to label their dis-ability as a precise condition that causes additional and unspoken limitations placed or heaped on by outsiders who feel they understand or know someone fully based on a single adverb or noun. No. This is not where I will plant my flag.

Our abilities are so much more important than our inabilities. Our abilities allow us to be all we are in all our glory and to the best of our ‘ability.’ We cannot be afraid to be our best or allow others to fear their best selves because of a word or a societal label.

None of us, alone, are good at everything; know everything, are able to complete every task, or have the innate ability to achieve every single function we confront. Yet every one of us can be our best self if we are allowed and nurtured to do just that. Everyone is a mess of imperfections and inabilities. Why is it that we focus so heavily on them when additional labels are piled on that really only serve one purpose; to explain some facet to another who doesn’t know us yet. We all have dis-abilities galore. More dis-ability than ability when we really examine our entire selves. Disabilities are boring, fairly useless and don’t help any of us accomplish anything. But what if we embraced the differences in each of us? Giant rolling cupcakes might be a ton of fun! But they're definitely not normal.

Why would I ever concentrate on all the imperfections my family brings to my Thanksgiving table? There are so many among the lot of us. But it is the magnificent imperfections despite our individual shortcomings that collectively create our strengths, gifts and talents – now those are worth celebrating. Those are the pieces of each of us that enable real and true ability in all of us. Individually and collectively. Not only those of us with an extra label or two. That is what I am thankful for every day, but especially on Thanksgiving when the gifts are gathered, shining (and sometimes bickering as only a bunch of strong personalities in the same room can) in all their beautiful ability.

We all have problems .. . . so what. Tell someone something interesting about yourself instead. I promise it will be the beginning of something a little bit spectacular. And maybe there will be cupcakes. The tiny details of who each of us are is the best part.

Job Hunting in Suburbia

2016-10-10T15:56:00.002-07:00

Why is it almost everyone deeply dislikes 'The Job Hunt'?

Has anyone ever said, "Boy, I really love looking for a job! I wish I could do that every day!"?

Nope. It just doesn't happen. Do we all detest an opportunity to find something better - a stronger sense of value, more cash, new responsibilities or learning a new skill set or perspective on an already honed skill set? It really shouldn't be that daunting, but it is. It always is.

It is - because we cannot separate ourselves, our ego, from the business contract that is truly the foundation of the quest. Even for the most rational and mature, compartmentalizing to this degree is almost impossible. We are emotionally attached to the ideals we possess and the activities that we are good at. Engaging in them brings us joy. This is why we should work - to do what we love and makes us happy. Unfortunately, too many of us work because we have to at a task that falls short of defining us. Yet, we allow to.
What if what makes us happy is 'income.' Would we do anything to have that? I think the answer to that for some people is a resounding, "Yes." I wish that were the case for me. I've always been way too eager to tie my own self worth to the reactions of hiring managers. In fact, I enable them and assist them in it. The funny part is that it used to be easier - and harder - when I was younger.

Do you remember being 17 or 18 years old and looking for your first paying job? Something other than mowing yards, helping out at church or babysitting? We didn't have too many expectations. At least I didn't. All I wanted was a task that I could do and some money in return for completing that task. In return, I would do sufficient work and be reliable. -Not asking too much, right?

This summer my oldest son is home from college and looking for a job. I am a spectator to his persistence as well as his vulnerability - both in full view. He is young, dependable, capable and just wants someone to believe he can do a job that has worth.
For weeks he has been filling out applications, and calling managers and requesting interviews. While he is at school, he works for the Campus Police Department a few hours a week.He has a job he can do, has clear guidelines and earns him a small amount of spending money.

A summer job is different. He'll need to work a lot to save up enough money for his next school year. He won't have the security of a campus job. He will be at the mercy of hiring managers who don't know him and have literally thousands of applicants to choose from. It's not an easy task.

He is relentless, I'll give him that. He calls and talks to everyone he can in his effort to find work. He's found a few jobs and worked some, but the jobs haven't lasted for one reason or another. He gets frustrated when he makes a mistake and employers just - let him go abruptly without explaining the seemingly evident error.

Once, after being let go he came to me for some advice. While I tried to take the position of the employer, I'm sure I softened their reaction by a long shot. I had to. He's my son. I'm irrevocably biased, In any case, when I explained why the rules are the rules he said, "Why don't they just tell you that? Why don't they just talk to me like I'm a human with a brain?"
Those questions I couldn't answer for him.

My son is an intelligent young man. He has a heart, a conscience, an ego and feelings - all of which can be damaged buy hurtful, self-centered or poorly thought out words. Just because he has some difficulty expressing himself does not mean that he doesn't have feelings. It means, he has some difficulty expressing them. His is vulnerable just like everyone. In fact, probably more so, because he has established very few emotional mechanisms for protecting himself from the poor manners and lack of verbal impulse control so many seem to display.

I tried to explain that we've all been treated like we are "brainless wonders" at one point or another in our working lives - regardless of any apparent ability or disability. I tried to explain that this poor treatment actually has nothing to do with us and everything to do with whoever is doing the talking.

However, kinder, gentler words from a biased parent don't help much outside the walls of this home. They just don't offer much protection from the elements of 'outside employment.'

I am happy to report that my son did find work for the summer. He was a clerk at a local sporting goods store. He enjoyed his work - or at minimum enjoyed earning the money. He said very little about the people he worked alongside and even less about the work he was asked to complete - other than some derogatory comments about the insipid nature of retail and the shoppers who support it.

In the meantime, he turned 21 last month. It seems incredible to me that he can be so grown up.
He left for school a few weeks ago. He is back to his safe, campus job and his Sophomore year classes. He has chosen a major without my influence and seems happy to be back in the surroundings of his education.
Maybe he has a new-found appreciation and or respect for the task of finishing school and graduating. maybe he's realized that this may provide some buffer against a life of retail employment.

As with all the stages he has grown through. . . One can only hope.

The Profiles of 'Success'

2016-03-24T09:49:00.004-07:00

My son is a teenager and in the second semester of his second year at college.
He's new to it, but he is also determined and will find his way to success on his own terms.

My husband is over fifty, an academic and on faculty at the same college.
Say no more.

The two of them are like oil and water most days; generationally, culturally, and philosophically.

I am the carafe that holds them in contact with one another.
It's a tough job.

The three of us have very different perspectives, yet we must co-mingle in some places. Inevitably, two of us form a pair and one of us plays the Outlier. Sometimes all three of us must try to arrive from our own perspectives at one common place. This is always the hardest task regardless the topic from the silly or mundane to those more important. Lately, and because my son is in college, we are attempting to determine what 'success' means to each of us - and find some common ground. We don't even agree on where that is most days. . .

What or how adamantly to apply that label to - well . . . anything is no small chore and demands diplomacy levels and patience on par with United Nations negotiations. Our lives in this space become too closely bonded and we crash wildly and headstrong into one another in sort of the way I would imagine asteroids plow into planets and the effects those impacts have on the other. Except there are three of us. More planets, more asteroids, more collisions, more damage, more change.

Are you beginning to get the magnitude of such a small definition?

Because we hold differing points of view, the routes from which we arrive at like points have vastly different paths. These days our individual definitions of 'success' are like three different maps of three different countries in three different languages. We have different origins, we have different ideas about what 'success' looks like, acts like and where it lives.
Have you ever been to one of those painting parties where you and your friends all attempt to re-paint your personal copy of the same picture? None of them ever look the same at the end. Yet, somehow they all turn out just right for whomever painted it? It's kind of like that for the three of us. Except the subject of success and who gets to define it for whom seems to be a hot button. Whereas art appreciation? Not so much. At least not in our family.

What the last six months has taught me is; despite that we have each arrived at the same "Paint 'n' Party" destination out of necessity is that 'telephone' is a real game. And we play it every day whether we intend to or not.

How could all of us be so alike and so different at the same? Individuality is a beautiful thing. Most times.

At this party one of us doesn't want to have anything to do with the painting party - only feels obligated to be there and spends time looking up "painting" in the dictionary as though the rest of us are ignorant as to what we are doing, The other doesn't really like painting or getting their hands dirty so is making an online tutorial to post on YouTube complete with painting examples, places to purchase paints, an assortment of brushes and their best applications along with the comments from others. And finally, the third is just looking at all the dried out paints, the shoddy brushes they've been provided and is secretly trying to think of the best way to transform the overused, garage sale fodder of an example into something that they may actually want to display somewhere - otherwise, it's a monumental waste of time.

Our definitions of 'Success' stop being similar immediately after we move beyond the point that we use the same alpha characters to represent the idea and they are in the same order.
S U C C E S S
At least two of us do, the third thinks in a language other than English.
I know, it's complicated, right?

More important, before the three of us arrived here, we did not understand why any of this was important - so it's been a long road for each of us. We were each simply 'right' and never doubted our understanding - ever.

Our mutual and different ideas are so hard to reconcile because they are all correct and appropriate. Yet, does that mean that they have to be mutually inclusive? or exclusive? I don't believe it does. I'm afraid that this is another area where we have a hard time agreeing.

For a while I wasn't convinced that these definitions needed to be reconciled, I now believe they might - for the sake of revealing expectations (and protecting my sanity). This task gives me reason to consider whose definition is most important - which I haven't been able to figure out. That idea might be incorrect. I don't see why one needs to be more important than another. They are all important and relevant. I believe it might be more necessary to understand and accept one another's terms than it is to fall in line behind one and disregard the others. This is still a democracy, right?
Is there no room for interpretation?

What is art without interpretation?

We are three headstrong, opinionated and individual people so this will be the most difficult aspect of this process. For each of us, a certain amount of compromise will be required. Not one of us, or two of us, but each of us in part must be willing to both concede, respect and accept.

The difficult part as a parent is being agile enough to move from being an active decision implementer in a child's' life to being only an influencer. In other words, I (we) cannot expect to tell our son what to do any longer. He is 20 years old. I can only give him guidance, tell him my experiences and let him know that I support what ever he chooses - then let him go free to make his own choices.
This is a lot harder for my husband who sees things in much more pragmatic and linear terms - as well as obligatory - when they are necessarily bound to the strings (bridge cables) of the bank account that pays our son's way through this educational maze.
He so badly wants to be able to make demands and require certain behaviors because he offers financial support. Sometimes he can and then he is happy. But much of the time he cannot and it irritates him to the point of apoplexy. He hates that he cannot coerce and control how is his intentions are valued by others.

My son is 20. He is Autistic. He made the decision to go away to college on his own. He decided, with help from advisers, which classes to take and what his area of study would be. He made it through the first year of school on his own terms. He passed all his classes and joined a Bible Study group and held a student job on campus. He worked very hard at making friends. He diligently attended every sporting, social, academic and entertainment and or health-club event that the school and community offered. Sometimes at the sacrifice of his grades - but he did it. His priority was to make friends and be strong enough to leave my home. He didn't especially care about his grades so long as he passed. What he really wanted was friends. He went to college to learn to make friends. Most of us learn this in kindergarten. My son has been struggling with this all his life. I suppose he decided to accomplish this AND a college curriculum.
He made it.

He still needs help remembering to do his laundry, take out the trash or turn in homework and papers and projects. He refuses to remember to bring plates, glasses and half-eaten snacks back to the kitchen from wherever he was when he ate them. He doesn't understand why putting a dirty fork in his desk drawer or the remains of his meal in his backpack or pockets and leaving it there for an eternity presents any sort of a problem - sanitary, organizational or otherwise.

He will probably always need the support of someone. Who of us doesn't really? Isn't it always nicer to have someone baking us up? Despite how capable we are?
These days, he is happiest when he finds that he actually can cope with problems, find solutions and work through trouble - on his own as much as possible. If he cannot, he knows he can call. we'll be there. we may not agree, but we'll be there as best we can.

I am the Lion, my son is the Wizard

2015-02-23T17:36:00.003-08:00

My son left for college seven weeks ago. His transition and mine, although decidedly separate, occurred in tangent. Each were equally difficult both to live through and to witness. We were uncomfortable and heroic but for entirely different reasons. In short, I have missed him incredibly. I believe he has missed me too.

His moving away is very much a double-edged sword. He needs to go to college. I understand that and so does he or at least he will one day. He needs to grow personally and socially. I know all this is right and true, but knowing has not made it any easier.
I miss him terribly and he misses having me around to lean on. I know that life for him is and will continue to be difficult without me in his circle all the time.
He is struggling. I know it. I can see it in his withdrawal. I can hear it in his lazy, disconnected tone. He is jumping through academic hoops and entirely miserable some nights. He says he feels 'lonely', 'lost' and 'out of control.' There are no words more difficult to hear as a parent.
The strange part is that he is doing well in school. Academically he is doing okay and even improving since the beginning of the year. He has found a job working for a person he respects. Personally and socially, he is floundering. From what I have seen, it is not for lack of trying. What I have seen of him as he tries with all his stamina and effort to 'fit in' .... is the my son has somehow turned into the bravest person I know.

Oddly enough, despite that he says he is lonely, no matter that he claims he has no friends. regardless that, to me, he appears to be miserable more often than not, he is flourishing in his own way. My son always has gone about tasks in his own way and by his own method. I should not really be surprised by this. But I am. I am surprised and thrilled that he has endeavored on a plan that I did not and could not conceive - yet it's perfect for him. I know that now. At first, I thought I needed to put one together for him - one that made sense to me. Finally and after many anxious nights and days, I gave up attempting to force him to engage on my terms. I had forgotten what I already knew and learned.

At this age, being on the edge of adulthood, my role in his life has transformed. I am no longer a director and or an enforcer. I am an influencer. What that means is that I no longer get to decide anything for him. I no longer get to declare directives. All I can do is voice my concerns, relay my experience(s) and hope, know and pray that he makes a good decision - whatever that ends up looking like.

On my last visit to campus he was up before I was, had made himself breakfast and set the dishes in the sink. After breakfast he seemed almost chatty. He told me about all the activities he had attended during the week and that he has been trying to get more exercise and eat more to keep his energy and strength up.

My son is taking control of his life. He is assuming responsibility for his life, his needs and his self.

I did not recognize the young man I visited. This man goes out - all the time - even when he doesn't know anyone - even when the function is in a big, loud place, or a complicated social environment. He attends basketball games!! Baseball games, movies, barbecues, student gatherings where ever and when ever. The young man I encountered has taken up exercise so that he can spend time in the gym - "to be around people." He commits to two-hour bus rides to sporting events in neighboring towns just "to be around other people." He has joined clubs and sought out the campus bible study group. He spends hours at the library - all in an effort to simply increase the chances that he might meet some other students and form a friendship. To date, that hasn't happened and my heart breaks for him. He has tried and continues to try harder to make new friends than I ever would have.
He is so incredibly brave because he is starving for friendship.

Not surprisingly, he lives just short of defeat. I can see that he hurts deeply. I can stare at 'lonely' in his eyes. He is shy and feels alone. I know that if there were a tangible target even if it was one that was in no way responsible for this sad time, he would lash out and try to hurt it back.

I see my son every weekend. I need to see him to make sure he is okay and he needs to see me to be sure that I am still there, that I haven't forgotten about him or moved on to an alternate priority now that he does not occupy most of my time. What he doesn't know is that the simple fact that he is not physically near me does not mean that he I will no longer keep him as a priority needing tremendous amounts of support, love and care. His remoteness means that he is an even larger priority in my life than he was while we shared a home. I have learned to provide all the support that I possibly can in an entirely new way and through wholly different means. There is only so much I can do and a limit to what I can offer. I can do laundry, I can provide moral support. I can make sure he has food he likes and that there is enough there to eat for someone who really doesn't care if he eats or not because loneliness has buried his hunger. There has never been a more critical need for 'comfort food.'

Since he has moved away there are tasks and responsibilities that he must necessarily assume total accountability for. Eating enough and as often as he needed to was a huge challenge the first semester. Keeping track of his belongings has always been a challenge. Now that he is on his own there is nobody close to help him find his Student ID when it goes through the wash or his last five dollar bill abandoned in his sock drawer. People don't understand his habit of hiding things in close, closed places. Why would his car keys be stuffed down between the sofa cushions? I don't know, I simply know that they are and understand that my son likes the way this type of space feels; surrounded, a little tight, but warm and cozy. My son is beginning to understand his own habits.

I don't mean to make it appear that my son is a total bumbling misfit in his new environment. I truly believe that most people when placed in similar situations struggle with all sorts of issues. Some far heavier than those my son faces,
There are reasons I don't easily recognize my son as he once was. He has grown, He has matured. He is becoming the man I knew he would and I could not be more proud.

How exactly, I don't know. He is courageous, He is stronger than he believes. He is learning to be in control of more aspects of his life with every passing day despite that it is difficult and unpredictable. He is truly amazing to me. I watch and am continuously in awe of his perseverance, his unwillingness to quit, his determination to reinvent himself to capture more and more responsibility, his relentless pursuit of the friends that he wants and needs and his simultaneous patience with what is in store for him.

Even though he is in emotional pain and discomfort, I know that he must go through it and come out intact and on the other side to reap the benefits of this life lesson in ways that will require him to grow and mature into the remarkable person he will be.

Nobody else sneaks up on me repeatedly throughout the day to yell-whisper, "Boo!" in my ear from behind. How can you not miss someone who loves to play?!
Nobody else asks if there is anything I need them to do for me - even if it's ten o'clock in the evening.
Nobody else would rather be home with me, even if we are separately busy, than anywhere else.
Nobody else will join me in a room just to share my space with me and smirk at me as I notice his presence the way he does.

I have missed him so much. I have also worried about him handling such a huge change in his environment, fretted for him and his ability to find friends and connections and ached for him when he hasn't,

The first semester is over, He passed all his classes, got himself registered for the next set, ordered his books and began again. He kept his job and continues to try as hard as he can - at everything.

Some might say that he should be trying harder. I would ask them by whose measuring stick should anyone gauge their work if not their own?

I could not be more proud. He is a remarkable young man - capable of so much more than my measuring stick ever accounted for. I am so glad that he chose to throw mine away and use his own.

The Department of Public Safety

2014-09-10T17:53:00.001-07:00

My son waited a while - much longer than his younger brother would have liked - to get his driver's license. He wasn't ready at 16 years old and I didn't push him. He had no intention of joining the chaos on the roads and I didn't really see why he should. The environment is nothing but dangerous. He recognized it at a time when I was already so desensitized that I forgot what it looked like.

In no uncertain terms my son explained that other driver's are erratic, do things without giving notice and generally do not follow the rules all of which makes them dangerous.He is SO right!Why would anyone throw themselves into the midst of that unless they absolutely must?

Well . . . because they must. Because they want money and because they need to join life. . . that's why.

It wasn't until his younger brother was old enough to attend Driver's Training with him that he even considered taking the classes. My son needed at least one familiar person there as a shield from the unknown. Cash was his motivation and family was his foundation.

I cannot tell you how many trips to the Department of Motor Vehicles we made. It seemed like each time we were there, some different bureaucratic barrier emerged that hadn't been announced the time before. He didn't meet the age requirement (by one day) despite that he was well over 16 years old. Or he didn't have a document (that wasn't listed in the requirements). Or the appointment had been cancelled without his consent because he didn't arrive and check in a full hour before his scheduled diving test. Somehow, each setback only increased his distrust of the Department as a whole.

By the time he finally rescheduled his Road Test he didn't believe that some new and unknown condition would not emerge to get block his way to independence once again.

When we arrived at the Department of Motor Vehicles, I stood back and let my son handle his appointment. In fact, I insisted on it. He would have to handle tasks and procedures much worse than this in the future. I though it best if he began his now - when he really wanted something for his effort.

My son's appointment went well. He handled himself well, with confidence and purpose. He handled the officer who took his paperwork politely and with a barrage of questions she was not equipped to answer. He waited alone with the car virtually hours for his road test. Once gone, I prayed for safety and panicked when they returned in just over five minutes.

Walking through the front door of the driving center trying very hard to hold the pride in - he finally smiled. I knew he had done well and that this hurdle, this right of passage had been passed.

At this point, my son is driving all the time. He enjoys it. He knows when he should and when he has reached his limit. Most important, he loves, soaks in and wallows in the independence and autonomy that being able to drive has brought.

Senior year . . . just like that

2014-06-09T15:58:00.000-07:00

We survived Senior Year when we didn't believe we would! We survived because my son is tenacious. He simply does not give up.
So many people told me this day would never arrive. So many people explained the poor chances for success that my son could expect. Some even recommended an institution. Yes, that kind of place.

Never mind them.

Bus route worries; would it be the same? would the same driver be chauffeuring? would it be the exact same bus down to the number on the side? Schedule changes; what if I don't get the classes I need? who will help if I need to make changes? Are all the classrooms, bathrooms and cafeterias still in the same place after a summer of renovations? Would anyone remember him? Only everyone!! Does he have to try in classes that he cannot stand? Who in the heck thought that a class called Medical Terminology would be at all interesting to this child? In spite of all the uncertainties, unpleasant and uninteresting lessons, routines shifts and the like, my son has completed high school and done it well. Most important, he has finished on his own terms, in his way and according to his standards.

Since my son survived the first month of 12th grade, we all survived the same. Everyone did remember him. Everyone always has. I ran into his preschool teacher the other day at the market. She remembered him with great fondness and detail. Everyone remembers my son. I son't know what he was worried about, but I suppose worrying about that is a normal concern no matter who you are.

It has been another remarkable year for my son. He has grown into a truly amazing young man. He is consistently kind, conscientious and considerate. He is good. I just cannot say enough about him. I am so truly proud because he has worked so hard - in many ways harder than most - and he has succeeded. Nothing brings me more joy than to know without a doubt that all his hard work and my determination on his behalf has paid off. I know he is proud too because he tries so hard not to smile when someone tells him about his accomplishments. I cannot mention it. He doesn't like to be boasted upon.

There were times when I wondered if I have pushed him hard enough, expected enough of him, asked him to work hard enough. I still don't know because I don't know what is the right amount of effort for him. Thankfully, I believe he knows. I keep forgetting that what is correct for me is not also correct for him. Again, and thankfully, he reminds me in his way.

In so many ways my son is able to multi-task, combining activities that would make me feel incredibly frazzled and irritated would it were to last very long. Where I combine tasks, he cannot. Where he combines sensory input, I cannot. We run on completely different operating systems, it's true. Regardless of how he has completed this years long task, what matters is that he found his own way and finished on his terms. He did an outstanding job.

We made it through College applications, ACT and SAT exams, Prom, Homecoming, Senior pictures, and End of Course Exams. . . Through all of these, my son has taken on as much as he can and weeded out the parts that don't concern him. Again, they wouldn't be the choices that I would make, but they are not my choices. They are his, and he has made them well and according to his own wants and interest.
Graduation lies ahead; practice, ceremonies, uncomfortable regalia, crowds, photos, squealing parents, insolent yet equally proud and a little bit jealous brothers . . . there is so much ahead yet.

Plano East Senior High School Graduation

But just like that . . . Senior year has come to an end and life will begin again.

Bus

2013-08-19T05:53:00.003-07:00

My son loves the bus. Any bus really, but the bus ride to school is (or was) almost his favorite part of the school day. Well, he likely enjoyed the bus ride home better - but you understand.
The bus ride served as the perfect transition mechanism between his home routine and any school expectations that would happen on any given day of the week.

Almost without fail, everyday - there were stories of the bus ride. The juvenile, entertaining and harmless antics of the bus driver who apparently truly enjoyed his morning and afternoon duties with the kids he had temporary custody of. And almost every day this summer - also without fail - come laments over the loss of the same bus driver and the comfortable, repetitive routine he represented.

My son misses riding the bus. His bus.
He has all the makes and models memorized and is always interested in what types of buses other school districts use and for what purpose. In fact, once we were while traveling he commented, "I could never go to school here, their buses are ugly." There was no mention of any other aspect of the school district, neighborhood or an interest in the curriculum. Those were not important.

There were two occasions last school year when I was required to pick up my son from school early for some minor doctor's visit - a check-up or a trip to the dentist maybe. On both occasions my son would practically beg me to return him to school (despite that classes would be over by the time we arrived back at school) so that he could ride the bus home. We would just make it - two minutes to spare. Riding the bus was his routine and he worked very hard to protect it and keep it intact within his day - despite whatever else might be going on or how it might inconvenience anyone else.
If my son was feeling poorly, he would go to school anyway - so that he wouldn't miss the bus ride. Or, he might refuse to come home early if he wasn't feeling well always citing his need to ride the bus to and from school. Unfortunately the same rigid adherence to routine made it impossible for him to stay after school to attend tutoring sessions or really for any other after school activity. He missed a great deal because of that damn bus, but I am sure that what he gained by sticking to his routine was more than he missed. The problem is . . . I don't understand it. He does.
Those measures are only easily understood from one perspective. His. I can see what he missed in his grades over a few semesters when tutoring would have helped; in his small social circle that after school clubs may have grown. It is much harder for me to measure the comfort level he gained or sustained by the stoic presence of that giant yellow bus, day in and day out. I can only guess at the anxiety level that might have ensued would the bus driver had quit half way through the year or the bus route changed or worst and almost unimaginable, if the bus hadn't come one day.
I don't know what might have happened. I don't even like to think about it.

All summer my son has wondered if the bus will be the same this year; the same route, the same driver, the same schedule.
All summer he has been waiting for that card in the mail. The one with the bus schedule; his bus stop location and time.

When is that card going to come?

His class schedule . . . he is not so concerned with.

Driver's Ed . . . . Oh no!

2013-06-06T16:38:00.002-07:00

The time is here whether I like it or not.

Almost everyone learns to drive at some point in his or her life. Some of us choose to learn and then avoid the task altogether by living in an area where it's not required. However, that decision typically comes with the added curtailment of all extracurricular activities like vacations, weekend trips or other travel that might require transportation beyond what is available through the local city or metro area. For most of the population, the choice to give up that autonomy and access would be a very difficult one. For some, it's a no-brainer. The answer is just a clear and definite, "No." For others, it's not really a matter of choice. Not having transportation would make life practically impossible.

Here in Dallas where the public transit system leaves much to be desired, in part due to the shear size of the place and in part due to massive under funding, most area are hugely under-served by public transportation. In addition, the suburban city where my family lives boast an annual population growth of over 25,000 annually with most homeowner's earning a level of income that negates public transportation completely. They simply don't need it. That social and financial luck, combined with vast urban sprawl have created the necessity for residents to commute in vehicles to almost every place they might want to go . . . a person has little choice. Bicycles only work well when the temperature is less than 100 degrees and you ride in a group where it is impossible not to noticed. So . . . half the year. But the other half, when tires begin to melt on the pavement an it's not healthy to be outside for more than a few minutes (because it's 115 degrees) much less exercising - bikes are not a good idea.

Large-tract urban planning has virtually eliminated the 'local community zone' from the map making it unfeasible to consider not having a car if and when the possibility becomes available. That point is the same day most urban-dwelling teenagers reach age '15.'

Driver's Ed.

Even with all the peer-pressure and geographic requirements staring him in the face (not to mention his younger brother giving him hell on a daily basis about not taking the classes) my oldest son does not want to learn to drive. He is afraid. He tells me that he cannot be sure of the actions of other drivers. He says they do not follow the laws and or rules. He's right. He says they behave erratically. They don't communicate. They are emotional. He believes that they are clearly and wholly not reliable. He cannot help but wonder how - if other drivers do not follow the laws or the rules - he will be able to learn to navigate in an environment where he can never be sure what to expect.
I get it. It's a good question and a tough one to answer. In fact, up to today - I have no sound, reassuring answer for him because I cannot make any driving experience a black and white one for him - or anyone. I cannot fix this for him. I cannot guarantee it will be safe. I cannot tell him that every day will be a good one if he does a, b and c: Drives safely himself, keeps his car in good repair and stays alert on the road. I wish I could.

Driving is always a risk

There's just no putting it lightly. Operating a vehicle on any road regardless how it's traveled comes with inherent risk which is multiplied exponentially and directly correlates to the number of driver's on the road.
I can't even count the number of accidents I have been in. Some were bad, but in all I was very lucky. Damage to me was most times minimal -it was the vehicle that took the brunt of the destruction. But still, an accident in some form over a lifetime of driving is probably unavoidable.
I wonder which one of us is more afraid. Most days, I believe it's me who is virtually terrified. So scared.

Classes begin on June 17th.
My stomach hurts.

2013-05-13T06:29:00.000-07:00

We never stop worrying about our kids. Ever. Not for a day and not for a night's sleep.

Soon, (sooner than I'd like) my son will be 18 years old. His birthday is just six short months away and I am incredulous as to how we arrived at this date so quickly. He is a wonderful young man, but 18? . . . No. Is he ready to be 18? Have I prepared him well enough? I worry is that I've missed something; some critical lesson or piece of advice. I've done all I know of and am prepared to do more, but I still worry that my efforts won't be enough - good enough - thorough enough.

Let's see . . . I've got him on advocacy lists - just in case he needs the support because after all . . . who doesn't benefit from a little bit of kind and or sincere support? I don't know a single soul who can't use some at some point.
I've started the legal processes that will enable him to be the strong, self-sufficient adult that I know he will be - but when he's ready. For a toolkit of your own for your child go to:Transition Toolkit

I am in court almost as I speak attempting to have child support for him continued beyond his matriculation date and paid into a Special Needs Trust on his behalf. I want his Father to begin paying his son instead of me. His Father is never going to go for it, but how can I not try? My lawyer believes me insane, but how would I look my son in the eye later - when he needs help . . . support, and say, "I thought of that, but I didn't make the effort. It (you) weren't worth it." I have to try.

I worry about him. I worry about his brother for completely different reasons. Like, "Did I spend so much energy worrying about one that I didn't pay enough mind to the other?" Between the two of them, my concern is non-stop. I suppose that is what being a parent is.
Knowing that I won't always be there with a pack of items he will need throughout the day. Teaching him to pack that bag on his own.

Later I may realize that I got it wrong, but at least I will have tried my hardest, my best and with everything I've got while simultaneously attempting to leave them both responsible for their lives in growing proportion as they mature into adults. How can that be bad, right?

Ups and Downs

2013-05-09T18:24:00.004-07:00

If you never knew it until this day; If somehow you have gotten this far without being brutally and glaringly told; If you have been lucky enough to have avoided one side . . . Let me tell you.

Life is full of Ups and Downs.

We all have them. We spill our coffee and ruin a brand new blouse doing it only later to find a $50 bill just lying there and nobody in sight - silently sitting in with the packs of gum at the gas station. Money arrives in the mail from a rebate we sent in so long ago that we had forgotten just about the same time we drive over a nail in the alley and need a new tire. Some people call it Karma. It's just the way life is - for most of us.

This week is TAKS week. My son is taking three this year. All the important ones. Those that he will need to do well on to graduate. He is nervous about them - and rightly so. They are a big deal and the school has made kids anxious about them with years of test-taking practice. Despite that he claims he isn't nervous, I know he is. He is anxious and suffering from a severe self-confidence drought.
Thank goodness for that Karma-thing!

Not two days ago my son received a phone call from someone who worked for a National company in his field of interest who wanted to interview him about the work he does creating his weather blog; Dallas Storm Watch. This gentleman who called wanted my son to fly out to his location and meet with him. Unfortunately, my son will be in 5th period at High School during that time and cannot attend. The caller could not have known that he was contacting a teenager.

Click here to go to the StormWatchDallas website

How terrific is that? My son's weather page must be so professional that the caller thought that he was calling a work-at-home adult for an interview!!

Good job son!!! I am so proud of you!

Honestly, I would fly out there with him if he wanted to go, but my son isn't keen on flying, so he has arranged a Skype interview instead. Another stroke of genius! I certainly wouldn't have come up with that solution. I just don't think that way. Thankfully, he does.
Is there anything better than national, unsolicited, positive attention when someone is feeling like he just might be a failure?

I don't think so.

I am, once again, so proud of him! He's gotten the recognition of someone who might really be able to tell him precisely how talented he is purely based on his knowledge and perseverance alone. And, he's gained this recognition just at the moment his fragile ego most needs a gentle boost.

It's fabulous!! And I am so happy for him.

I can't wait to hear how the interview goes. At first, he won't tell me because he hates recognition. He's so embarrassed by his own fantastic-ness factor.

Eventually he will tell me how the interview went and provide me a copy of the article the gentleman will write. Until then and even if he doesn't remember - I know that I'm not the only one who is impressed by him.

You goin' out?!?!

2013-01-29T17:30:00.000-08:00

My son is going out with friends?

! Wait! Are you sure? because you know who my son is, right?

It's true. My son is going out with some 'friends' - for the first time in his life.

The news came to me on a Wednesday. My oldest boy wanted to go to the park after school instead of coming directly home as he always does. (He needs to check to be sure his younger brother got home okay and get something to eat. It's what he does - every weekday without fail.) He is 17 so it should be fine, right? Even though he has never been out with friends before - ever?
This Friday would be different. He was going to the park . . .'with friends.' That was all I knew.

In a way the outing seemed completely normal and my anxious reaction a least a little paranoid. I felt knowingly overzealous to insist on the typical information from a child who is venturing out on his or her own for the first time but unable to resist asking.

"Who are you going with?"
"What are their names? Yes, all of them."
"Where do you know them from?"
"Where will you be?"
"How long are you staying?"
"Are you going anywhere else?"

Normally, kids begin going out with, meeting or 'hangin' out' with friends years earlier than 17. I have heard stories about trips to the movies or the mall where one of the parents agrees to chauffeur. But by 17 most of these young adults can take care of themselves which makes this line of questioning seem a bit silly. I felt silly asking. But I couldn't help it. As a Mom, I couldn't not ask. I asked them all and then some. . . . got my answers and let him go.

I packed him an extra lunch to eat at the park knowing that he would be hungry missing both his afternoon snack and his dinner and waited . . . .
I made dinner. I did housework. I tried to read. I looked for more housework to do. I baked something. All the while I wondered, "Was he having fun?" "Were the kids being decent toward him (or did they invite him along so they would have someone to tease)?" I know it's terrible to admit, but it's a real concern and one that has been validated over and over again by real situations.

Just before 9 o'clock p.m. I received a text from my son letting me know that he was on his way home - walking. The park wasn't far at all and he was with another boy who's parents were picking him up soon. My son had stayed later because he didn't want to leave the other child alone and waiting in the dark.

And here I was worried about my son while he was busy making sure the others were safe.

He came home a little cold, very hungry and said that he had a 'really good time.' He shared some pictures that he had taken with the camera on his phone. He even spoke about some of the antics and activities of the night. It was all typical teenage behavior from what I could tell. I tried very hard to restrict my questions to simple inquires and leave his private experience alone. After all, I didn't want to scare him off from sharing his feelings with me through my own over-protective scrutiny. I didn't want him to begin looking for trouble where there may not be any.

All-in-all, my son had a great time. He came home happier and more animated than he typically behaves. He was with friends, they didn't make him feel unwanted or as though he shouldn't be there and he said it was 'fun.'

Everything seems totally normal. And it is. He is going out again with them this weekend.

Even though I am wondering what it was I was concerned about, I know that I will worry for him again this Friday.

Mean Daddy

2012-12-04T05:51:00.001-08:00

Something happened. . . about six months ago. I haven't written about it. In fact, I haven't really written anything at all since that time. The impact of what happened has stunned me into a verbal silence but also propelled me by fueling a violent inner rage. I feel as though I am hosting a dormant volcano of injustice and old school "mean" that will one day boil and erupt. I am afraid that I will blow up and everything in the vicinity will be destroyed. That is the last thing I want.

Last June, my son was texting with his Father in an attempt to determine what he might like for Father's Day. I won't go into the fact that his Father's wife ought to be the one hosting any purchase of Father's Day gifts - not me - the ex-wife. But . . . she doesn't. Never has. I don't understand. Never will.
In any case, my son wanted to do something nice for his Dad and I didn't discourage him. Their relationship has never been a solid or respectful one so in an effort to allow my son to show his care for his Father in any way that he can - I support.

My son, wanted to get his father something that he needed. His Father - instead of graciously accepting any gift and then returning it or whatever solution suited him and might remain in the hemisphere of 'polite'- instead reacted, critically, ungratefully and with a measure of callous that should only be reserved for . . . well nobody.
My ex-husband told my son that he didn't want the gift and not only did he not want it, he wanted my son to stop attempting to get this item for him, "trying to rule my life" and for that matter, stop everything. Stop coming to visit him " . . . ever, I don't need the hassle."
What my ex-husband said to my son in a text was deeply rude, mean, horrible, entirely disrespectful and managed to completely obliterate any salvageable remains of the pathetic relationship that had existed prior into a huge pile of hurt feelings, inadequacy, personal rejection, humiliation and emotional abuse. My son has not visited his Father since the first part of June and has no intention of going.
The kicker is that these days, his Father wonders why he won't come over. He is not so much surprised, he simply doesn't get it.

It's the "I don't need the hassle" sentence that stings so badly. I can barely get myself to put those hurtful words in writing.What type of parent would ever say those words to a child in reference to the relationship between the two or with respect to his or her task and duty as a parent in raising that child?

It's incredulous.

I am still so angry I am practically apoplectic. I am deeply hurt for my son and sad that any child ever has to hear those types of words from a parent. I am embarrassed to write about them - those very painful words.

All this - because my son wanted to get his Dad a Father's Day gift and his Father has NO IDEA how to behave like an adult OR understand his Techie-minded Autistic son.

I have shared this story with a few people - close friends who know the type of man their father is and they type of young man my son is growing up to be. In every case, at the end of the story, the listener will squint his or her eyes, cock his or her head and ask, "What?!" as though they must have missed some critical part of the exchange. Maybe the part where my son is antagonistic or has been so disrespectful to his Father that his Dad had no options left but to end it entirely. None of that happened though. It's not there.
Again, "What?!"

Disbelief.

My son was emotionally crushed even more than he had been up to that day in his life. He remains so to this day. He only speaks to his Father at an arm's length and has lost all respect for him. I cannot blame him. Would it were me, I be planning some sort of homicide, but my son is far more forgiving than I am. He always has been. My son has never expected his Father to behave like an adult the way I do.

The worst part is that according to the courts, there is nothing I can do to keep him from having to go with his Father should his Father decided he wants to see him again. I have no choice. Neither does my son unless he goes to court and tells a judge that he refuses to go. As you might expect, my son is afraid of retaliation from his Father should he do so. Honestly, I am too.
I thought about moving far away from here - from him. How can having any child exposed to that be healthy, right? Again, the court has determined that I have no idea what is best for my children. However, they do. The response was that we cannot move away from here because in the eyes of the court, that would damage my son's relationship with his father. I can move, but I cannot take the boys with me if I were to. They would have to stay with their Father.

What?!

Now do you understand?

Good, because I don't either.

"That's How You Get What You Want"

2012-12-03T07:31:00.001-08:00

My son wants something . . . again.

He has his eye on a target and his tenacity in pursuing achieving or obtaining only that is impressive to say the least.

He didn't want this item yesterday, or last week, or last month. Before today - this minute, he wanted something else. Another item that, (if he could figure out a logistical path to it's retention) at the time, was critical to his continued survival and overall happiness.

Where did this come from?

The truth is . . . he had never so much as mentioned this 'thing' - even in passing before today. My son never mentions anything 'in passing.' There is always a reason. Despite that, his need for this piece of equipment was and is always as immediate and immovable as is his will. We have been through this before and I know the drill. Still, shoring the dam against the sure and massive storm surge of his persuasive attempts will be exhausting. The process is not new. However, the goal is.

Today he has an entirely new agenda and he wants this bad!! He is fixated. He's bargaining. He's managing the logistics (which I am apparently too dull to manage or sort out on my own). All this work must be exhausting for him. I am exhausted and all I have been doing is dodging bullets. My son is the one planning the battle strategy and lobbing all the logical artillery. I am convinced that all this determination is simply a method devised in an effort to keep both his mind and his senses busy with something - to stay focused. I believe he is creating a point to focus on.

Planning a battle that more resembles an international political negotiation to keep from becoming bored. The task is complicated and likely to take up quite a bit of time. This sort of undertaking provides him with something to concentrate on - something to focus on when his thoughts are scattered and jagged. Here . . . embedded in this issue, is a clear, definable agenda and a problem that can or could be solved if he put his mind to it.

As he matures, so do his abilities to formulate and verbalize some very compelling arguments for the items or privileges he wants. Because he thinks so quickly, he can sometimes (quickly) leave me behind grasping for some way to hold on to my position. I know. "Because I am the parent and I said so" is always an option, but he's 17. At this age and despite his or any disability, I feel he deserves more respect than being hurled such a childish, contemptuous and relatively disrespectful statement.

He wears me down like the waters from an enormous storm that cover everything, soak through and flood all the layers leaving only what was always firm and permanent behind. These attempts to make me change my mind leave me feeling like soggy toast. Like if anyone disturbs me any further, I will fall apart entirely and be left a mushy mass of unrecognizable bits.

Something new happened this weekend though. A victory - for me!

Again, as is the case with many weekends, my son was bored and set his sights on something he wanted; an activity this time. Naturally, I resisted and used my full arsenal of experience and factual evidence in my attempt to help him understand why this won't work as he believes it might. It was a long day.
However, at the end of it my son said, "I think I am glad I didn't do that. It would have been a bad idea."

Yay!! (for me)

Yay!! and congratulations to my son who is learning to think ahead and make those complicated decisions that involve more persons than just him and more affect than only he might feel.

Lost . . . again

2012-12-02T09:36:00.002-08:00

For all of us, life can get distracting. Some days there is simply SO much to do that managing all the tasks seems practically impossible, totally exhausting and mind-numbingly paralyzing. I hope I have described it correctly because this has been my life for the past six or seven months.

So much has happened that I have wanted to write about - tell someone about or maybe even find someone who has been on this path before me who can empathize. I would even be happy just to have company along this road through Autism - I wouldn't care if neither of us knew if we were on the right road or where that trek might lead. I would be happy to have company along the way. Someone to talk to about the joys and stresses of finding ways to help my child with Aspergers as well as the child without Aspergers. He suffers too - just as much and in entirely different ways. Sometimes I believe life is harder for him. He knows. He understands issues and concerns that my first son does not.

All distraction aside, I am making an attempt to get my life back on track, keep things moving in some direction that resembles forward because time will march on whether or not I choose to try to affect the outcome of events, learning, changes - all meant to be interpreted as 'growing up with Aspergers.'

I will start with the most recent challenges and make my way around to all the other wonderful, frustrating and remarkable occasions to learn acceptance rather than conformity my son provides me with. I have always known that my son 'lives in the moment.' It is just how he his. As is typical, he helps me see both the benefits and the costs that come with this.

My son looses things.

Important things like homework, books, his wallet, all manner of belongings, money and clothing. Typically he finds them again, but not always. The odds decrease if the items have left the house. In other words, if he has had to transport them between school and home - forget it. It's gone. When we travel, I literally have to keep an eye on everything he brings along. With the exception of his electronics. Those he can manage and does, but he has had to work very hard to learn to handle them and still needs help in the form of my ever watchful (yet from his perspective - completely humiliating) eye. He hates that I still try to look after him at his age. I am trying to learn not to, but it is difficult to watch him fail (I have to choose the times when I can allow this - like the ones that aren't too expensive).

I wish I knew why keeping track of these items wasn't important to him. Well, let me state that differently. They are only important when he needs them, if he doesn't need them - they do not matter. Class notes and homework, once completed are finished in his mind and he no longer needs them - so they are forgotten or thrown aside with as little care as he might give a candy wrapper. In fact, less. He would actually put the wrapper in the trash. The homework is simply left unattended until it is left behind in some random location like all the lost socks you see along the street gutters. Just ignored until they are lost.

I live in North Texas. For the most part, our weather has extremes like any part of the globe. However, out extremes live in a higher position on the temperature scale. For us, average temperatures fall between 40F and 115F (40C). We rarely need winter coats, gloves, hats or scarves. Unfortunately, there are usually just a few days or weeks each year that we do - then 'winter' is over and we march back toward triple digits. Therefore, my son has a winter coat - HAD a winter coat. Every year it seems he needs a winter coat.

This year, he will definitely need one because we are travelling to the east coast after Christmas to visit family in Massachusetts. Since I am a planner, I went looking through the closet as soon as the tickets were in hand to make sure we had what we needed. In truth, the boys have grown so much the past year that I needed to make sure what they had still fit even though I knew there was no way it would. A person simply cannot grow six inches and still be able to wear the same clothes. But a coat? - you never know. I thought I might get lucky. Not!!

There were no coats in the closet except the old dark green, "Starter" sweat jacket my brother used to wear that neither of my children would be caught dead in, a light-weight, nylon wind breaker and my coats. Where in the hell did the coats go?
I know for a fact that I bought two wind breakers; one grey and one black, a winter coat for Jack and a mid weight coat for Ben. I swear that closet is like a black hole for coats. Put them in there and they are off to other parts of the universe through some unseen portal!!

Seriously, how can a person loose their clothes? I will never understand - even if was explained in detail, I would never be able to comprehend how this is possible.

I asked my son where is winter coat was and he was immediately defensive - a bad sign. It means he has realized he's lost it and was hoping I would never be the wiser. Poor kid. After the astonishment abated, we went coat shopping. Again. Like we do every year. This trip is as regular as our annual trip to buy a Christmas tree. Every year at the same time of year, we are coat shopping because last year's coat is in some unknown location and the only peace I can gain from this is knowing that all clothing left behind at school at the end of the year is donated to charity. So maybe someone is getting some use out of all those coats.

I know what you're thinking. Why don't I simply choose his coat as the item that I keep track of? Yeah, I wish. It's not that easy. I am a single parent. I have a lot on my plate and some things just outweigh 'coat location' on the priority scale. Managing a household, raising two boys, going back to school, keeping a meaningful adult relationship meaningful, providing meals, keeping a full time job and looking for a new one, and all the rest easily present themselves.

So I ask my son to go coat shopping and of course he doesn't want to. It's boring and it costs money; two things he has a distaste for. As well, it cements the fact that once again, he lost his coat and it embarrasses him. But being the logical child he is, he goes.
At the store he vetoes choices left and right. All but one. I know that the color has to be either blue, black or red. I have learned not to waste my time with any other functional option not available in one of those hues. It's just not going to happen. I hold up hanger after hanger and no words are necessary. The curled up mouth is striking enough that I simply put it back. Until . . . one choice gets a barely discernible nod. Hallelujah!! And . . . it comes in grey - Oh no! Surprisingly, it's okay. Wow!
Basking in my triumph I risk it all and ask, "Can you try it on?"

(Imagine a train wreck here. Crumpled, piled-up, derailed momentum come to a screeching halt.)

"No."
"Please."
"No. It's fine."
"Why not? We should see if it fits before we buy it."
"It's fine."
"Okay. If we buy it and it's not comfortable, you are going to have to keep it." (Stupid me, have I forgotten that in four months it will be in the company of all the other lost coats? How much of a threat is this - really?)
"I will try it on at home."
"If you don't like it at home, I am not bringing it back." (Sticking to my position even though I have realized it's hopeless.)
"Then I won't wear it."
"That is not an option."
"Fine (eye-rolling). I will try one arm to see if I like the fabric."
(Eye-rolling from Mom). "Great."

And we take the coat home. The coat lies on his bed for three days - tags on. Untried.

Then . . . . the weather turns and he needs that coat . . . and it's lost.

I know. I cannot believe it either. This is definitely a lost-coat-speed-record.

After the usual questions, we find it. It has been stowed in the same dresser drawer that he keeps his jeans in. Mashed up, tags still dangling and forgotten. Out of sight and out of mind. Right where he is comfortable with it residing.
The day afterward, he wore it to school. Two days later, he wore it out to the store. He's not sure he likes it. The coat is made of a neoprene-like material that feels "stiff." Fortunately, it's lined with a soft fleece in bright, construction orange! Now you see why I was so surprised to have it approved. This color is completely out of character. But for now he's wearing it - which is all I care about.
I hate the thought of him standing at the bus stop in 38F weather in nothing but his t-shirt. (He won't wear long sleeves, sweaters, sweatshirts, hoodies, etc., but that is another battle entirely.) His hands white and cold and his ears frozen to bright red stubbornly and diligently obeying his preferences despite that they are haltingly uncomfortable.

It is going to be a long few months.

The Sky is the Limit

2012-09-06T18:41:00.000-07:00

Actually . . . it's not. There isn't one. A limit, that is.

Did you know that in the State of Texas a Divorcee who has primary custody of a child with Autism is entitled to ask for limitless child support from her former spouse to support that child?

Really! The standard formula does not apply to children with Autism. So, as a parent with two children the standard child support percentage of 25% which would normally apply - does not. I can ask for as much as it takes to provide my son with the treatments, therapies, educational support or services he might require. With NO limits for that child's support!!

I wish I would have known this ten years ago. Not that it would have made a bit of difference in the piddly stream of reimbursements I receive from my ex-spouse, but you never know. Maybe it would have. If knowledge is power - I have definitely felt financially powerless once or twice.

What I do know is that I certainly would have considered more emotional therapy, more life skills therapy - maybe even more music training if I had believed that asking for more than the standard 50% reimbursement for doctor bills had been at all enforceable. There are as many forms of therapy for these kids as there are places on the Autism Spectrum where they live. Who knows which one might have been useful or helpful? An un-frustrating version would have been nice. They are all seriously (some ridiculously) expensive.

At this point I cannot help but wonder how his life might be different now had I known that I could have asked for money for occupational therapy costs beyond the standard 50% of what my insurance won't cover (almost everything). How might he be different now? How would he have grown or developed if there had simply been a little more support available?

Unfortunately, I don't believe in second guessing myself. There are way too many opportunities to convince myself that I am doing a less than adequate job here and I know better than any of them that that is simply not the case. But I must keep reminding myself that I am a single parent doing the best that I possibly can with very little help - financial or otherwise. But you had better believe that now that I know - the sky is the limit.

You might want to find out what the limit is in your state 'cause - "Who knew?"

Lazy Days . . . a.k.a Bored to Tears

2012-08-30T18:52:00.001-07:00

It's August 8th. I can hardly believe it, but summer is almost over. School begins in just over two weeks.
I need to prepare!

Where does the time go? Does it feel as though it passes very fast to everyone? Or is it just me? Is it magnified from my perspective?
The days of summer go by at the same speed as do all the other work days of the year. For some reason the days that I do not go to work seem to fly by more quickly than those I spend with my colleagues . . . watching the clock . . . counting the minutes left . . . knowing that I will surely die before the hands move the necessary inches around the dial to free me from servitude.
For my sons, my bored young men, I believe time passes more slowly, with less consequence and with far less remarkability than it does for me.

I think they are bored.

I think they have been bored for weeks.

It's summer and they are teenagers; too young to work and too old to be sent to sports camp at the YMCA dragging a swimsuit and a sack lunch.
Their friends are on vacation or hold up inside their respective air-conditioned homes. In their defense, it has been over one hundred degrees outside for weeks. They cannot exactly spend afternoons outside without risking heat exhaustion, heat stroke or something similar.
Their Mother is at work.

They are left to their own devices - boy devices - which means staying up late Facetime-ing with friends, sleeping until two in the afternoon the next day and not having to get dressed until a parent arrives home from work and calls them to the dinner table.
There are Pop-Tart wrappers and empty orange juice cups mounted on bedroom furniture surfaces, clean laundry piled on dressers aching to be worn or just noticed, damp towels piled on bathroom floors and laptops teetering on the edge of meltdown because they haven't been turned off for weeks. Their batteries are toying with molten stage. YouTube is bookmarked and evidence of texting volumes are gaining on the heights comparing to Mt. Everest; somewhere near twelve hundred. One more zero and it would come close to a record. This month, it's just a 'personal best.'

The boys are happy, content, quiet, occupied - albeit with Internet monotony and they are teenagers who need to begin finding their own way through their days and through the forced, alone, togetherness that this summer has provided them.

School starts soon.

Th

TAKS time

2012-06-10T12:25:00.001-07:00

My son took TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) tests this spring - four of them!! hey were coming. They are required and his performance either sends him on to Senior High School or holds him stagnant where his is to repeat 9th grade. All ninth graders take Social Studies, Mathematics, Science and English TAKS.

However, all ninth graders are not completely distracted by the way the paper feels under his or her hand. All ninth graders are not consumed with trying to place ambiguity where none exists. All ninth graders do not find the bell schedule - and the fact that it is 30 seconds off - far more interesting. All ninth graders are probably better able to block out the tactile consequences of 'ugly pencils' (anything but a Ticonderoga No. 2) scraping on 'spongy paper' (newsprint). Other ninth graders can get past all this input, ignore all the other noises around them like the girl biting her nails and the boys scratching his jeans and the teacher's breathing and concentrate on the questions or better yet, what is happening in the world economy. Is the Euro in trouble? What is Spain's debt rating? Will the storm in the Atlantic turn into a hurricane as it enters the Gulf? There are so many places where life is more interesting than in that room - where he has to undergo TAKS testing.

This year my son's and my collective stress levels were no different than any other year. In fact, they might have been greater. More tests = more stress and anxiety. Jackson's High School future depended on him passing these tests.

In Plano, high school isn't the same 4-year program at a single school that it is in most places around the country. High School in Plano, Texas means ninth and tenth graders go to one school. Senior High School students go to a different campus to complete eleventh and twelfth grades. It's weird. I know. But that's how they do it here.

He took the tests at the end of May. Yesterday - his results arrived in the mail. Immediately he told me not to open the envelope. if course, I ignored that request and tore it open. He made a dash to the other end of the house only to come sneaking back out - one pensive footfall at a time.Shy. Afraid. Bracing for the look on my face that let him know he would be attending summer school. (I don't know why. This hasn't happened since he was eight but I suppose that one occurrence is enough evidence that summer school remains a possibility.)

Let me just say . . . . "Commended!!"

This means that his scores were not only passing, not only average, not just above average, but above they typical high score as it relates to his peers and other students in the state.

YAY!!!

I am so proud of him! And do you know what? He is too. He said as much. After taking his time examining the results, he said, "I didn't think I did that well. I am kind of surprised." He worked so hard this year and has done really well. All those years of test-taking training and strategies to help him enhance his ability to concentrate have finally paid off for him.

He has done a fabulous job and can look forward to relaxing this summer and beginning Senior High School next August at the school of his choice. Plano East Senior High.

Yes, he had a choice. But that will have to be the subject of another post.

Joy to the World

2012-06-06T18:55:00.000-07:00

My son's favorite song is "Joy to the World."

Can you believe it? What a wonderful song (and sentiment) to enlist as a favorite!!
Joy to the World!!!

What a wonderful wish!

This is truly what he wants; the world and it's inhabitants to be peaceful and joyous. He wants harmony, joy and 'world peace.' He wants people to get along. He wants people to try.
He likes negotiation and hates yelling.
He wants diplomacy and abhors fights.
He wants mutual respect and hates irrationality.
He wants informed communication and doesn't understand assumptions.

Only Julie Andrews' pure voice will do for such a simple song.

He is SO VERY reasonable. And so indefatigueably logical.
Even when and if he is not sure why, he will err on the side of caution and respect. He knows where the line is even when I do not (or refuse to) see it.

He is joyous!

What a wonderful idea!! Christmastime is not a requisite because it doesn't have to be Christmastime to wish good will or happiness. He's right. That behavior is only the result of our poor habits.

Here is a link - just in case.

http://www.amazon.com/Greatest-Christmas-Songs-Julie-Andrews/dp/B00004XR5U

You are going to love it.
Just listen. Really listen - not just to the words you have memorized, but to their intent and meaning.
It's a wonderful song for any season.

Sweet and Sour

2012-06-03T18:37:00.002-07:00

As a single Mom with two kids, going out to eat (only once in a bit because I cannot afford it most days) seems like a welcome relief from just a few of the days' chores. The tease is; I won't have to wash dishes or wipe the table OR sweep the floor. I won't have to load the dishwasher or put away any leftovers. Ugh! just the thought of it makes me want to run screaming. I love the cooking. I absolutely HATE the clean up part.

But because I love the cooking part, I also love the 'surprise' aspect of trying new restaurants. Those I had heard of by a friend or those that I had read about in the latest local "Best Places In . . ." column. Who doesn't love to try new foods? What cook worth her salt doesn't admire and respect another cook's interpretation? It's fun! However, not everyone believes that unknown can ever be equated with 'fun.'

My son intensely dislikes 'unknown' Food is one area where he is least likely to be adventurous.
Feeding Jackson as an infant was easy. He ate pretty much the same thing almost every day. All babies begin this way. As new parents I was instructed to introduce foods into their immature constitutions gradually never veering too far from the bland and familiar. But Jackson seemed to accept quite a few foods - well . . . until around the age of three. At that point, with a younger brother who was just beginning his introduction to solid foods, Jackson found renewed comfort in those foods that he knew. My foods. My cooking - EXACTLY the way I made it. No funny stuff, no variations, no creative ideas, please.

When Jackson was younger, going out to eat was not an option because unless you have been to a restaurant before and you know without any doubt that items are available that will not cause stress, meal time just isn't the stress-free experience that it really needs to be as a parent.
As an adult, meal time is the one place where you want just 20 to 30 minutes to relax, enjoy your children and admire your work and your day. For Jackson, meal time could be nothing short of a culinary mine field.
To this day, both my children have peculiar tastes. Neither really enjoys uncertain gastronamy. They like what they know - which means, what I cook.

They don't like Pop-Tarts. "They're crap!" They would prefer a steaming (and home made) plate of French Toast.
They have never finished even the smallest glass of chocolate milk. (Why ruin it?)
They don't consider Jell-O edible. (It's like plastic, isn't it?)
They have never had Lasagna. (Too many textures all in one mouthful - boycott!)
And their reaction the first time I made them a casserole . . . eye rolling and "When did you come up with this bright idea?!"

As a toddler, Jackson didn't even like fast food. At McDonald's he would tear the ends off the french fries because the texture on the ends was different from that in the middle and it made his mouth feel funny. At some restaurants, chefs had the audacity to put garnishes of food items that could irreparably tarnish meals and make certain that there was no way in hell he was eating what was presented. And what is the point of writing out an entree description for the menu if it is not meant to be followed?!?! (I cannot tell you how many times I tried picking out parsley.) Why are there still surprises?
Just because Jackson liked broccoli, cheese, rice and chicken did NOT mean that he liked or yet likes Broccoli/chicken/cheese casserole. He still won't touch it, regardless that he enjoys all the ingredients separately and if they are cooked the way his Mother makes them. Broccoli on his dinner plate at home is not the same as the broccoli that the Italian restaurant prepares. They put 'stuff' on it. To you and I 'stuff' is seasoning. To Jackson 'stuff' is a contaminant.

This weekend we learned for the five hundredth time that the Sweet and Sour Chicken from First Chinese BBQ is not the same as the Sweet and Sour Chicken prepared at Jade Palace. Jade Palace is the one he likes.
We went out to dinner last weekend. Jackson likes Chinese food so we chose a place in the town we were visiting. Jackson ordered Sweet and Sour Chicken. This dish is typically his favorite and only choice at the Jade Palace. The chefs make it for him the same way every single time he orders it. The preparation never varies. He can count on it. Figuring it would be a safe bet, he ordered it again, using the same words and descriptors when placing his order.

Before his plate even arrived at the table - in fact, as it left the kitchen and I watched it's inevitable arrival at his side - I knew there was no way he was ever going to eat it just as surely as I knew that asking him to be flexible, sit quietly and eat it would get me no where. What does pineapple and or corn have to do with chicken anyway?

There was no way he was going to eat that dish - ever.

The waiter hadn't listened. He wasn't familiar with my son. The sauce was not on the side. The vegetables were mised in - touching the chicken. The menu description in Chinese characters didn't reveal that it would be made with dark meat - at least not to someone who doesn't read Mandarin. Jackson "doesn't prefer" dark meat.

He is not going to eat it in a box.
He is not going to eat it with a fox.
He is not going to eat it in a ship.
He is not going to eat it on a trip.
He is not going to eat it - anyplace.
He is Jackson.
He is.

Except in Jackson's story, he did try it. As he held back his gag at the tenuous texture of the dark meat and the sweet, sticky sauce - he tried so hard to behave politely, to sit at the dinner table with other and consume a food item that he really, really just did not like in any way, shape or form.

As I sat there watching my son struggle with an entree that he didn't care for I had to wonder; would most non-Aspergians try so hard to be polite? Would they try to consume something they didn't care for or would they send it back, order a different dish or stop at a fast food place on the way home after pushing their food around on their plate for 30 minutes?

What would they do?

Why did Jackson (and the rest of the family for that matter) assume that the problem with the food was laid solely and singularly at his feet and not with the dish? Who is to say what accounts for individual taste? And why is does he consider it bad it he doesn't care for something? I don't particularly care for oysters. That doesn't mean that chefs prepare them poorly - but that also doesn't mean they didn't.
I like sandwiches and I hate the way my Mother makes them. That's okay!!

I did not make Jackson eat his dinner that evening. How could I? Why would anyone want to eat something that tasted 'ugly.'?

He tried so hard. He was so polite. He took a few bites grimacing all the while beforehand; Like someone who is about to eat rotten fish heads, or boneless duck feet (yes ,that was on the menu) but knowing he should at minimum try one bite before he is allowed to abstain - he did.
He held is breath, held his gag in and swallowed. The politely said, "I don't care for this dish the way they make it here." He had rice for dinner that night.

And I did not order the boneless duck feet. I ordered pork with eggplant. The dish was salty and mushy. I did not care for it, but I ate it - some of it. Just enough so that I wasn't hungry.

My son knows his limits and I have accepted them as hard limits. I have been raised to ignore mine. My 'limit's have always been 'preferences' as opposed to limits. The waste or monitary loss was always the hard limit - not my preference. An inanimate cost was far more important than I ever could dream of becoming. Who's the honest, healthy one in this picture?

Check out some of my son's website links

2012-05-24T19:17:00.001-07:00

Hi, I am Jackson Cymerman, Beth's son; these are the website's that I administer and am active with daily::

www.facebook.com/StormWatchDallas
www.facebook.com/WeatherCrew
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hurricane-Hunters/383880451664048
www.stormwatchdallas.com (My Website)(Jackson)
weathercrew.weebly.com (Run by me and a team of 5)
And Finally, https://www.facebook.com/pages/DFW-Stormwatch/171745422880570

If you have time, please check them out and let me know what you think.

Thanks.

Brotherly Love

2012-05-07T06:12:00.000-07:00

It must be hard to be the younger brother.

I know only a very little about occupying this position; the younger. I was a younger sister - but I had a younger brother too which meant that I almost literally got lost amid the oldest child and the boy child who also happened to be the baby. Despite that I was virtually invisible between my siblings and life was sometimes, painful and lonely, I am still willing to bet that life must be especially difficult if you happen to be the younger brother of a boy with Asperger's - or any form of Autism.

There are so many special rules for a child with Asperger's. How is a toddler or small child without Asperger's supposed to tell which are for the sibling and which are for him? In addition, not all children with Autism Spectrum Disorder's require the same rules. In a house where Autism lives all rules are child-specific. This is very different from what both brothers will discover for themselves in the real world.

As a parents, we know to well that constructing and consistently enforcing rules is difficult. Finding the stamina to enforce one set is hard - let alone two. Two is takes a mind-numbing amount of concentration and is completely exhausting. Because there are multiple sets of rules there are at least two sets of expectations; one for the child with Asperger's and one for the child without. The only condition that binds both is a moral foundation to do what's best, kindest, and thoughtful, to behave well and respectfully. As adults most of us struggle with identifying firm, stable moral ground. As kids, the fact that we expect them to grapple, learn and apply these guidelines borders on insanity.

As a society we believe we have learned what or how much to expect and in turn demand two sets of behavioral expectations as opposed to one moral expectation where children with Asperger's interact with others who are not affected. As educator's we cope with two sets of expectations and attempt to make both simultaneously saleable yet mutually exclusive and independent. These parameters are practically and widely necessary and at the same time they are socially cruel at the smallest level. Yet, we expect that the youngest among us, the younger siblings, those with the least experience, or with the fewest behavioral tools and least developed intellect should learn, understand, support and actively participate in this required and duplicitous system of behaviors. If the child without Asperger's happens to be the younger, it must be like trying to separate the seas. Trying to grasp that there are two sets of rules at the tender age of two or three and be mindful that this situation exists not because of parental preference, but out of necessity for the older child's handicap is ridiculous. At such a young age these very small children must accept that the rules for them are different, less lenient, more demanding and it's not because they are not the older (favorite) child.

I had a younger brother. However, I am not a boy so my relationship with my brother was completely different than that between my sons. Most important, the fact that we were different genders made most competition irrelevant. For the most part we got along. We could talk or play or at least pretend that we shared some common interests because we could communicate. What it we couldn't? Worse, what if we were talking and communicating - at least technically - but we had no idea what the other was thinking or didn't really care very much? What if we didn't understand that we should be interested in normal play? What if we had a younger brother who looked up to us who was constantly shut out through no fault of amyone's and that small boy was simply too young to understand why?

Can you image how all the appearances of privilege and preference that naturally and always accompany the role of 'oldest' are magnified when the oldest has clear and definable needs for another set of special rules? Can you imagine trying to identify those rules and properly compartmentalize them while you are in the midst of attempting to grow up and understand social order and the world in general yourself?

It must be very hard to be the younger brother of someone with Asperger's. The rest of the playing field is even enough - but for the brother of an Aspergian, that same playing field must seem at times a very lonely place.

It's true. Not only the child with Asperger's is affected when this disorder appears. We all are, in ways that we cannot possibly understand yet must somehow learn to cope with.

Storms

2012-04-15T09:05:00.000-07:00

Panic. . . . Anxiety. . . . Uncertainty. . . . Hurricane Season. It's all the same.

Storms make my son nervous. He doesn't delight in the strength of nature - in the absoluteness of weather the way I do. He doesn't like drama. I don't either, but I do like definitive; statements of clarity. To me, storms are like nature's most definitive behavior. For my son, they represent potential chaos, destruction and personal harm. He's right. I'm probably the one who should be more wary than I am.
He's right to be nervous about storms that boil up in the middle of the night fueled by the build-up of heat throughout the day and the clash of cooler air that the evening brings.

listverse.com

His way to deal with this type of uncertainty is to gather all the information he can and make his own determination. He needs to know; to find certainty where there isn't going to be any. This aspect of his personality hasn't changed since he was a toddler. He has always realized the extreme subjectiveness of opinion as well as the muddy disguise of opinion testified as facts within most media avenues.
Unfortunately, storms are simply not something that will ever be 100% predictable; and he really needs them to be.

Hurricane Season is a dated time of the year. In other words, it has a specific term. There is a time when it's over and it's on a calendar. That's definitive. When storms erupt outside of these quoted dates, he needs to know why.This is what he respects about this time of the year.

"The Gulf has been pretty quiet this year" is all he will say so far. He knows the water temperatures in the Gulf are up but there's no moist cool air this year to fuel a storm. He's waiting in his quiet, pensive yet very alert sort of way.

Now that the cooler weather has arrived, he is less provoked by anxiety concerning storms. Where he once would close all the curtains in an "If I can't see it - it's less there" attempt, put his earphones on and surf weather channels, and bombard the local meteorologist with email questions concerning weather patterns, storm tracks and "upper-level lows," he now consoles himself by posting weather updates on Face Book for all his North Texas "Friends."

We had a storm last night. His last FB post was at 1:32am (complete with radar links and volatility forecasts). While I'm not crazy about him staying up well past midnight on Facebook - I have to admire is ingenuity in dealing with his anxiety in a way that is both helpful to himself as well as potentially to others. And by posting these storm warnings, he is able to gain an immediate barometric reading of how others are feeling about an impending storm. If he gets quite a few comments, he knows that it's not only he who is watching, waiting, maybe even concerned just a bit. If nobody else really cares (comments), then it might be okay if he didn't become quite so anxious either. In a way, his posts are a self-designed method of calibrating his anxiety level in accordance with a much larger population without actually asking everyone he knows why they aren't more worried about the storm heading our way.

I am amazed that he is trying to hard to define 'normal' and fit himself into it. I am amazed that he is so inwardly conscious of the fact that he doesn't fit 'normal' in such absolutely subtle ways. I'm sad that he feels he needs to change to be better accepted by his Facebook generation.
Never in a million years would I have come up with this strategy.

But I am so much more confined by my personality than he is.

10 to 143: I lose (big).

2012-03-19T17:55:00.002-07:00

I don't typically see activities as contests. In fact, I don't ever see anything from that perspective- even when it certainly is, is pointed out or I am told of it. Perhaps because I usually and flatly refuse to participate in comparisons and contests or be measured in such a way. I am the only one who can measure my adequacy (or failure).

I have not written on this page for months and every day over the those past months I have felt guilty about not writing, not having anything interesting to say and not wanting to talk to anyone. Granted, the previous year has been horrible beyond what I have words to describe. Not entirely and or thoroughly but in a very significant way that is completely unrelated to my familly, my writing or much of anything else. Yet it's effect has been the equivalent of a tectonic shift in my habits, disposition and free time.

Writing is an odd hobby. As well, I do not know it as one that I can force to occur. Either I have something to say - or not. When I don't, then writing is torture. Since I have not wanted to add another awful task to my plate, I have not written much of anything. For that I am sorry. But the anticipation of writing again was always with me. Silent, dormant hope.

Yesterday something happened that instantly made me understand without a doubt that I would be writing again very soon. My son said, 'Let me check my stats." It was that simple.
I have been writing this and another blog for literally years. I do not write them for notoriety or for consequence. I write them because I like to write. Never the less, I do (once in a while) look at my 'stats' to see how many people view what I have written; offer some sort of comment or simply stop by and read for a while. People come from all over the globe! For this I am eternally grateful and gleefully happy. Typically only a few people stop or 'click' on my blog page and I am so thrilled that someone other than my immediate family member and myself read these paragraphs that I do not mind that the number is almost always pretty low. (Let's put it this way; ten would be a big day.)
Still, I love writing my blogs.

A few days ago, my oldest son sent me a link . . . to his own blog page. He was spending Spring Break at his Dad's; busy texting me that he was bored. Amid the texts was his link and there opened a brand new page. Newly formed. Hours old. Only three short days old when I first saw it. My son loves the weather so I was not surprised at all to find that it had to do with weather or that it was organized, clear, easy to read or that locating specific information was elegantly simple.
What did surprise me was the complexity and sophistication that existed within his blog - immediately. His blog was just three days old yet light years ahead of me with respect to his ability to connect it to those readers who would be most interested. His posts are supported by both the local television station as well as the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Yes, that NOAA!!
His stats for yesterday: 143 views!!! Three days old and he's getting 143 clicks!!!
This! From my Autistic son who it has been said, " . . . lacks the ability to communicate well"!!
How? How is he lacking - exactly. Because I don't see the problem.

I cannot say that I am surprised. Yet, I am stunned and even more perplexed as to why this is my reaction. How could I not have expected this or any less from him? When it comes to technology and the weather, my son simply cannot be beat. These are his two best skills as well as his favorite activities and interests. Combine them and I am sure that the sky is not even close to his limit.

Yesterday when my son said, "Let me check my stats" in the middle of a conversation about something entirely unrelated, I was not prepared to lose in such a big way and by such an overwhelming margin. I was completely blindsided by his effortless success. Once again, I should have known better. If he just weren't so darn nonchalant about the whole thing it would be easier to take. I feel as though I put actual work into my blog pages and his simply flow from his as easily as a quiet exhale amid an entire night's sleep after a long and boring day.

If you live in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area and need to know what the day's weather will bring, please visit his blog page at the following address www.stormwatchdallas.com Or, you can like him on Facebook at Storm Watch Dallas. Either way - it's great. I am very impressed. I hope you will be too.

It's SO cool!!! And I am so proud of him.

. . . Girls! . . . .

2011-10-17T06:13:00.000-07:00

Some days I wish that I had a magic wand so that I could skip by all the unpleasantness life offers and only experience the times that provide joy, bring happiness and leave me feeling fulfilled, cherished and satisfied. If only!

Oddly enough, this is how my son behaves all the time. He always has. He always manages to arrange his life so that this is exactly what he gets. Logically, it makes sense. Why would you want the bad parts if they are at all avoidable? He skips by the part that is essentially unnecessary and unpleasant as if by choice and moves straight to the part where there is potential only for reward. He did it when he started to walk; went directly from sitting on the floor to walking all over the house on his own. He didn't spend time stumbling, falling, bruised or clumsy. And he's behaving in the same manner again - now.

The other night he came in my room to ask me if I would be available one night next week. Tentatively, I said that I would be. Not wanting to push too much for what I instinctively recognized and the potentially excruciatingly embarrassing teenage divulgence of a secret social plan, extremely privileged, highly private and deeply personal information, I waited for the rest of the question (and story) to unfold.
Fundamentally, what he was asking me was if I would be able to give him a ride to a football game. What he was really asking me concerned the finer points of behavior when meeting a girl at a location other than school.
My son has never been one to have friends his own age. Despite that he knows his peers and (I hope) he interacts with them regularly during his day - he has never once invited a friend over or been invited (not that he's told me about anyway) to a friend's house. And now it seems as though he has decided that he's going to move from 'no friends' to 'hopeful girlfriend' with no in between.

When the day came, I took him to the stadium where the game was being played and dropped him off with very little discussion other than to ask him to text me when he was ready to come home and how to find me amid the streams of school buses and other parents picking up kids. I was worried, but tried very hard to trust in his judgment and his own self-confidence.
Historically, being left somewhere in the dark and without concrete verification that he had a way home and alone would leave him practically paralyzed with panic. In short, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on the fun of the outing because he would be so worried about how he's going to fare without all his familiar structures.

None of that happened.

He sent me a text when the game was over. I picked him up from a basically abandoned and darkened parking lot where he was patiently waiting - alone. He texted me once and called me twice while I was on my way. Only twice!! Not sixteen . . . . or twenty. For my son, this is tantamount to a tectonic shift in his behavior. I was afraid that something was very wrong. I worried the entire way there that I would find him a stressed out wreck and promising to never go out alone again. Instead, he was calm, relaxed, thirsty and hungry. -All perfectly normal. There was no sweating, no panic, no jitters, no need for constant verification of stability and or trust. I was amazed. I'm still amazed.

I am so proud of him!! He made plans with someone - a friend - and went out on his own.