Sometimes Less Really is More

I'm rarely at a loss for words. Words are kind of my thing. Writing, talking, singing(badly) etc, I usually have an answer, a witty or snarky remark, a movie quote or song lyric on the tip of my tongue ready to be fired off. So tonight needs to be marked in the history books.

I can talk about Autism and Autism awareness at length. My current goal is to write a children's book about the subject. You can imagine how shocked I was when asked by a question by an 8 year old that I was stumped. Literally stumped.

Natalie had a friend over, someone who comes over quite a bit and is a really great kid. Joshua was across the street at his friend's house and the girls and I were hanging out in the living room. They were playing Just Dance 3 and I was lying on the couch trying not to make it obvious I was dozing off. Then the little girl asked "Why does Joshua always talk about Minecraft? Why does he always want to show me what he's built? I told him I don't like Minecraft. Why does he cry if he can't play it?"

My brain was about to short circuit trying to figure out the best way to answer her. Do I go into a long, drawn out explanation about how Autism is a neurological disorder? Do I tell her that Joshua has obsessions that become all he talks about, thinks about, wants to play, and if he can't do those things he can't explain his frustration without an outburst? Do I throw out words like spectrum, Asperger's, high functioning or meltdowns? If I can't explain this to her, how in the world am I going to write a book about it??

"Do you know what Autism is?" I asked her. She shook her head no so I went on. "Well, it means Joshua does things a little differently than other people. He loves Minecraft and doesn't understand why others don't love it as much as he does. To him it is the only thing to talk about and nothing else matters." She still just looked at me. I went on and on for a few minutes about how even though he does and sees things differently than her and other kids, he is still very much like them. How different doesn't mean bad or weird.

She looked at me, thoughtfully. " So it's in his brain? Ok." And with that she went back to dancing and I went back to breathing.

A few minutes later Joshua walked through the door. "Hey, do you want to see the log ride I built in Minecraft?" he asked her. "It's like a water roller coaster!!"

She just smiled and said sure. I wish everyone in the world was as easy going about it as she was. That will only happen if we can talk about it.

Autism Is Not a Four Letter Word

I remember when we got Joshua's diagnosis. It was a long, daunting process that had taken almost four years. The first time we had him evaluated he was four years old and in his last year of preschool. We were told he was just too smart for his age and was bored. That was the reason for his outbursts and "quirky" habits. Jump forward two years to the first grade and nothing has changed. In fact, it has gotten worse. So we go through the whole process again to get the same answer. He's just too smart for his own good. This had now become unacceptable. Finally, at the end of his second grade year we got the answer. Asperger's Syndrome, or as it would be called now, high functioning autism. Even though I was familiar with Asperger's and had a mom's intuition this is what was going on with my boy, it still felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Now that we had a diagnosis, what do we do? Who do we tell? My husband and I decided that beyond telling family, it would be on a need to know basis. We quickly found out that everyone who had regular contact with Joshua needed to know. Friends, teachers, karate instructors, parents of his friends, every single person who we trusted with our son had to know. It was the only way they would know what to do to help him. We were not in any way, shape or form embarrassed by autism. It was more of a way to protect Joshua. We didn't think autism was a "dirty word" but we didn't want him to be labeled or thought of differently. My biggest fear was that once that word was attached to my son that would be all anyone would be able to see. An autistic child, who can't do this and can't do that. What he CAN do far outweighs anything he CAN'T do. Fortunately, that has never happened. All the people who know and love Joshua still see him as just Joshua. Children with autism are so much more than just a diagnosis. They are loving, intelligent, creative, and above all they are people. Autism is nothing to be ashamed of and I hope that by sharing our stories more people will be accepting of it.

I Never Knew Heartache Until Now

The most heartbreaking thing in the world is not being able to help your child. To sit back and feel completely and utterly helpless is devastating. There is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that washes over you and makes you feel like you are failing the one person in the world who needs you most. Meltdowns are the worst things ever for my son to go through, and they are the best at making me feel inadequate as a parent.

Tonight's meltdown was triggered by the dreaded math homework. I sympathize with him because math has always been the thorn in my side. I just don't have a mathematical brain and I hate that I have passed it on to my children. But how do you handle it when the child thinks there is something wrong with them and that is the reason they don't understand? What do you do when you can see by the look on his face that he is losing control and feeling helpless because he doesn't know how to process these feelings? He's not being a brat or out of control when he throws his hands over his ears like he's desperately trying to block out the world and cries "help me, Mommy". Autism makes it so difficult for him to process and express these emotions and to an outsider it looks like one helluva temper tantrum. He's not throwing a fit because I've grounded him from the Xbox, or taken away his favorite toy. He just can't express his frustration any other way. It is torture for him to go through it and for us to watch, unable to stop it.

Being a mom I feel it is my job to be able to make everything better. I've healed boo boo's with kisses, Band Aids and popsicles. But a meltdown can't be made better with those things. You have to wait it out no matter how long it takes. When the worst of the storm was over, my 5 foot tall, 110 pound 10 year old crawled onto my 5'2 size lap and let me hold him like I did when he was a baby. It was comforting to know that I could still do that. I can't fix Autism, I can't stop the meltdowns. All I can do is hold my baby boy when he'll let me and tell him that even when he's bigger than me, I will still do it.