Teen Autism

From time to time I receive e-mails from readers asking how I’m doing, often about things that don’t necessarily pertain to this blog, which is totally fine. Here, I write mostly about my experiences raising my two boys, one of whom has autism. I don’t go into much personal stuff because I think of this blog as a resource for other parents. But then I realized that when I read other blogs, one of the things I truly enjoy is a post on a more personal level.  I feel like I get to know the blogger a little better, identify with him or her, and often learn something new. And since I usually enjoy reading the personal bits, I figured that some of my readers might like that too.

So, in that vein, I’ve decided to occasionally write some personal posts to address those “touching base” e-mails that I receive. For example, I am often asked how my writing is coming along, especially since I’ve been threatening to publish a book for over a year now. Well, as with everything else in my life that doesn’t have to do with work and raising kids, it’s coming along slowly. I’m close, though! Really close! I just have a few more things to iron out, and then it’s off to the printer! I had considered having another editor look at it, but I gave it some careful consideration and think that I just need to bite the bullet and get it out there. It’s time (almost).

Here’s another popular question - am I dating now? And the answer is no. I have not dated for a year. For a while now I’ve been telling myself that I don’t have time to date, which is mostly true. But I’m also not that impressed with the caliber of single men I’ve met lately. And here’s a little story to illustrate that point. Okay, so Saturday night I go out with a friend of mine, another full-time single mom. It’s been weeks since either one of us has gotten out of our homes other than for work, errands, or appointments. A band is playing at a local pub, so we sit down at the bar and have a drink. After a few minutes, the guy next to me starts chatting me up. He seems okay, apparently a recently (by my standards) single dad whose kids are the same ages as mine. He’s even from the LA area, as I am, so I think those are pretty cool things to have in common. We keep talking, and my friend joins in. The three of us talk about our six collective kids, we make jokes, we’re having a good time. And then - brace yourselves - the guy blurts out, “Yeah, I’m really over the whole kid thing.”    

Really? You’re hitting on a single mom of two kids, and you think a line like that is gonna get you anywhere?

I was so shocked that I couldn’t even say anything. My friend, however, had a few choice words to say, including, “How sad for your kids” as we turned on our heels and walked out. I mean, it’s not like I’m expecting to meet a great guy in a pub. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone that night, nor was I wanting to. I just wanted to go out and kick back with my friend. Instead, we meet a jerk who’s been a single dad for three years and thinks he’s going to impress me by complaining about it and insulting good parents everywhere. Next!

In other news, I recently received the Friendly Blogger award from my friend Nicki at Slow Down, Gym Shoe. Nicki was a recipient of the Lemonade award that I passed on to her for her positive outlook. Thanks for this cool award, Nicki!

One of the rules for accepting the Friendly Blogger award is to post the most recent photo of yourself, so again - brace yourselves:

And that’s the lowdown - not much success in the writing, dating, and portrait-taking departments. Tune in for the next episode of Personal Posts, in which I’ll discuss convalescing cats, workplace gossip, and file cabinet organization! (Kidding, but who knows?)

Long-time readers of this blog might remember that last November I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month). The object was to complete a 50,000-word (approximately 170-page) novel in 30 days, and somehow I did it! It’s a very rough draft, of course, and I intend for the finished book to be double the pages, so I still have more work to do on that one. This year, I was very excited about trying my hand at another one. I had a plot outline and character sketches that I’d been toying with for a while. I was looking forward to being Kyra’s “writing buddy” as I was Vicki’s last year. I was anticipating another November of frantic but thoroughly enjoyable writing sessions. I couldn’t wait.

And then, a week or so ago, reality hit. I took a good, long, objective look at my life at the moment. Last year, I was working part-time while I homeschooled Nigel; this year I’m working full-time and also took on the volunteer position of the Southern Oregon Chapter Rep for the Autism Society of Oregon. And with all the regular insanity of raising two children by myself, there’s just no time for NaNo this year. And I’m deeply disappointed.

So, I’ve decided to do NaNoWriMo SP*, the single parent version. The object is still to write a novel of at least 50,000 words, but there is no time limit. Because, by God, if you can write a novel while working full-time and raising children by yourself, well, it doesn’t matter how long it takes. The fact that you’re doing it at all is mind-blowing. And this way you’ll still get to experience frantic-but-thoroughly-enjoyable writing sessions. All year long!

*yes, I made it up. But I really think the NaNo people should consider offering this as an option for the more time-challenged writers who want to participate. Think of the possibilities!

Yes, this is a mostly autism-related site. But it is also a parenting site, and a special needs site. And in that spirit I would like to help get the word out about a family in need. Please click on this link and then help spread the word. You might not know anyone who could help, but someone you know could know someone. Thank you!

Most of you know that I am a single parent. From mid-June to mid-August, my sons visit their father 700 miles away, and I get a much-needed break. I get some extra work done, take trips, and get a little time to myself - and time to miss my boys like crazy. Two months is too long of a break if you ask me, but we’ve been doing this for nearly eight years, so we deal with it.

But those ten months - from mid-August to mid-June - are all me. I am a full-time SP of two. Some days it feels impossible to fit it all in. Some weeks are so full that I feel like I just can’t do it anymore. I finally reach Friday night and collapse on the couch with a glass of wine and stare at the TV because I can’t even think straight. And so, I’ve written a bit about single parenting, including my 5 tips for single parenting with autism. When I think of that post it makes me laugh (hysterically) because it’s so difficult for me to do the things I am suggesting that other people do! Not practicing what I preach in that regard, that’s for sure. I never applied for respite. Ever. Missed that boat. My life feels so disorganized. I don’t have time to exercise. Sometimes I fear that I’m a walking “before” photo of a nervous breakdown.

So it doesn’t surprise me that last week, after trying to cram a bunch of errands in one fell swoop, I forgot the toilet paper. Not just as in “I went to the store and forgot to buy toilet paper,” but as in “I bought toilet paper at the store and forgot to bring it home.” And it took me eight days to remember that I forgot it. I was going through my wallet full of receipts at the end of the week and saw it on the receipt - a 12-pack of Scott’s 1000-sheet rolls. I get that kind because it lasts longer, so I have to buy toilet paper less often. So infrequently, in fact, that when I do buy it I just leave it on the bottom rack of the cart in the parking lot. And then I drive away. And I don’t remember that I left it in the parking lot until eight days later when I see it on the receipt and realize that I don’t remember bringing the large package into the house. No recollection whatsoever. Here I am, in the store, so proud of myself for thinking ahead because I don’t need toilet paper yet, we’re only half-way through the current 12-pack, but it’s on sale for a fantastic price, like, half what I usually pay, so I put it on the bottom rack. I am careful to mention it to the checker so that he rings it up and I pay for it, but then I promptly forget about it.

Oh, eff me, I mutter at the receipt. It’s not like it was a huge financial loss, but I just think, really? I try to get ahead of the game and this is where it gets me. I briefly consider calling the grocery store to explain what happened, to ask if maybe one of their courtesy clerks remembered seeing an abandoned multi-pack of toilet paper when corralling the carts. Eight days ago. I dismiss it - like I have time to do that in the first place. Chalk it up to loss - one 12-pack of Scott and my semblance of sanity. I’ve had to let go of worse.

But my subconscious, it would seem, will not let it go. Unbeknownst to me, my subconscious ruminates for a few more days. It thinks, Yes, she’s got a lot on her mind, a lot on her plate, but this isn’t the worst shape she’s ever been in. Surely she didn’t leave the toilet paper on the bottom rack of the cart in the parking lot. My subconscious works on this for three days, apparently, and then all of a sudden, while sitting in front of my computer and not thinking about the toilet paper, something pops into my head. A flash of memory:  I am putting the toilet paper on top of the vacuum cleaner because there is no room on the shelf where I usually store it. I gasp and run down the hallway to the closet where I keep the vacuum cleaner. I rip open the door and there is the Scott 12-pack, sitting on top of the vacuum cleaner. And I laugh.

I laugh because I realize, once again, that it’s not as bad as it seems. I may not be exercising yet (must get back into yoga), and I sure need to organize my time better (life coach, maybe?), but I think I’ve got a handle on things. If I can remember something as insignificant as the toilet paper I thought I forgot, I’m doing all right. Right? I can do this. I can do this with my eyes closed, it would seem. Some days, at least.

With the school year ending, it’s time for me to hang up one of my hats - for good. For the past year and a half, I have been homeschooling Nigel, and in September he will attend the high school for a full day, so I will no longer be his academic teacher. When he started back at the middle school in March, it was only part-time, so I continued to homeschool him for language arts and social science. He made some amazing progress in those areas, writing a total of five essays, including a comparative analysis of Ancient Greek and Roman cultures. His case manager at the middle school was so impressed that she took a copy of that essay to give to his future teachers at the high school. I’ll have to make sure they realize how much of an effort it was for him to complete that; it took him weeks to write it. They need to be aware of that before they expect him to produce more work - or at a faster pace - than he is capable of doing.

At any rate, come September my academic responsibility will be limited to helping him with assignments and encouraging his organizational skills. I will no longer be designing his curriculum, preparing lesson plans, or teaching the material. It was doable in middle school, even though it took me a while to get used to the idea, but I don’t think I could do it for high school. I mean, I consider myself to be fairly intelligent, but there’s a lot of high school knowledge that I would need to relearn in order to teach it to my son. It would take quite a bit of effort and time, and as a single parent of two, I’m in short supply of those items. I also had to radically reduce my work hours so that I could homeschool Nigel for the amount of time that I did; as a result, my bank account is in sorry shape. So continuing to homeschool is really not an option, and I’m glad that Nigel no longer needs it. We’re both looking forward to his return to full-time regular school, for many reasons.

But there’s something else that happens at the end of every school year, and has for the past eight years: Nigel and Aidan go visit their dad in Los Angeles for several weeks. LA is nearly 700 miles away from us; it’s a long drive. And another world away. They get a taste of big-city life, get to bodysurf on warm beaches, and Nigel gets to go to the day camp for autistic kids. These are all things they get to do that they can’t do at home in southern Oregon, and I am glad that they have the opportunity.  I’m also glad they get to spend time with their dad, whom they miss so much during the school year. But I miss them while they’re gone every summer. It’s just consuming, this missing. It’s not like when they’re gone for a week at Spring Break. One week is nothing. But seven, eight, is a daunting expanse that cannot be filled. Maybe I’m being melodramatic - I mean, after all, we go through this every year. But it never gets easier. I walk down the hall and see their empty rooms. I can’t watch a movie or eat ice cream without thinking of them and missing them. True, I’m keeping busy, especially since I’m back at work full-time, thanks to my wonderful employers. Life is full and good, but there’s this void with the boys gone. It doesn’t feel natural. I feel disjointed without them. And I’ve got a long summer ahead of me.

Since it’s impossible for me to go more than a month without seeing them, I’ll be visiting them next month, so that will break up the time, make it a little more bearable. For a while now, Nigel’s been requesting to go to the Grand Canyon, so three weeks from today, that’s what we’ll be doing. I can’t wait to share another adventure with them, but mostly I can’t wait to see them, hug them, to be in their presence. Of course, until then, I have phone calls to look forward to: “Hello, Mom. This is Nigel [insert last name] speaking.” Or perhaps a conversation like this one. Oh, well. I’m just happy to hear their voices.

So summer begins. And it just dawned on me that I’ve essentially combined two separate posts here - the end of homeschooling and missing my kids. Correlation? Nada. Let that be a testament to how disjointed I feel with my sons being away! I can’t even write!

As we moms so often do, I’ll be taking my kids to see a movie that I could easily wait until it’s on DVD to see. But they really want to see it, and so it’s my treat to them. In five minutes we’ll be going to see X-Men Origins: Wolverine, and I’ll try to suffer through the shirtless Hugh Jackman scenes. Take one for the team, you know? So unfortunately I don’t have time to write the Mother’s Day post I’d hoped to write, the one about how much all the moms I know inspire me, how glad I am to know them, and how much they mean to me. All of them - from my mom, to my boss, to my co-workers, to my friends, to my readers, and to my sister, who’s been a mom for a month. Thanks for being there, for showing me the way, for encouraging me, and for just being your wonderful selves. I hope you’ll accept this re-posting of the Mother’s Day post I wrote last year, because I’m on my way out the door to spend some quality time with Hugh Jackman my boys. Happy Mother’s Day to all of you!

Fourteen years ago I celebrated my first Mother’s Day as a mother-to-be. My then-husband gave me a card saying what a wonderful mom he knew I’d be, and my own mom gave me a card with the same sentiment. I think back to the person I was then, not having any idea of the depth of emotion I would experience because of the little person in my belly and the one who would come after him.

Being a mother, autism or no autism, has taught me more about life than anything else I’ve experienced. Just the knowledge that it’s my job, my responsibility, to give these guys all the tools they need to lead a successful, happy life is enough to blow my mind. There are plenty of articles and books out there about how to raise good kids, how to be a better parent, but nothing can really prepare you. You have to jump in with both feet and just trust that you’ll be okay. That you’re going to make a few mistakes, and you’ll run into a few rough spots, but you’ll handle them. You’ll get through it and keep going.

As we moms know, being a mother isn’t always easy but it’s always worth it. We live for the days when we take our kids somewhere that they thought would be boring, and then not only can we tell that they really like it (as we knew they would), but they come up to us and hug us and say, “I really like this place, Mom. Thanks for taking me.” (That was Aidan at a museum last weekend.) And we live for the days when our children receive special awards or when, for the first time, they apologize for their behavior on their own instead of us having to do it (that was Nigel recently). We savor the triumphs, be they large or small, and think We’re getting there. I must be doing something right.

And the day will come when they are on their own. Even those of us with differently-abled kids will go through this change, on some level. I often wonder how I will feel when that time comes. How hard will it be to let go? It’s hard enough for me to let them ride their bikes to the grocery store! But I take comfort in the idea that it will happen little by little, just like how Nigel learned to talk, how he’s learning to be responsible for himself. I also take comfort in knowing that I will always be their mom. Nothing will change that.

So, here’s to all the good moms, like my own (love you, Mom!), and my friends who keep me sane. We need all the support we can get, in all the mothering stages of our lives.

I did my first-ever guest post today! Please join me over at A Room of Mama’s Own while Mary is on blog vacation. There’s even a cool photo that I took of a Hungarian castle!

I’ve never been called a social butterfly. Not even close. I am a happy introvert. My Facebook “About Me” section says:  I have two sons, one autistic, one not. Both are more social than I am. So I started blogging.

But long before I started blogging, I noticed something happening that I wasn’t too comfortable with. Nigel’s diagnosis threw me into frequent meetings with various therapists, teachers, doctors, and other people. Then Aidan’s special needs became apparent, and I had to deal with even more therapists, more people. As my sons learned to talk, I noticed that they were not introverts. One got interested in Scouting (actually both did, at first), and the other one went to a lot of friends’ houses. I met the friends’ parents. I met the Scouting parents. Some of them even became my friends.  As the years went by, I met more teachers and therapists and other parents. The fact is that both of my kids, especially my autistic one, have gotten me out of my comfort zone. And I discovered wonderful people - and a side of myself - that I might never have known.

Even so, when I have to go to a meeting or call someone I don’t know, I still step outside my comfort zone on a weekly basis. But people with autism, whether introverted or extroverted, have to get outside of their comfort zones every day. Nigel, with his fear of bees and other flying insects, gets outside of his comfort zone every time he steps outside. He gets outside of his comfort zone every time he enters a public restroom and wonders if there’s an air hand dryer on the wall, and if someone will use it while he’s in there. He is outside of his comfort zone whenever a baby begins to cry or an alarm goes off or a light is too bright. How many times a day does he step outside of his comfort zone?

I attended a dinner party tonight, and I only knew one person there, someone I hadn’t seen for almost four years. I was definitely outside of my comfort zone. It’s not that I’m shy, it’s just that it takes a lot of energy for me to pull that off, to push myself to be social. But I’ve been doing a lot more of that in recent years, and you know what? I laughed and broke bread with these lovely people, and I talked about autism and homeschooling and my job and places I’ve traveled, and I really enjoyed myself. In fact, at some point during the evening it dawned on me that I couldn’t be out of my comfort zone because, well, I was comfortable. I really was.

It’s hard to get out of our comfort zones, whether we’re autistic or just introverted (or in some cases, both). But I think if we do it enough times, our comfort zones evolve. Nigel is now comfortable in grocery stores and restaurants, places that used to cause him such agony. He likes these places and asks to go to them. The last time we went to a movie theater, he didn’t even need to use ear plugs. Some comfort zones may always be difficult to step out of, regardless of how much we try. But others, with time and patient attempts, can change. It’s good to stretch ourselves, whether we’re conscious of it or not. We stretch a little bit, and our spirits are encouraged to keep going, keep stretching. The rewards are too great to miss out on.

I am thirty-eight today. And rather than discussing anything else with that number (revolver cartridges or bands), I’ll write about something more important to me.

When I turned twenty-two, I was in college, scrambling to finish in one more year, working full time and taking eighteen credits a term. It was nuts. I don’t know how I stayed on top of it. I realize now, of course, the if-I-knew-then-what-I-know-now, that it was nothing like the issues that came with having special needs kids, the single parenting, the working, the just-trying-to-get-through-the-day. But I certainly wouldn’t say that working my way through college was a cakewalk compared to parenting. At the time, it was a lot. It would be a lot at any age. And I’m sure glad it’s behind me.

So on my twenty-second birthday, I got up early, went to class, came home, worked on a paper, then went to my job as a clerk at a large chain drugstore. I walked into the back to clock in, and my boss called me into her office. “I see it’s your birthday today,” she said. “How old are you?” When I told her, she waved me off and said, “Aw, you’re a baby!” I walked out of there thinking, Hmm. How old do you have to be to get some respect? 25? 30? 40? I thought at that stage of the game, working my way through college, I’d earned at least a little of it.  

And now, sixteen years and a degree, a divorce, two kids, and a house later, I think I know what she meant. I feel like calling up that old boss, or walking into her office, and saying, “I’m 38 today. Am I there yet?” I’d like to think so. Because I finally realized that she was right. I didn’t get it at the time. I didn’t understand that it isn’t how busy we are or how old we are that earns us respect. It’s who we are. “Thirty-eight” might precede “Special” if you’re a band or a gun, but me? I’m singing with Aretha. She had it right all along.

I’ve been seeing this meme going around the blogosphere for a bit, and every time I see it I think about what I might list as my quirks. And now I’ve been tagged with it (by Bonnie at Autism Family Adventures), so I’ve got to censor narrow down my quirks to six. Herewith, I admit to the following as unsheepishly as possible:

1. I am obsessed with peeling sunburns. You take your life in your hands if you walk past me and I happen to notice skin flaking off your shoulders. My sons run from me. And I don’t just peel skin off of other people; I enjoy peeling my own sunburns even more. But since I do wear sunscreen daily, my opportunities for self-peeling are limited.
2. I love the different textures of my hair. I love when I run my fingers through it and discover one that’s coarse and wiry hidden among the rest of the straight hair. I love how it feels on my fingers.
3. Everyone has their own scent (and not the sprayed-on kind). When I am in close proximity to people I know well, I discreetly inhale their scent. With my kids I am more direct; I walk right up behind them and smell the tops of their heads. (If this is starting to sound like I’m a little “atypical,” I would wholeheartedly agree with that assessment.)
4. I am freakishly good at word searches. I can find them diagonally/backwards and any other way. If a word is in a word search, I will find it, and usually quickly. When Aidan brings one home from school, I have to restrain myself not to do it for him.
5. I only sleep on my left side, although this is more of a forced quirk, since it’s because of a snowboarding injury to my right shoulder a couple of years ago. No more jumps for me!
6. I have not worn a watch in twenty years. Instead, every day for twenty years I have worn a silver bracelet that my grandmother gave to me. If that bracelet could talk, this list of quirks would have no end.

And now it’s time to pass the fun. The rules of this meme are as follows:

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks you possess.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

But here’s the thing: when you play tag, you only have to tag one person. So I am going to bend the rules and only tag one other blogger whose quirks I’m dying to know . . . Osh at The House That Osh Built! Thanks for indulging me (and my quirks)!