What you can’t see

I took the kids to have their Christmas pictures done the other night. I’ve taken them to a portrait studio for Christmas pictures every single year since Big Man was a year old and the Princess a small infant. It’s just my thing…..I get pictures done. There are tons of photos of them all over the house.

I posted their silly picture to Facebook yesterday. Everyone was saying what a great photo it was. Here, I’ll let you see for yourselves:

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I think the thing about it that everyone loves is that Little Man just looks so happy. What isn’t in the picture, what you can’t see, is that ten minutes before this particular shot was taken, he was on the verge of a full meltdown, and had already kicked the wall twice. What you can’t see in this picture is that the Princess was really pushing back on having pictures done at all, much less the total lameness of Christmas pictures with her siblings, with a color scheme. What you can’t see in this picture is all the sighing and eyeball-rolling that had been going on for over an hour just before this shot was taken. What you can’t see is my stress, frustration, and worry. What you can’t see is me reminding Little Man to NOT make the creepy smiling face the photographer didn’t seem to notice in any of the other shots, like this one:

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What you don’t see, most of all, is me struggling to hang onto them being my babies for just one more year, for just a little bit longer. What you can’t see is that no matter what people post on social media, no matter how perfect a photo might make them look, there is life behind that photo. There are meltdowns, attitudes, general mayhem, arguments, sighing, anxiety.

I kind of shook my head at all the comments. How could they not see? I am THANKFUL for the comments. It is a great shot of my Herd. And I do love the photo. I just know everything that happened while obtaining that photo. I don’t mean to sound like a complete Grinch, nor that I can’t accept a compliment on a great photo of my three. That’s not my point at all. It was just a good reminder for me that no matter how amazing the photo, what you see in a snapshot of a single moment, isn’t all there is to the story, for anyone.

And just because I’m a shamelessly proud momma, here’s the one we had printed.

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Is it fair?

I was talking with a friend the other day about where Little Man will go to high school and how it might be if he goes to the same high school his siblings attend. I have a huge hangup over putting responsibility on them to take care of him and look out for him. They’ve had five and six years of being at a different school, without him impacting their school days, who they are at school. They didn’t ask for a special needs sibling. And I just get scared of putting too much on them where he’s concerned. But my friend said, “He’s their brother. It isn’t too much, it just is.” And then we both started to cry.

They’ve had freedom for a while…freedom from being the autistic kid’s sibling while at school. How will it affect them to have him on the same campus, especially when  he goes sideways (because he will), or decides to hide rather than go to class, or he starts crying in class, or runs out of class, or gets bullied? I won’t be there to buffer nor to manage him.

I don’t even know if this makes any sense, my fears and concerns. On the one hand, I would be so relieved to know he has people who know him and love him there on campus helping to keep an eye out. But on the other hand, ugh, the responsibility. They’re teenagers. They have enough on their plates without having to help him through each day at school. Would it kill their social mojo? Distract from their own priorities?

He has been around some of their friends. Most seem to take him in stride, but he can sometimes be a lot. He’s been fairly manic lately, swinging in seconds from really up, to really pissed off or sad. He’s loud. He’s  intent upon talking about what he wants to talk about. He still struggles with social cues. He wants to be part of things, but he doesn’t always know how to do that, and then sometimes being part of what’s going on is overwhelming to him no matter how much he wants it. Sometimes he is just the annoying little brother, which is normal, but which is also a little bit more difficult for him to understand.

I do, since Saturday, keep going back to what my friend said, “He’s their brother. It isn’t asking too much. It just is.” Sigh….would that this were all easier, and I didn’t have to even have much less process these worries.

Duck!

I’m not talking about duck as in a bird. Nor am I telling you to duck. You know what autocorrect does to a certain word? Yeah, that.

I wrote about the kids laughing at Little Man last week.  He’s been reluctant to go back to science class since. I’ve seen the return of all his aversion techniques…going to the nurse’s office, leaving class to go to his quiet space, outbursts, tears, meltdowns. Friday, the nurse called about an hour after school started. He was in her office with a headache that wasn’t getting better. He had fallen and hit his head on the ground at soccer practice Wednesday night, and although he’d had no symptoms since then, she didn’t want to take any chances. I brought him home.  He was fine all weekend, outside of a meltdown Saturday  morning over getting woken up to get ready for his soccer game. It wasn’t pretty, and lasted about twenty minutes, but then he was perfectly fine at his game as well as the rest of the day.  He was great on Sunday – no meltdowns, no outbursts, no physical complaints.

An hour into the school day Monday, the nurse called me again. He was back in her office with another headache, and would I bring him some ibuprofen so we could try to get him through the day. So I took him some ibuprofen. Two hours later, I got another call. He was back again, the headache wasn’t any better, would I come pick him up. Back to school for the third time that day, and I brought him home early.  Yesterday, he made it the entire day (I’d told him that morning I wasn’t coming to get him early at all), but when  I picked him up, he told me he’d “freaked out” at recess, that kids were laughing at him, but he couldn’t tell me what the situation actually entailed, nor what had happened before or when the kids started laughing. He could not talk about it without getting really upset.

I emailed his team last night. Something is going on, and it’s affecting him intensely. His SAI let me know they’re aware something is happening and they’re looking into it.

Today, Little Man called me. I was in the middle of work, and asked him to ride it out for a bit, see if his headache got better. He called twenty minutes later. I took him ibuprofen again, and, as I had to leave town for work, told him he’d have to call Dad if anything else happened. Not to make it sound like I put work ahead of him…..I’d never do that if I believed in that moment he was dreadfully sick or really needed me, and only me, to come get him.

My phone rang while I was driving. It was the school counselor. Little Man had spent much of the day with her, most of that in tears. He’s unable to verbalize to her what’s happening when the kids are laughing at him. And he told her it would be better if he weren’t alive anymore. Dear Lord. My breath caught. I explained we do take him seriously, every time he says this. We can’t not take him seriously, but we also know he learned those words are a ticket out of whatever situation he doesn’t want to be in. It’s a very fine line to walk. I ducking HATE this. I hate it. I hate that he hurts. I hate he can’t tell us why. I hate we can’t just snap our fingers and make it better. I hate the anxiety, the social deficits that make him reach this point. Duck! DUCK! DUCK! DUCK!

I did ask if we could add speech therapy back to his repertoire. I feel he needs help with pragmatics again, as social situations and dynamics have shifted over the last two years. His peers are in an entirely different place, and they are very aware his issues, which are once again much more obvious. And we know how very mature thirteen year olds are. We’re also going to call his old outside therapist and see if he can have some sessions with her. The problem with that is he doesn’t want to talk when he’s supposed to talk. Does that make sense? If it’s on his terms, he *might* talk. If it’s a scheduled thing, he’s more likely to push back and shut down. DUCK!!!

I’m exhausted. I’m fearful for my boy. I’m emotionally tapped. I feel I have to be with him all the time, have to be on my guard all the time, have to utilize everything I have in me on him. Which then leaves the question, what do I have left for Spouse, for his siblings, for my friends, for my job? How is it fair to any of  us, much less Little Man. DUCK!

My heart just ducking hurts.

Just Love Them

Eight years ago, I was flying home for my sister’s funeral. God, that sucked. It still sucks. Seeing the posts of when she went into Hospice, waiting for word, then when she passed, and then her services come up in my TimeHop – you just should be able to block some things from coming up in your social media memories. I miss her, especially lately when things have been such a struggle with the kids. I know she would have pulled up a stool to my kitchen counter, poured a glass, listened, and then would have given me some insanely awesome, sage advice. I know it.

Instead, I’m left with the last words she said to me, which were, “Just love your babies.” Lord, but I hope I’m doing her proud. And I guess when it comes right down to it, what better advice is there when parenting teenagers going through a ton of muck? Just love them. Everything else will fall into place. Love them enough to be strong. Love them enough to be consistent. Love them enough to stand by your rules, your values, your beliefs. Love them enough to help them become independent. Love them enough to not tolerate bad behavior. Love them enough to hold them accountable. Love them enough to require them to be respectful. Love them when they hurt. Love them when they’re unsure. Love them when they’re doubting themselves. Love them when they make mistakes, and help them learn to pick themselves back up. Love them enough to push them when they need to be pushed. Love them enough to let them know when they need to pull back. Love them enough to let them be independent while under your watchful eyes and the safety of home, and a known environment. Love them enough to talk with them, ask questions, know who their friends are, what their dreams and desires are.

I consider my sister’s words often – not just those last words, but all the words she gave me. She loved fiercely. She took such joy in living. Her laugh filled the room. Her sarcasm inspired all her siblings. She was our Queen. She momma-bear’d with the best of them – she taught me how to momma bear. She kept us together, reminded us the value of family, no matter how unconventional our family was/is.

She’s been hovering this week – I’m sure for my parents and my siblings, her children, her Spouse too. This year has been so difficult, and I’ve found myself in a deep, dark place too frequently. Nothing was getting through. But lately, I’ve heard her, and her reminders to just love them. I can do this. She’s gone, but her lessons live. 11:11

 

My sis with baby Little Man E and Deb

Return of the Wonder Twins

When Big and the Princess were little, I called them the Wonder Twins. They’re not twins. They’re not even technically Irish Twins – they missed that by 19 days – but they’re close enough. And the two of them together…..yeah…..two creative, intelligent, mischievous minds working together to cause as much chaos in my world as possible. I couldn’t mentally keep up with the two of them. I believe I’ve shared some of their earlier antics – him cutting all her hair off twice, running away while I was feeding their brand new baby brother, finger painting with baby shampoo all over their bedroom floors (carpeted), unraveling an entire Costco-size package of toilet paper and tossing another package of toilet paper into my full jacuzzi bathtub, making a mud pit in our backyard and basically bathing in it, climbing up on top of the fridge to reach the candy I’d hidden up there…..They work well together, what can I say?

They’d veered away from creative disasters in recent years. They do have a special relationship, though. That’s never really changed. They are both in high school together this year, and now that Big Man has his driver’s license, they have a bit of freedom away from us they hadn’t had before. I’m seeing a return of the Wonder Twins, and I’m a wee bit terrified of what they might get up to.

They are GOOD kids – both in honors and AP classes, involved in sports and other activities. They have good friends. But I remember that feeling of newly-gained freedom in high school, and I see the writing on the wall. They talk with each other about things they don’t even tell us. They have each other’s backs, for the most part. They move in relatively different circles at school, but they do have some friends that overlap.

I got completely bent the other day when I thought they might be covering for each other. I’ll admit – I’m paranoid. I was a supremely boring kid in high school – never broke the rules, never even thought about it. I was where I was supposed to be, when I was supposed to be there, always (okay, I did skip a few classes senior year, but that’s about it as far as being a rule-breaker). I was basically a nerd. I didn’t party. I did what I was supposed to do, what I was expected to do. But I do  know what my brother and sister got up to, so I’m scared – scared I’ll miss something, so we do keep a watchful eye on them. I don’t expect them to be as boring as I was, but neither do I want them ending up in situations we can’t get them out of.

My point is, my Wonder Twins are back. It’s fun and amazing to watch, but it’s also terrifying in a good way. They’re there for each other, thank god. But look out school – who knows what these two will do.