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.

This Familiar Place

We’re almost two months into this school year. For the past week or so, I’ve noticed some regression in Little Man…..more tears, more outbursts, a couple of full-blown meltdowns. His anxiety level is up.  He’s pushing back more. Then we have that situation I wrote about last week. He’s not really interested in going back to that particular class. Friday and yesterday, he spent significant time in the nurse’s office complaining of a bad headache. Friday, I ended up bringing him home. Yesterday, I took him ibuprofen at 9:30, but then got another call two hours later to come get him.

He’s fine. No other physical complaints, just the headache that only appears at school.

Here’s what I think, having done this school thing with him a few times before. I think he’s maxed out. Does that make sense? He just reaches a certain capacity to tolerate it all, and then hits a wall. We typically see this happen six weeks or so into the school year. It doesn’t even take me a few days or weeks to catch on to what’s happening. I just  know, as soon as we see this regression start it’s because he’s tapped.

I can’t pull him out of school just because he’s reached a wall. I can’t let him skip doing his work just because he has little left in  his tolerance tank.  I can’t let him just escape. I do give him a little space where I can, but we can’t allow him to retreat completely.

It’s so painful to watch him struggle. It hurts my heart. The world isn’t always kind to everyone, much less those with different needs. Every time he goes sideways, I mentally go back to that night he told us this was too hard and he didn’t want to do life anymore. I’m terrified….that is my biggest fear for him, always. Once your child says those words to you, you will never get over it. It’s always there in the back of your mind. But then there’s a fine line between acknowledging that’s there, and pushing him through situations because that’s what he has to do.

We are where we are. We’ve been here before. It’s a familiar place. Even knowing it’s probably coming doesn’t make it any easier once you notice you’re there. But we dig in, we love him through it, we keep fighting. That’s just what we do.

“They were laughing at me”

We have reached the time of school year Little Man has kind of reached maximum capacity and goes a little off the rails. He’s had a rough week. He’s had nightmares, trouble sleeping, and just less ability to use his tools.

His SAI emailed me yesterday. Something happened in science class. He had an outburst, and then didn’t want to go to class yesterday. I asked him about it….First, he said he didn’t really want to talk about it, but then I reminded him I couldn’t help him, Mrs. E couldn’t help him, if he couldn’t tell me what happened.  It seems he’d asked a kid to leave him alone – I don’t know his tone nor his exact words, but he asked, and the kid didn’t comply. In Little Man’s words, he started to “freak out” and then the kids started laughing at him, which only made the problem worse.

I hate this for him. Teenagers can be cruel. But also, as I explained to him, some people just don’t know how to respond to expressions of emotion, and so they laugh. I’m not mad at those kids….not really. They’re just being normal teens. But my heart hurts for my boy. He’s still working on so many things. And no matter what his chronological age, his emotional and social age is so far behind, and it’s patently obvious.

I’m not asking the teachers nor his SAI to micro-manage every minute to make sure he never has to face this situation. I need him to learn the tools to respond better. Does that make sense? Although I don’t blame him either. It’s a much bigger, much longer learning curve for him. Does it break my heart he’s hurting? Oh my gosh, YES. I’d change all of this in  a heartbeat to protect him from hurt.

He’s cognizant of the fact he’s somewhat different. He’s aware of his deficits. We constantly remind him his advantages and amazing he is.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’ve been sitting here, tears rolling down my face as I try to write this. I guess there are just days I really hate his life is harder. There are days I want to curse down autism. There are days I want to put on my Super Mom cape and protect him from everything and everyone. Days like this make me more afraid what he will face in the big world of high school, where his differences may be even more evident, more apparent, and make him more of a target. I guess what I’m saying is my autism momma heart is a little bruised today, and I’m praying for a better day for my Little Man.

I can’t even think of a good title

Good Lord but this week really sucks, and it’s only mid-day Tuesday. I’m beginning to think I need a good, old-fashioned, therapeutic crying jag. I’ve felt on the verge of tears over a week now, which only grew worse yesterday morning with news of the Vegas mass-shooting. I’m just so freaking sad…..

I caught my ring on something yesterday when I was unloading the car from a Costco run. I didn’t notice anything right away, so I guess I’m lucky there. But last night, I discovered one of the prongs around my center stone had completely pulled away, and the whole setting was tilted sideways. So now I’m without my ring for at least a week while it’s being repaired, and getting the appraisal (only five years since I lost and had the center stone replaced). Anyways, while driving to the jeweler, my phone rang.  I recognized it as one of the school district numbers, so I took the call.

How do you lose track of where you are in the school year?  And how do you forget you normally get *this* call this time of year, and have for the last six years? The special ed district admin was calling to schedule Little Man’s annual IEP meeting. Punch to the gut. I’ve been trying so hard to just enjoy being in the good place he’s in this year, and avoid thinking about IEP’s and transitioning him to high school. Life is having none of my denial. It’s not like we haven’t begun discussing it. It’s been hovering there in the background all year. But the high school team – at least part of it – will be at his IEP meeting next month to start the transition process. I’m so not ready for this. As before he started middle school, I’m terrified and anxious of what next year will bring for him, not to mention just making the decision where he will go to high school. Every time I think about any of the options, I have a panic attack. I’d homeschool in one capacity or another just to ease my own anxiety, but I know that is totally not the best option for any of us. Actually going to school, being in those social situations, and dealing with the classroom is a form of therapy for him. And it would just plain be counter-productive for both of us for him to be home all day every day. But I digress….I wasn’t ready for the call to schedule his meeting. I’m not ready for his meeting. I’m not ready to make a decision for him on high school. And I’m certainly not ready for whatever fresh form of hell we’re going to deal with while he transitions to wherever he goes for high school.

My freaking TimeHop and Facebook memories have both been full of photos of the Princess dancing or posts about her dancing. She isn’t dancing at all right now. I don’t know if she will ever dance again. I miss watching her dance. I miss that part of her. I am excited for the new adventures she’s having, and the girls on her field hockey team are incredibly supportive of each other. It just still makes me a little sad……I ran into a mom from the studio in the store yesterday. Just seeing her made me tear up. P’s dancing was more than just her dancing….so many of the parents (and grandparents) became my friends. I miss that little community too. My FIL asked for a photo the other day of P – one of her dancing. Just looking through her dance photos was an emotional haul. I sent him two of my favorites, and felt a couple tears roll down my face. I hate change.

I guess I’m just feeling drained and emotionally overwhelmed at the moment. I know it will get better, but for now, those tears are pretty close to the surface. And that just is what it is……

Wait, he wants to do what now?

First off, I have to acknowledge Three’s a Herd just hit 725 followers!!! I have to thank each one of you for reading, and clicking that follow button. I know I haven’t been as consistent in writing posts this year, but y’all have stuck with me. When you put your life, your thoughts, your words out there into the world, you wonder if one person will care enough to read, much less continue to want to read what I have to say. It’s humbling to say the least. I know I’m not some amazing blogger with a gajillion followers, but it makes me smile, makes me feel our experiences are making a difference (or making you laugh at our hot-messedness) every time I see someone new has clicked that button. So THANK YOU!

So, my carpool partner texted me Monday to let me know her oldest son would be trying out for the running team on Wednesday, so Little Man would be a little late getting home as she wouldn’t pick up til tryouts were done. No problem, and I thought, “Wow, cool, a running team at the middle school! Awesome!” and then I put it out of my mind….until Little Man was frantically digging in his backpack, looking for a form I needed to sign THAT NIGHT so he could tryout for the running team on Wednesday. Uh, what? He wants to what?

Even before we knew of his autism, we knew Little Man was not really an athlete. Oh, he’s perfectly physically capable (three evaluations with the adapted PE teacher reinforced this idea), his other stuff holds him back. And he just doesn’t really care about sports. He played Little League for three years. He played soccer for five seasons. Then we were done. Peace out. Not for him. He was fine with it. We were tired of fighting the battle, and, as I’ve mentioned before, it became something of a safety issue.

Now, he will run in PE at school. He’d rather do that than participate in any group activities. He’s not fast, but  he will do it. I just never thought he’d do it willingly, outside of the PE requirements for school. We’ve fought over PE with him since kindergarten basically. If I recall correctly, at least one of his IEP goals is strictly regarding PE participation. So when he said he wanted to try out for the running team, I was stunned. Maybe I shouldn’t have been…he had already surprised me recently when  he agreed to play soccer this fall. But still….running….on a running team….with running practices…and races against other students….Soooooo out of his normal realm.

Maybe this is just more evidence of how far he’s come over the last couple of years. Maybe I should stop being surprised when he says he wants to do something he’s pushed away for years. He’s changing. He’s maturing.

He did text me early yesterday afternoon, saying he didn’t think he wanted to do the tryout.  I asked him why. He said he didn’t think he would own up to it. I told him he had to stay anyways to wait for his friend to finish the tryout, and the carpool pickup. I also told him I thought he would surprise himself. He reluctantly agreed to do the tryout.

Who knows if he will make the team. He isn’t fast, unless he really wants to be fast. On one  hand, I don’t care if he makes the team….he tried out. That’s a huge win right there. If he does make it…..oh lordy…..it will be so good for him, such a learning experience. And it will prep  him for high school in so many ways. For that, I do want him to make the team. It would boost his confidence so much. It would give him another outlet. It would take him away from his screens for that much longer, expose him to another social world, push his envelope.

You  know the best part? His behavior….his changing who I thought he was is normal teenage behavior, whether he realizes it or not. Regardless, it’s a win. We’re kickin some autism ass this year.  Amen.

This Boy

My dear, sweet, precious boy…..How can it be you will be seventeen years old tomorrow? I’d swear it was yesterday I heard your tiny cry for the first time. But here you are, taller than me, voice deepening, you’re driving, we’re talking college plans. You’ve grown up when I was busy being a mom.

You made me a mom first. I’ll never forget the first time I heard you, and knew you’d be a fighter. I won’t forget the first time I saw you, and it seemed impossible you were the same baby that had been inside of me just a few hours earlier. I won’t forget the first time I touched you, and you held on with all the strength in your tiny hand. I won’t forget the first time I held you, finally at peace, finally able to breath after five days of watching you through a 2-inch video camera screen. Was I scared? Oh yeah…I was terrified. I wasn’t ready. You certainly weren’t ready, but there you were. You taught me from day one things were going to happen on your terms and in your time. You’ve taught me more patience than I probably cared to ever have. You’ve taught me how it feels to live with my heart outside of my chest. You helped me learn to let things go, those little things that just don’t matter as much.

I love watching you, even still.  You walk into a room, and own it, whether you believe it or not. I love the way you connect with people.  I love watching people’s faces light up (especially your grandmothers, aunts, and great-aunts) when you give them one of your famous hugs. I love your quirkiness, your laugh, your spirit. I love that you’ve learned to battle your way through challenges, how to pick yourself back up and keep going. You will always be my first baby. You lead the way for your brother and sister.

I’ve walked those sixteen days over and over each year…..those days leading up to your birth. Your life is a gift. Your journey gave me a strength I didn’t know I had. You taught me how to be a fighter, even against the biggest odds.

Do you make me crazy sometimes? Uh, yep, ya do. Trust me, I thank God for even that.

Tomorrow is your birthday….seventeen. I don’t know why that seems to be a milestone, but it feels big to me. Big changes are coming, and you’re just on the verge of adulthood. I’m almost done the biggest part of my job as your mom. But know that no matter how old you get, or how tall you get, I will always see that little baby boy when I look at you. I love you. I’m proud of you. I’m honored and blessed to be your mom. Happy Birthday!

On Notice

My dear, sweet family….I love you all like crazy. I love being a mostly-stay-at-home mom. I love doing things to make your lives easier, and getting the things I know you like. BUT,  you are hereby all on notice of the following (frustrated momma rant comin right up):

  • I do not sit around all day waiting for one or more of you to call or text me, asking me to bring you something, get you something, do something for you. I am generally pretty busy all day.
  • If you need something for an assignment, class, project, meal, or sports team, I need a little bit more than 24 hours to get that handled for you.
  • I do have a job. Sometimes, I will not be home, won’t be able to answer my phone, won’t see your text until I’m done working.
  • CLEAN  UP AFTER YOURSELVES!!!!!!! The floor, kitchen counter, family room, and stairs are not your personal dumping grounds. Put your shoes in your bins or in your rooms, put your dirty uniforms and socks in the laundry room, put your books on your desks, your papers in your backpacks or desk files or your stack, put your towels in the laundry or in the buckets by the pool, throw away your food trash, put the milk back in the fridge, don’t get a new cup every single time, don’t leave your dirty cups all over the counter, put your snacks back in the pantry, put your dishes in the dishwasher. You are all FULLY CAPABLE of these simple tasks, trust me.
  • I really hate to nag, but I will nag if I must to get you to clean up after yourselves and do your chores. But please don’t make me nag. It makes me unhappy. Ever heard the phrase “happy wife, happy life?” Same goes with happy mom.
  • If you notice we are running out of something, or have run out of something, don’t wait until just after I’ve gone to the store to tell me. Write it on a sticky and put it on my computer, or put it on the whiteboard. Although the grocery store employees get concerned if they don’t see me at least a few times a week, they also start to look at me like I’m crazy if I’m there every single day. Boys, if you run out of shampoo or soap, please tell me….don’t just keep showering without washing your hair or bodies (yes, this has been known to happen).
  • Because I work, I’m sometimes not home in the evening. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. When it happens, please do not text me asking me what’s for dinner. Kids, this particularly applies if dad is home. But you’re all capable of opening the fridge/pantry and finding something to eat. I know all of you can cook to one extent or another. Part of me having a job is you all working it out when I’m not here. You can do it! Oh, and just make sure you clean up whatever mess you make – that’s part of the deal. If I have to work AND clean up your mess when I get home, I’m going to be a wee bit cranky (read: there might be some heavy sighing and cabinet slamming).
  • There’s a calendar on the wall for a reason. Almost everything is on there. Look at it, remember it, tell me if something changes, or you need something added.
  • I do the best I can, but I do sometimes forget something you’ve told me. I might ask a couple, or even a few times, especially if it’s a busy work week. Please be patient with me. I’m so not perfect, but it really isn’t fun to be reminded I’ve failed. Put a sticky on my computer. Or text me. Or email me.
  • Don’t take, use, or eat anyone else’s stuff without asking. And when you’re done with it, put it back (except for food you’ve eaten – we don’t need to see that again). Candy, charging cables, and headphones are not fair game.
  • I am NOT in charge of knowing where ALL of your stuff is. You can ask me if I’ve seen it, but it’s not my responsibility to keep track of everyone’s stuff. I have enough trouble keeping track of my stuff.
  • Looking for something means actually looking for something which means moving things around in the fridge/pantry,  and actually walking into a room to search

Whew…okay…I think my rant is done. Any of you moms out there ever gone on strike? I’ve considered it a few times, but I’m more worried my need for order would override my need to teach my family a blessing (lesson).