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.

I’ve Forgotten How to do This

We pulled Little Man from organized sports about four years ago. He had zero interest anymore. It had become more of a battle than it was worth at the time. And then, quite honestly, I had begun to fear for his safety as his skill level in baseball and soccer had fallen so far behind that of his peers, and he was much smaller than most of his teammates. Add to that the fact we were beyond busy shuttling the other two to their various activities, and, well, we just let him stop playing.

Last week, the mom of one of his besties in the ‘hood sent me a text. C’s recreational soccer team was looking for players, and would Little Man possibly be interested. Uhhhhhhhhh……….lemme check. This is a rec team, yes, but it’s Under 14 boys (read: some of them have had their growth spurts and are TALL), and it’s a full soccer field, and LM is not the most athletic of children. He regularly balks at participating in PE at school, especially when it’s an organized game with the full class. He’d much prefer to run by himself, or just sit in front of his computer and skip it all together. But I said I’d ask him about it, and so I did. What do you know, he said yes! I made it clear it’s the full field type of soccer, he’d have to run, he’d have to participate, he’d have to listen to the coach, and he would be in it for the entire season – he can’t just quit when he thinks he’s done with it. He said he understood, and still wanted to do it.

Fast forward three hours – I’ve emailed the coach, sent his registration form into the registrar, popped a check into the mail, and added practices and games to our family calendar, all the time wondering what the heck we’d agreed to. We have played in this soccer club – we were part of it from the time Big Man was five, through his eighth grade year. We used to set up camp on those fields every Saturday. But it’s been a few years.

Little Man came home from that first practice with his uniform.  Spouse got him new cleats, shin guards, and a ball on the way to his first game Friday night. I realized as I looked a  his jersey, shorts, long green socks, shin guards, and cleats that I’ve forgotten how to do this. I’ve forgotten how to keep track of uniform parts. I’ve forgotten about post-game snacks. I’ve forgotten how to do hot Saturday afternoons and too-early, cold, rainy Saturday mornings at various soccer fields. I’ve forgotten how to be a soccer mom.

You might be asking if I warned let his coach know what he’s getting. Yes, I did give full-disclosure, after we signed on the dotted line. Here’s the deal – Little Man ASKED to play, agreed to play. We aren’t making him do it, as we did with all our kids when they were younger and hadn’t figured out their interests. Also, Little Man has come an extremely long way with regard to maturity level and confidence since the last time he played an organized sport. He’s on the team with one of his best friends. He understands what’s expected of him. Do I think we will get through the entire season without a meltdown? That’s a huge negatory. It will happen – I just hope it happens on our time, and not his coach’s time.

I wasn’t able to be there for his first game last Friday. We had to divide and conquer as the Princess was cheering her first football game of the season at the same time. I did get reports from Spouse. His words when I asked him how it was going: “Having fun. Enjoyable to watch. Their team sucks.” Little Man was having fun. Spouse was enjoying watching him run around. Catch that – he was having fun. Ahhhhhhhhh goes my autism-momma heart. He was having fun. And there you have it, my friends, there you have it. eye on the ball

Does Santa know?

Let me preface this by saying a few things…yes, he is almost twelve years old; yes, he is in sixth grade; yes, both of his siblings know about Santa; yes, he still fully believes in Santa and everything that goes with that. Also, this child is breaking me in so many ways lately.

We have an Elf on the Shelf, Scoutie. He’s been around about five years now, maybe six.  As with any mythical creature who shows up or moves about the house when we’re asleep, Scoutie can give Little Man anxiety. But he loves him. He writes notes to Santa via Scoutie all the time, and some notes directly to Scoutie.  He is thrilled every morning to find  Scoutie’s new location. It’s really, like many other things we deal with in autism land, a double-edged sword.

So, Scoutie is watching and reporting back to Santa on the behavior in our household.  Little Man knows this fall has been particularly challenging, and he’s had his struggles with us over homework, as well as the lashing out and yelling. With our guy, there is a usually-noticeable difference between autistic behaviors/outbursts/meltdowns  and making definite, manipulative choices. We’re working on ALL of it, trust me. But when my baby comes to me, tears in his eyes, asking, “Does Santa know I’m autistic? I’m trying, but I know I haven’t been very good lately.” Oh jeez….killing me smalls.  I told him Santa knows his heart, knows he’s trying, knows he’s working things. (does this mean we have a Santa IEP?) Little Man got a note from Scoutie this morning confirming what I’d explained. He was so relieved, he’s carrying the note around with him.

I know we could relieve a ton of anxiety if we told him. We know we are reaching the point we will  need to have that conversation. It’s so hard when  your kids, all of them, grow up past this part of childhood. I know part of me is hanging onto him still believing because I don’t want to let go. But for obvious, multiple reasons, we need to talk with him about it. It will alleviate some of his worries and anxiety. But I  know it will also make him so sad.

Any of you with ASD kiddos, how have you handled any of this…..anxiety over thinking behaviors will mean Santa won’t bring them anything, anxiety over an elf and/or Santa coming into the house while they’re sleeping, and telling them about Santa? A friend just started this conversation amongst a group of autism mommas – when to talk with your child about Santa. But I’m worrying over the rest of it too.

His fears for this year have been relieved. And I did tell him the truth – we know his heart, that most of his behavior is laid at the feet of autism. Santa knows, baby, trust me, he knows.