Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have "normal" kids. Those of you who know me are saying "ha ha" right about now. How normal can kids be who grow up in a house where the parents don't want cable TV, read obsessively, and who have discussions on theoretical physics around the dinner table.
Since it is my oldest who has autism, I have never known what it is like to parent only "normal" children. And I have reason to suspect that even my neurotypical children have leanings towards that end of the brain spectrum. They are all 3 very sensitive to certain foods, over-stimulation, picky clothing tags, uncomfortable fabrics, etc.
What is it like to get children ready for school without having to suddenly clip out a tag, change a shirt for a more comfortable one, not have to worry about sock seams being just right? What is it like to not have to negotiate afternoon peace treaties between 2 over-stimulated kids when one is an autistic introvert and the other is an ADHD-leaning extreme extrovert? What is it like to actually have time to finish one's laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, cooking without having to navigate a crisis every 5 minutes? What is it like to have children who actually need the 10 hours of sleep recommended for their ages? What is it like to not feel compelled to discuss personal family matters in stores with strangers so that people don't think your kids are merely being brats? What is it like to not have to wonder every day that some doctor is going to want to force strong medicines on your beautiful child to make them behave in a "normal" fashion in school? What is it like to not have to worry about whether the world will accept your children and their unique gifts?
Most of all, who is it who gets to decide what "normal" is anyway? I wonder....
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Rekindling an old obsession
On Saturday Dec. 12th my oldest son, Christopher, turned 10. That afternoon, after returning from the pancake breakfast we went to for his Scout troop, he surprised me by going to the bookshelf in our bedroom and pulling out all 3 of the photo albums that house the pictures of little baby Christopher. He brought them down to the living room and he and his sister had a great time looking at them. It occurred to me as I peered over their shoulders that I hadn't seen Charlotte and Connor's wee little baby pictures in a while.
So began the photo quest. One of the main places I knew I would find them was on my scrapbooking shelves in the basement (for all you scrapbookers, it is a nice *dry* basement - not finished (yet) but not a repository of mildew). Some years back - about 2 babies ago - the ladies in my church were heavily into scrapbooking. I got caught up in the frenzy and fell in love with it. Even became a consultant for a while - but then after 2 more kids and a move, life happened and it went by the wayside.
Well, I started rummaging through all my crop bags and came up with not just the baby photos, but a lovingly half-finished scrapbook that I'd forgotten I'd been working on. And then I stumbled upon a passel of pictures I'd rescued from my mom's house - photos of my teenage years, and our house, and....gulp....my Daddy - gone almost 5 years now. Standing beside a snowman we'd made.....posing in front of the house on a summer's day. And pictures of the things he loved - his old '69 Ford that he called Big Blue, and the outdoor Nativity he set up so carefully every Christmas. Ohhhh, boy. The memories.
I really don't need something else to do right now. Between Chris on the cusp of puberty, Connor getting developmental testing for a speech delay, trying to not lose Charlotte in between them, waiting to see if Brian has a job next year (school budget cuts), an aborted attempt at a church hunt, and a lot of annoying (but thankfully not serious) winter illnesses I have my hands quite full.
But - maybe - in the few spare minutes I hardly have, maybe I could also dig out some pages and adhesive. You know, for the kids' sake (wink, wink).
So began the photo quest. One of the main places I knew I would find them was on my scrapbooking shelves in the basement (for all you scrapbookers, it is a nice *dry* basement - not finished (yet) but not a repository of mildew). Some years back - about 2 babies ago - the ladies in my church were heavily into scrapbooking. I got caught up in the frenzy and fell in love with it. Even became a consultant for a while - but then after 2 more kids and a move, life happened and it went by the wayside.
Well, I started rummaging through all my crop bags and came up with not just the baby photos, but a lovingly half-finished scrapbook that I'd forgotten I'd been working on. And then I stumbled upon a passel of pictures I'd rescued from my mom's house - photos of my teenage years, and our house, and....gulp....my Daddy - gone almost 5 years now. Standing beside a snowman we'd made.....posing in front of the house on a summer's day. And pictures of the things he loved - his old '69 Ford that he called Big Blue, and the outdoor Nativity he set up so carefully every Christmas. Ohhhh, boy. The memories.
I really don't need something else to do right now. Between Chris on the cusp of puberty, Connor getting developmental testing for a speech delay, trying to not lose Charlotte in between them, waiting to see if Brian has a job next year (school budget cuts), an aborted attempt at a church hunt, and a lot of annoying (but thankfully not serious) winter illnesses I have my hands quite full.
But - maybe - in the few spare minutes I hardly have, maybe I could also dig out some pages and adhesive. You know, for the kids' sake (wink, wink).
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Between a rock and a (frightening) hard place
For the last 6 years my son, Christopher, has been successfully navigating the isolating waters of autism. He has had an excellent program at school, and has made leaps and bounds in speech, reading, communication, and social matters. Of course, he has always had good and bad days, like anyone. Usually these "bad" behavior days were egged on by tiredness, illness, hunger, or over-stimulation (or some combination thereof). Always before, there was a cause.
Now, however, since the beginning of this school year, his usual 1-2 week blip of a bad spell has turned into a 3 month bad spell - with no apparent known cause. I wait on pins and needles for his behavior book to come home each day. We haven't gone more than 2 days at a time without serious infractions. And yet - at home, he is normal (well, as normal as normal gets around here).
I have my suspicions, of course. He is soon going to be 10 years old. He has recently had a enormous growth spurt. He's gained about 3 inches of height and at least 15 pounds since maybe last spring. And according to my husband, he himself began puberty right around this age. So I probably have testosterone-fueled aggression in my normally pretty mild mannered son. Who has autism. Who doesn't understand what's happening to his body. Who by the very nature of his condition has difficulty dealing with uncontrollable changes in his world.
There has been talk of counseling (expensive) and medicine (expensive and possibly dangerous). I have been trying to get him in to his pediatrician to get some answers and advice. Meanwhile, it feels like his teachers are telling me to please "fix" him and then send him back.
I am doing my research - and I know one thing for certain - I will do anything I have to in order to avoid giving him those powerful drugs. They are not the cure-all that doctors and Big Pharma would have the public believe. There are alternative methods. I will find them. I have to. Nobody else will fight for the health and well being of my little boy.
Autism is a very lonely road for anyone whose life it touches.
Now, however, since the beginning of this school year, his usual 1-2 week blip of a bad spell has turned into a 3 month bad spell - with no apparent known cause. I wait on pins and needles for his behavior book to come home each day. We haven't gone more than 2 days at a time without serious infractions. And yet - at home, he is normal (well, as normal as normal gets around here).
I have my suspicions, of course. He is soon going to be 10 years old. He has recently had a enormous growth spurt. He's gained about 3 inches of height and at least 15 pounds since maybe last spring. And according to my husband, he himself began puberty right around this age. So I probably have testosterone-fueled aggression in my normally pretty mild mannered son. Who has autism. Who doesn't understand what's happening to his body. Who by the very nature of his condition has difficulty dealing with uncontrollable changes in his world.
There has been talk of counseling (expensive) and medicine (expensive and possibly dangerous). I have been trying to get him in to his pediatrician to get some answers and advice. Meanwhile, it feels like his teachers are telling me to please "fix" him and then send him back.
I am doing my research - and I know one thing for certain - I will do anything I have to in order to avoid giving him those powerful drugs. They are not the cure-all that doctors and Big Pharma would have the public believe. There are alternative methods. I will find them. I have to. Nobody else will fight for the health and well being of my little boy.
Autism is a very lonely road for anyone whose life it touches.
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