Mowing the Lawn

When it comes to my little boy, there are a few memories that stick out to me like a tsunami crashing the surf. Ok, a lot. I won't lie, many of them are filled with emotion that could start my car and gladly send me on my way to Mexico. For some reason, mowing the lawn takes the cake.

Rowen was probably only 2 1/2 years old when I was mowing the lawn. How a toddler could drive me so wild is beyond me. I don't remember what happened, but I do vividly recall my husband coming home to a crazy wife. I cut the engine and greeted him with a "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I'M OUTTA HERE"- type sentiment. I stormed past him with tears in my eyes. Ok, a massive floodgate of tears, mascara, and snot. As a tiny tot, Rowen had pushed all my buttons.

He was like oil and water with every other child in the universe. I'd take him to swimming lessons, and he'd push the little kids (who didn't know how to swim) in the pool. I'd take him to an open gym and he would lunge at little boys who dared take his toy while dads yelled at me. I'd take him to the park, and he'd pull Susie Q's hair until she ran screaming to mommy. I learned to stand very, very close to him to stave off a blood bath. And later, I learned to just stay home.

I was told he was "all boy" and this is what I should expect. Really? This is what all boys are like? My heart should not be racing like I'm heading into the Battle of Bull Run at the library's toddler story time. And besides, I didn't really see other boys doing it. What the heck was so wrong with me that I couldn't teach him right?

And thus, my journey of self blame began. Oh it was fun. Truly a blast. Still is, on occassion. But now I know I am not fighting a spunky, hard-headed little boy. I am fighting what autism does to him. His outrageous reactions. His sensory sensitivities that send him into shock. His narrowed obsessions that keep him out of the social loop at times. His "fish-out-of-water" reactions to new people where he becomes a train to make Rowen invisible. It's hard to watch at times. And quite honestly, hard to handle. I've had my fair share of bad parenting moves. Check. And Rowen has had his. Check-Mate. So things do not run smoothly at our house, but we wouldn't have it any other way. Ok, maybe mowing the lawn in peace...

Praise God Rowen has come miles from where he once was. I can relax a little, and send him off to play without having to equip his playmates with mini suits of armor. I don't want to discredit his 5-year-old self now because he actually does quite well with other children as of late. He amazes me every day and his triumphs are inspiring. If he can change so beautifully, it gives me hope that I can too.