I watched the smiling faces of a half-dozen pre-kindergartners line the front row of chairs at their new church class on Sunday morning. I had walked my 5-year-old down to introduce him to this new venture as well, but his smiling face wasn't among them. While the music played and the kids clapped and danced, I sat with Rowen in the back of the auditorium crouched behind a curtain. He peeked through an opening only to scrunch up his face and scream how much he hated being there. Then he covered his ears and started making loud train horn sounds. That was my cue to hit the road.
Rowen may be standing next to a fun-loving group of kids, but in my book he's a million miles away. He went with me to the grocery store last night and as I passed through the check-out line, I noticed this in action again. Four kids were lined up on a bench, laughing and talking as you'd expect of any child. The only difference in this particular picture was a blond boy yelling at them, "stop looking at me" while making the meanest face he could. But what he didn't know is that to them, he was faceless. They hadn't even noticed him, but in Rowen's world he is always on the defense. Everyone is out to get him. It was the same at the park a few weeks earlier. Kids playing, friends laughing, and the playground buzzing. And my Rowen was climbing a tree by himself.
Sometimes I think Rowen doesn't get it. He seems oblivious, quite often. But a few nights ago he shared with me some things that a mother never wants to hear. He said through a tearful plea that he thought he was a bad child. Fighting tears he told me that he wasn't smart and that he was just a bad kid. I did everything I could to talk him out of it, but there was no changing his mind. Now I notice his prayers have included a request for God to not think he's bad.
Prayer. That brings me to a few things about Rowen that are priceless, despite the choke-hold autism tries to put on him. He and I had a date to the "meatball shop" (Fazoli's) the other day and he prayed for our meal so loud I think the cooks in the back could hear! He told me his meatballs were good, but that I was the best "cooker" in the world and mine were better. He also told me how the bell at the ice cream shop by the railroad track makes him think of me. And he also said I was the best mommy in the world.
He surprises me at times. In that same grocery trip, the lady behind the deli counter smiled at Rowen and asked how he was. I held my breath, ready to put on my famous eye roll, nervous smile, and pat on Rowen's head at his probable lashing out at her. But instead I turned to him and saw a smile form. "Good," he said quietly, face lit up. A small thing, but a mountain climbed in my book. Yes, everything is good.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Welcome to Kindergarten!
Let's just start out with the Jaws theme music here, because that's what should have been playing in my head before I even got out of bed this morning. I should have known there was a land-loving shark ready to eat me alive before my feet hit the carpet. After all, it was the day of Rowen's kindergarten screening. dun-nuh... dun-nuh... DUN-NUH DUN NUH!
I'd been following the endless chatter of an anxious 5-year-old who would rather poke his cute little eyes out than go to a new school with new kids. It's a sad, sad thing to watch the anxiety of any child let alone the Biggie-sized version that my son falls prey to every day. Not to mention the ensuing result that has Rowen grunting and yelling angrily at me all the live-long day. That's when I find myself grasping the car keys and mapquesting the quickest route to Mexico.
So we walked in the school and I almost had a heart attack when I realized we'd be integrating into our new school along with other families. I guess it was wishful thinking when I pictured us going at it alone with some poor elementary staffer at whom Rowen would verbally attack. This is much better. Now Rowen can take his pick of who to target.
After finding a seat as far away from people as we could, the sweet principal began her talk with my 2-year-old screaming and Rowen sputtering, "Let's get away from these frickin' people!" Ok, so I need to stop using the word "freaking" because Rowen puts his own spin on it to sound like he's dropping the F-bomb all the time.
Because there wasn't a window to dive out of, I pulled up my big girl pants and tried to preserve any likeness of control I had. Unfortunately, that's like trying to douse the atom bomb with pepper spray. Not gonna happen. So I gathered up my things and strolled out of the room. After Rowen screamed a few more PG obscenities at the kindergarten aid ("I DON'T LIKE THAT LADY!!") I hurried out the door with the hopes that my fate might be met with a sniper rifle.
And to cap off the day, I lost it when I got home. Yes, this stuff is frustrating, but it's also very sad for Rowen. I cried the sobbing snot cry and Rowen met my tears with a retelling of a fact about strawberries. What can I say; others' emotions just aren't his forte. His world is different than ours. And honestly, it's hard to live in sometimes. But I do everyday. Sometimes I forget that I can't ask him what he wants for lunch when he is washing his hands because he just can't process two things together. And I certainly can't ask him to brush his teeth when he is flapping around like a spinning top out of control. These are the rules. We just need to find a good compromise on how a collision of our two worlds looks. I'm all ears.
I'd been following the endless chatter of an anxious 5-year-old who would rather poke his cute little eyes out than go to a new school with new kids. It's a sad, sad thing to watch the anxiety of any child let alone the Biggie-sized version that my son falls prey to every day. Not to mention the ensuing result that has Rowen grunting and yelling angrily at me all the live-long day. That's when I find myself grasping the car keys and mapquesting the quickest route to Mexico.
So we walked in the school and I almost had a heart attack when I realized we'd be integrating into our new school along with other families. I guess it was wishful thinking when I pictured us going at it alone with some poor elementary staffer at whom Rowen would verbally attack. This is much better. Now Rowen can take his pick of who to target.
After finding a seat as far away from people as we could, the sweet principal began her talk with my 2-year-old screaming and Rowen sputtering, "Let's get away from these frickin' people!" Ok, so I need to stop using the word "freaking" because Rowen puts his own spin on it to sound like he's dropping the F-bomb all the time.
Because there wasn't a window to dive out of, I pulled up my big girl pants and tried to preserve any likeness of control I had. Unfortunately, that's like trying to douse the atom bomb with pepper spray. Not gonna happen. So I gathered up my things and strolled out of the room. After Rowen screamed a few more PG obscenities at the kindergarten aid ("I DON'T LIKE THAT LADY!!") I hurried out the door with the hopes that my fate might be met with a sniper rifle.
And to cap off the day, I lost it when I got home. Yes, this stuff is frustrating, but it's also very sad for Rowen. I cried the sobbing snot cry and Rowen met my tears with a retelling of a fact about strawberries. What can I say; others' emotions just aren't his forte. His world is different than ours. And honestly, it's hard to live in sometimes. But I do everyday. Sometimes I forget that I can't ask him what he wants for lunch when he is washing his hands because he just can't process two things together. And I certainly can't ask him to brush his teeth when he is flapping around like a spinning top out of control. These are the rules. We just need to find a good compromise on how a collision of our two worlds looks. I'm all ears.
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