Oops, I did it again. I took my kids out in public. We'll just chalk that up to one of the more stupid decisions I've made as of late. Play dates always sound so harmless, until I come along with my kids. I should wear a sign on my head that says "Don't approach me, you will just regret it."
Rowen made a friend at school. When we were asked to meet up with them at the mall play place, I wish I would have had that sign on my head. When I told Brenner about our impending date, he said he gave it a few weeks before they'd find us out. Crap, he was right again.
It's not even Rowen at this point. It's the legacy that autism leaves to the next generation that has come up to bite me.
It's Lane now.
Sure, Rowen always has his moments, but the last two play dates we went on were demolished by my prize-fighting 2-year-old.
Date #1: Attempted biting plan thwarted by mom. Still got incredulous looks. Ended up biting Rowen's friend anyway, leaving marks that Dracula would be impressed with.
Date #2: Bit a child who ran screaming to his mom. After scolding Lane and dishing out the usual suspects (a talking-to, time out, etc.) I set him loose only to push down her other child (a barely walking baby who screamed to high heaven). As she comforted her baby and I tried offering my apologies, I barely got a response. I know what she was thinking. What's wrong with you, lady? Why did you think you could bring your kids out in public. Go home. And go home we did.
I have to add that we had already been getting looks because Rowen hauled up in the top floor of the monster-sized play place with another boy screaming to everyone that Rowen was sick and was going to throw up. When I asked him though, Rowen said he just had a little cough. Things didn't look good though with his little sidekick acting like I sent my son to play with their kids toting a stomach virus. Incredulous stares as usual. I think I should get a patent and start getting paid for them.
So I swooped up my kids and avoided eye contact all the way out. The tears started to flow and I couldn't stop them, even in front of my kids. I didn't mean to affect Rowen like I did though. He was worried and gave me a hug and started crying too. Not just crying though- in his room hitting the bed, he didn't know what to do with it. I explained that sometimes moms and dads cry too but that I would be just fine. Maybe a little white lie, but what was I supposed to say? Mommy has been having chest pains and thinks that nothing short of a horse tranquilizer will calm her down anymore? Sometimes honesty just doesn't sound as pretty.
I do wonder if my anxiety is the latest monster in our house. It's growing and growing and I can almost hear the autism monster cackling and rubbing it's hands together in pure satisfaction. Poor Brenner was coming out of surgery last week for a deviated septum-black eye and all- and I told the nurse I had to sit down or I'd pass out.
Stupid autism monster. It's definitely changed me. It keeps evolving itself. Now it's in the form of imitation from little brother. It's like it gave birth to another baby autism monster (disclaimer: I am not calling my kids monsters... autism is the monster here. They are as much victims as we are. Actually more. Much more.).
I wish I had some cute little quip to end this but I just don't today. Instead I have a crappy headache from crying and am still freaking out about my own surgery next week. I was praying last night though (and while I was surprised God remembered me- Hey God, I swear I'm still here-) He told me He was there too. It's something I think I need to lean on a little harder these days.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
He is Listening
Maybe I'm a little overwhelmed with life right now to be blogging so much. Usually something hits me once a month or so, but lately it's been flowing like honey.
I had to share the divine intervention that gave such comfort the other day, and hasn't left my brain since. First, I guess I have to share the embarrassing- ok mortifying- incident that got the ball rolling. It was not so divine in and of itself, but nonetheless notable.
We started going to church Saturday evenings to alleviate the anxiety Rowen feels from the bigger, Sunday morning crowds. We walked in this past week to our pastor greeting us. The big smile on his face and desire to get through to Rowen was evident. He knew about Rowen's diagnosis, but that doesn't tell anyone how to handle him. He did what most kind-hearted people would do- he talked to my son. I held my breath though, because I knew by Rowen's head-down reaction that it wouldn't go well. Pastor prompted him, "hey little guy," he said, waiting for a response. I steeled myself for the outburst that came right on cue.
"BUTT HEAD!" Rowen shouted at him, face grimaced. I turned in slow motion (at least that's how it felt) to see a look of, well, terror on my pastor's face. The couple he was standing by looked away too, and so I did what I always do. I made some stupid joke and ran off. Not sure if we'd go to Hell for calling our pastor a butt head, I figured I'd better waste no time in repenting.
I stayed with Rowen in his class for awhile until miraculously he let me go. There are moments he surprises me, and that was one of them. Usually he holds onto me for dear life, but something other-worldly must have been prompting me to get to our service because Rowen gave me the go-ahead.
I slipped into the back of the congregation alone, trying to pay attention. I have to admit, my thoughts were elsewhere. How embarrassing it is to have a son that attacks everyone. How would I explain to our pastor that we hadn't taught Rowen that he's a butt head. In fact, we really like him! So absorbed I was in these thoughts that I barely felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a young, sweet faced man in a wheelchair putting his hand out and whispering, "Hi, I'm Charlie." I gave him a handshake and returned the greeting.
He stopped for a moment and then said, "I don't know what this means, but I have to tell you that He is listening." I think the world stopped for a moment. What had I been thinking of? Oh, "butt head," that's right, I remembered. Tears stung my eyes and as he started off and I said, "actually that means a lot."
I turned my head and then back again, and truly he was gone. I'm not saying he was some sort of angel, but I was a little mesmerized by the fact that he slipped away so quickly out of my sight. He is listening.
I thought of these words last night when Rowen had a severe panic attack. Yes, my 6-year-old son had a full-on, knock-down panic attack. I am a psychotherapist and work with this often, but I have to be honest and say I've never thought much about seeing something like that in a child. Through his tears he screamed, "help, mommy!" and "I want to die," over and over. I held him tight and patted his back hard until it left a half-hour later. When Rowen passed out exhausted after, I knew He was still listening even in the middle of the chaos. I know He's listening because I still feel some sense of peace through something so terrible. Seeing your child so afraid and out of control is horrible. This child who has the best memory around couldn't even remember some of what had happened the next day. It truly took it out of him. But I'd fall apart if Jesus wasn't in the trenches with us. He was there listening when no one else was; giving us comfort when we needed a Savior to pull us through. And that's why I know it's true. He really is listening. He always is.
I had to share the divine intervention that gave such comfort the other day, and hasn't left my brain since. First, I guess I have to share the embarrassing- ok mortifying- incident that got the ball rolling. It was not so divine in and of itself, but nonetheless notable.
We started going to church Saturday evenings to alleviate the anxiety Rowen feels from the bigger, Sunday morning crowds. We walked in this past week to our pastor greeting us. The big smile on his face and desire to get through to Rowen was evident. He knew about Rowen's diagnosis, but that doesn't tell anyone how to handle him. He did what most kind-hearted people would do- he talked to my son. I held my breath though, because I knew by Rowen's head-down reaction that it wouldn't go well. Pastor prompted him, "hey little guy," he said, waiting for a response. I steeled myself for the outburst that came right on cue.
"BUTT HEAD!" Rowen shouted at him, face grimaced. I turned in slow motion (at least that's how it felt) to see a look of, well, terror on my pastor's face. The couple he was standing by looked away too, and so I did what I always do. I made some stupid joke and ran off. Not sure if we'd go to Hell for calling our pastor a butt head, I figured I'd better waste no time in repenting.
I stayed with Rowen in his class for awhile until miraculously he let me go. There are moments he surprises me, and that was one of them. Usually he holds onto me for dear life, but something other-worldly must have been prompting me to get to our service because Rowen gave me the go-ahead.
I slipped into the back of the congregation alone, trying to pay attention. I have to admit, my thoughts were elsewhere. How embarrassing it is to have a son that attacks everyone. How would I explain to our pastor that we hadn't taught Rowen that he's a butt head. In fact, we really like him! So absorbed I was in these thoughts that I barely felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a young, sweet faced man in a wheelchair putting his hand out and whispering, "Hi, I'm Charlie." I gave him a handshake and returned the greeting.
He stopped for a moment and then said, "I don't know what this means, but I have to tell you that He is listening." I think the world stopped for a moment. What had I been thinking of? Oh, "butt head," that's right, I remembered. Tears stung my eyes and as he started off and I said, "actually that means a lot."
I turned my head and then back again, and truly he was gone. I'm not saying he was some sort of angel, but I was a little mesmerized by the fact that he slipped away so quickly out of my sight. He is listening.
I thought of these words last night when Rowen had a severe panic attack. Yes, my 6-year-old son had a full-on, knock-down panic attack. I am a psychotherapist and work with this often, but I have to be honest and say I've never thought much about seeing something like that in a child. Through his tears he screamed, "help, mommy!" and "I want to die," over and over. I held him tight and patted his back hard until it left a half-hour later. When Rowen passed out exhausted after, I knew He was still listening even in the middle of the chaos. I know He's listening because I still feel some sense of peace through something so terrible. Seeing your child so afraid and out of control is horrible. This child who has the best memory around couldn't even remember some of what had happened the next day. It truly took it out of him. But I'd fall apart if Jesus wasn't in the trenches with us. He was there listening when no one else was; giving us comfort when we needed a Savior to pull us through. And that's why I know it's true. He really is listening. He always is.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Halloween: Version 2.0
When I think of Halloween as a kid, I remember dumping my candy loot out on my granny and grandpa's table and attacking the chocolate bars. I'd feed my sugar high into oblivion and bask in the greatness that was trick-or-treat.
I think a lot of parents (myself included) want the same air of excitement that we had as kids for our own brood. The wonder of Christmas, the mystery of the Easter Bunny, and the sugar coma that came from knocking on doors with an excited demand for candy. All such things are embedded in our child-like psyche that feed the wonderment of the soul.
I too had such hopes for my kids, but I noticed a change in my push for it this year. I usually get so excited for trick-or-treat, I think my husband might have to sedate me. This year, however, it's finally sinking in that the excitement of Beggar's night did not befall my first born quite like it did me. I had to stop myself and ask why my other-worldly hype for the candy holiday was more than subdued this year. I think I realized that Halloween: Version 2.0 had to take the place of my original.
Rowen does not love trick-or-treat. And while it may seem a little silly that it makes me sad, I fully admit that it does. He does not enjoy putting on a costume, though I notice he likes to dream about it. He does not like people seeing him, so my idea of a ghost costume to cover him up didn't even do the trick. He instead opted the last two years to man the candy table with dad for the other ghosts and goblins looking for their own sugar rush. Of course, his version included screaming and running inside every time someone came to the house. At least he kept coming back outside- a testament to his desire to be involved, but a sad reminder that he can't get past his fears.
At the end of the night, a little girl came to the house and instead of saying the traditional "trick-or-treat," she peered inside and squeaked out a timid "Hi Rowen." It was a girl from his class at school- a sweet little princess awaiting a reply. Of course Rowen was so taken aback by it, he instead pulled out his classic scowl and ran away. After she was gone, the scene turned very sad. I saw Rowen bury his head in the couch and say over and over, "I'm an idiot!" It was hard to watch. After calming down though, he said he wanted to talk to her the next day at school. It's always there- his desire for friendship- he just takes more time than the average joe to find it.
So while it is a bit of a let down that I can't pass along a time-honored tradition to Rowen, I have to realize that those memories are mine- not his. It's a good reminder that we all do things our own way, and I can't expect Rowen to take on my version of Halloween. Rowen was more than happy to rely on his 2-year-old brother to scour the neighborhood for candy to share with him. He was more than happy to run away from the trick-or-treaters and make big fun out of being a little silly I guess. I think he had a good time in his own way. A few bumps along the way just propel him to keep working at it. It will happen. His way. His time.
I think a lot of parents (myself included) want the same air of excitement that we had as kids for our own brood. The wonder of Christmas, the mystery of the Easter Bunny, and the sugar coma that came from knocking on doors with an excited demand for candy. All such things are embedded in our child-like psyche that feed the wonderment of the soul.
I too had such hopes for my kids, but I noticed a change in my push for it this year. I usually get so excited for trick-or-treat, I think my husband might have to sedate me. This year, however, it's finally sinking in that the excitement of Beggar's night did not befall my first born quite like it did me. I had to stop myself and ask why my other-worldly hype for the candy holiday was more than subdued this year. I think I realized that Halloween: Version 2.0 had to take the place of my original.
Rowen does not love trick-or-treat. And while it may seem a little silly that it makes me sad, I fully admit that it does. He does not enjoy putting on a costume, though I notice he likes to dream about it. He does not like people seeing him, so my idea of a ghost costume to cover him up didn't even do the trick. He instead opted the last two years to man the candy table with dad for the other ghosts and goblins looking for their own sugar rush. Of course, his version included screaming and running inside every time someone came to the house. At least he kept coming back outside- a testament to his desire to be involved, but a sad reminder that he can't get past his fears.
At the end of the night, a little girl came to the house and instead of saying the traditional "trick-or-treat," she peered inside and squeaked out a timid "Hi Rowen." It was a girl from his class at school- a sweet little princess awaiting a reply. Of course Rowen was so taken aback by it, he instead pulled out his classic scowl and ran away. After she was gone, the scene turned very sad. I saw Rowen bury his head in the couch and say over and over, "I'm an idiot!" It was hard to watch. After calming down though, he said he wanted to talk to her the next day at school. It's always there- his desire for friendship- he just takes more time than the average joe to find it.
So while it is a bit of a let down that I can't pass along a time-honored tradition to Rowen, I have to realize that those memories are mine- not his. It's a good reminder that we all do things our own way, and I can't expect Rowen to take on my version of Halloween. Rowen was more than happy to rely on his 2-year-old brother to scour the neighborhood for candy to share with him. He was more than happy to run away from the trick-or-treaters and make big fun out of being a little silly I guess. I think he had a good time in his own way. A few bumps along the way just propel him to keep working at it. It will happen. His way. His time.
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