Unpredictably Predictable

As I was hurrying to get the boys ready and semi-presentable for school earlier this week (think no Cheerios in their hair and clean clothes), my phone rang. It was Rowen's teacher. A surge of fear went through me, akin to the feeling of being called to the principal's office.

Of course, for those of you that know me well enough, you might figure I don't actually know that feeling since I was such a goody-goody back in my school days. My schooling career being in stark contrast to my dear husband's where after nearly 13 years of marriage I can still hear a new story that starts out with, "This one time, when I went to jail..." or the more popular, "When my buddies and I were outrunning the police...", or "This one time, at band camp..." So when I heard her voice on the line, I admit to being a little nervous as to what she wanted to say to me at 7:50 in the morning.

Rowen's teacher is as sweet as they come and we are blessed to have her in his camp. She called because she was worried about him as he had been talking about a stomach ache the day before and she suspected (as did I) that it may have been rooted in anxiety rather than a stomach bug. She didn't want him to think she wasn't taking him seriously though, so she called to see how I thought he was. She also said she had wanted to prepare him for her being gone for a few days by telling him ahead of time, but wondered if that was the right thing to do or if it made him more anxious. What an incredible teacher.

I opened my mouth to say something like "It's best to let him know, not know, er...?" Shoot, I didn't even know. I find it funny that one of the hallmarks of autism is predictability, but there are so many times that Rowen just leaves me scratching my head. On the other hand, he can be so highly predictable. I haven't heard Rowen talk much about trains for a long time, but with Christmas rolling around he has suddenly taken an interest. Why you ask? Because that's what he wanted last year. It doesn't matter that it has no claim on his life today, it's just what he remembers from yesterday. It's his point of reference for Christmas.

So before I get too hard on myself, not knowing how to answer a question about my own child, I am reminded of how unpredictably predictable he is. It's a roller coaster ride that takes us to great places but also to the most frustrating. It's hard for me to understand even though I've been a student of Rowen for 7 years now.

Rowen's anxiety has also been hit or miss. I am grateful for the misses, but the hits still come pretty hard. A few times I have given him a day off school because he gets in his fits of anxiety so hard and fast that a point of no return becomes evident and I need to just give him a break. Lately he has stopped eating his lunch at school because last week he gagged a little on his sandwich and now has fears of it happening again and embarrassing himself. So salami sandwiches are out (which I am not too sad about) but the fact is that there aren't a lot of things I can just throw in his lunch to substitute. This is a child that will NOT let me even put a small piece of candy (though he loves candy) in his lunchbox because it's not exactly what was in it the day before. I find myself begging, "please son, let me put this chocolate chip cookie in your lunch!" Ok, maybe not begging, but you get the picture.

So I will keep scratching my head about Rowen's lunchtime woes and hopefully come up with an answer. We will also have to see how he feels about the lack of trains under the tree this year. Hopefully we can loosen that grip a little and enjoy what Christmas is about anyway. It's about the birth of our Savior. Thank goodness we can rely on that. Quite predictably.

BRUSH YOUR $#%&! TEETH!!

I have a confession to make.

I yelled at my child today.

Nothing that will put me on America's Ten Most Wanted list, but nonetheless, I did it.

I will spare you the details about why I got frustrated after telling Rowen to brush his teeth about 150 times, or to take his medicine that I put right in front of his breakfast bowl only to find it (every day) still sitting there when we are trying to run out the door for school. I also won't go into detail about how he still had to get his book bag together, shoes laced up, and jacket on in the 45 seconds we had until the school bell would ring, but instead found him playing with a squirt gun. I will also not tell you that I told him to hang up the shorts and t-shirt in exchange for cold weather clothes about a hundred times only to catch him at the breakfast table in his summer gear. Dirty from wearing them yesterday. So yeah, I will spare you the details.

Sigh.

However, despite my intro I did not swear at my child as a result of our crazy morning routine. I won't do that. But is it really drawing that much of a line when I take the liberty of yelling at him just to blow my own steam? After I calmed down, I realized I was glad that no one had been watching because I wouldn't exactly have earned the Mother of the Year award. I only say it now because it might be one of those PBS 'you-too-can-learn-from-my-mistakes' moments.

I read an article the other day about how yelling at our kids can be just as damaging as hitting them. In some cases, I suspect it can be much worse. I have often humbled myself by apologizing to Rowen for being less than cordial in our exchanges. I think that in addition to teaching ourselves that it is not ok to yell at our kids, we also have to swallow some humble pie if we ever break code. How are we to ever teach our kids to do the same if we refuse to do it ourselves?

So despite having to put "yelled at my ADHD child for being off-task" on my parenting resume, I have to face up to the fact that it was certainly not my best parenting moment and vow to do better next time. I may have to blow the dust off the old morning routine chart for Rowen and go at it again. I may have to get the boys up earlier (Whoa! Do I have to go that far?), although that doesn't seem to do any good. I may need to look inside myself and figure out a better way to do this. After all, I am the parent, right? And by looking inside myself, I should clarify that this does not mean the absence of discipline, it just means a better form of it. That is, if yelling is even considered a discipline technique.

So while I may not be in an orange jump suit any time soon for yelling at my son, let's consider for a moment that this somewhat ridiculous thought may not be so far off the beaten path. Because if we really are supposed to be the parents, don't we need to teach our children to be the best possible human beings they can be? We don't want them to walk with a limp their whole lives because of our mistakes. That should darn well be criminal.

And fret not if you've also been less than stellar in this category. The last paragraph of the article talks about how we can turn things around with a simple apology and a willingness to make a change for next time. They are worth it, after all.

 

 

Here is a link to the article: http://shine.yahoo.com/parenting/study-shows-yelling-kids-damaging-hitting-them-150200191.html#!l8n05

 

 

 

Don't Change a Thing

I think we are holding our own. Every time I say that, however, I hold my breath and wait for the next boom to come. But lately I've been able to settle into a new idea. An idea that holds the possibility of change. For good.

I think all parents have their stories. Stories of success and failure. Stories of their kids learning something new and stumbling across their own two feet. Stories of the strange things they are bound to say to others that make us laugh or embarrass the crap out of us. In our case, it usually involves our boys giving some kind of reference to their junk (still).

But overall they've made us laugh lately- a lot. Just yesterday Lane went up to a lady and her baby on the playground and started a rant about how he thinks crabs are stupid. A boy can have his opinion, I guess. And Rowen. Rowen is constantly flexing his biceps and kissing them and asking us if he's the strongest.

Out kids are funny, crazy and the sweetest things we've ever known. And they're just that. Kids. Compared to a year ago, I feel as though we've entered a new realm where kids are kids and we don't have to tend to the pangs of autism every minute of every day (and night). We've worked and slaved to find a solution that works and I think we've stumbled upon gold- or as close to gold as we'll ever get around here. Not perfection, but close enough.

I took Rowen into a new pediatrician last week and braced myself for the crazy things that might come out of his mouth the second the door flew open and the doctor walked in. Instead, the doc sauntered in and sat next to Rowen and they had a chat about school, his coming birthday, and Batman. It was a little- ok a lot- different than any time before. I think we probably owe retribution to several other docs for emotional scars we left before.

And then came some very sweet words. "If I didn't know he had a diagnosis, I wouldn't know the difference," his doc said. "Don't change a thing."

Wow. Don't change a thing. That's a first for us. It's been nearly 7 years of "do this" or "do that" because you suck and he needs more help, yadda yadda yadda.

So I think I might do just that: not change a thing. For now. Yes, he still struggles but I am certain that these are struggles that many parents face. Rowen has been less anxious about school though that's not perfect either. Just today he burst into tears before school recalling how yesterday he'd asked his friend to make room for him at the lunch table and his friend wouldn't. I just hugged him and we went through the plan of finding other friends to sit with (which is exactly what he had done!). A small reminder and he felt better. After all, he was prepared because he's been working on that one for weeks.

I admit to not loving the continued reliance on an antipsychotic medication to make this reality happen (for him, not me- yeah, yeah I know what you were thinking), but for now I think I will just sit back and watch him grow no matter how it comes. I'm not going to change a thing.  

Bye Bye Summer, Hello Throw Up

So here we are at the end of August already. School is back in session and I am officially the mom of a first-grader and a first-time preschooler. Rowen is at school all day every day and Lane hits the books (or should I say play-dough?) in the mornings four days a week. I think I was more sad than Lane to see him off to his classroom. He'd been wearing his book bag at home a whole week prior to school and when I dropped him off, he didn't even look back to say goodbye. He was more than ready.

You might have an inkling that Rowen is a different story. His first day we only had a few tears, but every day since has opened the floodgates of red-faced cries both at bedtime and in the mornings. He cried so much this morning that he hid under our bed, thinking I'd be none too wise to find him. Once I coaxed him out and got him to take a few bites of a peach, the anxiety came full circle. I turned just in time to catch him throwing up all over the kitchen floor. Mind you, this wasn't just a few bites of peach (WARNING: Graphic in nature!), this was breakfast, juice, all his meds, and I think dinner from the night before. Afterward, he kept saying he was sorry but then a hint of a smile came across his face after the mother of all revelations hit him. "I guess I can't go to school then," he said, feigning sadness.

I looked from him to the massive pile of... you know... and thought, hmm, I guess this kid has a point. I wasn't sure of the protocol from a kid throwing up purely from anxiety versus an actual illness so I called it in. Just as I thought, they encouraged me to take him in which I was relieved to hear. I don't want an encore presentation of this just because it looks like the magic ticket out of school.

So he strapped his Batman book bag on, loaded up his lunchbox, and we headed out- after a gargle of mouthwash. After several requested prayers and hugs, he disappeared inside the building. I had promised Lane I would take him to the zoo today since it was his day off of school. I hesitated, wanting to be nearby if I got a call, but figured we had to stick with the plan.

Despite my heavy heart for Rowen, I did enjoy Lane time at the zoo.

He ran ahead of me like he always does, but surprisingly instead of going into banana-crazy psycho anxiety mode, I was relaxed. Funny, I always thought it was Lane running too far ahead of me that bothered me. I realized today though that it's actually the 6-year-old by my side that I worry more for. In his absence, I didn't have to fret about how he'd react if I had to chase after my wayward preschooler. Usually Rowen goes ballistic and either freaks that I've separated a tiny micro-bit from him or he takes it upon himself to loudly scold Lane and grab at him like a wildebeest. This is not to say that I wouldn't have wanted Rowen there. There was of course a void knowing he is always by my side. Here's to hoping we'll both make it through this year.

Oh, and by the way, we appealed the denial made by Franklin County to detract our funding for Rowen's therapies and we won! Rowen gets to keep meeting with his beloved OT, Ms. Cindy. That's cause for celebration!

The Norm

After a weeklong trip to the Gulf of Mexico with my wild brood, we are home sweet home and back to the norm. Not that the "norm" made a week-long exit by any means. Our norm was in full swing 24/7, complete with Rowen's latest obsession with private boy parts and his uncanny ability to announce this no matter who is around.

We stayed at a condominium complex where mostly older folks stay in the hopes of some peace and quiet. We don't quite fit in with that picture, especially when Rowen is standing at the foot of the pool screaming about his balls while Lane echoes something similar about his penis while treading water. I can't tell you exactly how many sweetly smiling seniors paced the pool for their water aerobics, but I am sure there were enough to give us a few confused stares. I wouldn't know though because I really don't look anymore. I am sure a few stares also came our way when Rowen blew up about his goggles slipping off his face. It's funny because as much as I have become accustomed to the norm, I still can't say I always know the right move. Maybe it's hopefulness that it will be different or that I can change the outcome. Whatever it is, it's probably just stupid. Just follow the script, Amanda.

I know I probably make it out to be so bad and it really isn't. I have to laugh a little at some of our misfortunes if we have to go through them. We really did have a great time and I loved watching Rowen and Lane jump into the warm waves of the Gulf with smiles across their faces. And though he told the girl on the plane in the seat in front of him that he hated her (yes, of course we talked to him about that one), he did make a friend on the sunny shore that he did quite well with. When those things happen, we usually drop everything to let him have the time he needs. He needs the practice- and the confidence.

As school creeps up to being right around the corner, the nights are becoming more sleepless as Rowen's anxiety grows. He is starting to ruminate about his fears involving school and the social situations that he will face. I remember being scared too, but I hate that the deck is stacked against him. The very social cues that you and I pick up on to clue us in on our next moves are usually in outer space for Rowen. He is a good kid (despite how many times he spews messages of self-hatred) and, as I told him tonight, his goodness can go unseen due to his emotional dysregulation, hyperactivity, and occasional- ok obsessional- talk about his balls. I guess that's a boy thing at any level, although it is curious when I catch him rehearsing how throw it into conversation.

So if you think about it, say a prayer or two for Rowen. He could always use some grace in spite of his rough exterior at times. And if you catch him talking about his junk, just know that this too shall pass and another obsession will soon come his way. Hopefully one that's a little more PG.

Standing On My Soapbox

When you meet one kid with autism, you've met one kid with autism. I think most people would agree that each spectrum child struggles uniquely. Funny, because as much as I know that, and the entire autism community knows that, apparently the powers that be are blissfully unaware.

I know this because we just lost our funding for all of Rowen's therapies through Franklin County, AKA the powers that be. Even with the autism diagnosis, kids must undergo a redetermination of funding at age 6. I am all for that, because many kids do improve enough to no longer need services. I guess they don't care that my kid is not one of them. Sure he's improved greatly over the years and at times, his diagnosis is nearly undetectable. And then there are times it's like sounding a bullhorn through Times Square. I had one such day today, which reminded me all the more that the system is flawed. Sigh. I guess they usually are.

I took Rowen to the pool today along with Lane and my 10-year-old niece. (If you knew what taking my kids out entailed, you'd be giving me a standing ovation right about now). Keeping my kids grounded is often like trying to stop World War II with a squirt gun. I went with my good friend and her 3-year-old daughter too (love you guys!) and I can only imagine what she thought of my untamable brood. I can only imagine what most people thought, actually. I have a good idea though, because I am pretty well used to the stares. Like when Lane often wanders away (usually like he has a jet-pack strapped to his back), Rowen takes it upon himself to run after him (yes, that's very nice and I praised him for it), but grabs at him like a terrorist and yells his kindergarten obscenities at him to stop. Hence the many looks that seem to say where is their mother? I can tell you where their mother is. She's the one running to keep up and keep the crazy to a minimum as much as possible.

In Rowen's ADHD craze, he absolutely could not keep his hands off his cousin. And I may as well have tape recorded myself telling Rowen not to splash other people because I could have saved myself the breath. Lots and lots and lots and lots of breath.

He also does his evil screaming at me with the I wouldn't let my kid talk to me like that glares in the background. As much as we've addressed that problem (and believe me, we have) we still haven't found the lock combination to stop it. His frustration goes into overdrive and it comes out like the grim reaper on steroids. I am not sure I will brave the pool again until both my kids are 18.

And after all the effort, when we left Lane told me he hated me in a sing-song voice like he was ordering a burger at Wendy's. And then he repeated it just in case I didn't hear it the first time. I am so glad we've had autism and ADHD to role model that for him. Can you hear my sarcasm? I hope so, because I am laying it on pretty thick here.

I am not trying to paint Rowen in a bad light here. It's the behaviors of autism that are the real tragedy. Combined with a kid who is just trying to make his way in the world like any other kid, it's just a disaster. I know he struggles a lot. He's been hitting himself so much more when we have to discipline him and the "I hate myself" statements are a dime-a-dozen in this house. He really can't control himself at times. I think his excitement meter goes ballistic and he literally goes out of his mind temporarily.

So thank you, Franklin County, for determining that we are good to go. Rowen did not meet 3 of your 6 criteria for continued help so I guess we are on our own. It's true that he is more functional in his daily living and self-care skills than many kids (and God bless those families because I know they struggle greatly too). But that doesn't mean that we still don't struggle just because Rowen can brush his teeth. I think the system needs to recognize all kids on the spectrum as being in need of extra care and to ditch this one-size-fits-all approach to autism. Because once you've met one kid with autism, you've met one kid with autism. My kid happens to be one of them.

I Admit It- I Voted Romney- Take Me to Jail!

I am up writing this at 2 a.m. because I am having a hard time sleeping thinking about what happened to us and the kind of world we live in today. I know this is usually a platform to talk about autism, but I am going to go a bit off-topic tonight. I'd go almost as far as to say we were victims of a hate crime tonight. Not what you'd think of happening to your average suburban couple with two kids and a tree house in the backyard, but nonetheless I think that's exactly why we fly under the radar.

This past evening, on this Memorial Day, my husband, Brenner, took our boys in the driveway while I was cooking dinner and set off a few piddly fireworks. Maybe it wasn't the best choice in retrospect, but we've been here almost 5 years and have done the same every year without complaint. This year we got a big complaint, complete with police and my autistic son in his room crying because he thought his daddy was going to be cuffed and taken away.

So here's the scene and then you can decide, because ultimately it's up to you and me to change things like this. I was inside making dinner after a day of taking the kids to a birthday party and street festival where they jumped the afternoon away in inflatables. Rowen talked about firecrackers, and lit up at the idea that daddy would take him outside to set a few off. Nothing new around here.

As Brenner was outside, he saw our 3-doors-down neighbor come out of his house with a phone and walk halfway to our house before turning around. Saying nothing, Brenner hadn't though too much about it until he came out again and laid into him, very loudly I might add and without any reserve. I have to mention at this point that our neighbor is gay, only because the rest of this wouldn't make sense unless I pointed out that very fact.

Our neighbor (who by the way I couldn't pick out in a line up because I've never witnessed him out of his house in the entire time we've lived here) came screaming obscenities at Brenner in front of my youngest son and the rest of the neighborhood. I probably won't get the entire conversation perfectly, but it went something like this:

Neighbor (again, don't even know his name): "You a**hole! You can't set off fireworks in the neighborhood! There are RULES! I called the cops!"

Brenner: "Sorry man, why didn't you just come down and tell me?"

Neighbor: "You are scaring everyone in the neighborhood!"

Brenner: "What are you talking about? You mean your dogs?!"

Neighbor: "Yes, you homophobic prick! I saw the sign in your yard!"

Um, you mean the Romney sign we had in our yard 7 months ago? Shoot, did we not read the fine print? Did it say "We are voting for Romney because we are homophobic pricks?" Man, we really should read the fine print better.

So here is where it obviously became less about firecrackers and more about his assumptions- big, wildly stretched assumptions about us because we had a political sign in our yard. I think we may know now who stole our sign. How completely childish we thought that was at the time, and now feeling even more so based on this altercation.

Our neighbor went on to say a number of expletives with my son wandering in the driveway (I'm still inside oblivious, making dinner) including "F- you and F- your Jesus" after Brenner did admittedly get in a somewhat jabbing retort that all knees will bow before Jesus based on what a jerk this guy was making of himself.

Brenner: "My son has never heard these words before and I don't want him to hear it!" (Meaning the F-bomb, which probably isn't entirely true because mom did drop it once out of sheer anger at the misunderstandings some people have over autism- no excuses there, but nonetheless I admit it!)

Neighbor: "Well get used it it, because this is the real world. It's a good thing you only make up the one-percent (meaning Christians- really where does this guy get his facts?) because I don't have to worry about you!" He then turned to walk away and yelled "You homophobic, racist, white trash, piece of shit!"

Wow. Our sign said all that? Or maybe it's the Bible that says that in 1 Hypocrites 24:7.

When I finally realized what was happening, I coaxed Lane out of the driveway and inside and became immobilized by fear. I am ashamed to say I stayed inside, not knowing what to do and left Brenner to fight this battle. I apologized to him later, but am writing this in part because I am trying to work out the crappy way I handled all of this.

The officer pulled up in front of our house and I worried for a moment that Brenner actually would be taken away in cuffs with "setting off bottle rockets with his kids on Memorial Day" on his rap sheet. I paced the floor and that's when I heard Rowen crying upstairs, screaming that his daddy was going to jail. I tried to comfort him and then went outside (finally) to talk to the officer, who obviously thought this was nuts and said that we were fine and to not worry about anything.

That's all good and fine, but it's hard not to worry when you have someone you thought was an ok person just 3-doors- down thinking it's ok to tear you apart on your front lawn with the world watching for no real (meaning based on truth) reason.

Just for the record, I am Christian and I love Jesus with everything I have in me. I am in no way perfect nor do I think I make all the right decisions or always do the right thing. Almost the opposite, in fact. That does not mean you can make assumptions about how I treat people based on my belief in God. Never once have I ever indicated that I was in any way 'homophobic' and am ticked off that this word was even used around us, especially based on a political sign in our yard of all things. I guess it was ok for him to line his lawn with Obama signs (literally, lined the lawn) but our right to free speech was squelched by the sign-stealing antics of a 40-something year old man who made some seriously faulty assumptions about us based on everything but us. It's funny because his partner and I have always conversed in the front yard and I never knew there was anything but good neighborly chats and smiles. My kids would pet his dogs and we would say hi and wave to each other on his daily walks. When some ill-hearted people spray painted their garage door with the word "Faggot," I wonder who it was in his driveway to comfort him and tell him how sad we were that that had happened? Oh, it was the only two people on the street with Romney signs in our yards. Me included.

Just for a moment, imagine the tables had been turned. Imagine we went down the street screaming at this guy and saying "F- you because we saw the sign in your yard!" And "F-your 'kind' and I'm glad there aren't many of you and we don't have to worry about you," etc. We would have been hauled to jail so fast and been plastered across the 11- o'clock news. But it's ok to do that to us.

So I ask, who was the butt of a hate 'crime' and who wasn't? Let me further add that I was a proud member of a graduating class of OSU, one of the most liberal and equality-based schools in the country, but I have to say I have never felt more unequal based on my Christian beliefs. Somewhere along the way, every other choice in America became ok other than God. I guess the Bible doesn't say it would be easy. Surely not for Christians just trying to live out their beliefs. Sure there are some that give us a bad name, but if we are all about equality and not judging, how about you look at my heart rather than being jaded by some guy who gave God a bad name when you were in middle school? That's all I ask.

I am not expecting the world to unite and hold hands based on all of this, but I am asking us to look at the irony of how politically correct it is to tout equality for everyone in the world but Christians. There's always someone who gives any grouping of people a bad name, but it's unfair to lump me in there unless you've seen me. I've seen it all my life as a Christian, as a wife, as a mother, and all my other labels and roles. I think we all have. So let's think about changing it. It starts with you and me.

The New Normal

The last month has been a whirlwind of crazy at our house. And when I say crazy, I mean it's been so up and down that the head-spinning girl from the Exorcist looked tame compared to me.

I will spare some detail, but let's just say that things got so bad that a psychiatric hospital was actually on the table for discussion. Not for me, surprisingly (although scoring a few fun pills wouldn't have been half bad), but for my 6-year-old autistic son.

Here's the long and short version: It. Was. Bad. Rowen had been getting progressively more angry and we were getting progressively more despondent. He had been doing well on the Adderall, or so we thought, until we realized it was actually the culprit for bringing out the worst in Rowen. At first we dubbed it the miracle pill, because he was in control of himself again. My head-spinning had subdued and we felt a little more in control of our lives. Little did we know, a crazed, cackling monster was readying to play hardball. And play hardball it did.

So we were advised to drop the Adderall, and two more medicines later (sigh) we are onto the next latest and greatest. I am gun shy to say it's any good, but so far so good. So good, in fact, I sat outside with Rowen yesterday and we just enjoyed being together. I almost didn't know how to handle some good old fashioned time with my boy without fighting, yelling, and discipline. It was so nice.

A good friend of ours at church who knows Rowen told me tonight that she knows what a sweet and loving boy Rowen is when he's there. I am so glad there are people that see it too when he is able to just be himself, because he really is all the good things she described. Rowen's just been given the daunting task of having to unravel a few layers before others can see it. It's not fair, really, but then who said life would be fair? Fair might not be the right word for us, but blessed sure is if all roads lead to here...

  
I also got to spend last night watching Lane in his first ever pee wee T-ball game. I loved sitting in the warm, summer-like breeze watching my 3-year-old excitedly round the bases with his daddy playing coach. I have to admit, I imagined that it felt like what most families feel when they watch their little leaguers. Relaxed. Normal. I know there is no real definition for normal (thank God for that), but it was nice to put a baseball hat on his head without a screaming tantrum erupting and a hat flying across the field. I also have to admit that it was nice to not have to coax him out on the field, but instead to see him run to it like they'd plastered popsicles all over home base. And finally, I fully admit it was nice to not have to field incredulous stares from onlookers while I stave off a belligerent 6-year-old.

I absolutely love that Rowen is Rowen. I spent the hour outside the baseball diamond watching Lane, but tending to my dirt loving, ADHD boy on the sidelines. I had to pull his wandering self out of the diamond a few times, but he soon found an equally ADHD boy to play with, and- with much mom interference- had a good time. I don't need for him to play baseball or any other sport for me to be proud of him. But admittedly it was kind of nice to see how the other half lives. If that sounds bad to anyone, so be it. It was still nice. Granted I missed half the game for having to tell Rowen to keep his hands to himself 50 times and to stop eating dirt, but I think it turned out quite nicely. Lane had a great time and we did too.

Once Upon a Time

I always enjoy getting a little one-on-one time with Lane. With all the emphasis on Rowen, I often worry about how Lane might feel. I am always having to pull him away crying from all the seemingly fun things we end up doing for Rowen. Bowling, horses, and his beloved OT, Ms. Cindy's, "house" where any kid might feel they are at Disney World. Lane loves all that stuff too. We've tried hard to let him in on the fun as much as we can. He became the toddler bowling champ at Rowen's special needs league recently and he always gets a few strikes in at Ms. Cindy's veritable playground. I also signed him up for pee wee soccer and T-ball starting in May.

Today I took Lane to OSU to take part in a study on children's development. I've done them for years, even when Rowen was a lap baby, staring at the goofy on-screen computer cues that researchers eat up for a living. Lane's gotten a few certificates himself, dubbing him a "master" of infant development. We do it for fun and to spend a little time together.

We pulled onto campus today and I stepped foot in the new psychology building on campus. Once upon a time, the old psych building that stood in it's place was my stomping ground. I walked past the many students lining the hallways with books and study notes in hand and thought about once upon a time. Instead of a bookbag, I donned a precocious 3-year-old who didn't know they meaning of quiet. I had to laugh at how many heads turned at my quizzical little Lane while I was taking in the feeling that once was.

I have to admit, as a school nerd, I felt a twinge of sadness at being absent from any and all classrooms for years now. It also stirred up feelings of what life was like before autism. My heart pounded at the thought of freedom I had long ago, and then dropped at the idea of autism having taken some of that away. I missed it. For a moment I missed my once upon a time life devoid of therapists, doctors, and endless research on a disorder we practically know nothing about. For a moment I was back in time, having erased all the hardship that comes with autism.

Lane brought me back to reality with his excessive chatter with the research assistant and as we approached the door, I realized my reminiscing not only erased autism but it erased everything I've come to love in this world. It erased first birthdays, little boy hugs, fingerpaintings on my fridge. It erased goodnight kisses, chatterboxes, and reading Thomas the Tank Engine books. It erased notes telling me I'm the best mom in 6-year-old handwriting and mischievous smiles from a toddler who wants me to sing "Glory of Love" at bedtime- again. It erased two little boys that bring the most joy I've ever experienced. And though that joy came with the devastating lows that autism creates, I realize that my former life didn't hold a candle to what I have now.

Lane finished his research trial (now I know he prefers to play with bars of soap rather than actual toys- at least Christmas will be cheap this year), and we walked back through the halls where students still crammed for tests and scribbled on their papers. I grabbed Lane's little hand and packed him in his carseat, chattering away about the banana he was eating and the new "E-I-E-I-O" book he got as payment. I took my little chatterbox (I really think he has a word quota he has to meet each day) and drove off campus, saying a goodbye under my breath to a life that once was. I turned my blinker on toward home, but made a stop at the candy store. I guess the candy store is also akin to Disney World, because Lane lit up like Christmas at the chance to pick out anything he wanted. He picked out a 50-cent succer, one for him and one to give his big brother when he got home from school. What a sweet smile my little scholar has. Now that's something I'd never want to see erased.

A Day in the Life

So it wasn't by the 11 o'clock news that things changed for the worse as I forecasted in my last post, but soon enough the storm hit. We had a few bad days but at least it now seems to be steadily improving. And by 'a few bad days' I mean scary, sad, maddening, heartbreaking, and just about everything else under that umbrella you can throw in there.

The heavy hitter lately has been Rowen saying he wants to kill himself. That's the heartbreaking and scary part. If we have to discipline him, he says things like, "I wish I had never been in your tummy," and "I'm just so bad you should kill me." I can tell his spirit has been very heavy lately. In so many ways, he is a perfectionistic kid. I think his rough exterior simply covers up his fears and inadequacies. I'll be honest though, that rough exterior is hard to contend with. I can't count the number of times he says he hates us or wants to kill us. He got so mad at Brenner the other day over a pillow (yes, a pillow) that he threw a fit of rage directed right at him. That's the maddening part. We just want to scream back (and some days I admit that we do) but I know that's not going to help. We need to keep learning the language.

A friend posted a video of a non-verbal teenage girl with autism, Carly Fleischmann, to my facebook page (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1uPf5O-on0) who found her voice through typing her words on a computer screen. Though Rowen is verbal (very, very verbal!) it was eye-opening to hear how she describes some of her struggles. She said "We create output to block out input." Amazing. I admit I've never thought of Rowen's tantrums in this way. I think about when we took him to the Easter egg hunt at church where bad weather forced us indoors. Translation: the enormous crowd was just crammed into a smaller space. God bless him, Rowen tried to go into the egg hunt room but quickly turned around to meet my gaze with a look of sheer terror on his face. It built and built until he threw an enormously fabulous fit in the hallway, complete with wanting to kill me. It took a quiet room and some special people to help him calm down. Output versus input.

Carly also said it's hard to look at someone's face because she takes a thousand pictures of it the minute she looks at it. I can't tell you how many times I've uttered the phrase "look at my face" to Rowen. I actually know better on this one already, but sometimes it's just a failure to launch.

A few days ago after a long day of arguing, Rowen- at bedtime- said he knew I didn't love him because I'd gotten mad at him that day. I explained that sometimes we get mad but it doesn't mean we don't love each other. My words didn't really mean much to him though until I wrote them down. We exchanged letters about how we will always love each other even if we have hard days. Shortly after that he fell into a peaceful sleep with my letter by his side.

So score one for me I guess, because I'm learning to speak the language every day. And though I write a lot about my failures, I jump for joy at the progress we make little by little. While some days Brenner and I feel like we are more behind the starting gate than beyond it, I have to remind myself that that's not true.

And speaking of starting gate, check out Rowen at equine therapy. He loves it! He caught on so fast, which is huge in our book. Maybe the horse just speaks Rowen. It's a beautiful, frustrating, and completely rewarding language we could all use a little schooling in.

Rowen at equine therapy hamming it up!

I had to add this photo from the zoo yesterday. Rowen saw this goat at the petting zoo sitting all by himself and Rowen was drawn to him. I think Rowen thought this little goat was lonely sitting outside the crowd and he wanted to make him feel better. I guess being part of the crowd isn't always what we need.

And one more of the dudes on the train ride at the zoo. Just because. 

Some Good News- Finally!

So I have a super big disclaimer for this post. It can all change tomorrow, because it usually does. I may eat my words with all the good things I am about to say by the 11 o'clock news, but what the heck.

So Adderall. I like you. You may in fact be one of my best friends. At first I was really scared of you and thought we would never get along, and now I would score you on the streets if I had to.

Needless to say, the Adderall is working for Rowen. We are all a little more sane in our house lately. And thank goodness Rowen seems to feel so much better. He still struggles with anxiety and anger/frustration control, but I am no longer amassing some serious bank in an off-shore account for when I finally lose it and need to vacate the country.

Not one week ago, a little self-medication may not have been so far off the beaten path for my downtrodden self. Now hold the phone a minute. I am super Christian nice girl and would never really do that (except for the occasional overdose on anything that starts with the word "Hershey's"), but Christian or not I don't think anyone can escape these thoughts when listening to Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers.

So let's get/To the point/Let's smoke/Another joint
Let's head on down the road/There's somewhere/I gotta go
You don't know how it feels/No you don't know how it feels/
You don't know how it feels/To be meeeeeeeeeeee

Is that all that guy sings about? Geez. A digression...

But seriously, the worst thing I think I've ever done is go out with my fellow uber-Christians (love you guys!) in my old Bible study group (yes, I know) and toilet paper our pastor's house (again, I know-and by the way, he knew). Another digression-this time in the form of confession I guess. At any rate, I'm just saying it's been tough around here.

But say no more, I think we've finally found our help. The weather changing has also been a game changer, which I'm sure most of you can attest to as well. Now that we are past the impulsiveness that gives Rowen such a hard time, I will say the anxiety has become the focus recently. Most nights I have a 6-year-old in a sleeping bag next to our bed. A lot of dramatic 6-year-old friendship issues have arisen. It does break my heart. I've seen too many tears from this boy.

So despite a better atmosphere in this house, he could still use some prayers. We all can. Especially for direction. I am still thinking about homeschooling (I know I just got a bunch of cross-eyed looks) but it may be our best option. I just wish God held up a sign for me that gave me complete and very specific instructions on how to spend every second of every day of every week of every year. I don't think that's too much to ask, right?

And don't worry, I am not listening to Tom Petty that much. I only pull out the album to hear Mary Jane once in awhile. 

Straight Jacket, Anyone?

Today was a saving grace. After the last few days, anyway, it was.

Operation Adderall has begun. Today is day four and we haven't seen much of a difference yet. I didn't quite expect to see results this soon anyway, but his doc said to go ahead and increase his dose today. Bottoms up, kiddo.

The past few days have been hard. Rowen's mood swings are giving me a headache. When I start to entertain the notion that he is bipolar (really, I do), I do a quick self-check and start to wonder if I am some days (ok, really I don't, but anyway...). Let me explain.

I spent a lot of yesterday kicking myself in the butt for not being able to handle Rowen as well as I should. It started off a rough day when Rowen decided it was time to start his day at 3:30 in the morning. Goodbye peaceful goodnight. Actually, it wasn't that peaceful given that Lane had already been up twice, finally kicking daddy out of bed at 2 a.m. But I digress.

Rowen was a madman. Uncontrollable and wild. Belligerant and oppositional. Big brother bully to Lane all friggin' day. The F-dash-dash-dash word went through my head on more than one occassion, I have to admit. Though it died down a bit in the afternoon, it roared back to life when Rowen took a whiplash turn into opposition once again.

Let me set the scene. I'm feeling better. Rowen seems better. I think I can handle today without a straight jacket. "Hey Rowen," I say. "Let's read a book together." I walk up the stairs to get a book, come back down and Rowen is crouched behind the couch screaming and ranting with me as the target. If the devil himself could have swooped in and taken over, it might have seemed that way to passers by. His eyes were wild with tears, teeth clenched, and red-faced awaiting a fight. He started calling me names, yelling like a madman, and for a moment I was thankful he didn't have an AK-47 in his hand. Here's the part where I lose it. And lose it I did.

I told Brenner that I don't know why I can't get it. Yes, essentially I am being verbally abused and the target of undeserved, crazed anger, but it's by an autistic 6-year-old. That's the part I can't seem to come to grips with. I still react. I get mad. And then when all is said and done, I feel like a failure. I just can't seem to get this. Ok, yes, so if someone walked in the door and started tearing you down Navy Seals style and then repeated it day after day after day after... well, you get it. You'd probably go crazy. I think some days I have too. But I need to somehow disconnect that and realize he can't help it. Why can't I get that?!

So I had a heart-to-heart with myself. Brenner came home to a wife in tears, but I think I worked it out doing a little kickboxing later. Thank you, TurboFire.

So back to redemption. I took Rowen and Lane to SkyZone today (an indoor trampoline park) and prayed on the way there to not have to run away in tears at the end. Rowen put on his game face and protested for the first half-hour. He even semi-assaulted a woman who tried to talk to him, to which I followed my usual protocol to put out that fire. At least she was understanding. So I watched Lane jump for joy, thankfully oblivious to big brother's stance. I had followed all the rules: 1.) get there first so there aren't so many people there. 2.) Put on stupid SkyZone shoes myself (the only parent out there) to help Rowen get into gear. 3.) Give him space and time.

Despite my rule-following it still blew up in my face, for awhile anyway. A few panic attacks later by me (ok, so I exaggerate), the ice melted. Rowen's arms fell to his sides from being defiantly crossed against his chest and he said, "I want to try it."

And that was that. He was rockin' it from there (his words). He even handed over the money to the concession worker for his snack at the end himself-super big feat for him. So what if Lane cued up a fabulous fit because he couldn't play dodgeball? I sweated that one out with him screaming for 15 minutes and then multi-tasking a game of air hockey with Lane while watching Rowen do his thing. He'd make sure I was watching, gear up for a run, and then divebomb into the foam pit again and again. With joy. He'd disappear into the foam blocks for a moment, and then I'd see that toe head pop out from a sea of blue. The first thing he did was look for me and smile. That made the day worth it, sweat and all.

Round 4

Tucking my little man into bed tonight, I knew there was a boogie monster in the closet waiting to pounce. Rowen had a pretty good day today, but I knew the mention of his fear about school a time or two would pummel him at some point. I managed to get him in bed and read Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs to him before the tears sprouted from his eyes. His face turned red, the tears fell, and he started begging to stay home from school the next day. He worries so much about everything school related and especially lunch time and whether his friends will sit with him. Brenner and I quickly scrambled to comfort him. I think it worked -for now- but there's never a shortage of prayers needed to help him through the anxiety.

It's been a pretty rough week, I have to admit. We are weaning medication #3 (if you include the vitamin regimen) and looking ahead to the next. I really hate this. Our options are running short, and the big boys are staring us in the face. Medicines like stimulants, anxiolytics, and antipsychotics are next on the list. The most recent medicine he took just didn't do the trick, putting his blood pressure readings as low as 80/50 and making us crazy at home. Very crazy at home. I know the docs say that is normal, but something in my mommy gut tells me this is not ok. On to round 4...

I was sitting in church last night watching a young girl sing on stage with her mother looking on with pride in the front row. I was marveling at how well she sang, but also at the courage it took to be on that stage in front of so many people. I thought to myself, Rowen will never do that, with tears stinging my eyes. But as quickly as that thought came to mind, another voice stifled it. There are times when we want to hear God and then there are times where we know we hear God. This was one of those time. Just as I finished my self-defeating thought, I heard "Rowen will do other great things." The tears still came, but they stopped coming in the form of self-defeat and instead, of pride.

So he doesn't have to sing on stage to let me know that he is going to be ok, and furthermore a success. Rowen is already a success just being himself. He may not have the successes that this world categorizes as so. Or maybe he will. But I was energized thinking once again that he will do well and be cared for by his Creator in ways that I can't possibly dream.

On days I want to throw in the towel and scream that I give up, I need to be reminded of the graces that come with having Rowen as my son. He makes me laugh. He makes me cry. He makes me want to pull my hair out some days, but he also cares for me like no other. He is Rowen. And that is enough.

Laughter is the Best Medicine

The only constant is change. The only change around here is autism.

It is never the same from one day to the next, or one moment for that matter. For awhile we were chasing the anxiety and aggression/opposition that Rowen was consistently having. Then it was the hyperactivity and lack of focus. Now it seems we may be succumbing to a nice cocktail of all of the above. Lucky us.

We started Rowen on Guanfacine, a medicine originally created to lower blood pressure. I know, right!? I'd be just this side left of the nut house if I would go for something like that. Yet here I am, administering such a medication to my 6-year-old. My 6-year-old. The first week he was a zombie. He slept and slept like he hasn't in years. This past week, the anxiety started to kick back in. He woke up screaming about school last Monday. So afraid to go, he told me he was sick. I have a kindergartner now trying to pull the oldest trick in the book. A little too soon in my book, I might add. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. But then he said, "mommy, my heart is beating slow." What the--??

That last one was a little too sophisticated for me to push him out the door for school. I kept him home and took him to the fire station for a blood pressure read: 92/58. A little too low in my book, but not seeming to alarm his docs. So we trudged ahead, with an increasingly anxious and more oppositional (welcome back my fine friend) child.

Which leads me to this morning. At breakfast, Rowen started crying again about going to school. I asked him what made him scared about school, as my mind spun for the umpteenth time toward God's nudging to homeschool. After much prompting, through tears he said, "A lot of the kids don't want to sit with me at school!"

Sound of mom's heart breaking.

I'm sure I had the reaction that most well-intentioned moms would. I want to fix it. I don't want him to feel that way. How can I make this better? But then the autism mom part kicked in too. I'm sure it's hard for some of the kids to see through Rowen's wild personality. I'm sure he's said some things that haven't been too kind either. I'm sure his inability to control himself spins others' heads all day long.

I didn't much entertain the last sentiments, because that wasn't going to fend off the tears. Instead I told him I loved him and gave him a hug. I tried to explain that he does have some good friends and we can't please everyone, yadda yadda yadda. Not sure how it landed, but at least things started to change. I heard him wildly laughing as he went upstairs to get dressed. So much so, I thought he'd lost his mind a little. When we were driving to school I asked if he felt better about going.

"Yes," he said.

"What made you feel better?"

"Laughing." he answered.

Such a simple thing, hopefully to get him through a difficult day. I hope I can do the same when I turn on the computer and see headlines that read "Children with ADHD more likely to commit suicide as adults." I think I need a dose of laughter too, and a few prayers for a broken heart. Because I'd love to say he will be ok, but I honestly don't know some days. I do know he is in the Hands of his Creator, so in that I will take comfort. And maybe a good laugh too.

I'm Home

Rowen has been doing better- and worse. He has had some great days with his anxiety and anger, but his ADHD has kicked into full gear, complete with notes sent home from his teacher and some not-so-great reports about his little wind-up-toy self. I was sailing along thinking things at home were looking up and then a parent-teacher conference brought me back down to earth. Rowen says he does a lot of "blurting out" in school and was even sent to do some laps around a table to get some of his jitters out. He came home with a half done paper that showed his lack of focus was at an all time high.

He's been taking a powerful vitamin/mineral mix supplement that we had high hopes for, but it doesn't seem to be the end all we were looking for. I have been reading up on food, vitamins, and how our bodies are deficient. I know Rowen's is just by looking at his dark-circled eyes, pale face, and itchy red skin. Test after test shows dead ends for us when it comes to finding what might be amiss in his body though. I was hoping for something we could help him with other than a powerful dose of psychotropic meds.

Allergy test: negative.

Blood work: negative.

Endocrinology test for cryin' out loud: negative.

We've had some great leads but nothing to show for it. The next stop on this ride is medicine town. I wish I could do a drive-by on that one. I know that won't help because I just want him to feel better. I can't imagine how he must feel at times. He's even developed a slight tic where he brushes the sides of his head with his fingers when he is in his highly wound-up mode.

I will say that I was encouraged when we took Rowen to a special-needs bowling league for the first time this week. I sat back and watched him marvel at every pin he knocked down. I couldn't help but smile at his constant need to be ready for his next turn- never sitting down for a second and instead pacing around the ball return in his usual tip-toe stance. I looked around at the other kids- each with their own set of struggles but also their own set of unique and beautiful characteristics that most of us can only dream of possessing. I sat back and smiled at my super-charged bowler and his friends and couldn't help but think "I'm home."

I'm home because this is where God placed us. Brenner and I might not have had a clue about the special needs community had it not been for our very special boy. I might have missed out on bowling night or new friends at our special needs service at church. It's not something any of us strive for, but when we are there we realize we are home.

I got home that night to see Lane making his own strikes on the Wii with daddy. I never thought a 2-year-old could beat me at bowling, but I stand corrected. I guess I have two very special bowlers. Two special bowlers on a night where I felt an overflow of the heart. I have found that at an intersection of hardship and greatness. Now that's a town I never want to bypass.

Old Toy Trains

I will keep this one short and sweet to give just a glimpse into Rowen's life of trains.

We took Rowen to a train show Sunday and I think it was as close to Heaven as it gets for him. Like a magnet, he got sucked into a particular model train set-up and followed it 'round and 'round in awe. He was in good company- dozens of other little boys as well as gray-haired men all with a twinkle in their eye knowing they were home sweet home.

It was a long time coming for Rowen, as he had it marked on his calendar in advance to count down the days. It was also a difficult road getting there, as Brenner tried taking him on his own the day before only to have Rowen throw up on the floor just as they entered the pearly gates. And then again in a bush outside. Poor Rowen. And poor, poor Brenner. I guess the second time was the charm, because Rowen was in much better spirits to see his beloved trains the next day.

Here is a song that reminds me of Rowen and his insatiable love for trains. It's a nod to the kid inside every one of us- boy, girl, gray-haired or not. I love how this captures Rowen's heart in a moment of childlike wonder. Maybe take a moment to relax and enjoy. It often takes a kid to bring us back, but we always know it's there. Thank goodness it never goes away. Rowen has taught me that.

Old Toy Trains by Roger Miller 

I'm So Dizzy My Head is Spinnin'

I'm feeling the urge to cry, so maybe I will do a little blogging therapy. My head is spinning. It's spinning at mach speed of a thousand different Rowens and the same amount of possibilities of a cure.

We weaned him off Strattera (an ADHD medicine) not 2 days ago and I already see the effects. We took him off because it wasn't quite the right drug for all his needs, but heck if it didn't help more than I thought it did for his hyperactivity.

I really wish it was easier than that though. Take drug=better. Don't take drug=not better. If only A+B equaled C. Where is algebra when I really need it? Forget second period 9th grade, I need it now!

A week before we started weaning the drug, Rowen stopped going to sleep at night. Boy if I didn't feel like I was human again when he'd just lay down and go to sleep every night for awhile there. What a friggin' concept. Now he lays down and days I thought were long past are back for an encore. So glad to see you again, she said with bitter sarcasm. He takes at least 2 hours to go to sleep again. How in the heck does this happen? He was fine for a few months and now we are back. Mind you, this started happening all before we weaned him from the drug.

I have to laugh at the inventories I have to fill out at the OSU study he's in. They ask me to rate Rowen on a myriad of things every time I'm there, and darned if Rowen doesn't change every second of every day to know what the heck box to check off.

Does he act as if driven by a motor? Um, do you mean last Thursday or 4:00 today? Is he more active than usual? Um, again, not sure there's a usual. In fact, darn sure there's not. Sorry, can't help you.

I've watched Rowen quite a bit today, and he absolutely cannot stand, sit, or otherwise do anything without moving, fidgeting, or plain old running into everything he can. He's been more irritable, harsh, and, well, autistic. I haven't seen him cover his ears at noise in awhile and that has come back too. His social backwardness is even more painful to watch. He says he wants to kill himself with tears in his eyes, and I know he's suffering like no child should. I look back on the past few months with nostalgia now, even though at the time it was still as difficult as it could get- or so I thought.

If you are prone to judgement, you may not want to read further, because I may have something that will set you off. I wish Rowen had some other disease. If I was really wishing of course, I'd wish him healthy. But if I had to pick, it would not be autism. It would be something we could actually take a go at. I wish he had some disease that we knew how to manage, but that's not the case. Or if it has to be autism, I wish we lived 50 years in the future when I hope there would be more answers than guesses. I want to pulverize that friggin' autism puzzle piece in the ground, soak it with lighter fluid, and watch it burn. And when the embers die down and all that's left is ash, I hope there are answers.

Someone tell me how to help my boy. Somebody. Anybody. Because I don't think anyone really knows right now. In fact, I know so. Everyone is guessing and some people are blindly hitting a mark that may hold promise, while others are still suffering. Autism sucks. It sucks, sucks, sucks.

Whew, I need something chocolate.

*Special Note: After I blogged, I went in to help Rowen who was upset he couldn't fall asleep. After he calmed down and I left he said, "Mommy, come here! I sounded out a sentence!" When I walked in, he pointed to a cross on his wall and said, "Mommy, it says 'He is Risen.'" Tears came to my eyes. Pretty darn good for a kid who's best spelling word is "like." Sounded it perfectly. He always knows when to send the right sign.

Sixty Holes in Your Shoe

I picked up the novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time and got about four pages in before I made about 150 realizations about Rowen.

I can't even say I know much about the novel- again only four pages in here. What I do know is that the boy in the book is like my Rowen. His name is John Francis Boone and he knows all the countries of the world and their capitals and every prime number up to 7,057 but he can't tell a confused face from a surprised face on the person he is talking to.

Rowen has similarities to that in that he can tell you a lot about trains or his favorite movie, but when he is upset he can't figure out the other person's position to save his life. The autism monster sneaks up on him and clouds his vision to the point of complete ignorance as to how the other person feels. It's a constant reminder that I have to make to him... do you know that he/she feels ________ (you fill in the blank).

Rowen had just one incident yesterday that gives a quick reminder to John Francis Boone. He exploded over his baby brother wanting to play trains with him when he wanted to be alone. The list of awful things he said out of anger was frightening. And after he calmed down and heard my stern talking to- and disciplines, I gave him a hug when he told me he just can't hold it inside. I know it's hard for him and he hates himself for it. I have to remember that I am battling the monster within and not my child.

Which brings me to one of my realizations. It went through my mind that Rowen would grow up to someday say that no one understands him, not even his parents. How could I when I still try to fit him in a box stamped "normal" on the side? How could I when I often forget about the millions of stimuli cramming his brain when all I see is what everyone else does? John Francis Boone became upset and cupped his ears and rolled forward to shut everything out. It was the cool of the midnight grass that made him feel better. He may not have known what his friend was feeling, but he knew he smelled like soap and wore shoes that had 60 perfectly round holes in each.

I can understand this to the point of Rowen going off the deep end and me trying to bring him back. Problem is, I reel him in to my own understanding of normalcy- this is how we deal with our feelings- rather than putting myself on his level. It's like erasing 33 years of knowledge in my head just to understand my own kid for 5 seconds. I don't think I have to tell you that it is very, very hard.

I do believe there is a lot of utility in helping him work through his anger in a more productive way. I think that is where I most focus on him being "normal-" whatever that means. But if I am being honest with myself, I have to know that this thought stretches into other realms that I am not proud of. Sure I'd like to hit a baseball game with my son without the three-ring circus coming to town. I'm sure Brenner would love to toss a football or anything other than trains and wrestling (think: sensory), but I need to restamp that box from saying "normal" to saying "Rowen."

I'll be interested to get past page 4 and see how John Francis Boone does just that.

Happy New Year to Us

I suppose many of you can retell stories of New Year's Eve that hit one or two bullet points on your bucket list. Others might be able to describe the feeling of staying up past midnight to ring in a new year filled with newness and the possibility it inspires. Maybe some of you even caught a glimpse of the ball dropping as the clock struck 12.

I wouldn't know. I was asleep.

I'm sure many of you can also tell that tale. I don't see New Year's as much more than another day really, so I'm not exactly heartbroken that my 33-year-old self couldn't 't hack in 'till midnight. However, I felt a twinge of sadness as my husband and I were dozing off last night and trying to retell tales of New Year's Eve past to no avail. We couldn't even remember the last time we stayed up to see the new year arrive.

I texted my sister today to wish her a happy new year and to ask how they spent the evening. Out with friends, like most I suspect. I know I'm not the most social and conversational of all people, but mix that in with an autistic child, toss in an Ohio winter, and it's the perfect storm for cabin fever.

I told Brenner last night that I wished we had big, exciting plans for the holiday. Something that included me dressing up in more than sweats and my ever so sexy house slippers. Yeah, you know you're jealous. I laughed when he said "let's go out then!" It wasn't funny just because he was asking at 7 p.m. New Year's Eve with no babysitter in sight, but also because we probably wouldn't have even if we could. All dressed up (in sweats) and nowhere to go.

I've mentioned that Rowen is a shorts and t-shirt kind of guy. That means you will rarely catch a glimpse of this child outside all winter long. That's about 9 months in Ohio time. Can anyone say cabin fever? I don't blame him for not wanting to bundle up like Randy from A Christmas Story with arms flailing, but even on milder days he doesn't take kindly to the transition from shorts to pants. This equals out to a lot of days trying to stir up creativity to fight the urge to flip on the old tube... or flat screen as it is.

"Rowen, do you want to go _______?" You fill in the blank. The answer is no. Not that we still don't go out sometimes, we just know we have to handle a red-faced boy who doesn't want to be taken from him comfort zone.

So this is part of the reason we long for summer, and maybe someday a dream move down south that we've been plotting in our heads for years. Maybe someday. But for now, I need to get my creativity in motion and lure him away from watching (over and over) his favorite scenes from his favorite movies, a move he's made ever since I can remember. Rewind, play, rewind, play... rewind, play. I wish that when he hit play, it would make the literal jump to him climbing his tree or running the perimeter of the neighborhood as a train. At least we'd get something interesting happening (and maybe get some energy out!).

So happy new year to all of you. Here's to New Year's resolutions and a great start to what holds the promise of being another great year. I don't have a resolution myself (none that I will actually keep anyway), but I do have some wishes for a boy who could use a break from his struggles and the ability to play the day away rather than get lost in his frustration as well as his predictably safe world. For a boy who knows he's different, but wants the world to not see him as so. For a boy who needs to take his thumb off the rewind and play buttons because he doesn't need to see the train, again. Let's get this new year started.