Eye of the Tiger

We made headlines again tonight.

At Lane's t-ball practice, no less.

It always picks the perfect time to descend upon me. It's laughable when I look back, really. I can't make this stuff up.

Brenner was playing dutiful t-ball dad while I followed Rowen around, and around, and around. He hit the playground for awhile before getting his balloon from the car to kick around. I was talking to our very kind connections leader at our church on the sidelines while keeping a watchful eye on Rowen. It went something like this:

Connections Leader: "So why aren't you guys connected to a small group?"

Me: "Umm, we would love to but we really can't with Rowen."

Connections Leader: "We need to get you guys connected."

Me: "Um that would be nice, but..."

As if on cue, I see Rowen out of the corner of my eye batting at the balloon over a giant puddle.

Boy with autism who hates a drop of water on any part of his body + a massive puddle = a good reason we are not connected. To anything. Ever.

 It was like the world went in slow motion for a moment, and all voices reverted to that slowed down, deep throaty version of themselves when I saw Rowen take one last shot at grabbing the balloon- holding my breath and hoping for a miracle- then slamming down into the puddle.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO (Slow-mo as I jog Rocky style across the field with Eye of the Tiger pushing me on)

I braced the connections leader with "This is going to be bad" just before Rowen screamed "SHIIIIIIT!!" at the top of his lungs. I excused myself, noticing the giant crowd that had just turned to see who would allow their child to scream obscenities in the church parking lot. I swooped him up toward the car and tried to contain the massive meltdown he had. Poor kid. Poor me.

Just how I pictured t-ball going. The red-faced, obscenity-screaming, self-loathing autism monster was alive and well in my boy.

Tonight as I sang what Lane calls "The Baby Song" at bedtime, I was reminded of singing it to Rowen for so long when he was little. When he was a baby I could have never known how true those lyrics would ring as I help Rowen along his path. So you guessed it, I am going to put the lyrics here. If I had only known that "The Baby Song" would have doubled fittingly for a boy with autism...

Baby mine, don't you cry.
Baby mine, dry your eyes.
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part
Baby of mine.

Little one when you play
Pay no heed what they say
Let your eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear
Baby of mine

If they knew all about you
They'd end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they'd give just for the right to hold you

From your head down to your toes
You're not much, goodness knows
But you're so precious to me
Sweet as can be
Baby of mine

Somewhere in the Middle

I guess you could say I have become a bit of a loner. It comes in stark contrast to my high school days where I erred on the side of obnoxious class clown. Ok, maybe even after a little after high school.

When I go to pick up Rowen after school, I mostly keep to myself. There are some other sweet moms that I could easily strike up more conversations with, but my constant need to oversee my rambunctious boys shuts that down pretty quick. The other day I caught Lane with his arms around some kid's neck, and as I darted toward him in a panic he said, "Wook, mom! Headwock!" Classic daddy wrestling move, but it managed to jump start my heart pretty fast. Ok son, how about we find that swing set waaay over there?

From years of watching out for Rowen and his sudden outbursts and inability to control himself, I have worked my way into a high alert status that leaves little room for anything other than on-duty-mom. I am sure most of this is in my head since we can look pretty normal most of the time. I am just always ready for the next move. High alert. I think this leaves us somewhere in the middle.

Rowen has always been high-functioning enough that he is verbal, social, and can play kind of like the rest of them. But watch us for more than 10 minutes or so and you will see the cracks in our foundation. Big, giant, cracks that often threaten to pull me under.

Rowen had a serious meltdown last week because I broke the yolk in his egg as I was making it. He never recovered. In fact, I got a lovely call from the principal that day to emphasize how he hadn't recovered. This morning we managed to dodge a bullet because I was able to find the socks he was looking for before the storm broke. Oh, it rained for sure, but at least we managed to seek shelter before the tornado ripped right through us. We also recovered last night from a major meltdown over some homework. At Lane's T-ball practice, I managed to eke out a quiet spot to help Rowen finish his homework. Home run.

As I was dropping Rowen off at school this morning he asked, "Mom, is there something wrong with my brain?" Sound of mom's heart breaking. After my reassurances, I couldn't help but think about that giant foundational crack we have in our seemingly normal system.

I was listening to an interview of a woman I have been following for years who started the TLC Foundation for pediatric cancer. At the end, there was talk of finding the right platform to raise awareness for something you see as a good cause. Somewhere in the Middle comes to mind, because that's exactly where we are. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like we are in the middle. I feel like we are in the trenches with bullets flying overhead every second of every day. But we look as though we are on the normal side. "Oh he seems fine," should be tattooed across my forehead.

I often wonder if this lonely place is where so many autism moms find themselves. We become isolated because we look like we can fit in but we just don't. So thank you for reading about our daily lives. And if you would like to share this so others who are in the middle can relate, feel free. Sometimes the middle can be the loneliest place of all.

Then again, it might not always be...