Gluttons for Punishment

That's what my mom calls us. And its probably true....

Meet Rose, the newest member of our family. That's our cat, Daisy stalking up behind her. Rose is 7 weeks old, part border collie and part mutt. What can I say?

And Now the Good News

Nearly every mother I have encountered with a child who has autism struggles with one thing most of all: does my child even care about me?? You see, even as first time mothers when we know no different, our heart breaks when our child refuses to make eye contact, when they show no concern whether we leave or return, when they don't try to bring us into their world. Over five years have passed and my son has yet to respond with delight upon my return. He has never once said he loved me. Yet, thanks be to God, I am now seeing glimmers of hope.

As we put the boys to bed on Valentine's Day, I was busy tucking in his brother when my husband whispered in my ear, "Tell him 'Happy Valentine's Day'." Curious, I climbed the ladder to his upper bunk and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, buddy." I nearly fell down the ladder when he replied, "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too." Dazed, I wandered to my bedroom, sank down on my bed, and cried.

Sure, to some it would seem a highly mechanical response, one that requires little to no emotional concern. But what "normal" people might take for granted is for him a huge step. Most children with autism won't even reciprocate a greeting of "hello." My son has only recently started to occasionally respond with an awkward wave.

Fast forward to the following week and here is what happens:

My son said to me, "I'm going to paint a picture of you."

Busy cooking dinner, I replied, "Oh, really?"

Wandering over to his side, my jaw drops at what I see. I expected perhaps a brown squiggle or a mish-mash of colorful splats of paint. Instead, I behold:

From left to right, that's Daddy, myself, and my son. Holding hands. Daddy and I have hats. I don't know why. The brown mish-mash at the bottom? That's his little brother, he tells me with a devilish smile. Wouldn't the psychologist have a field day with that one?!

Tangent

For those of you who may be interested, the adoption blog is now up and running. I was so excited about my cool new template, but I have noticed that my links within my text do not show up unless one happens to scroll over them (ie. they are the same color as the text around them, but when you scroll over them an underline appears). Be patient with me while I figure out what can be done about it. I only hope I don't have to lose the oh-so-cool template!

I promise that a post for this site is in the works. It requires a picture that I haven't transferred over yet, but I am battling a bad cold and not working at full capacity. Check back soon!

Do You See What I See?

Sigh. Its been one of those days. The kind where I feel like I've got to be completely crazy. We had an appointment scheduled to have him assessed for RDI, a relationship-based intervention. He has been thriving so well in his school program, but we have no idea what next year will hold. Obviously one never does, but since the school plans to mainstream him in a regular kindergarten class, I've got to have something to work with. Oh, and then there's the summer break. Roughly 9 weeks with the only structure being whatever Mama can come up with.

So with little brother in tow, he and I arrive on time -- for once! -- for our 10 o'clock appointment. We spend the next hour defying every rule, spoken and otherwise, of waiting room protocol. Fortunately, save for an 8 year-old with (I'm guessing) Asperger's, we were the only people there. As time ticks on, I become activity coordinator for my two boys and the 8 year-old, inventing whatever game comes to mind that can remotely be accomplished with two boys on the Spectrum and a two year-old.

An hour and 15 minutes after our appointment time, the 8 year-old's frazzled parents emerged from the consultation room. The gal we were scheduled to see apologizes -- though I was still left confused as to what happened --and ushers my son into her "play room." Half an hour later, they return smiling. She sits and begins to gush over his intelligence and abilities, repeatedly remarking how baffling it is that he received such a diagnosis as autism. I smile and nod and say, "Wow, that's great" whenever she describes an apparently diagnosis-defying response or behavior. Obviously, the "news" that he is capable of such "normal" behavior is gratifying, but inside I am discouraged. Once again I am left feeling discounted and, well, crazy. I realize that these times will happen, that if this woman spent a week -- even a day -- with my son, she would probably change her mind.

I guess its probably a bit of a let down for me, as his teachers have been so affirming. They never give me the impression that my son hs been misdiagnosed. But then, they spend 5+ hours with him a day. All this lady gave him was a half an hour, an hour and a half after he was scheduled to have it. Then she told me that at this point the best thing to do would be to meet again, just us parents and herself, so we can describe to her our concerns. Sigh. We already turned in eight pages of "concerns" and met with her for an hour two weeks ago. What more can I say?? If she can't see it, she can't see it. Door closed.

Note: To those of you who commented that you don't mind reading the bad news, I won't disappoint! But really, I do hope (and earnestly pray!) that it won't always be so.

Another note: Since I have soo much free time on my hands, I am creating a "sister" blog (get it??) regarding our adoption. http://tuesdayadoption.blogspot.com/ Its only an empty template as of today, but I hope to start posting news about our progress very soon. Really.

Another Wordless Wednesday

Its My (Pity) Party

Most of the things I have written on this blog have been shared as a means of explanation, describing to a certain extent what life with an autistic child is like. I had intended to always do so by throwing in some sort of positive spin, some glimmer of hope. There were many reasons for this, ranging from not wanting to sound like a victim, (in other words, this blog being a sort of perpetual pity-party), to the desire to use this medium as a means of processing my experiences and learning from them. Our family life being the constant drama that it is, I assumed that I would never lack material from which to draw. What I have discovered -- and what has become evident in the huge gaps in between postings -- is not that I don't have experiences or feelings to share, but rather that many of these experiences are diffucult to put in any sort of upbeat form that anyone would care to read. This is not to say that life in our home is constantly negative. Its really not. However, I do find that I am hard-pressed to pull out many moments of glowing success.

The past ten days or so have been quite a challenge. He seemed to regress in many ways, was manic and moody, and struggled to regulate himself in circumstances where he recently had improved. We have been at a loss as to an explanation, ruling out most of the typical culprits. Apart from his behavior, nothing has changed.

Needless to say, I found myself worn out and depressed. It was a heart-wrenching reminder that we still have so far to go, that there is so much that we don't understand. There was nothing to write about but conflict and tears. And I was in no mood to wax poetic or positive. I don't want to be subject to my son's mood, his outbursts, and his whims. But the fact remains that all too often when he crashes, so do I.

Friday found us at the pediatrician's office. If you recall, his 5 yr appt was not all that easy. That being the case, we didn't attempt his vaccines at the time. (Don't even think I'm going to touch on THAT issue.) So, now there we were, an appointment for a simple procedure involving four needles. He was under a chair, having been dragged away from the corner of the room with the oxygen tanks (reserved for parents in such a circumstance?) he had escaped to this more confined location. Fortunately, hubby was on call in the waiting room. Twenty minutes later, after having been pinned down by two nurses and both parents, he has received his shots. He is crumpled in my arms, crying and refusing to leave the room. My only thought was that if this be my lot (that which I had spent the last week and a half pitying myself over) I would take it. And that somehow we would survive.

Sunday we sang of the greatness of God. Of letting the world know of that Greatness. I don't know how, but I do believe He will make His Greatness known through the circumstances of our ragged little family. Through my little boy. That's where I find my hope. And I'll just keep trying to share a little bit of that with anyone who cares to read this.