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.

Have Wheels, Will Travel

Nuts to You

Nuts? Why yes, I am. I'm up way past my bedtime. And then there is that one other thing. That adoption thing. For a while now it has been a sort of side note to our family life. Did you hear that our son has autism? Oh yes, and we want more children. From another country. Someday.
We started the process in faith before we knew about It. The Big A. Back when we thought he was just quirky and independent. And hyper. And gifted. And from a different planet. Then we put the process on hold. After all, how can parents devote time and unholy amounts of money to a child they don't even know, when the child they already put to bed each night would rather hide under a table than participate in a game of RedLight/GreenLight?
Months have passed and we've been content with that decision, when we've had time to think about it. We've been completely wrapped up in appointments, treatment options, assessments, recommended reading, and forms. Lots of forms. And then someone must have spiked our water, because out of the blue, we decided to start again.
As I pulled my boys from on top of eachother for the bazillionth time today, I thought about bringing another child into the crazy fray that is our home. I wondered how on earth we would manage. But then, I thought about the times when I was pregnant and I worried about having a child with special needs -- how would we manage? And now that I do have one, I realize that you just do. Somehow God has given us the Grace to make it through each day (mostly) intact. And I just have to believe that His Grace is sufficient for a bigger family too. Those of you who know me know that I am by no means an idealist. So to say that I am at peace with our decision to adopt is surprising -- even to me.
I am already being trained in ignoring the caustic glances of strangers. How else could I survive my son running across half the food court at the mall -- on top of the tables -- with any dignity intact? Having another child in my brood that might draw attention will probably be one of easier things to manage. As for financing the darn thing -- is there such a thing as a fourteenth mortgage? Yeah, well, that's a big question mark. Good thing my family already survives on peanut butter and jelly three times a day. Probably the biggest ordeal will be the one that already gives me migraines: loading them in the car. I shudder at the very thought!
So, as to our being completely nuts -- yes, we probably are. That or we like to thrive on faith. I'm hoping its the latter because I don't think our insurance covers crazy people.

Progress Report

Once upon a time, a desparate mother tried every medium in the children's craft department in an attempt to get her son to create. The crayons were stripped and stomped on, the paints emptied onto the table and smeared on body parts, the clay hurled across the room like granades, and the paper torn into confetti. The mother quickly learned that the only thing her son was gifted at creating was carnage. The kind ladies at church didn't fare much better. Thus, when it came time to pick up the lad from some church activity, the mother would find her son to be the only child who lacked even a scribble for a craft to take home. "He refused to do the craft," the ladies would say with a shrug and a sigh. While other children dutifully created heartfelt cards and creations for Mother's Day or Valentine's, this mother was dismayed each time to find no such gift.

Those of you who have followed this story with one eye on the picture to the left are probably waiting for me to break the miraculous news that things have changed. Alas, I am sorry to report that for the most part things have not changed in regards to the son's ability to create beautiful works of childish art. However, whereas before a terrific meltdown would precede every attempt to coerce a single scribble on a pre-printed "Get Well" card for a sick grandparent, I am happy to report that this little boy willingly agrees to write his name (albeit backwards).

Something new has also transpired: representational art. At least, that's the only thing I can think of to call it. This plucky little guy has quite suddenly come up with the ability to draw a picture by following basic instruction. (see photo) The funny thing is you could ask him to draw a picture of a man and he would still tearfully refuse. Yet, you can lead him step by step through drawing different size lines and circles to create the image of a stick-figured man. In this particular case, the drawing was something he learned at school and was proud to recreate (instructor-like!) for his little brother. The concept has yet to be "generalized", as they say, and I would still classify him as "face-blind" in many cases, but it is progress. And to this mother, progress is a wonderful gift.