It's getting to be that time...
I don't know how it all crept up so soon but it's around the corner....
No, I am not referring to Christmas (although that too is sneaking its way to the front door).
I am referring to that annual gathering every autism parent must participate in but so very few look forward to with eagerness and enthusiasm...the IEP. Individualized Education Plan if anyone unfamiliar with autismese is reading this.
Overall, I can't complain about the IEPs we've attended for Matthew. From the beginning of this leg, he's had a support staff that is beyond excellent, who has worked with him and not against us. It's been wonderful to actually have a team of people who keep lines of communication open and who recognize the young man behind the diagnosis. With his brother, the experience was just the opposite.
Unfortunately, it's because of this upcoming event I had the mother of all meltdowns.
Since Matthew is now 18-years-old and, for all intents and purposes, an adult, Papa and I have had to go through the process of obtaining guardianship, something I never would have dreamed I'd be doing, especially for my own son! But we filled out the paperwork, met with the professionals, had our day in court, and guardianship was approved and granted. So of course, given his age and being in the adult/transitional program at his school, yet another assessment had to be filled out. An assessment rating which daily living/social/and whatever other title you want to put on them skills he possesses and whether or not these things can be carried out independently. Kind of like a 1-10 scale except this is a 0-2 with 0 being he cannot and 2 being he can do independently. Okay..I got through this portion all right.
The last section of the assessment had to do with future happenings; what type of school did I want to see him attending? College? Trade school? Vocational school? Another type of school? And for him to meet this goal, he would need___________________________________________ and I was to fill in the blank. There was a section like this for employment, education, where he would reside, how he would get from point A to point B, what social/community happenings would I like to see him taking part in. Of course, to meet these goals, he would need_______________________________________________________.
It was at this point where Momma completely lost it!
Before I ever became a mother, I used to imagine what it would be like to have children. I visualized what they looked like from the color of their hair to their eye/skin color. I dreamed big dreams for them and wondered what their lives would be like, where their hopes and plans would take them. Once the boys were actually here, those hopes and plans and dreams only magnified. I suppose that is how it is for most of us in the "Mommyhood."
Then autism came a-calling and all of a sudden these hopes and dreams and visualizations seemed to fly right out the window. These big dreams I used to dream no longer existed. Now it was just a matter of getting him from one day to the next. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.
I stared at that assessment, tears pouring down my face, not knowing how to answer the questions/statements. These were things I stopped thinking about fourteen years ago when life as I knew it came to a screeching halt. These were ideals I have not so much as entertained even as Matthew has progressed. I have frozen at the very idea. My heart broke once again reading through each of these plans...hopes....dreams....ideals...things every parent wishes for their child and so many never get to realize.
It's been a little more than a day now and I have had a chance to regroup. I will most likely pick this assessment back up, return to that section, and make a valiant attempt at answering. I may do it through tears. I may do it stone faced. I may have to fake my way through somehow. I'm not really sure at this point but I know somehow it will be done. It has to be done.
I just wish I knew how...
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
One Flew Out Of The Cuckoo's Nest
Life in the Clubhouse changed considerably yesterday.
We moved our oldest son to college.
I knew this day was coming. I knew it was looming. We talked about it. We planned for it. We even went shopping for it. What I didn't expect was that it was going to come so stinking fast!
You tell yourself your child leaving home is inevitable. You tell yourself it's a part of life, that kids are not meant to live with Mom and Dad forever (under most circumstances anyway), and of course it's a new beginning for you as well as for them. What seems to be missing from the equation is the part where you cry until your eyes are swollen shut and snot is hanging in strings from your nose.
You can pretty much guess how I spent the better half of the day, can't you?
I told myself all of the aforementioned. I told myself this was his chance to strike out and try his newly earned wings. I told myself the last thing in the world I wanted for him was to find himself earning less than minimum wage in a job he's miserable at. I told myself he had too many God-given gifts for them to be wasted here. I told myself all of this. What I didn't tell myself was I was about to feel my heart being ripped from my chest.
Jordan, my first born, took 36 hard and difficult hours to get here. He was my Simba, my Munchie, my source of zingers and one liners that stunned and amused us beyond description. My dinosaur lover, he could tell you which dinosaur lived during which time period, something that at the age of 44 I still can't do. My train connoisseur, he spouted off details of different types of locomotives and what jobs they would perform. "Green Eggs And Ham" was the first book he read to me at the tender age of 4. Little Bear, Doug, Arthur, Thomas the Tank Engine, Blue's Clues, The Puzzle Place were among the shows we would laugh and learn with.
This same little boy morphed almost over night into a young man whose interests broadened to include computers, Sonic The Hedgehog, big cats, and prehistoric creatures. At an age when he should have been a typical teenager he took on the role of brother/father to his younger siblings, growing fiercely protective of his mother who was going through her own circles of hell and stupidity. School issues, bullying issues, personal issues....oh yeah, we went through!
I watched as he was getting his things situated in his dorm room, this 6', husky young man with stubble on his chin and shadows of that little boy woven into his features. My heart ached. The tears came. And I didn't care who saw!
My baby is no longer a baby.
My little boy is now a man.
I remember my own mother telling me that your job as a parent doesn't end when the kids are grown; it merely goes through different phases, as though you're meeting that child for the first time all over again. I never understood what she meant.
Now I do!
We moved our oldest son to college.
I knew this day was coming. I knew it was looming. We talked about it. We planned for it. We even went shopping for it. What I didn't expect was that it was going to come so stinking fast!
You tell yourself your child leaving home is inevitable. You tell yourself it's a part of life, that kids are not meant to live with Mom and Dad forever (under most circumstances anyway), and of course it's a new beginning for you as well as for them. What seems to be missing from the equation is the part where you cry until your eyes are swollen shut and snot is hanging in strings from your nose.
You can pretty much guess how I spent the better half of the day, can't you?
I told myself all of the aforementioned. I told myself this was his chance to strike out and try his newly earned wings. I told myself the last thing in the world I wanted for him was to find himself earning less than minimum wage in a job he's miserable at. I told myself he had too many God-given gifts for them to be wasted here. I told myself all of this. What I didn't tell myself was I was about to feel my heart being ripped from my chest.
Jordan, my first born, took 36 hard and difficult hours to get here. He was my Simba, my Munchie, my source of zingers and one liners that stunned and amused us beyond description. My dinosaur lover, he could tell you which dinosaur lived during which time period, something that at the age of 44 I still can't do. My train connoisseur, he spouted off details of different types of locomotives and what jobs they would perform. "Green Eggs And Ham" was the first book he read to me at the tender age of 4. Little Bear, Doug, Arthur, Thomas the Tank Engine, Blue's Clues, The Puzzle Place were among the shows we would laugh and learn with.
This same little boy morphed almost over night into a young man whose interests broadened to include computers, Sonic The Hedgehog, big cats, and prehistoric creatures. At an age when he should have been a typical teenager he took on the role of brother/father to his younger siblings, growing fiercely protective of his mother who was going through her own circles of hell and stupidity. School issues, bullying issues, personal issues....oh yeah, we went through!
I watched as he was getting his things situated in his dorm room, this 6', husky young man with stubble on his chin and shadows of that little boy woven into his features. My heart ached. The tears came. And I didn't care who saw!
My baby is no longer a baby.
My little boy is now a man.
I remember my own mother telling me that your job as a parent doesn't end when the kids are grown; it merely goes through different phases, as though you're meeting that child for the first time all over again. I never understood what she meant.
Now I do!
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Miracle Run Mom...And Then There's Me
As I'm writing this, I am watching a movie called "Miracle Run." It's a true story about a single mom raising her autistic twin sons. After getting the kiss off from her boyfriend ("It's not fair, I didn't sign up for this! I can't do this!"), and butting heads with the school district to the point of slapping them with legal papers, a special education instructor approaches her and works one on one with the boys and her, teaching them the basics...colors, shapes, sounds, words, speech, daily living skills. The boys eventually go on to high school, with one boy joining the cross country team and winning the championship and the other boy auditioning for a music school...over the phone! Their mother, Corinne Morgan, remarries (her handyman) and eventually starts The Miracle Run Foundation.
I love this movie.
I hate it too.
Don't get me wrong. It's a painfully accurate account of what no doubt so many of us experience as autism parents. Shock, grief, denial, bargaining, depression, and eventually acceptance. Judgmental glances and holier-than-thou comments made by sanctimoms who have no clue what you're going through. People who you think are in it for the long haul suddenly bail on you and leave you feeling even more alone and disillusioned. Schools stick your kids in a corner where they don't have to be dealt with. You are blamed because you didn't recognize the signs (neither did your accusers!). Life as you once knew it is suddenly turned upside down and you are made the master of juggling each and every detail, even the ones that seem small and insignificant. I can't make it through this movie without crying.
At the same time, I can't help but feel some pangs of guilt when I watch it. Why? Because Corinne seems nothing short of a rock star! A warrior mom! She fights for the lives of her children, sparring against the medical field as well as the educational system, settling for nothing less than a normal education and a normal life for her boys. Her efforts paid off. Both of these young men finished high school and went on to pursue college careers. She started a foundation. A foundation! How do you DO that?
Did I not do enough? Did I not try hard enough? Did I wait too long to have Matthew diagnosed because I was not ready to accept it? Did I just ignore what was right before me the entire time because I didn't want to be uncomfortable? Did my own missed diagnosis come into play at all during all of this?
I know I shouldn't compare myself to Corinne Morgan or to anyone else on or off of the spectrum because we all have our own journey, our own experiences. Sometimes though that is easier said than done.
I look at this remarkable woman and I see all that she accomplished. I see her trials (well, the trials represented on the small screen anyway) and I see what she and those boys came through and I can't help but ask myself, "What am I doing wrong?"
Sometimes on this journey of autism, not to mention life, I feel small. I feel insignificant. I sometimes wonder if anything I have shared or done has made any kind of impact or even the tiniest shred of difference. I know too that it's not about me. I guess I just want to arrive at the end of my walk here on earth and know that somehow, someway, my life made a difference.
That's all I want.
To make a difference.
I love this movie.
I hate it too.
Don't get me wrong. It's a painfully accurate account of what no doubt so many of us experience as autism parents. Shock, grief, denial, bargaining, depression, and eventually acceptance. Judgmental glances and holier-than-thou comments made by sanctimoms who have no clue what you're going through. People who you think are in it for the long haul suddenly bail on you and leave you feeling even more alone and disillusioned. Schools stick your kids in a corner where they don't have to be dealt with. You are blamed because you didn't recognize the signs (neither did your accusers!). Life as you once knew it is suddenly turned upside down and you are made the master of juggling each and every detail, even the ones that seem small and insignificant. I can't make it through this movie without crying.
At the same time, I can't help but feel some pangs of guilt when I watch it. Why? Because Corinne seems nothing short of a rock star! A warrior mom! She fights for the lives of her children, sparring against the medical field as well as the educational system, settling for nothing less than a normal education and a normal life for her boys. Her efforts paid off. Both of these young men finished high school and went on to pursue college careers. She started a foundation. A foundation! How do you DO that?
Did I not do enough? Did I not try hard enough? Did I wait too long to have Matthew diagnosed because I was not ready to accept it? Did I just ignore what was right before me the entire time because I didn't want to be uncomfortable? Did my own missed diagnosis come into play at all during all of this?
I know I shouldn't compare myself to Corinne Morgan or to anyone else on or off of the spectrum because we all have our own journey, our own experiences. Sometimes though that is easier said than done.
I look at this remarkable woman and I see all that she accomplished. I see her trials (well, the trials represented on the small screen anyway) and I see what she and those boys came through and I can't help but ask myself, "What am I doing wrong?"
Sometimes on this journey of autism, not to mention life, I feel small. I feel insignificant. I sometimes wonder if anything I have shared or done has made any kind of impact or even the tiniest shred of difference. I know too that it's not about me. I guess I just want to arrive at the end of my walk here on earth and know that somehow, someway, my life made a difference.
That's all I want.
To make a difference.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
A Letter To The President
Earlier in the week a story came across my news feed about a 13-year-old autistic boy who has been bullied. Physically bullied. Verbally bullied. His autism was even being mocked online.
The story went on to say that the boy's school authorities had been flooded with 100 or more e-mails from parents....DEFENDING THE BULLIES!!!!!!!!
Wait a minute....
Let me see if I can get my head around this.....
Here is a boy, a 13-year-old boy with autism.
His physical movements are being mocked online for all of the world to see. He's been pushed and shoved and who knows what else!
Here is a quote from the lips of the young boy: “People tell me to run into things and I don’t really like it,” said Null, who also hasADHD . “And I tell them that I don’t want to and they just laugh at me, whenever I do it.” (http://thinkprogress.org/health/2013/11/21/2979471/autism-bullying-iowa-school/)
And here is a quote from one of the parents who are in defense of the bullies. I still can't get over this! “Three-fourths of this stuff he brings on himself,” he said, “and probably a fourth of it is bullying that shouldn’t be going on.” One implied that he was asking for it: “This kid has done things to get people mad that I think he could probably control.” ( http://thinkprogress.org/health/2013/11/21/2979471/autism-bullying-iowa-school/)
In a nutshell--"he was asking for it!"
Having been through this type of scenario myself, as a kid and as a parent, I decided to do some looking into the stats and numbers of bullying among the autism community. What I learned saddened me. What saddens me even more is the ignorance that continues to be shown toward autistic individuals. Autism and its related disorders are the hand(s) dealt to families throughout the world. It does not give a rat's hat whether you pull in a six figure income, what your race, color, creed, religion, etc. are. What your last name is does not come in to play. The cause or causes for autism will no doubt be a bone of contention long after I am just a memory. Autism is not a choice. We the parents did not choose it. And without a doubt the individuals with autism did not choose it!
This is a little of what I learned. 63% of students with autism are bullied. These are kids ages 6-15. Kids like this young man as well as my son who deal with ADHD on top of ASD are more likely to be bullied. 40%....40% of ASD children have been punished by administration as well as school staff for meltdowns or outbursts that have followed bullying. 40%!!!!!
Zero tolerance?
Yeah...right....for who?
I sat down and put these facts, figures, and issues in a letter to President Obama. I pleaded with him as a parent as well as an American. I pleaded with him to try and imagine if one of his daughters were victimized for something she could not control or help. I pleaded with him to try and imagine the pain and helplessness he would feel watching his babies hurting. I just plain pleaded with him.
It has to stop!
The story went on to say that the boy's school authorities had been flooded with 100 or more e-mails from parents....DEFENDING THE BULLIES!!!!!!!!
Wait a minute....
Let me see if I can get my head around this.....
Here is a boy, a 13-year-old boy with autism.
His physical movements are being mocked online for all of the world to see. He's been pushed and shoved and who knows what else!
Here is a quote from the lips of the young boy: “People tell me to run into things and I don’t really like it,” said Null, who also has
And here is a quote from one of the parents who are in defense of the bullies. I still can't get over this! “Three-fourths of this stuff he brings on himself,” he said, “and probably a fourth of it is bullying that shouldn’t be going on.” One implied that he was asking for it: “This kid has done things to get people mad that I think he could probably control.” ( http://thinkprogress.org/health/2013/11/21/2979471/autism-bullying-iowa-school/)
In a nutshell--"he was asking for it!"
Having been through this type of scenario myself, as a kid and as a parent, I decided to do some looking into the stats and numbers of bullying among the autism community. What I learned saddened me. What saddens me even more is the ignorance that continues to be shown toward autistic individuals. Autism and its related disorders are the hand(s) dealt to families throughout the world. It does not give a rat's hat whether you pull in a six figure income, what your race, color, creed, religion, etc. are. What your last name is does not come in to play. The cause or causes for autism will no doubt be a bone of contention long after I am just a memory. Autism is not a choice. We the parents did not choose it. And without a doubt the individuals with autism did not choose it!
This is a little of what I learned. 63% of students with autism are bullied. These are kids ages 6-15. Kids like this young man as well as my son who deal with ADHD on top of ASD are more likely to be bullied. 40%....40% of ASD children have been punished by administration as well as school staff for meltdowns or outbursts that have followed bullying. 40%!!!!!
Zero tolerance?
Yeah...right....for who?
I sat down and put these facts, figures, and issues in a letter to President Obama. I pleaded with him as a parent as well as an American. I pleaded with him to try and imagine if one of his daughters were victimized for something she could not control or help. I pleaded with him to try and imagine the pain and helplessness he would feel watching his babies hurting. I just plain pleaded with him.
It has to stop!
Monday, November 18, 2013
When Momma Has A Meltdown
This week has been rough.
The thing that I haven't been able to put my finger on is exactly why this week has been rough. Life has happened like it does on most days.
Oh! Maybe that's it!
Why is it that most days life can go on and on with its foibles and frailties and it doesn't seem to affect you while other days a butterfly breaking wind is enough to send you plummeting face first into the abyss?
This past week has been my butterfly breaking wind.
We've had some struggles as of late. Financial struggles that, while I don't wish to lay out in graphic detail here, are to the point now where some decision making has to be done. Rent that is more than 50% of our monthly income, utilities (specifically electricity and heating) that are more than your average car payment, a vehicle that has been coming apart little by little, gas for the aforementioned vehicle so that the fam and I can continue to get back and forth as needed, and the ever looming possibility that there is to be a move in our not too distant future. These things, conspired with a hubby that's been knocked for a loop with a nasty sinus infection, getting the oldest mancub prepped and ready to leave for school in about another week and a half , me fighting my own brand of cold, and two younger kids that seem to think it's a day without orange juice if they are not at each other's throats from the time their feet hit the floor at 6:45 each morning until 9:00 at night when it's time for them to head upstairs to bed, have just worn the fabric of each one of my nerves to the brink of nonexistence. And of course, on the work days, what kind of a day would it be if either the customers or the co-workers weren't treating you like you're a complete and total moron? Anyone? Yeah, I have no idea either!
And then, as if all of this isn't enough, on Thursday I got a call from the kids' elementary school. The call that no parent wants to get. The call that says, "Your kids have head lice!" Talk about the cherry on the cake of what was otherwise a red letter week! Shampoos, sprays, vacuuming and washing everything that could be squeezed into the washer/dryer, nit combs and Cheyenne screaming every step of the way. Oh yeah, good times!
Suffice it to say, I ended up having a meltdown that made anything my boys ever whipped up look like a Sunday School picnic. I screamed. I cursed. I wept. I pulled tighter and tighter within myself. Every nerve in my body was wide awake and felt like they were on fire. At that moment I was ugly. I was whipped. I was defeated.
When I was learning about my boys' diagnoses, I read a lot about meltdowns before I actually witnessed them and it didn't take long to decipher what was a meltdown and what was a tantrum. I learned what to do to draw them out and bring them back. I learned how to redirect them. I never learned what to do when Momma has a meltdown. Truly this had not been my first one. I'd had many before and I'm sure I'll have even more after. This one, however, just shook me.
Perhaps I'm being too hard on myself. I sometimes forget I'm not called to be Super Girl, Wonder Woman, or any other brand of super hero. I'm just supposed to do the best I can. Some days, more than I care to think about, that doesn't seem like enough.
I get tired of wearing my poker face when inside I feel like raw hamburger. I get tired of smiling through my problems when want I want to do is sob in a corner somewhere. I get tired of being brave; sometimes I want to chuck it all and run away. I grow weary of opinions and judgments that come my way and the ones sending them my way don't know thing one as to why I'm where I'm at or why I do or don't do things a certain way. I just get tired.
The thing that I haven't been able to put my finger on is exactly why this week has been rough. Life has happened like it does on most days.
Oh! Maybe that's it!
Why is it that most days life can go on and on with its foibles and frailties and it doesn't seem to affect you while other days a butterfly breaking wind is enough to send you plummeting face first into the abyss?
This past week has been my butterfly breaking wind.
We've had some struggles as of late. Financial struggles that, while I don't wish to lay out in graphic detail here, are to the point now where some decision making has to be done. Rent that is more than 50% of our monthly income, utilities (specifically electricity and heating) that are more than your average car payment, a vehicle that has been coming apart little by little, gas for the aforementioned vehicle so that the fam and I can continue to get back and forth as needed, and the ever looming possibility that there is to be a move in our not too distant future. These things, conspired with a hubby that's been knocked for a loop with a nasty sinus infection, getting the oldest mancub prepped and ready to leave for school in about another week and a half , me fighting my own brand of cold, and two younger kids that seem to think it's a day without orange juice if they are not at each other's throats from the time their feet hit the floor at 6:45 each morning until 9:00 at night when it's time for them to head upstairs to bed, have just worn the fabric of each one of my nerves to the brink of nonexistence. And of course, on the work days, what kind of a day would it be if either the customers or the co-workers weren't treating you like you're a complete and total moron? Anyone? Yeah, I have no idea either!
And then, as if all of this isn't enough, on Thursday I got a call from the kids' elementary school. The call that no parent wants to get. The call that says, "Your kids have head lice!" Talk about the cherry on the cake of what was otherwise a red letter week! Shampoos, sprays, vacuuming and washing everything that could be squeezed into the washer/dryer, nit combs and Cheyenne screaming every step of the way. Oh yeah, good times!
Suffice it to say, I ended up having a meltdown that made anything my boys ever whipped up look like a Sunday School picnic. I screamed. I cursed. I wept. I pulled tighter and tighter within myself. Every nerve in my body was wide awake and felt like they were on fire. At that moment I was ugly. I was whipped. I was defeated.
When I was learning about my boys' diagnoses, I read a lot about meltdowns before I actually witnessed them and it didn't take long to decipher what was a meltdown and what was a tantrum. I learned what to do to draw them out and bring them back. I learned how to redirect them. I never learned what to do when Momma has a meltdown. Truly this had not been my first one. I'd had many before and I'm sure I'll have even more after. This one, however, just shook me.
Perhaps I'm being too hard on myself. I sometimes forget I'm not called to be Super Girl, Wonder Woman, or any other brand of super hero. I'm just supposed to do the best I can. Some days, more than I care to think about, that doesn't seem like enough.
I get tired of wearing my poker face when inside I feel like raw hamburger. I get tired of smiling through my problems when want I want to do is sob in a corner somewhere. I get tired of being brave; sometimes I want to chuck it all and run away. I grow weary of opinions and judgments that come my way and the ones sending them my way don't know thing one as to why I'm where I'm at or why I do or don't do things a certain way. I just get tired.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Giving Thanks Part 1
I woke up this morning to snow. Snow trickling down and just lightly dusting the ground and tree tops. Ugh! I am so not ready for winter. The two younger kids need new snow duds. The van needs better tires. And I just need to not be out in it.
Well...that sounded good....
I really do love this time of year though. I love the fresh crispness of the air and settling in with hot coffee (or taking it on the go as I many times have to do). The Gaslight District in Petoskey is decking the halls as they do and to say it's beautiful is beyond description. Leaves crunch beneath my feet. Trees and plants have surrendered themselves for another year. Some days it all seems cold and lonely. Other days it's like the world is resting.
November is the month of hoodies, hot chocolate, pumpkin pies and apple cider. It is the month of turkey dinners, overly crowded houses, and getting up at dark thirty the next day and literally battling total strangers for that "can't-miss-gotta-have" sale. It's also the month of giving thanks. It's supposed to be anyway. I just wonder why one day out of the year is set apart to be thankful? Shouldn't thankfulness be something that we do daily?
Each year at this time I challenge myself to find at least one thing each day for which I am thankful. Some days are easier than others. Some days it's easy breezy to say thanks. Other days are a struggle and I have to think long and hard for something to be thankful for. Life is hard. Times are tough. It just seems like there is no rest to be had and no end in sight. What is there to be thankful for today?
And so I am challenging myself again to take a moment each day to say thanks. What will I find at the end of that challenge?
That's.....another posting!
Well...that sounded good....
I really do love this time of year though. I love the fresh crispness of the air and settling in with hot coffee (or taking it on the go as I many times have to do). The Gaslight District in Petoskey is decking the halls as they do and to say it's beautiful is beyond description. Leaves crunch beneath my feet. Trees and plants have surrendered themselves for another year. Some days it all seems cold and lonely. Other days it's like the world is resting.
November is the month of hoodies, hot chocolate, pumpkin pies and apple cider. It is the month of turkey dinners, overly crowded houses, and getting up at dark thirty the next day and literally battling total strangers for that "can't-miss-gotta-have" sale. It's also the month of giving thanks. It's supposed to be anyway. I just wonder why one day out of the year is set apart to be thankful? Shouldn't thankfulness be something that we do daily?
Each year at this time I challenge myself to find at least one thing each day for which I am thankful. Some days are easier than others. Some days it's easy breezy to say thanks. Other days are a struggle and I have to think long and hard for something to be thankful for. Life is hard. Times are tough. It just seems like there is no rest to be had and no end in sight. What is there to be thankful for today?
And so I am challenging myself again to take a moment each day to say thanks. What will I find at the end of that challenge?
That's.....another posting!
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Seriously?!?
I've shared through The Puzzle Club on Facebook that, since Matthew is now 18, we are in the guardianship process. It's definitely uncharted waters and I am treading water every step of the way. There is more involved than I realized; getting him set up with his own bank or credit union account, meeting with a court appointed attorney prior to the hearing, and, of course, the hearing itself which is coming up in less than two weeks. I'm pretty sure I am not the only autism parent to be going through this process and I think it's safe to say that, while it is a necessary thing, it's also a difficult thing. Who ever imagines having to become a guardian to your own child? I know I didn't!
Along with that, I also never imagined I'd be getting looks of pity while setting his account up at the local credit union. Please don't misunderstand me; this teller was a sweetheart, kind hearted, friendly, all of that. She also had "that look". If you are an autism parent you have seen "that look." It is a look that says, "You poor, poor thing! Whatever are you going to do?" or "___________________________________________" (you supply the phrase. I've no doubt she meant well. However, I've been "pitied" so much over the years that I am almost numb to it.
If "that look" weren't enough, I then took Matthew to Wal-Mart so he could cash in his empty pop bottles. As we walked in, I saw one of my cousins in the entry way waiting to be picked up. She's an older cousin, a month younger than my mom. We got to chatting and I was telling her what all was going on and going through the guardianship process. Her question? "Is there a home he can go to?"
Okay...did I just hear what I thought I heard?
Give me a minute....
I did? I did hear that?
Are you freaking kidding me? Is there a home he can go?!? For real?!?
I must have shot her a look of some kind because her expression seemed to change almost instantly.
I mumbled a generic answer. I have no clue what . As usual, it came to me later what I would have liked to have said. Just a simple sentence, nothing fancy, nothing elaborate.
Yes, there is a home he can go to....OUR HOME!!!!!
Along with that, I also never imagined I'd be getting looks of pity while setting his account up at the local credit union. Please don't misunderstand me; this teller was a sweetheart, kind hearted, friendly, all of that. She also had "that look". If you are an autism parent you have seen "that look." It is a look that says, "You poor, poor thing! Whatever are you going to do?" or "___________________________________________" (you supply the phrase. I've no doubt she meant well. However, I've been "pitied" so much over the years that I am almost numb to it.
If "that look" weren't enough, I then took Matthew to Wal-Mart so he could cash in his empty pop bottles. As we walked in, I saw one of my cousins in the entry way waiting to be picked up. She's an older cousin, a month younger than my mom. We got to chatting and I was telling her what all was going on and going through the guardianship process. Her question? "Is there a home he can go to?"
Okay...did I just hear what I thought I heard?
Give me a minute....
I did? I did hear that?
Are you freaking kidding me? Is there a home he can go?!? For real?!?
I must have shot her a look of some kind because her expression seemed to change almost instantly.
I mumbled a generic answer. I have no clue what . As usual, it came to me later what I would have liked to have said. Just a simple sentence, nothing fancy, nothing elaborate.
Yes, there is a home he can go to....OUR HOME!!!!!
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