The Pit in my Stomach

Sometimes I can't believe that I'm the one who is entrusted with advocating for my child.   Me.  The one who can not engage in a debate, about anything,  because I get flustered when I'm put on the spot or feel judged. 

I'm still not even sure how I convinced my husband to agree to marry me, although I know kidnapping him to a secluded cottage in the Blue Mountains of Australia and providing beer definitely helped.


All this and beer?  Who could say no?

Somehow,  I've managed to help people in my life understand what James needs in order to thrive.  I'm lucky that 99% of the people involved agree with me, or I don't think we would have gotten this far. 

Then there is that other 1%.  The one that I can not find the strength to stand up to and defend my position of what my son needs.  You know the one.  I wrote about him in  He Just Looked At Me. He Doesn't Have Autism. 

I got so much support from your responses after that post.  Many suggested I send the post to him to read (which I did. In my mind).  A few of you had incredibly humorous ideas of how I should respond, and I thank you for providing all manners of potential vindication for my imagination.

Here's the thing.  I have to go see him tomorrow.  Again. 

Tony and I agreed that he would deal with the next appointment while I looked for a new doctor, but James' recent behavior has me concerned enough about the medicine that I need to go.  Tomorrow. 

I'm trying to find the strength, but I'm already flustered just thinking about it, and this pit in my stomach just makes me want to cancel the appointment and hide out in my house.  And although that is how I often deal with my own issues, I can't do that to James.

He is depending on me, and I have been entrusted to be his advocate.

So, tomorrow morning, I'll be back in that small, stifling office, uncomfortable as hell.  But I'll have the copy of that post in my bag. 

Just by having that with me, I will feel like all of you are standing by my side, and that pit in my stomach might just go away so I can help the doctor understand what James needs to thrive.

And if it still doesn't go away, I'll just think of all those other ideas you had...

Help Him

Today was James' first day of school.  I knew he would be anxious, so I tried to make everything as low key as I could, but it was a day filled with trials.

The rain was pounding, and his bus never showed.  Driving to school he started melting down. 

His clothes were uncomfortable. his feet were wet. His throat hurt. He was too tired. It was going to take too long to get to school.  He was going to be late, so he shouldn't go at all.  He was about to throw up.

I managed to get him in the door and he was whisked away to class.  I went back out in the rain, hoping that things would turn for the better.

And I waited.

When his bus didn't arrive home on time, I waited.  And paced.  When it finally got to our house 35 minutes late, I asked if it had left school late.  No?  I tried not to sound surprised, like I thought an hour and a half was a normal length of time for a bus ride home.

I let him play on my iPad, trying to make sure he was relaxed before starting his work.  Homework is always a struggle for us, and causes meltdowns daily. We've learned to handle it by taking a lot of sensory breaks for him to run laps and re-organize.

I took a look at the homework sheet -- it was a list of 10 basic questions to let his new teacher get to know him better.  phew.  We would ease our way into the year.

Little did I realize the firestorm that was brewing inside him.  At the 1st question, he began to tear up.  By the third question, he was screaming and crying uncontrollably.  He screamed "I QUIT" repeatedly at the top of his lungs and took swings at the air, trying desperately to take his frustration out on something.  On anything.

I'm used to the tears, but the anger and outbursts are new this summer.  We took a break and talked about the questions, about how he could answer them.  I agreed to help him with ideas and spelling, if he would pick an answer from the ideas and choose the words himself. 

We made it through a few questions at a time, each one adding more fuel to his internal fire.  By the time we got to the 10th question, we were both a complete mess, although I was trying my best not to show it. 

The 10th question is the only one he answered on his own.

Virtual Friendship in Reality

When a friend recently posted on FB that her sons' 1st day of school would be delayed by a week, and asked for ideas of what to do with them so she didn't lose her mind, I immediately responded  that we would be at our pool club and they should hang out with us for the day.

The thing that makes this very, VERY uncommon for me to do is that I had never met her before.  Or her boys.

She writes the wonderful, heartfelt blog, Try Defying Gravity, and our boys are around the same ages.  I love her writing and admire her.  Our stories are similar, and I've told her more than a few times that I feel like she's walked in my shoes.  We became Facebook friends and started sharing more personal stories, so in my mind, she was already my friend.

It wasn't until I realized that I wasn't sure how to pronounce her first name that I understood the enormity of what I had suggested, and how far out of my comfort zone that was.  She was driving an hour (and paying a small fortune) to come for the day.  What if I oversold the pool as a magical wonderland and her kids didn't like it? What if it was a total letdown for her?   And the most nagging question of all - What if I didn't live up to her expectations in real life?

I realized today that I need to learn to trust my instincts and not over-think things (those of you who know me are laughing outright that I just said "over-think" and "me" in the same sentence...) 

She and her boys were so incredibly nice, and we had a great day.  Her oldest went on the slide a hundred times, the obstacle course, the bumper boats and in the wave pool, while her two little ones floated around happily in the wave pool. 

And when my boys checked out completely after about a half hour, and I stressed about them sitting around moping while our guests were swimming without new friends to entertain them, she waved it off and laughed. 

Just like a friend would. 

And I realized then that I didn't need to make the day perfect, it just had to be real.

As Murphy's Law dictates, as soon as it is time to leave, your kids inevitably stop asking when it is time to go.  So even though it was Mario they bonded over instead of the wave pool I hoped for, we stood there for a few extra minutes watching them play together, like they had known each other all summer, and I was happy that I trusted my instincts about friendship.