The Week of Enlightenment

This week has made my head want to explode. Some of it has been painful. Most of it has been exciting and wonderful. All of it allowed my heart to grow.

For quite a while, I have been attempting to get my art website off the ground. The plans in my head far exceed my abilities to create such a thing on my own. Frustration stifled my creativity and kept me from producing paintings I could really be proud of. Feeling that way usually gets me mad enough that I do something about it; and I did. I put together a book of my best portraits and had it printed. The first copy, although definitely something I am proud of, had some errors. With those now corrected, I am sending it back for a mass printing. It will be available on my new art website www.ArtHelpingHumanity.com within the next few weeks.

The excitement of being published helped those squeaky wheels in my brain start turning a little more smoothly. I remembered something from my days in professional management that has been extremely helpful. It makes more sense to hire someone to do the tasks you either are not good at or don't have time for than it is to try to do it yourself. So, I decided to hire a very talented and qualified friend to design my website and get it going. This is his business. He can do it better than I can and in much less time. I am stoked.

The morning of my meeting with my web designer and the other guy who will be handling the printing and shipping end of the business, I got up early to knock out a few tasks before the rest of the family was awake. An email that has changed me was waiting in my in box. It was from a woman, a single mother of an autistic daughter, a self-taught portrait photographer, and a cancer survivor. She has an amazing spirit of giving. Although we had never met, I knew immediately I wanted her to be a contributing artist on my website. Within the hour we had exchanged about six emails and were both bubbling over with excitement over the project. Autism has once again produced something wonderful in my life.

A few hours later a stumbled across information about a young adult with Asperger's. He is very interesting, well-read, expresses himself extremely well, and is eager to help parents and other Aspies understand the nature of the syndrome and life with it. He was kind enough to let me ask him some questions about how to help my kids achieve the self-confidence they will need to be successful in life. His recommendations gave me hope.

The best thing you can do is to make sure that the school keeps a close eye on bullying, understands AS, introversion/shyness and is supportive and listens to you and your children when speaking. Don't hide the facts from your children, don't sugar coat or whitewash them, and let your children know that there are good things about their uniqueness. Make it clear to them that you want to be informed of anything that they experience which makes them feel bad (school, friends, etc). -J.C.

Taking all of that into consideration, I discussed this with Ian the other night. And every day since, instead of asking him how his day was, I ask "Was it a good day?", "What was good about it?" "Did anything not-so-good happen?" "Were you able to complete your work?" and "Do you feel good about today?" Then at bed time, no matter how difficult dinner or bath time was, I always let him know I am proud of him.

To top everything off in a great way, the new psychiatrist has us decreasing Ian's meds. No kidding. We have taken him completely off one drug that I suspected was causing some violent behavior. Two other meds have been decreased, and one is being left alone for now. Ian says he feels great, he is having terrific days in school, and everyone seems to be getting along at our house.

Peace!

I Wonder if Cows Have Homework

Ian hates homework. So what's new? Every kid since the first report card was chiseled into a stone tablet and dragged home has hated homework. I hate it, too.

He probably wouldn't hate it so much if the assignments were of interest to him. But life is unfair, and I am the Queen of Perpetual Unfairness. It is my job to make certain Ian has no fun in life whatsoever by requiring him to complete homework before there can be any laughter in his day.

The latest assignment that has him blowing a gasket every time I mention it is this week's reading topic - Farming Long Ago. All he has to do is write 5 facts he learned from the very short booklet. He is stuck in the abyss of self-pity and has not absorbed any facts, according to him. When we discuss farming, he is able to recall a few tidbits, but these he does not consider to be adequate for the requirements of the task.

After 20 minutes of arguing about whether he should have to do the assignment at all, we took a break to eat a light dinner. The kids chose mac-n-cheese, which they made mostly by themselves in the microwave. While they were eating, I asked Ian if people in the book had microwaves to make mac-n-cheese.

"No," he said in a well-duh tone.

"Where did their food come from?" I inquired.

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"Do you know where our food comes from?" I queried.

"No," he repeated automatically.

"Well, then, this is a good time to find out," I said with a little excitement. We opened my laptop to cruise the internet.

"They didn't have computers back then," he added.

"You're right! They didn't have computers. But we do, and that is how I get all of our meat!" I said as I loaded the website that was to help me teach this lesson.

For the next few minutes I explained how many people still own farms and ranches that raise healthy food for us to eat. My cousin is a rancher, and we buy our meat from him over the internet, and he ships it to us from Colorado. Then I showed him pictures of the meat packing plant. He was a little surprised to see huge sides of beef hanging from hooks in a freezer.

"It kinda looks like fish," he said.

"Well, it's really more like cows than fish, but I think you have the right idea," I explained.

He seemed to be enjoying our discussion about how food reaches our table until I brought the discussion back around to what it had to do with the assignment from hell. He totally flipped out, stomped out of the room, and ranted about how unfair it is to have to answer questions and do homework. He tried to hook up with his Nintendo to block out the evil school thoughts, but I made him hand it to me. Remember - I am the Queen of Perpetual Unfairness, and it is my job to make him as miserable as possible.

I gave him a few minutes to find a happy place while I put the dishes away. It wasn't long before I heard Lego Star Wars music wafting down from the play room. In about 3.2 minutes, everything Ian holds dear (his computer and his Nintendo) were taken away from him. They will be returned when he finishes his homework or when it snows 6 inches in Texas, whichever comes first.

One fact that is very apparent to me: Ian would have starved if he'd lived on a farm long ago.

BFF*

Ainsley and I stood in the hallway of Ian's school, waiting for him to gather his things and meet us by the front office. They were to see Ian's new psychiatrist together this time. One of his teachers and I chatted quietly about some new strategies for helping him understand right behaviors from wrong ones, while Ainsley eagerly watched for her brother.

Ian rounded the second grade hall corner and saw us. In her booming 5 year-old voice, Ainsley shouted, "IAN!" and stretched her arms out wide. Ian did the same as he began to jog down the corridor toward her.

I elbowed the teacher and whispered, "Watch this."

The two ran toward each other into an embrace. Ian bent slightly and picked Ainsley up, holding tightly onto her rear end. The adults tried to stifle our giggles. "I missed you Ian," Ainsley said genuinely.

"I missed you to," Ian replied.

Another teacher who was passing by said, "Oh, that's so sweet! Are they always like this?"

"About 90% of the time they are best friends. The other times they are fighting like cats and dogs," I explained.

"It's so nice to see siblings getting along so well," she added.

"Yes," I sighed, "it is."

We left the school building and began the short walk to my van. Ian and Ainsley continued their little sibling love-fest. Ainsley admitted that she had broken a plastic star their cousins gave him for Easter, but promised she would fix it when we returned home. Ian was grateful for her offer and said, "Mom, because Ainsley is going to fix my star that she accidentally broke, I am going to make her my wife!"

"Uh ... Ian, that's a very generous offer, but she is already your sister. She can't be both your wife and your sister. Since she was your sister first, we'll have to leave it at that. You can be best friends though."

"O.K.," he replied, as if I'd just told him we were having hot dogs for dinner instead of chicken nuggets - pleased, but not overwhelmed with joy.

Then, they settled into their car seats, strapped on their seat belts, and Ian began reading a book out loud to his very best friend in the whole world.

* In kidspeak, this means Best Friends Forever.

Why Didn't Somebody Tell Me?

I have always known the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But I have always assumed the tree was Steve.

When Ainsley was born, I realized quickly that I couldn't do everything I used to do around the house with two challenging kids around. Only the most important things get done, and we deal with the rest when we can. I assumed I was setting priorities.

My BlackBerry is full of everyone's appointments, lists of things to do, lists of things to buy, lists for everything. I assumed I was being organized.

A couple of nights ago, I printed something from my laptop in the kitchen and walked toward the office to pick it up. On my way, I stopped to pick up Ian's jacket that was on the floor, hung that up, picked up two pairs of Ainsley's shoes and put them away, saw that the laundry needed to be switched and did that, took some coins out of the dryer and put them away, turned off the bathroom light that had been left on hours earlier, then stood in the hallway and wondered, "Now, what was I going to do at this end of the house?" Fifteen minutes later I remembered to get my printed document from the printer tray. I assumed my memory was faulty because, like all typical moms, I have more than enough on my plate.

Then I wondered, "Or is it something else?"

So I asked Steve, "Do you think it's possible that I have ADHD?"

Without even turning from the dishes he was washing, he said, "I don't 'think' you have ADHD..." and let his voice trail off.

Like a slap in the face, initially I was insulted. Over the last 48 hours, however, I have thought about it repeatedly, so much so that this morning I decided to take an adult ADHD quiz to see if there is something to this.

Naturally, I went online. I went to this website and took their quiz. And the result was:

I guess in addition to being Super Mom, I'm a tree, too.

The Last One to Know

The last few days have left me feeling exhausted, angry, frustrated, and hopeful. No, I haven't been in meetings to negotiate an IEP. Go one step further. I have been trying to ensure that my son's IEP is followed and that the individuals on his team think not only about the results of behavior but also to the causality of behavior.

Ian has had a difficult semester so far. He has become angry, combative, stubborn, and unwilling to follow rules. He has hit fellow classmates on two occasions and disregarded teachers' instructions numerous times. Everyone who deals with him at school is frustrated.

I can count on one hand the number of times in the last three months I have received a phone call or email about Ian's behavior ... until two days ago when the number soared to seven in forty-eight hours. That is when I learned that these disruptive, even combative, behaviors have occurred daily, mostly in the last month.

No one was more frustrated than I was at being the last one to know.

This week, I learned several difficult lessons about being the parent of a special needs child. The first: Make sure the school sends home daily reports on how your child is doing in his school work and behavior. This year, I have rarely been contacted about my son, and only when there has been a problem. I thought things were going well. You can't go back and fix something that happened six weeks ago. In order to address the challenges and celebrate the successes, timeliness is a must.

The second lesson: Be proactive, not reactive. Set your child up to succeed by putting in place a reward system for doing as instructed and for tackling and overcoming those tough barriers. Our autistic children react to negative reinforcement with more negative behavior. Punishing them only works in very rare circumstances. Rewards keep the desired behaviors coming and boost the child's self-confidence.

The third lesson: Don't assume the school is going to investigate every incident to the fullest. Teachers today have so much on their plates. Honestly, I don't know how they do it. Although we hope that every problem our children encounter will be handled perfectly, at some point someone is going to make a mistake. Communication is going to break down, and your child is going to be punished for something that isn't necessarily his fault. Ask your child his side of the story. He may not have been able to verbalize what happened to the proper adult, or to one who was willing to wait for his explanation.

Fourth: Go to bat for your child, and try to maintain your composure. I was not entirely successful in this step. My anger over Ian being held completely accountable for reacting violently to a bully's taunts was visible, despite my attempts to be a rational defender of justice. Try not to be nasty or get personal. Everyone makes mistakes.

Fifth: Let your child know you believe in him, even if his behavior was not the best choice he could have made. You can always help him work on knee-jerk reactions that can get him into trouble. Letting him know you love him, even when he makes a mistake, is still the best thing you can do for a child who is struggling to fit in.

Someone asked me recently if things get easier or better over time - do my children evolve into beings that act in a way that is considered normal. What I have discovered is that when things seem like they are getting easier, prepare for a volcanic eruption. Something new will develop soon enough that will cause you to roll your eyes and sigh. There is no normal, no flat land. It's a roller coaster ride that surprises you at every turn. You can diminish some of those surprises by staying informed. Take it upon yourself to get fully immersed in your kid's business.

I let my level of involvement slip this time by not asking enough questions. That will not happen ever again.