Happy Autism Awareness Month! Or for me, this is my life, every day…

I was down with a pretty nasty migraine, yesterday, so I missed World Autism Awareness Day and Light it Up Blue, but that’s okay.  In my more lucid moments, I was with you all in spirit. I appreciate all of my friends who spoke out for me. And I have the rest of the month to make up for it, since April is Autism Awareness month. Our whole family will be running/walking to support our local autism center, The Autism Center of Tulsa in their big fund-raiser, the 7th annual Ready…Set…Run! 5K and Fun Run on April 27th.

We always turn this into a major event and get very creative with our team names. We love that our team has grown bigger every year, too! Last year, we were The Companions of Trevor (my son’s name) with a Dr. Who theme – complete with customized t-shirts for team members! This year, we’re going with a Walking Dead theme. Trevor has a favorite stuffed elephant named Fred, so we’re calling ourselves Trevor and the Walking Freds. Not too bad, eh? We’re inviting friends and family to come “zombie out” and be Walkers with us to help us raise money for a very worthy cause. If you feel like joining us or donating to our team, click here.

Some pics from last year’s walk:

I’ve been told recently that I don’t talk much about what life is like with my son. I think sometimes it’s because I find it hard to explain what life with Trevor is like. I usually start by giving some lame generic definition of autism, explaining that it is a neurological disorder that affects 1 in 88 children, with deficits in social and communication skills, like that tells you anything about him. I guess I’m too close to it; autism has become so ingrained in my life that I can’t separate it. The adaptations I’ve made have become automatic. It affects every facet of my life – every decision I make, I have to think about how it will affect my son and his schedule. It’s like separating out your entire nervous system and explaining what it means to your body.

My son is a senior in high school this year. He still watches Sesame Street and The Wonder Pets. He reads at a third grade level. He needs supervision to do his daily chores and to complete activities of daily living. He has difficulty expressing his basic needs, especially when he’s angry, so he may become physically aggressive when frustrated. He can become fixated on one thought and ask you the same question over and over all day long. It can be exhausting just getting through a typical day, let alone a bad day. He is also very loving and caring. He hates to see anyone upset – even strangers, and especially babies. He doesn’t like it when anyone of us in the family are sad and always tries to cheer us up. I must get at least twenty hugs a day – not many mothers of teenagers can say the same.

There will be no going off to college next year for him. Instead, he will be working with some fantastic job coaches at A New Leaf and living at home. We will continue to help him to be as independent as possible. I know my son has a very different path set in front of him than his neurotypical peers and a very different time line for meeting certain goals – some goals may even be out of reach. But we won’t know unless we try. He has surprised us more than once on what he can do.

I love my friends to death, but sometimes all of their good news about their children’s bright futures is hard to stomach, especially when I’m just happy my son’s starting to socialize better and is no longer being combative with the school staff. My husband and I try to keep our perspective on him alone, his own personal timeline, but then there are those pivotal moments that sneak up on you – a child your child’s age does something that you know your child will never do. It can’t help but break your heart. We are human and we are allowed those moments of grief as much as we are allowed to find joy in those other moments when our children do something that for them is extraordinary that other parents would find mundane. There is a balance in there somewhere, we just have to find it.

It is very easy to feel overwhelmed and depressed about our son’s future, but he is happy, so to me, that is just wasted energy. Besides, my son has helped me appreciate life in a very unique way and I’m much more patient now than I ever thought I could be. If that’s not a clear picture of autism, maybe that’s helped you become more aware. For more information on all things autism-related, check out these helpful websites: Autism Speaks and Autism Society of America.

Realistic Romantic Expectations – A Conversation with the Youngling

The post I had planned for today was very different, but after an inspiring conversation over breakfast with my daughter, this is the one in most need of an expedient sharing.

The youngest of my younglings was regaling the tale of one of her male friends, one she considers to be like a younger brother and one she has taken it upon herself to mentor in the politics of love. In the past, he has come to her for advice on many things regarding the cryptic female species and has even asked for her approval over his choice of girlfriend – mostly to check out the girlnet of information to make sure his potential love interest isn’t a “psycho” or “too clingy” – that sort of thing. Apparently this is a reciprocal arrangement.

How thoughtful.

Anyway, as my daughter had firmly given her seal of approval to his current girlfriend, she proceeded in her tale about how this young man had gone to elaborate lengths to ask this same young lady to the winter formal. It was a nice story including teddy bears, balloons, notes, and favorites chocolate candies. He had obviously put in a lot of time and consideration into his plan. She commented not that she wished someone would do that for her, but that she hadn’t realized how creative this boy could be. My daughter then said he asked her for suggestions on what he should do for Valentine’s Day for his girlfriend. Even after appreciating this grand gesture he had made earlier, my daughter said sure, he should get her some chocolate or something, but if he was only showing her that he cared about her on special occasions or when it was socially required, then he was missing the point.

Wow.

I couldn’t have been prouder.

And when the hell did she learn that?

My husband then walked into the room. My daughter told him about the elaborate winter formal popping-the-question story and then asked if he had ever done something like that, made a grand gesture when asking a girl to a prom or dance.

It may have been wrong of me to laugh, but I do know my husband. Grand romantic gestures are not in his chemical makeup. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve received flowers from him over the past twenty-two years. He has on occasion even forgotten my birthday. Ouch.

It is a lovely thing to be appreciated by the one you love. And that is one thing, despite what I’ve said so far, that my husband is actually fantastic at doing. Many times he has said to me, “Have I told you how much I love you, today?” or “You are my best friend.” just out of the blue because he was moved to do so. I have never felt uncertain of his feelings for me and I’m never jealous of other people. What more could one want in this world than a companion who one trusts and who really gets you?

I can’t count how often he has done little things for me without me even asking, like rubbing my neck when I’ve spent the day writing and I’m all achy or bringing me chocolate when he knows I’ve had a stressful day at home with the kids. Sure, he may also bring me some truffles on Valentine’s Day, but not because he has to, but because he knows I have a major chocolate addiction. Sometimes he’ll actually wait until the day after Valentine’s Day when the boxes of chocolate are half price. I don’t mind. I still get my chocolate fix – and maybe in a bigger box. I have come to be a huge fan of the smaller, more frequent realistic gestures of love.

May all of you have more of them in your life as well.

Happy Random Day in February!

The Art of Letting Our Children Fail and How to Apply This to Writing

Ours is not a society that embraces failure. We teach our children to reach for the stars, be number one. After all, the goal of a game, a contest of any kind, is to win, not to come in second. You don’t hear the national anthem for the team who wins the silver medal. No one chants at sporting events, “We’re Number Two!”(Unless you’re watching Whip It and you’re cheering for those lovable underdogs, The Hurl Scouts. Gotta love ‘em.)

We all want to be the winners; by extension, we all want to see our kids succeed.

And that means not repeating our mistakes.

How can we keep that from happening? How do we ensure that their road will be less bumpy than ours was? How in the hell do we insulate them, protect them from the big, bad world?

We don’t.

We can’t do that if we want them to grow.

According to a Psychology Today article: Mistakes Improve Children’s Learning, one of the worst things a parent can do is cover up a child’s mistake or correct their homework for them so they get a better grade. Even worse is to praise their intelligence. This actually makes them “less likely to persist in the face of challenges.” Kids praised for their intelligence see any mistake as a sign of failure and will give up early on whereas kids praised for their efforts persevere when they make mistakes and will try different approaches to a problem and succeed at much higher rates. Interesting, yes?

Still, letting your children fail is no easy thing.

Rationally, I understand this concept, but when one of my children is sobbing because she feels stupid after she’s failed spectacularly at something and doesn’t think she can suffer the mortal embarrassment another moment, I forget that encouraging my child to try again, to find her own solution is good for her. Instead, I want to give her the answer. I want to help her avoid the mistakes I made. I have to fight the urge to rescue, to solve the problem for her, to tell her that she’s smart.

Similarly, many writers find it difficult to let their characters fail.

It feels like a betrayal. We are like their parents, are we not? We create them, we coerce their deepest, darkest secrets out of them – what they want most in the world – and then we deny them that very thing, putting obstacle after obstacle in their path, hurting them again and again until their lives are beyond unbearable. We have to. Otherwise, we’re not writing a good story. There are times that we may be tempted to rescue our characters, to make life a little easier, to solve the problem for them. As with our real children, we’d be doing them a grave disservice.

Recently, it came to our attention that all of our efforts at trying to “help” solve our child’s problems were only creating more stress and pressure on our child and not allowing her to find her own solutions. We would have to let go and allow our child the chance to succeed or fail on her own. This had us both very worried. I mean, how far should we let her fall? What if she totally gave up on herself and never recovered? What if we were labeled: The Worst. Parents. EVER?

Amazingly, that didn’t happen. When the stress of our constant “helping” was gone and our child was given the responsibility of solving her own problems, she did it. She came up with solutions that we may not have chosen, but they worked. She was able to experience successes – her own successes. And we were there to cheer her on.

In all good stories, the character must learn something from their experiences – must grow or change as a result of what they’ve been through. That can only happen if they face their own obstacles; if they live through the gut-wrenching experiences and solve their own problems. No one else can do it for them.

Nobel Prize winner Danish Physicist Niels Bohr once said, “An expert is a person who has made all the mistakes that can be made in a very narrow field.”

I like that.

I might reach that expert level in parenting. Maybe even in writing as well. I still have plenty of mistakes left to make in both fields, but maybe someday…

Stealing Time and Being Selfish

I am often taken by surprise when others remark on how amazed they are that I find any time to write because I have a son with autism. Maybe because I don’t know any other way. Maybe because I have to write and I must find the time.

True, some days he can be very demanding. Here are some typical interactions we have on those trying days:

“Mom, are you having a good day?” (This is asked at five minute intervals.)

“Mom, are you hungry?” (Which means he’s hungry and I need to find him something to eat before he uproots the pantry and the fridge trying to find something on his own.)

“Mom can we order an Abby doll?” (Which means he wants me to buy him a character doll from the Disney movie Chicken Little that you cannot buy anywhere on the planet, but my son refuses to believe this and continues to ask for several times a day even when told “no” – not a pretty argument.)

“Mom, where is Dad?” (This is also asked at five minute intervals even after he’s given the answer.)

“Mom, can Joey and Ashley come over to our house?” (Or whatever relatives couldn’t possibly travel large distances to reach our house today – another fun way to disappoint him.)

“Mom, you look great.” (Said repeatedly, but not often enough.)

“Look, Mom! Bananas!” (I must then pretend to be hit with a face full of bananas and cry, then Trevor will console me and apologize for ‘hitting’ me with said pretend bananas. yeah, thanks for THAT game, DAD. Also repeated ad nauseum.)

Not to mention the odd number of head noogies and bone-crushing hugs that come out of nowhere.

On these days, I do struggle to find time for anything else, let alone time to form a cohesive thought or capture that thought onto the computer in a string of words that make any sense at all. (I should always stop writing once he asks any of these questions the first time. Always.)

And he is only one person in my family that requires some of my attention. My time is in high demand.

So how do I find time to write?

I steal it.

Writing is more than just a hobby to me. It is something that I have to do. If I’m not allowed to express myself through the written word, I will… well maybe not climb a clock tower and do something blood thirsty and violent, but I will be extremely cranky. You don’t want to see me when I’m cranky. Just ask my family.

So. Instead of making their lives unbearable, I get up early in the morning while they’re all still asleep – and more importantly, silent – and I write.

Without interruption.

For as long as I can.

Some days I steal the time while they are all away at school or work. On those days, there are many other things I could do with this time; laundry, walk the dogs, yard work, etc., but none of those things will fulfill me as much as my writing. Maybe it’s selfish to use this time just for me, but when I do get to exorcise my writing demons and exhaust that creative spirit, I don’t resent my family’s demands on my time. I’m a much more patient parent, a more tolerant spouse.

I am happy.

And we all know that when Mama’s happy, everybody’s happy.

I think we all have to steal a little time for ourselves, to be selfish a bit with our time. If we don’t take any time to pursue our own interests, we cannot be there for our loved ones without feeling resentment or frustration.

Make sure you take a little time this week to be selfish. Your family will appreciate it.

Lipstick Isn’t Love – Teaching Our Daughters to Love Themselves

Am I kissable?

The recent uproar surrounding Ashley Judd and the ugly media speculation on her changing appearance and her thoughtful response really got me thinking about a conversation I had with a close relative (who wishes to remain anonymous). It started something like this:

“I need this new lip gloss.”

“What? Why? You have tons of makeup.”

“It will give me more confidence.”

“What!?!”

“That’s what it says.”

“You’re joking.”

She was not joking.

That was the beginning of the most disturbing conversation I’ve ever had with her. Voices were raised. Tears were shed. It was very uncomfortable for both of us. When we finally got down to the heart of  the matter, she revealed that she thought of herself as some disfigured troll that couldn’t go out among normal, flawless humans without a coat of protective camouflage hiding all of her most hideous deformities, and that she actually needed this new lip gloss to feel better about herself.  The Kissaholic Lip Gloss from Victoria’s Secret did not promise to boost one’s confidence as it turns out; it only promised to “increase lip volume for a fuller, sexier, more kissable pout”, apparently something my young anonymous female relative, who has very full lips to begin with, was in desperate need of acquiring. The advertising went on to say that it was “infused with an exotic blend of aphrodisiac ingredients designed to inspire desire.” How embarrassing to have to explain to me that she wanted, needed to feel desired by someone. And how embarrassing for me to have to explain that she had been duped by a marketing campaign aimed at her vulnerable heart.

I was in shock. Did she really think that beauty was all she had to offer anyone? Had I myself influenced this young woman in any way to be so dependent on her looks for her self-esteem?

I hoped not. I knew better. I had taken some enlightening college courses in the past and I was amazed at what I learned from a paper I read on toy advertising; how we as women are subjected to not only societal expectations, but blatant marketing strategies encouraging us even as young girls in toy commercials to find satisfaction and pride in our physical appearance and care-taking skills, unlike boys who are encouraged to take pride in skills like problem-solving and risk-taking.  One of my favorite passages came from another paper I read entitled Analysis of Gender Identity Through Doll & Action Figure Politics in Art Education by Anna Wagner-Ott, an associate professor at California State University at Sacramento:

“It is from popular culture that most people weave their identities and establish their relationships with others and the environment. Mass media images saturate our lives, structuring much of what we know beyond personal experience.” (Duncum, 1997, p.70)

She wanted her paper to help other art educators to “gain insight into how cultural forms, marketing, and aesthetic productions are generating gender identities” and to help them emancipate their students from these contemporary forms of domination. Heavy stuff.

After studying these subjects, I wanted to make sure my own daughter knew that she was more than just a pretty face. I made sure I told her often that she was smart, compassionate, a talented artist, and a tough soccer player among many other things. I couldn’t help it that she heard from other people that she was also beautiful.

Then puberty hit and that struggle to find her unique identity within the crowd and “Mom you couldn’t possibly understand what I’m going through” period came along with it.  Although I do know exactly what she’s going through, there is no way she’ll believe it and there’s no way I can make it any easier for her. My compliments hailing her many fine attributes now fall on deaf ears. She’ll have to survive her own battle of self-esteem.

So how do you fight against that overwhelming tide of societal norms and let your children know it’s okay to be exactly who they are and that they are more than a beautiful face? As with Ashley Judd’s comments, I am reminded just how much other young girls – other women – help perpetuate the obsession with YOUTH and BEAUTY and devalue those who stray from this path.  How quick are we to say something snarky about someone else gaining weight or a cosmetic surgery job gone wrong? How many women hold real positions of power? What do we say about them? Do we value each other as women for traits NOT tied to appearance? Do we cheer other women on for their accomplishments or tear them down? If we want our daughters to be valued and teach them to find value in themselves, we need to lead the way. Do you agree? How do you teach your daughter to love herself for all that she is?

I leave you with a fantastic performance by slam poet Katie Makkai that I am stealing from another awesome blog. (thank you, Cassie.)

#writemotiovation check in – where did spring break go? or how do you entertain the caged teenager?

Somehow I thought I’d already posted this. I blame the chaotic air of spring break on my scatterbrainedness.

Life can sometimes be unfair for our two children – not only because the lottery draw of life gave them to me and my equally insane husband. No, this week, when they finally got a chance to take a break from school, recharge their batteries, enjoy the lives of sloths and do what they pleased, Mother Nature threw them a curveball; four days of torrential downpours and gloomy, depressing skies. One can only watch so much crappy TV and soak up so much  Twitter and Facebook feeds – with breaks for reading one’s favorite books, of course! – before one’s brain goes numb. Two teens cooped up with only their mother for company? UGH!  And then the unpredictable spurts of energy and hormonal surges can make captivity even more unbearable. Inevitably every few minutes one of them would come pester me – during prime writing time – for something to do. Hard to concentrate under those conditions. Eventually I threw them outside in the rain and let them jump on the trampoline to exorcise their inner teen demons – who cares if they get soaked and the trampoline cuts trenches in the lawn if I can have a few moments of quiet? They came back in shivering and sated, if not just a little bit calmer. There were other moments of pure insanity brought on by the cabin fever that I cannot even mention as my daughter would die of embarrassment if I revealed them.

When I escaped in the middle of the week for my critique group, I pointed at my kids and said to my husband, “You’ve got to do something with them before they blow a gasket. Good luck.” Then I bolted. Hey, sometimes, it’s survival of the fittest, even in the family group. I knew my husband was strong enough, besides, he’d escaped most of the week at work. He’d been around other fairly normal adults and had somewhat intelligent conversations. I NEEDED TO GET OUT, DO YOU HEAR ME?  In the end, he had a brilliant idea of turning the house into a thumping rave party. He wore the kids out by cranking up the stereo and making everyone dance till they dropped. I’m sure the neighbors loved it. Everyone was worn out when I returned, so that’s all that mattered.

Today, all that’s left in our pantry are the last bits of granola bars, aging blueberries, some leftover stir-fry, and the rest of the (eeew!) healthy snacks – everything else was scarfed up days ago; no one wanted to venture out for more provisions. The dogs are getting wary of us. Finally, this morning the rain has stopped, the sun blinding our weak eyes. We are preparing to leave this place that has become too cramped and go anywhere else but here. Just in time. I think we might survive.

Under these conditions, I did not make as much progress toward my goals as I had hoped. Next week should be much more productive, and much more peaceful.

Goals for March:

• Complete my novel revision - Closing in on the halfway mark at page 149 out of 325. Really need to pick up the pace in the final week! 

• Post two blog entries each week – Goal met! At least one out of three still made, not ideal, but I’ll take it.

• Update my journal project and keep it current – Not even close. No progress made on this goal at all. Notes in my head don’t count.

How are you doing on your writing goals?

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss! Trevor still loves you and so do I.

Dr. Seuss has played a prominent role in our family. I read to my children from a very young age, knowing that one day, they would take off without me on their own reading adventures. Well, one of my children did. My son, Trevor was different. My son was diagnosed with autism at the age of four. He needed the security of repetition, of familiarity. He could never get enough of Dr. Seuss. We once flew from Oklahoma City to Denver on vacation and although Trevor loved being in an airplane, it was something new. His anxiety was extremely high. On that flight I must have read Go, Dog. Go! and One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish at least twenty times. Each. (I can still read those two books with my eyes shut. *wink*)

Shortly after that trip, we expanded Trevor’s Seuss library – and I may have buried those two books just to save my sanity. (That incessant rhyming was driving me mad!) I’m sorry to say that I fell out of love with Dr. Seuss every time Trevor found my hiding place and those two books resurfaced and I was forced to read them again.

We ran into another situation with Dr. Seuss when Trevor hit grade school. He found a friend in his autism classroom that also loved the Dr. Seuss books. In fact, they both loved Dr. Seuss so much that they would spend the whole day talking in nothing but Seuss dialogue. All his classmate would have to say to get things started would be, “Hey Trevor, ‘Are you my Mother’?” and off they’d go exchanging lines from that book until they moved onto the next one. After much arguing, banning “Dr. Seuss talk”, crying in frustration, I learned to find the silver lining in this problem; he had found a friend.

Life with a child on the autism spectrum can sometimes feel like you have chaotic Things rushing about trying to help you fix a small problem only to end up with a wrecked house. The story of The Cat in the Hat and the other longer stories helped me fall back in love with Dr. Seuss and embrace the chaos. Who says life has to be neat and perfect? Who says our kids have to be that way either?

Seuss really wrote stories for his audience and not for the parents. Although his stories may have a moral or a message, they do not take precedent over the telling of the story itself. What parent would want a writer to tell kids that if they totally wreck the house and break all the rules, but manage to clean up and hide all signs of their crimes, they don’t necessarily have to tell their parents anything about it? I love that. I love how he ends The Cat in the Hat with a question – making kids think for themselves and NOT giving them the answer. Refreshing, no?

My son is seventeen, now, and although he can read by himself – all the way up to a third grade level – and he does read many other books, he still likes for me to read to him. And his favorite books are still by Dr. Seuss. I love you, Trevor.

And I love Dr. Seuss. Happy Birthday!