You goin' out?!?!

My son is going out with friends?

! Wait! Are you sure? because you know who my son is, right?

It's true. My son is going out with some 'friends' - for the first time in his life.

The news came to me on a Wednesday. My oldest boy wanted to go to the park after school instead of coming directly home as he always does. (He needs to check to be sure his younger brother got home okay and get something to eat. It's what he does - every weekday without fail.) He is 17 so it should be fine, right? Even though he has never been out with friends before - ever?
This Friday would be different. He was going to the park  . . .'with friends.' That was all I knew.

In a way the outing seemed completely normal and my anxious reaction a least a little paranoid. I felt knowingly overzealous to insist on the typical information from a child who is venturing out on his or her own for the first time but unable to resist asking.

"Who are you going with?"
"What are their names? Yes, all of them."
"Where do you know them from?"
"Where will you be?"
"How long are you staying?"
"Are you going anywhere else?"

Normally, kids begin going out with, meeting or 'hangin' out' with friends years earlier than 17. I have heard stories about trips to the movies or the mall where one of the parents agrees to chauffeur. But by 17 most of these young adults can take care of themselves which makes this line of questioning seem a bit silly. I felt silly asking. But I couldn't help it. As a Mom, I couldn't not ask. I asked them all and then some. . . . got my answers and let him go.

I packed him an extra lunch to eat at the park knowing that he would be hungry missing both his afternoon snack and his dinner and waited . . . .
I made dinner. I did housework. I tried to read. I looked for more housework to do. I baked something. All the while I wondered, "Was he having fun?"  "Were the kids being decent toward him (or did they invite him along so they would have someone to tease)?" I know it's terrible to admit, but it's a real concern and one that has been validated over and over again by real situations.

Just before 9 o'clock p.m. I received a text from my son letting me know that he was on his way home - walking. The park wasn't far at all and he was with another boy who's parents were picking him up soon. My son had stayed later because he didn't want to leave the other child alone and waiting in the dark.

And here I was worried about my son while he was busy making sure the others were safe.

He came home a little cold, very hungry and said that he had a 'really good time.' He shared some pictures that he had taken with the camera on his phone. He even spoke about some of the antics and activities of the night. It was all typical teenage behavior from what I could tell. I tried very hard to restrict my questions to simple inquires and leave his private experience alone. After all, I didn't want to scare him off from sharing his feelings with me through my own over-protective scrutiny. I didn't want him to begin looking for trouble where there may not be any.

All-in-all, my son had a great time. He came home happier and more animated than he typically behaves. He was with friends, they didn't make him feel unwanted or as though he shouldn't be there and he said it was 'fun.'

Everything seems totally normal. And it is. He is going out again with them this weekend.

Even though I am wondering what it was I was concerned about, I know that I will worry for him again this Friday.

Mean Daddy

Something happened. . . about six months ago. I haven't written about it. In fact, I haven't really written anything at all since that time. The impact of what happened has stunned me into a verbal silence but also propelled me by fueling a violent inner rage. I feel as though I am hosting a dormant volcano of injustice and old school "mean" that will one day boil and erupt. I am afraid that I will blow up and everything in the vicinity will be destroyed. That is the last thing I want.

Last June, my son was texting with his Father in an attempt to determine what he might like for Father's Day. I won't go into the fact that his Father's wife ought to be the one hosting any purchase of Father's Day gifts - not me - the ex-wife. But . . . she doesn't. Never has. I don't understand. Never will.
In any case, my son wanted to do something nice for his Dad and I didn't discourage him. Their relationship has never been a solid or respectful one so in an effort to allow my son to show his care for his Father in any way that he can - I support.

My son, wanted to get his father something that he needed. His Father - instead of graciously accepting any gift and then returning it or whatever solution suited him and might remain in the hemisphere of 'polite'-  instead reacted, critically, ungratefully and with a measure of callous that should only be reserved for . . . well nobody.
My ex-husband told my son that he didn't want the gift and not only did he not want it, he wanted my son to stop attempting to get this item for him, "trying to rule my life" and for that matter, stop everything. Stop coming to visit him " . . . ever, I don't need the hassle."
What my ex-husband said to my son in a text was deeply rude, mean, horrible, entirely disrespectful and managed to completely obliterate any salvageable remains of the pathetic relationship that had existed prior into a huge pile of hurt feelings, inadequacy, personal rejection, humiliation and emotional abuse. My son has not visited his Father since the first part of June and has no intention of going.
The kicker is that these days, his Father wonders why he won't come over. He is not so much surprised, he simply doesn't get it.

It's the "I don't need the hassle" sentence that stings so badly. I can barely get myself to put those hurtful words in writing.What type of parent would ever say those words to a child in reference to the relationship between the two or with respect to his or her task and duty as a parent in raising that child?

It's incredulous.

I am still so angry I am practically apoplectic. I am deeply hurt for my son and sad that any child ever has to hear those types of words from a parent. I am embarrassed to write about them - those very painful words.

All this - because my son wanted to get his Dad a Father's Day gift and his Father has NO IDEA how to behave like an adult OR understand his Techie-minded Autistic son.

I have shared this story with a few people - close friends who know the type of man their father is and they type of young man my son is growing up to be. In every case, at the end of the story, the listener will squint his or her eyes, cock his or her head and ask, "What?!" as though they must have missed some critical part of the exchange. Maybe the part where my son is antagonistic or has been so disrespectful to his Father that his Dad had no options left but to end it entirely. None of that happened though. It's not there.
Again, "What?!"

Disbelief.

My son was emotionally crushed even more than he had been up to that day in his life. He remains so to this day. He only speaks to his Father at an arm's length and has lost all respect for him. I cannot blame him. Would it were me, I be planning some sort of homicide, but my son is far more forgiving than I am. He always has been. My son has never expected his Father to behave like an adult the way I do.

The worst part is that according to the courts, there is nothing I can do to keep him from having to go with his Father should his Father decided he wants to see him again. I have no choice. Neither does my son unless he goes to court and tells a judge that he refuses to go. As you might expect, my son is afraid of retaliation from his Father should he do so. Honestly, I am too.
I thought about moving far away from here - from him. How can having any child exposed to that be healthy, right? Again, the court has determined that I have no idea what is best for my children. However, they do. The response was that we cannot move away from here because in the eyes of the court, that would damage my son's relationship with his father. I can move, but I cannot take the boys with me if I were to. They would have to stay with their Father.

What?!

Now do you understand?

Good, because I don't either.

"That's How You Get What You Want"

My son wants something . . . again.

He has his eye on a target and his tenacity in pursuing achieving or obtaining only that is impressive to say the least.

He didn't want this item yesterday, or last week, or last month. Before today - this minute, he wanted something else. Another item that, (if he could figure out a logistical path to it's retention) at the time, was critical to his continued survival and overall happiness.

Where did this come from?

The truth is . . . he had never so much as mentioned this 'thing' - even in passing before today. My son never mentions anything 'in passing.' There is always a reason. Despite that, his need for this piece of equipment was and is always as immediate and immovable as is his will. We have been through this before and I know the drill. Still, shoring the dam against the sure and massive storm surge of his persuasive attempts will be exhausting. The process is not new. However, the goal is.

Today he has an entirely new agenda and he wants this bad!! He is fixated. He's bargaining. He's managing the logistics (which I am apparently too dull to manage or sort out on my own). All this work must be exhausting for him. I am exhausted and all I have been doing is dodging bullets. My son is the one planning the battle strategy and lobbing all the logical artillery. I am convinced that all this determination is simply a method devised in an effort to keep both his mind and his senses busy with something - to stay focused. I believe he is creating a point to focus on.

Planning a battle that more resembles an international political negotiation to keep from becoming bored. The task is complicated and likely to take up quite a bit of time. This sort of undertaking provides him with something to concentrate on - something to focus on when his thoughts are scattered and jagged. Here . . . embedded in this issue, is a clear, definable agenda and a problem that can or could be solved if he put his mind to it.

As he matures, so do his abilities to formulate and verbalize some very compelling arguments for the items or privileges he wants. Because he thinks so quickly, he can sometimes (quickly) leave me behind grasping for some way to hold on to my position. I know. "Because I am the parent and I said so" is always an option, but he's 17. At this age and despite his or any disability, I feel he deserves more respect than being hurled such a childish, contemptuous and relatively disrespectful statement.

He wears me down like the waters from an enormous storm that cover everything, soak through and flood all the layers leaving only what was always firm and permanent behind. These attempts to make me change my mind leave me feeling like soggy toast. Like if anyone disturbs me any further, I will fall apart entirely and be left a mushy mass of unrecognizable bits.

Something new happened this weekend though. A victory - for me!

Again, as is the case with many weekends, my son was bored and set his sights on something he wanted; an activity this time. Naturally, I resisted and used my full arsenal of experience and factual evidence in my attempt to help him understand why this won't work as he believes it might. It was a long day.
However, at the end of it my son said, "I think I am glad I didn't do that. It would have been a bad idea."

Yay!! (for me)

Yay!! and congratulations to my son who is learning to think ahead and make those complicated decisions that involve more persons than just him and more affect than only he might feel.  

Lost . . . again

For all of us, life can get distracting. Some days there is simply SO much to do that managing all the tasks seems practically impossible, totally exhausting and mind-numbingly paralyzing. I hope I have described it correctly because this has been my life for the past six or seven months.

So much has happened that I have wanted to write about - tell someone about or maybe even find someone who has been on this path before me who can empathize. I would even be happy just to have company along this road through Autism - I wouldn't care if neither of us knew if we were on the right road or where that trek might lead. I would be happy to have company along the way. Someone to talk to about the joys and stresses of finding ways to help my child with Aspergers as well as the child without Aspergers. He suffers too - just as much and in entirely different ways. Sometimes I believe life is harder for him. He knows. He understands issues and concerns that my first son does not.

All distraction aside, I am making an attempt to get my life back on track, keep things moving in some direction that resembles forward because time will march on whether or not I choose to try to affect the outcome of events, learning, changes - all meant to be interpreted as 'growing up with Aspergers.'

I will start with the most recent challenges and make my way around to all the other wonderful, frustrating and remarkable occasions to learn acceptance rather than conformity my son provides me with. I have always known that my son 'lives in the moment.' It is just how he his. As is typical, he helps me see both the benefits and the costs that come with this.

My son looses things.

Important things like homework, books, his wallet, all manner of belongings, money and clothing. Typically he finds them again, but not always. The odds decrease if the items have left the house. In other words, if he has had to transport them between school and home - forget it. It's gone. When we travel, I literally have to keep an eye on everything he brings along. With the exception of his electronics. Those he can manage and does, but he has had to work very hard to learn to handle them and still needs help in the form of my ever watchful (yet from his perspective - completely humiliating) eye. He hates that I still try to look after him at his age. I am trying to learn not to, but it is difficult to watch him fail (I have to choose the times when I can allow this - like the ones that aren't too expensive).

I wish I knew why keeping track of these items wasn't important to him. Well, let me state that differently. They are only important when he needs them, if he doesn't need them - they do not matter. Class notes and homework, once completed are finished in his mind and he no longer needs them - so they are forgotten or thrown aside with as little care as he might give a candy wrapper. In fact, less. He would actually put the wrapper in the trash. The homework is simply left unattended until it is left behind in some random location like all the lost socks you see along the street gutters. Just ignored until they are lost.

I live in North Texas. For the most part, our weather has extremes like any part of the globe. However, out extremes live in a higher position on the temperature scale. For us, average temperatures fall between 40F and 115F (40C). We rarely need winter coats, gloves, hats or scarves. Unfortunately, there are usually just a few days or weeks each year that we do - then 'winter' is over and we march back toward triple digits.  Therefore, my son has a winter coat - HAD a winter coat. Every year it seems he needs a winter coat.

This year, he will definitely need one because we are travelling to the east coast after Christmas to visit family in Massachusetts. Since I am a planner, I went looking through the closet as soon as the tickets were in hand to make sure we had what we needed. In truth, the boys have grown so much the past year that I needed to make sure what they had still fit even though I knew there was no way it would. A person simply cannot grow six inches and still be able to wear the same clothes. But a coat? - you never know. I thought I might get lucky. Not!!

There were no coats in the closet except the old dark green, "Starter" sweat jacket my brother used to wear that neither of my children would be caught dead in, a light-weight, nylon wind breaker and my coats. Where in the hell did the coats go?
I know for a fact that I bought two wind breakers; one grey and one black, a winter coat for Jack and a mid weight coat for Ben. I swear that closet is like a black hole for coats. Put them in there and they are off to other parts of the universe through some unseen portal!!

Seriously, how can a person loose their clothes? I will never understand - even if was explained in detail, I would never be able to comprehend how this is possible.

I asked my son where is winter coat was and he was immediately defensive - a bad sign. It means he has realized he's lost it and was hoping I would never be the wiser. Poor kid. After the astonishment abated, we went coat shopping. Again. Like we do every year. This trip is as regular as our annual trip to buy a Christmas tree. Every year at the same time of year, we are coat shopping because last year's coat is in some unknown location and the only peace I can gain from this is knowing that all clothing left behind at school at the end of the year is donated to charity. So maybe someone is getting some use out of all those coats.

I know what you're thinking. Why don't I simply choose his coat as the item that I keep track of? Yeah, I wish. It's not that easy. I am a single parent. I have a lot on my plate and some things just outweigh 'coat location' on the priority scale. Managing a household, raising two boys, going back to school, keeping a meaningful adult relationship meaningful, providing meals, keeping a full time job and looking for a new one, and all the rest easily present themselves.

So I ask my son to go coat shopping and of course he doesn't want to. It's boring and it costs money; two things he has a distaste for. As well, it cements the fact that once again, he lost his coat and it embarrasses him. But being the logical child he is, he goes.
At the store he vetoes choices left and right. All but one. I know that the color has to be either blue, black or red. I have learned not to waste my time with any other functional option not available in one of those hues. It's just not going to happen. I hold up hanger after hanger and no words are necessary. The curled up mouth is striking enough that I simply put it back. Until . . .  one choice gets a barely discernible nod. Hallelujah!! And . . . it comes in grey - Oh no! Surprisingly, it's okay. Wow!
Basking in my triumph I risk it all and ask, "Can you try it on?"

(Imagine a train wreck here. Crumpled, piled-up, derailed momentum come to a screeching halt.)

"No."
"Please."
"No. It's fine."
"Why not? We should see if it fits before we buy it."
"It's fine."
"Okay. If we buy it and it's not comfortable, you are going to have to keep it." (Stupid me, have I forgotten that in four months it will be in the company of all the other lost coats? How much of a threat is this - really?)
"I will try it on at home."
"If you don't like it at home, I am not bringing it back." (Sticking to my position even though I have realized it's hopeless.)
"Then I won't wear it."
"That is not an option."
"Fine (eye-rolling). I will try one arm to see if I like the fabric."
(Eye-rolling from Mom). "Great."

And we take the coat home. The coat lies on his bed for three days - tags on. Untried.

Then . . . . the weather turns and he needs that coat . . . and it's lost.

I know. I cannot believe it either. This is definitely a lost-coat-speed-record.

After the usual questions, we find it. It has been stowed in the same dresser drawer that he keeps his jeans in. Mashed up, tags still dangling and forgotten. Out of sight and out of mind. Right where he is comfortable with it residing.
The day afterward, he wore it to school. Two days later, he wore it out to the store. He's not sure he likes it. The coat is made of a neoprene-like material that feels "stiff." Fortunately, it's lined with a soft fleece in bright, construction orange! Now you see why I was so surprised to have it approved. This color is completely out of character. But for now he's wearing it - which is all I care about.
I hate the thought of him standing at the bus stop in 38F weather in nothing but his t-shirt. (He won't wear long sleeves, sweaters, sweatshirts, hoodies, etc., but that is another battle entirely.) His hands white and cold and his ears frozen to bright red stubbornly and diligently obeying his preferences despite that they are haltingly uncomfortable.

It is going to be a long few months.

The Sky is the Limit

Actually . . . it's not. There isn't one. A limit, that is.

Did you know that in the State of Texas a Divorcee who has primary custody of a child with Autism is entitled to ask for limitless child support from her former spouse to support that child?

Really! The standard formula does not apply to children with Autism. So, as a parent with two children the standard child support percentage of 25% which would normally apply - does not. I can ask for as much as it takes to provide my son with the treatments, therapies, educational support or services he might require. With NO limits for that child's support!!

I wish I would have known this ten years ago. Not that it would have made a bit of difference in the piddly stream of reimbursements I receive from my ex-spouse, but you never know. Maybe it would have. If knowledge is power - I have definitely felt financially powerless once or twice.

What I do know is that I certainly would have considered more emotional therapy, more life skills therapy - maybe even more music training if I had believed that asking for more than the standard 50% reimbursement for doctor bills had been at all enforceable. There are as many forms of therapy for these kids as there are places on the Autism Spectrum where they live. Who knows which one might have been useful or helpful? An un-frustrating version would have been nice. They are all seriously (some ridiculously) expensive.

At this point I cannot help but wonder how his life might be different now had I known that I could have asked for money for occupational therapy costs beyond the standard 50% of what my insurance won't cover (almost everything). How might he be different now? How would he have grown or developed if there had simply been a little more support available?

Unfortunately, I don't believe in second guessing myself. There are way too many opportunities to convince myself that I am doing a less than adequate job here and I know better than any of them that that is simply not the case. But I must keep reminding myself that I am a single parent doing the best that I possibly can with very little help - financial or otherwise. But you had better believe that now that I know - the sky is the limit.

You might want to find out what the limit is in your state 'cause - "Who knew?"

Lazy Days . . . a.k.a Bored to Tears

It's August 8th. I can hardly believe it, but summer is almost over. School begins in just over two weeks.
I need to prepare!

Where does the time go? Does it feel as though it passes very fast to everyone? Or is it just me? Is it magnified from my perspective?
The days of summer go by at the same speed as do all the other work days of the year. For some reason the days that I do not go to work seem to fly by more quickly than those I spend with my colleagues . . . watching the clock . . . counting the minutes left . . . knowing that I will surely die before the hands move the necessary inches around the dial to free me from servitude.
For my sons, my bored young men, I believe time passes more slowly, with less consequence and with far less remarkability than it does for me.

I think they are bored.

I think they have been bored for weeks.

It's summer and they are teenagers; too young to work and too old to be sent to sports camp at the YMCA dragging a swimsuit and a sack lunch.
Their friends are on vacation or hold up inside their respective air-conditioned homes. In their defense, it has been over one hundred degrees outside for weeks. They cannot exactly spend afternoons outside without risking heat exhaustion, heat stroke or something similar.
Their Mother is at work. 

They are left to their own devices - boy devices - which means staying up late Facetime-ing with friends, sleeping until two in the afternoon the next day and not having to get dressed until a parent arrives home from work and calls them to the dinner table.
There are Pop-Tart wrappers and empty orange juice cups mounted on bedroom furniture surfaces, clean laundry piled on dressers aching to be worn or just noticed, damp towels piled on bathroom floors and laptops teetering on the edge of meltdown because they haven't been turned off for weeks. Their batteries  are toying with molten stage. YouTube is bookmarked and evidence of texting volumes are gaining on the heights comparing to Mt. Everest; somewhere near twelve hundred. One more zero and it would come close to a record. This month, it's just a 'personal best.'

The boys are happy, content, quiet, occupied - albeit with Internet monotony and they are teenagers who need to begin finding their own way through their days and through the forced, alone, togetherness that this summer has provided them.

School starts soon.




Th

TAKS time

My son took TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) tests this spring - four of them!! hey were coming. They are required and his performance either sends him on to Senior High School or holds him stagnant where his is to repeat 9th grade. All ninth graders take Social Studies, Mathematics, Science and English TAKS.

However, all ninth graders are not completely distracted by the way the paper feels under his or her hand. All ninth graders are not consumed with trying to place ambiguity where none exists. All ninth graders do not find the bell schedule - and the fact that it is 30 seconds off - far more interesting. All ninth graders are probably better able to block out the tactile consequences of 'ugly pencils' (anything but a Ticonderoga No. 2) scraping on 'spongy paper' (newsprint). Other ninth graders can get past all this input, ignore all the other noises around them like the girl biting her nails and the boys scratching his jeans and the teacher's breathing and concentrate on the questions or better yet, what is happening in the world economy. Is the Euro in trouble? What is Spain's debt rating? Will the storm in the Atlantic turn into a hurricane as it enters the Gulf? There are so many places where life is more interesting than in that room - where he has to undergo TAKS testing.

This year my son's and my collective stress levels were no different than any other year. In fact, they might have been greater. More tests = more stress and anxiety. Jackson's High School future depended on him passing these tests.

In Plano, high school isn't the same 4-year program at a single school that it is in most places around the country. High School in Plano, Texas means ninth and tenth graders go to one school. Senior High School students go to a different campus to complete eleventh and twelfth grades. It's weird. I know. But that's how they do it here.

He took the tests at the end of May. Yesterday - his results arrived in the mail. Immediately he told me not to open the envelope. if course, I ignored that request and tore it open. He made a dash to the other end of the house only to come sneaking back out - one pensive footfall at a time.Shy. Afraid. Bracing for the look on my face that let him know he would be attending summer school. (I don't know why. This hasn't happened since he was eight but I suppose that one occurrence is enough evidence that summer school remains a possibility.)

Let me just say . . . . "Commended!!"

This means that his scores were not only passing, not only average, not just above average, but above they typical high score as it relates to his peers and other students in the state.

YAY!!!

I am so proud of him! And do you know what? He is too. He said as much. After taking his time examining the results, he said, "I didn't think I did that well. I am kind of surprised." He worked so hard this year and has done really well. All those years of test-taking training and strategies to help him enhance his ability to concentrate have finally paid off for him.

He has done a fabulous job and can look forward to relaxing this summer and beginning Senior High School next August at the school of his choice. Plano East Senior High.

Yes, he had a choice. But that will have to be the subject of another post.