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What we remember (and how we teach our children about the world)
Bringing J to an awareness of the world–especially grown up things always makes me a little nervous. J’s brain is a steel trap for memories–especially memories that carry any pain or anxiety. J remembers things like back when he was in grade two, where the lunch ladies burnt the school pizza and set off the fire alarm while he was at gym, causing a (minor) evacuation. That was the 89th day of school and he won’t let that go. And every year since we hold our breath, cross our fingers, and go through all sorts of rituals to make it through the day when the 89th day of school rolls through. There’s a myriad…
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Staying Inside the Lines
I feel like when you’re doing the autism gig, you’re constantly keeping your kid within the lines, corralling them into the spaces society creates. There’s personal boundaries, ethical boundaries, social boundaries. As a society I think that’s how we make sense of the world. Autistic kids are always seeking these lines and laws and boundaries too. Except they have their own lines and boundaries and many times they don’t match up with everyone else’s. Of course, “staying inside the figurative lines” has always been sort of an enigma to J. Figurative lines are more nuanced. You can’t see someone’s personal bubble–and everybody’s is different. You can tell a joke but sometimes it backfires…
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Outwit, Outlast, Outplay: Lessons Learned from this Month
Apparently toughness runs in my blood. My paternal grandmother and her family lived through some tough times in Belarus. Her family had survived World War I (most of them, my great grandmother buried two children on the side of the road as they fled from the Germans) and somehow made it through the Polish Soviet war afterward before emigrating to Canada in 1926. My maternal grandfather grew up on the Saskatchewan prairie—in the middle of nowhere—in a log homestead where in those winter months of -30C the ice would come through the joints in the wall and he’d have to sleep in every article of clothing he owned to keep…
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Two Days Off and the Cell Model Debacle
J had Thursday and Friday off last week (NDEA/NDU Teacher’s Convention for Fargo Public Schools). J also had a “first draft” of his 3-D cell model for science class due Monday. I had a flight to New Jersey Friday afternoon to visit a friend from grad school, so Thursday I did a frantic brainstorm for ideas. Pintrest had some good ones, but they were all “edible” versions of the 3-D cell–something J’s teacher had specifically the class NOT do on the rubric. I looked online for more ideas (because, let’s be honest, whether your kid’s autistic or not, projects like these tend to end up really being parent projects with some kid…
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Taylor Swift, Hipsters, and Feeling Understood
Last Monday, while shopping at Zandbroz, (the best little bookstore/place for funky eclectic gifts and décor in Fargo), someone in the store switched up the music and suddenly I heard Ryan Adams strumming and singing Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood ” above my head. It was early afternoon and the store was pretty dead. I placed my merchandise on the counter and decided to make small talk with the cashier. As the cashier swiped my credit card, I asked, “So do you sell the Ryan Adams 1989 album too?” “No,” he said turning bright red under his grizzly hipster beard. “We don’t sell the music we play in the store.” “Oh,”…
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Little Changes and a Step Closer to Empathy
Fall is in full force here in Fargo. J insists that our fridge is stocked with chilled cider and that every morning starts with hot chocolate chip muffins. He has set ideas about these things. I insist that J looks for the changes in the trees as we walk to the high school for XC practice. Fall is by far the best reminder for me that little changes happen every day. The way that the tops of a maple catch crimson one day and in a few more days the fiery red has spread to the next tier of branches and then the next week a new tier catches fire.…
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Bildungsroman
“Blidungsroman.” “Coming-of-Age.” “Novel of Formation.” “Growing Up” J is 13 years old today and officially a teenager. It’s always been uncharted territory with him. He’s always been my mystery child. We’re always trying to figure out what we can do to make him comfortable and safe or what we should do to make sure he can have the best learning experiences possible. Why does he do the things he does? Why doesn’t he experience and feel the world the same way we do? But now, at 13, we’re starting a different type of uncharted territory. Our society eats up coming-of-age stories. YA stories are just dripping of wonderful, painful, angsty material. Go into any…
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Learning How To Breathe
Today the morning routine started out great. J woke up calm, ready to run, ready to eat breakfast, ready to work (middle school starts later in the morning this year, so we’re able to fit in a fair bit of studying and extra practice in the mornings). W had eaten breakfast and was dressed practicing the piano. It was all going great until 8:30, when W couldn’t find her play script and two minutes later realized that it was an orchestra day and she needed to be at school early. After a mad scramble to find her script, we packed up everything and were out the door in minutes when…
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Accepting J’s Creative Offerings
I know J’s brain is different. I know sounds bother him. There’s something about Adele’s voice (especially “Someone Like You”)—the pitch and frequency–that puts him in a sensory overload meltdown. Some textures still bother him. Even at 12 he won’t eat eggs or Jello. He still wipes his hands on his shirt because he panics when there is anything wet, sticky, or slimy on them and can’t wait the three minutes it takes to wash and clean them properly. There are a lot of things I’ve just written off with J because the coordination, talent, or patience. His brain and body don’t communicate well sometimes. He’ll never play hockey, football…
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Ape Brains and the Middle School Boy
Because we walk after school from the middle school to the high school every day, I’m getting a refresher of what the real middle school population looks like. Not the one that you see in the halls, following school rules, responsibly exchanging books from their lockers to be prepared for the next class. The population who is headed home from a long day of school, letting out that bottled energy, true colors showing. The pushing, shoving, jeering, girl flirting kind of middle school population. More specifically, the ape-brain middle school boy population. Like the kid who pushes 30 miles an hour on his moped, circling the block a few times to impress the girls…
