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Meeting the Educational Needs of Aspies

January 5, 2013 By Leave a Comment

At the school where I work, we are seeing an increasing number of kids with special needs – kids with Aspergers in particular. The rate of autism diagnosis is increasing exponentially.

According to statistics on the Autism Society website:

  • 1 percent of the population of children in the U.S. ages 3-17 have an autism spectrum disorder
  • 1 to 1.5 million Americans live with an autism spectrum disorder
  • Fastest-growing developmental disability; 1,148% growth rate

At that rate, we are going to continue to see kids entering our school and trying to cope in a “normal” private school environment. My son, now 16, was able to survive at the school through 5th grade but it got more and more difficult as he advanced. The issues were mostly social but he also had some academic issues. Like many kids with Aspergers, he had other learning challenges like memory issues and a disability in written communication. These challenges can be hard for a teacher to deal with in a classroom of 14, 18 or 25 kids, even if that teacher is a loving, gifted educator.

One reason we decided to homeschool was that most of the private schools in the area didn’t have resources to deal with Daniel’s needs and the one that did was extraordinarily expensive. Since Daniel was overwhelmed in a small classroom, we knew that the large class size in public school wouldn’t be a good fit for him. Our third option, homeschooling, meant that we would have to sacrifice some special services but we would be able to cater his learning to his learning styles and abilities.

I think any of the options would have pros and cons and each parent has to decide which is best at the time for his child. But I wonder how our culture will cope with the increasing educational and therapeutic needs of these kids. Can we have enough loving special educators or training for parents or services? What demands will this place on parents – both those who homeschool and those who don’t?

The statistics also said that 56% of kids on the autism spectrum will drop out of high school. I wonder if my son would be one of those kids – frustrated and depressed – if we had stayed in “regular” school.

Whether your community has lots of options for children with special needs or very few options, much prayer is a requirement for deciding what is best for your child. And, much prayer and thought will be a requirement for our society as we seek to address the needs of our children and our teachers. We want our kids to be loved, happy, and able to function at their maximum ability level – to the glory of God.

~ Brooke

Filed Under: Asperger, Autism, Homeschool, school, Special Education, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

My Graduating Senior

December 27, 2012 By 1 Comment

Some events, at least in our life with autism, get recorded here before they are 24 hours old. They are poignant, heart-stopping, amazing or disappointing, and I share my immediate reactions.

But some take time to process, even the good ones. I have been in tears, mixed with wonder and awe and humility, since December 7, and it’s time to share.

My autistic son Dan (HFA, not Asperger’s), who has been in special ed since he was 3 years old, SUCCESSFULLY PASSED his last state-mandated exam on his third try to earn a STANDARD diploma when he graduates from high school in June.

This is the kid who for years threw screaming tantrumming fits when he didn’t want to go somewhere, or for any other reason, like trying to get him to eat a different flavor yogurt than strawberry.

This is the kid who stared at the clock, obviously exhausted, waiting to go to sleep because it wasn’t bedtime yet.

This is my son, who recently wrote a letter to Regis Philbin asking him to be his mentor on his journey to become a gameshow host (nothing heard yet).

The same son we took to court for guardianship proceedings a couple of short months ago.

My son, who has had speech therapy, physical therapy, family therapy, ABA, RDI, one-on-one para support, and co-taught classes, sat down in front of a computer by his lonesome, answered the questions, and demonstrated the acquisition of knowledge required by the Commonwealth of Virginia to get the same diploma everyone else is getting at graduation.

WOW. I never would have thought. If we had known, would we have worked so hard? If we hadn’t worked so hard, would it have come to be? We literally did not know if he even had the ability to pull this off. We had hope, since he was only 2 points from passing the last time he took it. But, as I’ve said before, Reading Comprehension (inferencing, predictions) is one of the core deficits of autism. How much of this could actually be taught? We got our answer in spades, when he needed a score of 400 to pass, and got 442. Amazing.

Don’t give up the ship. Keep working hard. Bombard heaven with your prayers and those of everyone else you can enlist. You’ll be glad you gave it your last ounce of effort, no matter the outcome. As Dan quotes often from a favorite movie, “It could happen!”

 

Danz Mom ~ Peggy

Filed Under: Autism, Parenting, school, Uncategorized

Fear and Trembling

December 20, 2012 By 1 Comment

I can’t remember the last time I was afraid. Nervous? Yes. Anxious? Regularly. But nervous and anxious are not the same as that white-hot void in your stomach that materializes when your future is on the cusp of changing for the worse; when your very life hangs in the balance. It’s been some time since I’ve felt that.

When I was 22, I spent a few months between college and law school working a mindless retail job at the mall. One night, during Christmas of that year, I was working a double shift until close. It was well after 11 pm when I got into my dad’s borrowed car in a vacant parking lot to go home.

“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.” Luke 2: 8-9

That night, I was over-tired, under-slept, and footsore. In an attempt to save time on my commute, I took a short cut that led me through a wooded area, near the state park. Fast forward to the current day. I’ve recently been issued a citation in the amount of $160 for doing 67 mph in a posted 45 mph zone, so I needn’t tell you that my foot is more lead than flesh, and that on the night in question I wasn’t adhering to posted speed limits. (A proclivity for fast things extends into other areas of my life, as in my riding for example, wherein my trainer has been known to scream, “Slow down! You’re going to kill yourself!!”) On that winter’s night, I may have been doing upwards of 80 mph. The music was up and the windows were down as I struggled to stay awake. I came barreling down the unlit, rural road, and hit my brights.

That’s when I saw it.

Directly in my path – not more than 25 feet in front of me – was a solid line of trees. Not saplings, or skinny birches, mind you. But a stand of meaty, ancient pines with large grey trunks and roots the circumference of duct work. I know, because I got close enough to practically kiss them.

The curve in the road that I had entirely missed had been marked off with a single reflector, and that single reflector hadn’t done me any good at 80 mph. My first thought was, “I will never hear the end of it if I total my dad’s car!” And then, for the first time in my life, I had this thought:

“I might actually die.”

THAT was my first encounter with true fear.

I’d like to think it was my cat-like reflexes that motivated the following thought pattern. If I slammed on the brakes, I would either (1) skid out and hit the trees passenger side first, (2) not gain enough brake leverage to stop in time to avoid a head-on collision with the trees, or (3) some combination of (1) and (2). So, I slammed on the brakes while banking hard to the left in the opposite direction. I had no idea what was to the left of the car, but I was turning there at about 60 mph.

What was to the left was a sedan carrying a couple who had no idea I was about to do a bumper-car spin-out into their driver side quarter panel. And then the clock hands started to slow, and I saw in perfect clarity what I see even now writing this – the glasses and the brown hair of the car’s driver, and the face of his passenger as she began to turn in my direction, no doubt prompted by the headlights shining into her ear. I saw the red tail light of their passing car and then the Ford logo as it pulled away, and I ground to a halt directly behind it.  My head hit the head rest, my bags fell to the floor, the car rocked on its suspension.

But I was alive.

I can think of no other explanation for surviving this kind of a close-call, than that the Lord had physically interjected his hand between the car, the trees, and the passing Ford. I am an awful driver, and an even worse magician. Close-calls like that aren’t just lucky, they’re divinely directed.

“But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.’” Luke 2:10

Do not be afraid.

Apparently the sister who booked herself a double shift during the Christmas shopping season, just to get a little extra scratch and nearly killed her tired, speeding self on the way home thought she could thumb her nose at fear. Then, fear showed her a finger of its own.

Fear – real, suffocating, pit-of-your stomach fear is about the worst feeling in the world. What I hate most about what happened in Newtown, CT at Sandy Hook Elementary is that those children and their teachers were afraid. Afraid in an “I might actually die” way. Afraid like a band of mutton-stinking shepherds when the pitch-black sky burst open and a voice from heaven like a sonic boom cried, “Do not be afraid!” kind of way.

(Footnote: I will save any discussion about the failure of the mental health system in America for a later time. For my part, I do not believe that the Sandy Hook tragedy was wholly due to laxness in American gun control.)

But now my fear, the real kind that makes you want to puke if you weren’t turning the wheel so fast, is what happens to those children who grow up to be Adam Lanza. His was a complex psychological picture and by every account, he was severely mentally ill. His handicaps were invisible. Among his many disabilities was an autism spectrum diagnosis – a diagnosis which the media has used as a lightning rod to establish debate between mental health pundits on whether or not the diagnosis gave Adam a penchant for anti social – and more specifically, violent – behaviors.

The white-hot fear I have now is for my children.

I find that fear is a more regular visitor now that I have children, and my heart walks around outside myself in the form of three blonde children who grew their tiny bodies just under my own ribcage.

I have a son with an autism spectrum diagnosis, with ADHD, with OCD, and with Oppositional Defiance disorder. I have another who may have epilepsy, who was recently described by our neurologist as “severely ADHD”, and who, in conjunction with the foregoing, seems to be expressing some severe behavioral problems that might point to something even more darkly complex. What happens to my boys when they grow up?

I am trembling just a little bit.

“’Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’ Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.’” (Luke 2:11-14)

Fear has an effective way of forcing us to listen. When your heart temporarily stops, it’s a great way to get your ears to work. Like when a great company of angels begins a chorus loud enough to strip the wool off the sheep and you think, maybe the baby in the barn might be worth investigating after all.

I am listening to my children. I am watching them closely. I am calling our neurologist and booking appointments at a lightning pace. We are even more motivated now – Matt and I. We refuse to be a statistic or a news story. We remember the place of purity from which our children began their lives, and we remember the One who provided it.  He is the same One who will protect them as they grow, and reward the diligence of the parents who’ve been entrusted to shepherd them. Though we continue to endure close-calls, our family’s path is, and always has been divinely directed.

There is no greater job than to parent these children, and we are privileged to have it. Remembering that helps the fear to fade. I get to take care of these three. What a gift. No matter what their ICD-9 codes are.

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)

For now, when I’m feeling a tad more rational and I’ve turned off the coverage of the Sandy Hook funerals and the days at school are uneventful with no disciplinary notices smashed deep in the bottom of backpacks, I tuck the fear back into a quiet chamber of my heart, to ponder it for another day when I am feeling less brave. And even then, it will be okay.  Because the baby in the manger made sure it would be.

Sarah

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, Challenge, Christmas, Diagnosis, God's presence, growth, mental illness, school, Uncategorized

Venti (Twenty)

November 8, 2012 By Leave a Comment

I’m sitting in Starbucks as I write this, and feel compelled to share it only because it differs in large margin from where I normally write. Where I normally write is in the corner of my bedroom, on a desk barely large enough to contain my few writing implements and resource books. I write mostly in my pajamas.

Right now, I feel like a duck in a hen house.

This place is crawling with Audi-driving hipsters. They are the wives and well-dressed babies of local dermatologists. They are the partners of large law firms recently off their fox hunts. They are software neophytes (venti-something’s) who’ve biked here from their cavernous, video-gaming offices up the street.

They chitter with each other, coo over their babies, read the Times. They order their lattes to a certain temperature. One hundred and forty for this one, 135 for the other. I cannot tell the difference. Mostly, I’m just content to burn my tongue a little and then wait until it cools off. They order with certain panache, coming to the counter with a confidence that eliminates the need to even scan the menu board. They order their “regulars.” They are identified by name by the baristas.

What I am doing? I am scanning the American Bar Association homepage, and trying to figure out if it’s worth spending $150 to order a CD rom that provides a comprehensive overview of special education law so that I can continue to track Noah’s highly specialized educational entitlements. The Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004 (IDEA) requires that school districts provide disabled individuals with a “free and appropriate education” (FAPE). My husband and I have recently spent quite a few hours (venti, or more) meeting and corresponding with our local elementary school in a novel attempt to develop a service plan for Noah who – though he does not attend school there, but attends instead a private Christian school over the line in Pennsylvania – is still entitled to a “FAPE.” This means we have to act as though he is attending the local Maryland school, turn over our health care records and assessments for Noah, request they develop a service plan for him based on the documentation, decline the service plan because we plan to utilize it at another school, and then take the formal findings and plan to the Christian school where Noah attends in order that they might have access to government funding that will help them provide specialized materials and services for Noah.

Did you get all that?

THIS is what I’m doing in Starbucks this morning, sitting next to my venti coffee.

And then a lovely, freckle faced mother sits down next to me. She wears no makeup. Her belly is still swollen from recent birth. She sees either the safety of an understanding face in mine, or just an empty seat, but she places a portable baby carrier on the counter we share. Inside, is a mewing, spider-fingered two week old named Jack. I ask her about him. I tell her he is beautiful and that she should cherish every moment of his small-ness. I reminisce to her about my own Noah and how, while he was never truly small (nine pounds at his arrival, no less), he is bigger now than I ever could have imagined.

I am sometimes mired in the steps of our journey, and seeing this woman, misty eyed with infatuation for her newborn, brings me back to where we began, before I needed to research things like educational entitlements. Jack has a baby smell, and I am taken back to afternoons nursing Noah in our white glider, looking out over the backyard, listening to a disc of lullabies. I remember what it felt like to tear up for pure joy, carrying a heart I thought would break under the strain of perfect happiness.

I smile, and tickle Jack’s foot, and wish his mother all the best. Then I turn back to my computer, sipping my venti coffee, and logging another hour of research on Noah’s behalf because soon, he will be venti, too.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Challenge, Contentment, Family, Gratitude, Journey, learning disabilities, school, Uncategorized

There is a Time for Everything

November 6, 2012 By Leave a Comment

I have always loved this passage from Ecclesiastes 3:

1 There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven-

2 A time to give birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.

3 A time to kill and a time to heal; A time to tear down and a time to build up.

4 A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.

5 A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.

6 A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away.

7 A time to tear apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak.

8 A time to love and a time to hate; A time for war and a time for peace.

As we are in this particular season of our lives I feel like I should add another “time” for my son. It would be something like this, “A time to do your school work and a time to study; A time to learn and a time to reinforce what you have learned.” What he wishes it said was, “A time to rest and watch movies; A time to be carefree and a time to enjoy your free time.” But, as we struggle to keep up with current homework and turn in past due assignments that time is not now…there is no “free time.”

It is a difficult transition from childhood to the responsibility of young adulthood and not one that has been made easily by our Aspie. He enjoys playing and doesn’t enjoy the confines of school work and studying. After spending seven hours of his day in school, he doesn’t want to come home and spend three more hours sitting with textbooks open in front of him. I can’t say I blame him. I often think, if he can just get through high school (and now add to that college—whatever that is going to look like), then he can find a job that will be perfectly suited to his disposition.

So, I go back to this passage and trust God. There IS a time for everything. Right now is the time for school. As painful as it may be for both of us at times, we will make it through. When it is time for college, we will trust Him to guide us in the right path. When it is time for Stephen to find a job, we will trust God to provide for him then, in the appointed time.

~Louise

 

Filed Under: Asperger, Parenting, school, Trust, Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

Ugh! One Quarter Almost Down

October 2, 2012 By Leave a Comment

(My son is mainstreamed in the 10th Grade at an Academic Magnet School. He has Asperger Syndrome.)

This is the last week of the current quarter for my son’s school. That means that all of the sudden grades are popping up on the grading web site because teachers have to get them in before the end of the grading period. It also means there are lots of things due, reports, tests, notes, labs, you name it, it is due—or past due, meaning zeros are appearing. Last week we spent doing the “what homework do you have?” “I have thus and such in this class and I think I have this and that and something was due last week that I need to talk to my teacher about” dance that we do. (Those were not his exact words, but you get the idea of the vagueness of his answers.)

This year we are experiencing his first AP class, which he has about decided was a huge mistake because it is a lot of reading and taking notes on the reading. We anticipated that it would be heavy on the reading, but did not know that he would have to take notes on his reading and be graded on his note taking—which because of his Asperger’s is extremely difficult. (The conversation goes like this; I say, ‘read and write down what you think is important.’ Stephen says ‘then I’d be writing everything because I think everything is important!’)

But back to the dance we do. So every day I ask him if he talked to his teacher(s). No, he says, there wasn’t time, or she wasn’t there, or I don’t know what to say to her. There it is. I think he hit the nail on the head with the last statement, or at least he is close to it. When Stephen wants to talk to me about something he asks if I will come to his room to talk. We spend a long time chit chatting. Finally I can usually get him around to the point of what he wanted to talk to me about. It is difficult for him to talk to me and I am his mother…how much harder is it for him to approach his teachers when he doesn’t know what their reaction is going to be?

So here we are in the last week of the quarter. Stephen has a boat-load of work to do. I am heading out of town for two days for a family funeral. What’s the bright side? Friday is the first day of Fall Break and this quarter will be over one way or the other! One down, three more to go!

Thanks for letting me vent!

Louise

 

Filed Under: Asperger, Parenting, school Tagged With: , ,

Cut up, Personality

September 27, 2012 By 1 Comment

Kids with Asperger’s Syndrome (AS) are often identified by their stilted social interactions and inability to assimilate. They “belong” to this disability by notably setting themselves outside the circle of human interactions. But because autism is a “spectrum” of disorders, some AS kids actually prove, in certain situations, to be quite the opposite. These children are clowning, attention-seeking natural performers. My Noah is of the latter type.

Just recently, at a recital during Grandparent’s Day at our school, my eight year old extended a(n un-choreographed) set of jazz hands, and faked a vibrato so loud I thought he was channeling Judy Garland. The audience tittered with laughter, and of course, that was all the encouragement he needed to up his shtick. Noah can be stilted in one-on-one interactions, naturally. This is most true in groups of people with whom he doesn’t regularly associate. But get him in front of an audience, and everyone becomes a friend.

Our home is his vastest studio. Our piano is for his masterpieces (including “Flowers and Blooming” and “Nightime in China,” two of his current compositions). Our largest serving spoon is his microphone. His costumes are his daily wear. His bedroom – a blank slate for his displays.

(Noah, wearing his “protective gloves” and high-waisted pj’s at bedtime. This is his “old man with germophobia” routine.)

(A wall in Noah’s bedroom displaying a Mario Brothers 2 theme – it is flanked on the other side by an Angry Birds poster. Both are essential to displaying his interests (read: obsessions), and he applied them each with piece after piece (after tiny piece!) of vertically-arranged (and assuredly essential!) Scotch tape.  God help me when I take them down.  See also my previous post on the essence of his displays and how they represent Noah’s personality.)

Noah, as a natural mimic with an exceptional memory, often spouts bits of dialogue and comedy he’s taken from television and movies. He’s learned, through observation and practice, when to insert them at the right time. (This is, by the way, not a natural Aspie trait, as they have difficulty with socially-appropriate and/or well-timed dialogue.)

“Noah – there are shavings all over your bedroom floor! Did you take the guinea pig out again?!” “I tried mom, but it was too risky.”

After a day at school – “Look you’re probably going to be pretty proud of me about this, but I got my own Bible today. And it’s not just any Bible. It’s a HOLY Bible.”

“I am the King of all Crusades!”

Communion at church? Followed by an infamous, “Mmmm! Refreshments!”

Noah is learnedly hilarious. There is a large personality lurking behind that awkward exterior of his. And when it’s out, I’m taken aback by the effort he’s exercised to incorporate himself appropriately into the everyday social milieu. He’s done everything he can to bring himself in, to be a part of the lives of those around him, not circling the periphery like so many with Asperger’s do. And this reminds me to thank him for being a cut-up, and for his magnificent personality.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Family, humor, school, Social skills, Uncategorized

At the Ready

August 23, 2012 By Leave a Comment

What strangeness must fill one’s life, to be at all times perched on the edge of action. How exhausting it must be for those whose disability can be defined by anxiety, for they are always vigilant, always striving, never at rest. How very tired my Noah must be.

Noah has taken to locking his door at night – a habit I despise, because, as I’ve told him, I can’t get to him in a hurry. He is a “hider,” and a trickster. And it’s not beyond him to lock his door for the sheer petulance of it as he snickers to himself from under the bed. More recently, this habit is a defense against his brother’s nighttime wanderings. Jesse’s preferred destination at 2 a.m. is Noah’s top bunk – with his head mashed into Noah’s ribcage. To say this annoys Noah might be like saying the Titanic was a dingy with an ice cube problem.

Today was the first day of school for Noah and Grace. I went to Noah’s room where, as per usual, the door was locked. With Matt traveling, garbage to take out, dogs to be fed, and three kids to get dressed and out the door, I was in no mood for it. My light tapping was replaced with heavy pounding and a caution about all manner of privileges that could be lost if he didn’t open up RIGHT THAT INSTANT!

Noah came bleary-eyed to the door in a rumpled school uniform.

“Noah – you’re dressed already?”

“Yeah. I slept in my clothes last night. I was worried we were going to be late.”

Noah was at the ready. Preparation was his defense against being caught unaware, of having to “catch up,” of losing the blessings that might be present in a more serene morning. Noah’s readiness protected him (and his mother) from a tardy slip. Ordinarily, I would instruct him that he shouldn’t have to be uncomfortable to ensure our promptness, and that the nighttime uniform was unnecessary. Today, I breathed a quiet sigh of gratitude. He’d actually helped our family get ahead.

Noah’s anxiety is a torment to him – and to us as his parents. He cannot let down. Someday, we will find a more effective solution to easing his ongoing angst about everything from choosing the wrong ice cream flavor to losing his Nintendo game cartridges. But from his preparations today, came this reminder: “You also must be ready all the time, for the Son of Man will come when least expected.” (Luke 12:40)(NLT). I need not be anxious (Philippians 4:6), but I ought not to be lax, either. I get one shot. What comes after this life is what I’m really prepping for.

Knowing it fuels Noah’s anxiety, I will prevent this kind of pajama game as much as possible in the future. Unless I think I might be very, very late. Then I will lay out his uniform, tell him to wear what he wants to bed, and close the door with a wink.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, Parenting, school, Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

Time to Think about College?

August 21, 2012 By 1 Comment

Andrew outside his dorm building

It has been a big weekend in our household. We took our second oldest to college. It wasn’t a big move, mind you. He will now be living 20 minutes away from home in a dorm. Less than ten minutes from his dad’s office. They already have lunch plans for Thursday. But, he has moved out just the same.

It was strange those first couple of nights going to bed knowing he wasn’t home and not leaving the porch light on for him. It is odd seeing his empty room every time I pass by going up or down the stairs. He is planning to come home on weekends to wash clothes, so I know I’ll see him frequently, but it is still such a rite of passage for him to be officially not living in our house any more. We are now a household of four (down from seven at our highest point) and I’m still adjusting.

Even though Stephen is only a sophomore in high school now, all of this has caused us to start thinking ahead to when it is time for him to head to college. Change is so difficult for him because he has Asperger’s Syndrome and anxiety. It takes him much longer to make decisions — big ones and little ones and he wants to make sure that he is making the right decisions (I can empathize because I agonize over decisions as well). And then, after the decision is made it takes longer for him to adapt to change.

I can see that it would be beneficial to create a plan that involves making advance visits to the college campus to:

  • talk with professors in his field of interest
  • check out the living situation (if he would be living on campus)
  • take a tour of the campus
  • explore the campus life and activities on our own

While school visits of this sort were not as important to our older son in selecting a college, I can see where they would be of immeasurable importance to Stephen in helping him and us make a decision about where he would want to spend his undergraduate years. And the time to start thinking about such things is now. Well, maybe not now, but maybe after he finishes his Geometry and English homework….

Then again, maybe I should do some homework and find the schools that are more receptive to students with AS and that might narrow down our search a bit. There are even schools that offer programs for students to live on-campus for a brief time during the summer between their high school junior and senior years. If you have had any good experiences in the whole college search process while dealing with AS (or other LDs, for that matter), please feel free to pass them along. Maybe together we can create an ongoing resource for parents of colleges and universities with programs and services for students with particular learning disabilities and differences.

Louise

 

Filed Under: Asperger, Change, college, Parenting, school Tagged With: , ,

Back to School?

August 15, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Most posts I see at this time of year are about Back to School. As I was telling the children that I couldn’t focus in the chaos of everyone being home, I realized that I am truly just trying to survive my way through the summer. How much of my time is spent surviving until something changes? Maybe too much of the time. Sometimes I am intentional in the time that I have with my children but not always. It is hard to be “on top of my game” constantly and I like to have some down time as well.

Unlike most of the women who are posting about feeling teary at the thought of their children going back to school, I am looking forward to it. I love my children but their hidden disabilities make it hard to accomplish much when they are all home. I am so glad on the first day of school that I can have some clear headed moments and large blocks of time to tackle necessary tasks. Or even just to have my thoughts to myself and be able to string thoughts and ideas together without interruptions.

Contrast these thoughts to my thoughts in June when I was excited to have my children home for the summer. Visions of sleeping in and relaxed breakfasts with more time to cuddle filled my mind. Plans to experience activities together have been overshadowed by “I don’t want to go”, “She’s bugging me”, “She’s hitting me”, “She’s got my _____”, “He’s pulling my hair”, “We never get to do what I want to do”, “I’m tired”, “STOP IT”. Then there is my personal favorite “It’s not fair” followed by my response “Life’s not fair. Get over it. The sooner you realize that the happier you will be.”  And not to forget “Please get out of my head and let me think my own thoughts.”  I remember why I look forward to September. It is all of the above that inspires the celebration of the first day of school.

Please don’t judge me.  I feel bad enough about having these thoughts and emotions.   I just wanted to be brutally honest about the state of my life on a rough day.

~ Twyla

Filed Under: Confession, Expectations, Family, Parenting, school, summer
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