Aspie Mom 101

It has been a while since I have blogged and I miss it! The boys are growing up and I could not love them more. Recently a friend suggested I blog on what it is like to be raising 3 Asperger's/HF Autistic children. I really like the idea and have been mulling it over for about a week. Raising kids with needs different than the average population can be difficult, especially when they appear no different than anyone else. Then they get caught up in sticky social situations and we are all reminded of reality. Our children will most likely lead normal lives, if not a slightly more quirky than some others. We have routines, we have meltdowns that others consider poor behavior or more often poor parenting, and we recover. My life is so enriched because of our challenges and gifts. For example, I have learned to NEVER judge a parent or child in a grocery store. I have learned that the way people look at me reflects their own emotional state, not my fitness as a mother or person. I have also learned to never use the word "normal" too seriously. My normal is much different than your normal, her normal, his normal or Hollywood's normal. (Is it appropriate to use "Hollywood" and "normal" in the same sentence? Probably not...) My point is, there is "average", there is "typical", there is "sane" and there is "wacked out". It is not my place to determine what any one of these situations looks or feels like for anyone but myself, even if that person is a result of a colorful and collective gene pool half inherited from me and residing in my domicile. Perspective is everything, and I choose it everyday, but only for myself.

A few years ago I had someone reprimand me for using the words "Attention Deficit Hyperactivity" and my child's name in front of my son. She was concerned my giving him medication and talking about it was labeling him and sticking him in a box he could never recover from. Hm. I cried myself to sleep that night for just one more reason than normal. You see, a parent who cries every night of the week, puts aside all personal ambitions and dreams for the dream of healing her child, who is failing on every possible front, doesn't need one more negative, uninformed, judgement from another parent who hasn't a clue what she is going through. Needless to say, years later I have not had another conversation with that family member or any other in that part of the family about the struggles my children face. I will not call them disabilities, and I will not use them for excuses. I will insist on living in reality everyday, and I will expect the very best they have to offer. I will and DO have candid and open conversations with teachers, Principals, doctors, open hearted family and my own couple of friends who get it. I will not entertain any one eles' idea of my life as long as it includes denial, fear, profiling, judgement or soap boxes. Besides that, my kids hate bathing, and more often than not I would waste my money buying boxes of anything related to such a thing.

I live in a little place called "Reality" and I don't always like it. My reality is hard. It is built on blood, sweat and tears of six people who are doing the best they can and love each other very much in each of their own quirky and imperfect ways. It hurts, it gets messy and it gets ugly. We deal with insane amounts of pressure to perform "normally" on standardized tests, pop quizzes and homework, not to mention scouting, social events and family gatherings. Thank goodness for coming home at the end of the day where feet are smelly and mouths run off. We hug, we sing, we cry, we swear (Heaven help us!) and we pray. We pray a lot.

I have had multiple supportive friends tell me how much God must trust, love and aide our family. To be honest, I usually don't see it at the time of the conversation since I am usually in tears or a flurry, but I get it later. We are active, devoted members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Yeah, that means "Mormon" in pop culture. My husband was raised in an active, chaotic family with two parents and everyone (mostly) went to church on Sunday, earned their Eagle Scout Awards and the like, and ate dinner as a family (sometimes). My family was not like that. My mom did the best she could, just like I do. Thankfully I don't have to do it alone as I have a dedicated, amazing husband for me and a loving, determined and loyal dad for our kids. Family Home Evening is eventful, though we have finally learned not to scream at each other, touch each other, or pass gas in the middle of a spiritual thought. OK, actually one member is still working on that, and all I can tell you is it is not my husband or my 14 who could just DIE every time it happens.

So there it is. I feel better, don't know about anyone else. The great part is, I don't know that any one else will ever see this, but that is OK. Writing is therapeutic. It is so hard to get things out right in the moment between thought and word, but in writing the moment is different. It is more forgiving and more open. I am very thankful for that. I am thankful for hope, faith and prayer. I am Eternally grateful for those who loves us without judgement. I am thankful for Jesus Christ who carries me on the days I cannot take anymore. I am thankful for forgiveness which I must seek from myself, my children, my husband, and my Father in Heaven daily. I am thankful for prayer, tears, hugs, smiles and laughter. I am thankful for Charlie Brown and Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton so rocked that story!). And I am thankful to be alive. My life is a mess most of the time, but it is my mess. I get to live it and love it and choose how I see it. Some days I loose perspective and more often than not I falter. That's fine with me. Well, once I stop beating myself up, but I'm getting better about that.

What is it like to be raising 4 incredible young men with challenges and "atypical" behaviors? I don't know, it changes form moment to moment. I have learned that I am not the only one who worries if she's doing it right. I'm not the only one who cries herself to sleep, and I'm not the only one who feels like she is drowning under the weight of it all. I am just me. I am a mom of incredible children who inspire and teach me every single day. I am imperfect and very aware of that. I am also a good mom most of the time, and a well meaning, devoted mother every second of every day. I mess up and I do my best to fix it. I ask for and give forgiveness regularly. Most of all, I am blessed. I won't give up more than a few minutes out of every day, and I wont take crap. That's not true, I take crap. I find the truth in it, shed a few tears if it hurts enough, and then I move on. I can't even understand my life some days, how can I be hard on someone else whose closest association with autism is an obscure relative or another friend's kid? I live and breathe it everyday, and I don't regret it. I love my sons and they love me. My husband is my hero and my rock. We are getting through growing up one moment at a time and we are better for it. No regrets.