It’s one of those great times in life where everything converges on the household.  Mostly smallish things, but all at once.  It started last week with our annual Fall party.  Planned for 40 people outside, but thanks to torrential downpours, only 20 showed up and we moved it inside.  The bright side – I know I plan well, because we had exactly half the food left over.

This week – Kate’s first field trip to a petting zoo.  Again rained out, but we were ready for it, and I got to console a sad little girl before school.  Since I had blocked the day off, I went to volunteer in Jon’s class.  Yesterday I had to remember to put Jon’s library book in his backpack.  You would think that wouldn’t be difficult, but it’s one of those nice little things my mind blocks out.  Then weekly Kindergarten lunch duty, but with Halloween around the corner, the kids were more wild than usual.  One kid hit another girl, but since I didn’t see it, I gave them the good old, “Stop with the blame.  I understand that he hit you, so now just both of you, keep your hands to yourself.”  In reality, I totally believed the girl, but what could I do?  Later, a boy was crying because the same kid twisted his arm, so I told the Kindergarten aide my portion of the story.  The boy was sent to the Principal’s office.  Fun times in Kindergarten.

Today a run to Target, Food Pantry Friday, and two Halloween parties at school and the parade.  Keep your fingers crossed for Jon and his feelings about costumes, schedule changes, and commotion.  Tomorrow, of course, Halloween.

I’ve survived.  As long, of course, as I remember that Monday is Green Day at school and dress the kids appropriately.

Elementary school is much harder than I remember.  Whining session over.

Now, the Award comes with some conditions, conditions I can absolutely live with.  

- Put the Lemonade logo on your blog or within your post.
- Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude or gratitude.
- Link the nominees within your post.
- Let the nominees know they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
- Share the love and link to the person from whom you received this award.

I love this.  I just received a mandate to stay positive.  What a great way to start the week!

So, with great honor and humility, I would like to present this award to the following bloggers:

thefutureisred Leigh and I met one particularly snarky day on a different site.  I was just in the planning stages of JonsRoom, and asked her if she’d like to write content.  Thanks to a tight budget, nothing actually came of that.  Months later we met again on the same site, which is amazing when you think about it, because on that site all posters are anonymous.  Leigh has become a friend and mentor. Check her out – her blog, mainly travel but also her insights on life, are wonderful.

Spectrum Siblings  Cale, a college student, has Asperger Syndrome, a brother with autism, and helps care for a few young kids with autism.  He writes from experience and observation and thoroughly researches his topics.  His blog is informational and helps us explore what special needs kids might be feeling.

Health Care ASAP  Linda is a new blogger with a great focus.  Even though she’s new, I feel it’s important to get behind healthcare reform NOW.  Linda wants to know what YOU think about various issues, and she’s asking on JonsRoom also.  Let’s see if we can’t have some actual input in healthcare reform!  Oh, and if you want to be REALLY scared for Halloween, check out the replies to Linda’s latest post, The Kindness of Strangers.

Manic Mother  Just read it.  Her tagline:  “Mania, Motherhood, Marriage, and Everything In Between”.  Personal struggles, a two year-old who is “a really bad ass & fighting cancer” and great photography.  Powerful stuff.  Just read it.  And you might want to bring some tissues.

Following Faye  Faye is a single mother of three young children, medical student, autism mother, and she STILL finds time to blog.  Huh.  If all that’s not inspirational enough, she also attacks it all with a sense of humor.

Faemom  Fae has two small sons and a baby on the way.  Her older son is full of great insights and wisdom, that is, for a kid in the primary grades.  Funny and sweet.  Also check out her other blog, Faemom Crafts for some really good ideas for the kiddos.

Education on the Plate  The author of this blog is a special education teacher.  Educators are near and dear to my heart.  My father, my brother, and several other family members are teachers.  Without Kate’s loving and attentive preschool and Kindergarten teachers, she’d still be in her “my-brother-has-autism-so-I-don’t-know-how-to-act-around-typical-kids” shell.  And Jon’s teachers?  If you’ve read my blog, you’ve seen how I feel about special ed teachers and teachers who take in inclusion students.  ‘Nuff said.

Autism is not the Boss  PDD-NOS mom Mae is, among other things, a volunteer parent mentor and quiet advocate for people with disabilities.   She helps us remember that it’s not impossible to enjoy family life with autism in the mix.  My current favorite entries are A mom think tank for autism? and “Don’t Cry Mom.  I’m With You.”

Can I Sit With You?  Remember Jr. High?  Or was I the only kid with social awkwardness?  And thinking about my kids living through it, especially Jon, makes me cringe.  Can I Sit With You?  is a selection of entries that address childhood social anxiety.  It’s also a fundraising blog, so click on those ads and contribute to SEPTAR, a PTA for special needs children and their families.

Science-Based Parenting  I can’t help it, I like science.  Skeptic Dad is a calm voice in a conspiracy theory-based storm.  Whether you agree with him or not, it’s a good read.

And there you have it, some of my top reads for the moment.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

I’m not picking on the teacher, here.  I’m glad she called.  She’s an experienced teacher.  When friends ask who Jon’s teacher is and I tell them “Mrs. M”, they tell me how lucky we are.  We have a good relationship, and Jon likes her.  She just didn’t know if Jon would freak out if she put her fingers in his mouth to pull out the mysterious substance.  I hadn’t started working yet, so I hopped in the car and drove the mile to the school to check it out.  Of course, by the time I got there, the green was gone.  I expect it must have worked itself out in the “end”.

I only tell this story to illustrate the life of a special needs mom.   Honestly, I think nothing of it anymore.  I consider myself a “typical” mom, and then once in a while, something like this happens, and I realize that my life is different.  A little more labor-intensive, I guess.

What does this mean to my life?  I don’t really know, as Jon was my first, so this has always been my life as a mom.  My friends noticed well before I did, but many of them were hesitant to mention it when they first saw it.  I eventually heard statements such as “You put more effort into parenting than anyone I’ve met,” and “Well, Jon always was a little more “difficult” than the rest of the kids in playgroup.”  Neither of these, in the context of the specific conversations, was offensive, but they made me stop and think. 

I guess my experiences have given me a different perspective.  I secretly laugh when I hear parents stressing about their children’s schedules, how difficult it is to travel with kids, or even their homework.  I don’t LOL, partly because that would be extremely rude, but mainly because their reality is different, just different, than mine.  Not their fault, certainly not mine. 

So this is what I really think about when I get these unexpected calls from school.  Do I wish I could have the same worries as the other parents?  Honestly, no, I don’t think I do.  Not that I want Jon to have autism, of course.  It’s just that the autism has taught me not to sweat the small stuff.  I guess that’s something.

The league encourages sibling participation, and Kate was excited and ready to go.  Jon was excited until we walked around the school to the field and he saw the chaos.  Jon stood behind the coach, so I moved him around front for a better view.   That was my biggest mistake.  Jon stood where he stood for a reason.   He could see and copy the coach’s stretches from behind, and he was comfortable there, a little away from the crowd.  I moved him for my own reasons, to see him participating in the way that *I* thought was right.  Jon got agitated, and when the stretching was over and they started running, he refused.

Eventually I took him to the side to watch.  Jon and another girl started kicking a ball around, and they had fun.  It wasn’t the fun they were supposed to have, but it was fun.  Kate was having a great time.  After it was over, we went for a cookie, ran into friends, and the kids ran around for awhile while I had adult conversation.  So all in all, it’s been a good day.

Now I think I need to turn this over to you all.  Do we go back next week?  Even if Jon wants to participate, I’m not sure that he’ll understand the game.  And if he doesn’t ever want to join in?  If we stay on the sideline and watch, will it make him want to play, or be demoralizing?

How hard do we  push our kids, when they can’t tell us what they want?  If we hadn’t pushed Jon in school, he’d never be doing so well in inclusion.  But how hard do we push?  Can we really extrapolate participation in a soccer league to participation in life?

I can’t get the images out of my head.  Jon, just barely able to sit up, laughing with me about nothing, a full, rich laugh.  Jon running around Golden Gate Park in pure joy, climbing up and down stairs in the Conservatory of Flowers.  Jon running ahead of me the full mile to the playground, hitting the equipment with all his might, and passing out face down in the sand.  Jon running circles around Kate’s bouncy seat, and Kate squealing with delight everytime he came into view. 

Then came the autism diagnosis that rocked our world.  All of a sudden, we’re stuck in the house for 30 hours/week while Jon receives intensive ABA therapy.  That means that Kate is in, also, and rarely interacts with other typically-developing children.   Kate and I try to hide away from the therapist so as not to cause a distraction, but it’s a small apartment.  We pretty much permanently move to my bedroom, where there’s not too much to do but watch TV.  My energy is drained at this point, anyway, and I’m not a great playmate.  We’ve already been trekking across town for speech therapy once per week, but  now we squeeze in another session. 

Then Jon starts preschool, and for four hours per day Kate and I are free to be us.  We window shop, playground hop, and eat cookies at our favorite bakery.  But Kate is still shy around the typically-developing kids, and I’m still tense and on edge about everything.

Things do improve.  Now we’re back in Maryland, in a great school district, with Jon in 1st grade and Kate in Kindergarten.  I have more time to work on JonsRoom, write, attend autism society meetings, volunteer at school and PTA, and to look for some type of  “gainful employment” after eight years at home.

I can’t help but long for a life without autism for Jon and for my family.  But since that is not a possibility, I try to enjoy what I have: a beautiful family, home, friends, and an accepting community.  A husband sitting next to me who doesn’t question why I sniffle as I write this, but supports and helps me every step of the way.  Children who love each other and try their hardest at everything they do. 

My mother was right in her comment on my last post, Apology to My Mother.  The good memories linger.

You know what?  Screw the autism.  My life is pretty damn near perfect, and I need to remember that.

Why?  Kate has turned into mini-me.  So, so sorry, Mom.

The whining:  “Why do I have to pick out my own clothes EVERY day?”  Of course, she didn’t like what I picked out for her, either.

The stomping away when I tell her to go get dressed.

The arguing:  “Wait Kate, you have something on your face.”  “No, I don’t.”  “Kate, I’m LOOKING at you, and there is something on your face.”

And that’s just this morning.

Mom, feel free to laugh out loud now.  In fact, feel free to call and laugh.  I deserve it.

I called the week before school started to see if I could bring Jon to meet the teachers and see his classroom.  Sure, they said.  When we got there, it was not only Jon’s teachers, but also the therapists, related arts teachers, the vice principal, the 1:1 aides, and I’m sure I’ve left someone out (sorry if you’re reading this and I didn’t mention you).  Could they possibly care more about making this work for everyone?  I guess they could.  Maybe they won’t let me know what’s going on, or if he’s having a rough day…

Wait, we’d already scheduled a follow-up meeting on Wednesday after school.  A few less people at this one, but the behaviorist came (after observing Jon in action), and the principal came also.  And we’ll have these meetings at least once a month.  They wanted to know what “makes Jon, Jon”.  What he likes, what motivates him, what gives him trouble, what could cause an outburst.  And, of course, how to help the peers.

Most of the peers have not had much exposure to autism.  The teacher told me that she had a quick talk with them when Jon went to the bathroom on the first day.  After that, strange looks pretty much stopped, and kids started trying to figure Jon out, when to help him, when to hang back, and how to play with him.

And the kicker?  Jon is doing well!  The daily notes are positive, but also realistic.  Of course there have been some disruptions, and I’m glad to know about them.  But the kid who gets off the bus is happy and relaxed.  I couldn’t ask for much more.  Phew.

Once upon a time, there was a wonderful grandfather named William Larue Hall.  He Loved (with a capital “L”) his family.   He and my grandmother (also a wonderful woman, but this post is not about her) lived with us when I was born, and moved to a new house a mile away before I turned one.  My brother and I stayed with them a lot, in the summers and occasional overnights.  We had Sunday lunch at their house every week.  Needless to say, my grandparents had a huge impact on my life.

Pop was a butcher, and always tried to get us to eat things like tongue.  He always teased/threatened to pull our loose teeth with either a string and a doorknob, or a pair of plyers.  For whatever reason, he had screwdrivers in drawers in almost every room in the house, but he could never find one.  He said things like “You’re a good girl, no matter what anyone else says” and “I’m just sayin’, s’all” and used words like “ornery”.  He came to every graduation, play, choral concert, band concert, and athletic event of every grandchild except the four who lived in Texas.  As he grew older, he mixed up our names, but to be fair, he had over 40 grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  As he got older, he also got colon cancer.

I lived 3 hours away from my family then, and Steve lived 3000 miles from me.  I flew one time each month from Maryland to California to see Steve, and he flew back once a month also.  The other two weekends I drove up to see Pop.  He told me stories of being a teen during prohibition – you could always buy moonshine for a nickle somewhere in town.  Before I ever knew I’d be going, he asked me when I was going to move to California to be with Steve.  But he soon got weaker, and was moved home for hospice care.

I was there one weekend when it became clear that his death was very near.  Pop knew.  He called each of us to his bedside and spoke to us privately.  All he wanted to know from me was if I “would be OK”.  Of course I would, Pop, of course I would.  Don’t worry about me.

I was supposed to meet Steve in Chicago the next weekend for his college reunion.  My parents urged me not to change my plans, because Pop was in a coma, and I had already said good-bye.  Services would not be held until after I was back.  So I went.

On Sunday morning when I called to check in, he had died.  I was flying out of Midway, and Steve was flying out of O’Hare.  Steve had to drop me off several hours early in order to return the car and make his flight, so I was on my own in the airport.  At that time, Midway looked more like a bus station than an airport, and slightly less comfortable.  I had my crocheting with me, and I sat down to work on it, crying my eyes out.  I tried to avoid other people, but the benches were in the middle of the room, so I just kept my head down.

Three elderly women came in with a monkey and sat right behind me so that we were back-to-back.  I heard them tell somebody that he was a helper monkey for one of them who had arthritis.  One woman went off to change the monkey’s diaper.  I can imagine that dirty monkey diapers would make anyone cranky, but these women were downright ornery.  Anyone who came to see the monkey was immediately rebuked and sent off. 

Eventually, people realized that they could just stand in front of me, peer past my head, and look at the monkey, who was hamming it up for them.  So here I am on an unbelievably uncomfortable bench, crocheting and crying uncontrollably, and people are stopping in front of me and laughing.  Each time I looked up, a person would step toward me and whisper, as if in confidence, “Do you know there’s a monkey behind you?”  After the 2nd or 3rd time, I couldn’t help but laugh.

If I were to believe in ghosts and spirits, I would have to believe that Pop sent that monkey to check on me, to see if I were indeed OK.  It’s just something he would have done.

Does anyone else see any humor in this?  Does the superintendent really think it’s that easy to qualify for a helper animal, and that all 230 students’ families could afford them?  C’mon, if you’re going to argue, you can do better than that.

The school did argue that it would be disruptive for students with allergies and students who were afraid of dogs.  To address the first point, the dog is a hypoallergenic breed (bouvier). 

As far as students who are afraid of dogs, I can personally relate to that, but, well, the school will have to deal with it.  Hopefully these students can be kept as far away as possible.  It’s inconvenient for the school, sure.  But what is worse, this inconvenience, or the severe outbursts, consumption of inappropriate things, and bolting away from adults that this child was prone to?  Properly trained assistance dogs are calming to children, and help keep them where they need to be.  Wouldn’t the school prefer to have the dog over the risk of having the child escape?

The parents were willing to have training sessions for the teachers and teaching assistants, as well as assemblies for the students to educate them about assistance animals.  Above and beyond, if you ask me.  The school should be responsible for that.  Bravo to the parents.

So now we’ve identified another topic about which the general public needs education – assistance animals.  Laws are already in place about this, shouldn’t that be enough?  Oh, who am I kidding, if disability laws were enough in themselves, I probably wouldn’t need to write this blog.

Here are links to both news stories we found on this:  School sued over ban on autistic boy’s service dog, and Judge rules to allow service dog.  Enjoy.  Thanks to JonsRoom member Susan who first brought this story to my attention with this post.

Coming soon:  My first encounter with a helper animal.  Stay tuned.  It’s a very, very strange story.

I smiled at my new friend, and told her that her daughter was OK, and that she would be, also.  That after you’ve been through it a few times, it’s easier.  I didn’t tell her that I’d been going through this for 4 years, since Jon was 3 years old.

Memories come flooding back to me.  Of choosing a school for Jon in San Francisco, based solely on the “vibe” I got from the teacher when visiting the classroom.  Of driving Jon on that first day, and facing impossible traffic and parking, adding to my anxiety.  Jon was riding the bus soon after that, and I remember how nervous that made me.

Next came our move to Maryland.  I came out for two days to scout schools.  We held Jon back a year, so he would had one more year of preschool after we moved.  My next trip was to find a house, a decision largely made based on the proximity to my favorite schools.  I couldn’t help but feel enormous pressure, that this decision was going to affect Jon for the rest of his life.  The realtor showed me 25 houses in 2 days, then Steve came and we chose, put in an offer, and were lucky enough to be in contract before we got back on the plane.

Then the first day of school in Maryland.  Jon and Kate were going into the same special needs preschool program, Jon with his IEP, and Kate as a typically-developing peer role model in a different class.  More anxiety.  What if I chose the wrong school?  What if it wasn’t fair to Kate to put her with Jon, where she might feel some sense of responsibility for him?  Shouldn’t Kate be allowed her own life, her own friends, her own typically-developing friends?

Now, Jon and Kate are changing schools.  The preschool and Kindergarten special education programs are regional, and now they must go to the local zoned school.  Kate is showing anxiety about the unknown.  She has too much of me in her, but she’s more resilient than I, and she’ll be running the place in a few weeks.  So I’ve directed most of my anxiety energy to Jon.

Jon will be included, with a full-time aide, for the entire day in 1st grade.  Any pull-out tutoring is to happen in the classroom, except, of course, for speech and occupational therapy.  In Kindergarten, he still left the room for tutoring, snack, and rest time, but that won’t happen now.  There will be new kids to meet, and many of them will not have been exposed to autism.  I expect Jon to have a hard transition, and it breaks my heart.  But he couldn’t stay at the old school for another year, and he would have to transition eventually.  Better, a good friend told me, that he transition now before the kids form cliques and get meaner.  Great.  Now I can also start worrying about 2nd grade politics.

So far, we’ve been extremely lucky.  It turns out that the school bus is an important part of Jon’s day, easing his transition to and from the day.  Both San Francisco and Maryland schools were an amazing experience for Jon, and Kate has developed social and leadership skills.  By the end of the 2nd year in Maryland, Jon was included in the regular Kindergarten class for most of the day.  He developed friendships and was invited to birthday parties.  The teachers and program administrators listened to me and considered my ideas as well as their own.

Still, I can’t help being scared and nervous about the upcoming year.  But you know what?  It will work out.  And if it doesn’t, we’ll fix it.  Not that it will be easy, but we’ll do it.  That’s what parents do.

Transitions stink.  They’re hard.  But they are a part of life.  Without them, we’d never know what we could accomplish.  I need to take a lesson from Jon and Kate, to face transitions head-on and work through them.  Going to a new school will be an education for all of us.