It was a typical dinner Monday night when everyone was talking over each other and no one was eating.

There was bickering. Potty talk.  Anything and everything except actual eating.

Since this happens quite frequently, I have a mental list of “conversation” topics that usually redirect everyone long enough to get some food into them in between sentences.

When I say “conversation”, I mean mostly monologues of non-related topics, but each kid is taking a turn with it, allowing the others to eat.

And when I say “topics”, I mean I ask them about Minecraft.  So just one topic.  Singular.

Tonight was no exception.

I entered the cook time into the microwave and turned towards the boys at the table. “So, guys, if you could create your own Minecraft Mod, what would you do?”

(ed note: a mod is a modification made to the Minecraft code.  Gamers write code to create these mods to add additional things to the original game.  My friend Bec at Minemum can explain it all.  I know nothing about it except that my kids are obsessed with watching videos about them and begging me to download them.)

“I would create a space world where things could explode!” replied Howie.

“I would create a place where animals could go and there would be explosions!” said Lewis.

I took my dinner out of the microwave and sat down at the table.

“Well,” I said, “if I was creating a mod, I would make a sensory gym mod.”

I gave Tim a little smile. I was completely kidding.  I half expected them to come out with a “What?! That’s ridiculous!” and go back to discussing how to explode creepers and zombies.

Howie looked right at me.  “A sensory gym mod?”

“Sure,” I said. “It could have stuff in it like at SenseAbility Gym.”

Both Howie and Lewis were quiet for a moment.

“We would call it The SenseAbility Craft Mod!” said Howie.  “We could craft a trampoline out of leather and and blocks.  And it would be bouncy like slime. You’d make it on the crafting table!”

“And you could make a bolster swing too, ” said Lewis.  “You would need string.  And something to sit on.”

I sat in stunned silence.

Howie’s eyes got huge and bright.

“And the villagers – they would be autistic villagers!  They would be the ones who could be in the SenseAbility mod.”

Tim and I made eye contact. I gave him the “wow” look with my face.

“It would spawn autistic villagers and they would be the only ones in the village.  And they would go up to each other and would make the villager sounds and understand each other.” Howie was on a roll and was not stopping.  “And they would go on the trampoline and the swing.”

“Could you craft a weighted blanket?” asked Tim.

“Oh yes, you could do that.” Howie replied.

We were all giggling a little at the ideas, throwing them out one by one.

“You could make a square ball pit with blocks and craft something to put in it!” Lewis exclaimed.

“Could you make a wooden slide?” Tim asked

“YES!” Howie yelled. “You could make a slide.”

“You would need some fidgets too in your inventory,” I said to Howie, “just in case the villagers needed them.”

“Yes,” he said. “And the autistic villagers could trade emeralds for fidgets so they could feel better.”

He looked at me. “Spawning an autistic villager is rare but special, you know.”

I smiled at him.  “Yeah buddy, I know.”

Howie got up from the table. “Let’s play ‘SenseAbility Craft’ right now!”

“Wait, what?  Right now?  You didn’t eat anything!”

But Howie was already gone and Lewis followed right behind.  They went into the other room and pretended to be the autistic villagers, happily trading for fidgets.

I cleaned up their full plates of food and turned to Tim.

“You better start those Java and coding lessons with Howie.  I think he’s on to something.”

**********

It was December 2009 when I was listening to the developmental pediatrician list off the “red flags” for autism that she saw in Howie.  No pretend play, no ability to think of objects as anything other than their literal use.  Focused on the spinning wheels of the car and not the car itself.  Can’t do a pretend birthday party.

It was August of 2011 when I heard the same thing for Lewis.

“You’ll need lots of work and therapy to develop those skills.  I’m not saying he won’t ever have them, but they won’t come naturally.”

I left the office each time with my view of the world and my boys tipped on its side. I was crushed – mostly by the guilt of what I didn’t see. What could I do to help him?  Could I help him?

Turns out my autistic villagers just needed to figure it out in their own time and their own way, through a game that has no boundaries except the limits of their imagination and creativity.

Which, despite what we were told, seems to be endless.

I’m looking forward to the day when they create this SenseAbility Craft Mod.  I hope they let me play and be a part of  their incredible, creative and imaginative world.

Howie on the bolster swing.

Howie on the bolster swing.

lb_squeeze

Lewis in the squeeze machine. Crafting this one could be tricky…

Red sun rising in the sky
Sleeping village, cockerels cry
Soft breeze blowing in the trees
peace of mind, feel at ease.” – Sleeping Village by Black Sabbath

 

"The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!" - Piglet quote on the wall of our sensory gym

“The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!” – Piglet quote on the wall of our sensory gym

Last week I got an email from one of Howie’s teachers.  She explained that they had been working on a math assessment test about money and coins.  The directions were to count the money and show your work.  The teacher said that Howie had refused to show his work. His explanation was that he didn’t have to “because I have autism.”

She wrote that they had worked through the refusal by reminding him that this was for his third grade teachers and while she knew he could do it in his head, he needed to show his new teachers that he understood the work.

Now Howie has never been a big fan of reviewing concepts.  “I already know how to do this!” is a frequent refrain when doing assessments or review work.  But this was a new wrinkle.  He had never refused to do work because of autism before.

I wrote back and said I was kind of stunned by all of this since we’ve never said anything like that to him or around him before.  We’ve always talked about autism – and specifically his autism – in a positive light.  Talking about the gifts it brings him.  Lately we had been discussing how there are times when different brains have a harder time with some activities, and that’s why sometimes he needed to leave the room to take a test, or use his headphones or have a sensory break.  But we’ve never said he couldn’t do…anything.

I expressed my surprise at his statement and said I would talk with him about it.

Later that afternoon, Howie and I were sitting across from each other on the floor of our living room.  His iPad was on his lap and he was creating his newest world on his Blocksworld app.

“Hey bud’” I said. ” I heard that you had some trouble working on your math assessment today?”

“Yeah.  But the fruit snacks helped me get through it.”

“What was hard?”

“I had to write it all out but I knew the answer.”

“Your teacher said you told her that you couldn’t do the test because you had autism?”

” I said I didn’t have to do the work because I had autism,” he said. He didn’t look up at all.

“Well, autism isn’t an excuse you know,” I said. ” You can do hard things. But you still need to do the work.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t,” he said.  “I said I didn’t have to.  I didn’t have to show my work. I could see it and do it in my head.”

I sat there and just looked at him.  His eyes never left the iPad, fingers moving and swiping and tapping as he built a cityscape for his Blocksworld cars to drive through.

Not an excuse.

A reason.

Not a negative.  A positive.

Not can’t do. Don’t have to to understand.

Part of his gift.  He could see it in his head. So why do the extra work?

He wasn’t trying to get out of doing the test itself.  Just the showing his work.  And not because he didn’t want to.

Because I didn’t have to.

He was actually advocating for himself.

“I understand now,” I said.  “But you know there will be times when you have to show your work, even when you can do it in your head.  It’s important for other people to see what you see.”

“I know,” he said. ” And the fruit snacks were really good.”

***********

In our world, autism isn’t and won’t be an excuse.  We’re never going to teach him he can’t do something because of how his brain is wired.

But it can be a reason why things are hard. Or, in this case, easy.

Maybe it’s semantics.

This is why we felt it was important that Howie knows and understands his diagnosis. So he could say, “I see this differently because my brain is wired differently.”

A few weeks ago, M. Kelter of Invisible Strings posted this on his Facebook page:

photo(1)

Without the words to say “because of my autism”, how might this interaction have gone? Alternative scenarios might have involved a long, drawn out stand off, viewed as noncompliance, leaving everyone exhausted, frustrated and miserable.

Leaving my kid feeling like a bad kid.  A failure.  Different without explanation as to how or why. Removed for long periods of time from his general education classroom as things escalated, keeping him away from his peers.

He knows he leaves to take tests in a quiet space so he doesn’t get distracted.  We are working on helping him understand that his aide is there as a “coach” and “interpreter” when he needs help.

But he also needs to know that we will listen to what he is really saying and doing and go beyond the specific words that he is using  in order to make sure that we understand their meaning.  Because here he was, in his way, appropriately advocating for himself.

It’s our job to make sure we hear him when he does.

"The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!"

“The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!”

 

Although you see the world different than me
Sometimes I can touch upon the wonders that you see
All the new colors and pictures you’ve designed
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine.

Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine.” – Child of Mine by Carole King

Note: As I wrote in part one and in part two, I asked Howie if I could share this story here.  I told him that I had a blog and that I liked to write about things that happen in our lives on it.  His response?  “Sure.  You can share this with the blogosphere.”  Well, okay then.  And this time, I asked all three boys if it was okay to share the story.

Chronologically, part three came after part two but before part one.  But this is how it all came out here.

Over the past few weeks since the “big” conversation that wasn’t so big, Howie and I have been talking a lot about autism.  It’s not hard to bring it up – at the sensory gym we have a community bulletin board with information from our local autism resource center, the Doug Flutie Jr. Foundation for Autism, and Birdhouse for Autism (an app and web based application for tracking therapies, medications, sleep and anything and everything related to a child’s well being). So the word comes up whenever we’re there.

But it had always remained between us.

We’ve also had some discussions about other kids we knew who were autistic.  Friends who had given us permission to share that information.  Each time, it was met with a smile.

Yet for some reason, I never mentioned the fact that his younger brother was autistic too.  Again, this is on me.  In my head I still thought there had to be the right time and place to talk about it.  That Lewis should know first.  Or there had to be some specific chain of events to make it “the right way”.

Apparently, I don’t learn my own lessons.

Two weekends ago, all three kids were sitting at the kitchen table.  We were listening to music and the boys were talking about whether or not they had good hearing.  Gerry said that our whole family had bad hearing.  Before I could step in and protest with my expert hearing skills, Howie said “No, I have super hearing.  I can hear and see things that others can’t. I have what’s that word again?”

He paused.

“Oh yeah.  I have au-TIS-m.”

(so yes, the accent is on the wrong syl-LA-ble.  But still.)

Gerry looked over at me and didn’t say a word.  Neither did I.

“I have autism,” said Lewis matter-of-factly.  “I just have clogged ears.”

Howie looked at him and said, “You have autism too?  Well, you do have a super memory.  You know the whole grid of the Marvel Super Heroes characters on the Playstation game.”

“Yup,” I said.  “Lewis has autism just like you, Howie.”

“Does our whole family have autism?” Howie asked.

“No. ” I said.

Gerry looked at me and quietly asked, “Do I have autism?”

I shook my head no.

And that is how Lewis found out that he was autistic too. No big reveal. No grand plan. Just “yup, you’re autistic.”

Gerry got up from the table to get some more milk.  I pulled him aside for a moment.

I thought back to a conversation that Gerry and I had almost two years ago to the day:

“Don’t you think he should know about his autism?  So he understands?  I know most of his friends are from his school and are like him, so that’s really good.  But at some point, shouldn’t he know?  Because really?  Sometimes it’s very stressful for me that I know but he doesn’t.”  His eyes teared up a little.

I knew I had to choose my words very carefully here.  This…was important.

“Yes, of course he needs to know.  Dad and I just have to figure out the right time.  He’s only five.”

“Do you have friends who have kids with special needs?  Kids who are older?  Can’t you ask them when they told their kids?”

And then my kid wows me.  Again.

“You know, it’s not fair.  All his timeouts.  At first I thought they were good.  Teaching him.  But if he can’t help it, then the timeouts aren’t fair, are they? It’s like if you’re driving and your car’s wheels lock up.  And you hit something and cause a lot of damage.  It’s not your fault that the car didn’t work the way it should.  Right?”

I’m in awe of this kid.  Of how much he loves his brother.  Of how much he gets it.

“Mom.  Shouldn’t he know so he understands?”

I touched Gerry’s arm and brought him into the other room.

“You remember you wanted me to tell Howie that he was autistic?  Well, I did.”

He looked right at me.

“Thank you,” he said.

**********

Since then, the topic has come up quite a bit.  My boys – all three of them – are attempting to understand what autism means to them and for them.  There have been attempts at one upping each other with “well, my autism means I can hear the grass grow!” and it makes for a good discussion about how brains work and no, you can’t really hear the grass grow. In quizzing Howie if he washed his hands, he told me that only someone with autism could have good enough smelling to smell how clean his hands are.

Then there was Howie’s question to me one morning at 5am: if everyone in the world had autism, does that mean no one in the world has autism?

For which I had absolutely no answer.

Just this afternoon came “Is autism sensory?”

And of course there was the moment when he told me his gift was part of his soul. When he realized he was born this way.

But my favorite comment came from Gerry last week.  We were talking about how all of us in the family have brains that work differently. It’s important to know that and understand why so instead of getting frustrated and struggling with the things that are hard for us, we can acknowledge the challenges and use our strengths to cope with them. We talked about what I wrote in part two:

“At some point I know we’ll have to talk about the challenges that autism brings.  Because that is as important as knowing the strengths. Part of understanding his differences is knowing that the sensory issues, the difficult time sitting still, the frustration over school projects and social interactions, and the perseverations – these are not because he’s not smart or incapable. “

I told him that this was why right now we’re focusing on positives that come with autism for Howie.

“I like that,” Gerry said. “I like that he looks it like it’s his superpower.”

Me too.  Me too.

my three superheroes

my three superheroes

My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir

“There’s nothing wrong with loving who you are
She said, “‘Cause He made you perfect, babe”
“So hold your head up girl and you’ll go far,
Listen to me when I say”

I’m beautiful in my way
‘Cause God makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don’t hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you’re set
I’m on the right track, baby
I was born this way” – Born This Way by Lady Gaga

For a great way to talk about autism with your child (or to learn more yourself), check out this great booklet from The Autism NOW Center and The Autistic Self Advocacy Network at http://autismnow.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Welcome-to-the-Autistic-Community-Adolescent.pdf

Note: As I wrote in part one, I asked Howie if I could share this story (and parts one and three) here.  I told him that I had a blog and that I liked to write about things that happen in our lives on it.  His response?  “Sure.  You can share this with the blogosphere.”  Well, okay then.

Second note:  While this is part two, the story actually happened first – before part one.  But it took me a long time to get the words together for this part of the story.  I am hoping the order makes sense some day.

photo(20)

It was a Sunday morning a few weeks ago.  Howie and I were headed out.  It’s a work day for me and it’s our Sunday tradition that he comes with me.

He stopped short in the garage and said “Hey!  That’s not right!”

I turned to see what he was looking at.  It was his snow shovel.  On it there’s a picture of a snowman saying “Brrr!” and he’s surrounded by four drawings of snowflakes.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“All the snowflakes on that shovel are exactly the same.  That’s not right.  Every snowflake is different.”

“That’s true,” I said.  I looked over at the shovel.  “I would have never seen that.”

“I notice stuff like that.” he said.

I opened up the car door and helped him buckle his seat belt.  He’s getting faster at doing it himself, but when he’s thinking of other things the motor planning involved with buckling just doesn’t come as easily.

“Yes, you do notice stuff like that,” I said. “You always have.  You have a brain that sees things that others don’t.”

“I know,” he said.  And he named other things he notices.  Details on letters with different fonts.  Things that are just slightly out of place.

I pulled out of the driveway while he was talking.

“Does that make me a mutant?” he asked.

“What? No!”

I looked at his face in the rear view mirror as he looked a little crestfallen. Ah, like the X-Men…we’re in superhero mode again.

“You aren’t the only one in the world with that kind of brain.  But most people don’t.”

Smiles from the back seat.

I realized that this was the time.

I have spent the days since that moment we got Howie’s autism diagnosis in December 2009 wondering how I would talk to Howie about his autism.  I rehearsed it in my head many times.  Bought books.  Read blog posts.  Wanted to make sure I did it “right”.

We stopped at a light.

“So…” I said.  “That ability is a gift.”

“It is?”

“Yes.  You know what I mean by ‘gift’, right?  Not like a birthday party gift but more like a talent.  Something special you have.”

“I know! What is it? What’s it called?”

“It’s called autism.”

“So I have autism?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmmm.”

I decided to push it a little bit more.

“Hey, you know who else has a gift for seeing stuff like that?”

“Who?” he asked.

“Your friend Brooke.”

“Brooke has autism?”

AND THE BIGGEST SMILE FILLED UP MY REAR VIEW MIRROR.

I left the words hanging there for a moment as I turn into the parking lot for the sensory gym.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have the iPad?”

“Of course.  Once we’re inside.”

And we were done.

**********

A totally easy conversation about something not so easy.

I relayed the conversation to my friend Jess later on that morning, partly because it was through her words and guidance that I was even able to have that conversation that way, but also to thank her and Brooke for giving me the permission to share with Howie.

She texted me back with “You know what makes these conversations so hard? US.”

How true is that?

I wrote “It was just so natural as a progression from him seeing something no one else would ever notice…I figured it was a good moment to call it and not a challenging moment.”

That is where Howie and I left it that morning.   His autism is his gift.  He knows that his brain works differently than others.  He knows that it means he can smell things more intensely than others, that he can create things in his head and make them come to life, that he can interpret the world in a way that is uniquely his.

And he’s knows he’s not alone.  Knowing that he has a friend whose brain works a little differently is so important.  We’ve talked some more about other kids we know who are autistic and each time a smile fills the room.

At some point I know we’ll have to talk about the challenges that autism brings.  Because that is as important as knowing the strengths. Part of understanding his differences is knowing that the sensory issues, the difficult time sitting still, the frustration over school projects and social interactions, and the perseverations – these are not because he’s not smart or incapable.   Actually just the opposite.  Knowing that his brain works differently will help him understand that his aides in school are there not as a crutch or punishment but as a tool for support, just like his sensory tool box.  He needs to know that it’s okay to ask to leave the room when he can’t concentrate, and that it’s okay to ask for help not because he can’t do it but because he needs to frame it in a way that works for his unique brain.

But we aren’t at that point yet.  That conversation will come – it may be next week or next month or next year.  What I know now is that I can’t plan it.  It has to fit the time and place with no script or plan.

Unique to him.  Just like the snowflake that he is.

my favorite holiday present ever. Howie's teacher made a snow globe with his picture inside.  As Howie says "It shows my 'pizzazz'".

my favorite holiday present ever. Howie’s teacher made a snow globe with his picture inside. As Howie says “It shows my ‘pizzazz’”.

Whether life’s disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
‘Cause baby, you were born this way

I’m beautiful in my way
‘Cause God makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track, baby
I was born this way” – Born This Way by Lady Gaga

An letter to a friend who is having a second child evaluated for a diagnosis…

Dear Friend,

Come here and sit down.

You have a million things to do, I get that.  But please.  Have a seat.

I know you’re struggling.  I do.

I know making that call for an evaluation was hard.  Really really hard.  You can dismiss it but I know that it took everything you had to do it.

The first time you made that call for your older child it might not have been as tough.  Maybe your pediatrician suggested it or maybe the school did.  You didn’t know what questions you were going to be asked or how much paperwork you would need to fill out.  You didn’t know what the appointments were about or how many people would get involved.  All you knew then was that people were telling you something was different about your child.

This time, though, this time you know.  You know that it means hours of paperwork and interviews and testing for your little one.  You know what they will ask and how they will ask it, looking at every little milestone under a microscope and questioning every detail of your child’s development.

You think you can’t do this again.  You think you can’t hear the words again.  You think you can’t handle the hours and the logistics and the emotions.

But you can.

I know because I was there too.

It was about 18 months between diagnoses in our house.

It took me so long to pull the trigger on making the appointments for Lewis.  I would make the appointment and then cancel.  I would stare at the paperwork.  I spent so much time looking for “it” – the something that would be my sign that he was on the spectrum or not.  He was so different from Howie. Early intervention would come out three times before he was eligible for speech therapy.  And in the midst of it all we were working on Howie’s IEP and learning words like PECS and ABA and sensory diet.

The day after Lewis was diagnosed with PDD-NOS, I shared what I friend wrote to me:

“One on the spectrum is one. Two is two. I get that this is a watershed moment. But you know what to do now. You’re already doing it; it’s just a little more weight in your pack. You’ve got this. And you’ve got us.”

My friend, I say those words back to you.  One kid with a diagnosis is one.  Two is two.

You’ve got this.

I can say this now about 15 months after Lewis’ diagnosis.

The teacher meetings are the same.  Just times two.

The home therapy that was a part of our life with one is now a part of our life with two.

And our kids are thriving thanks to early intervention, great teachers and an incredible village of friends.

Lewis met almost every goal on his IEP this year.  And is meeting every goal in his home therapy.

My friend, I know you can do this.  I know what a great parent you are.

Things are different now.

That knowledge that made it so hard to make that phone call in the beginning is now your power.

You know that the journey isn’t so scary.

You know what to do.  You know what questions to ask.  You know who to call and where to turn and who has your back.

You know this road.

And you know you aren’t on it alone.

Never alone

Never alone

(I encourage you to read Welcome to the Club again if you haven’t already.  It hits home with one child. But it means even more with two.)
 
“Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home
Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be foundJust know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home” – Home by Phillip Phillips

When Gerry was a baby, I signed up for a free parenting class run by our local school district.  It was free and I was a new parent so I figured I was supposed to be there.

On the first day, the instructor gave us some homework.

We were to go home and look over a list of attributes and choose the ones that we felt were most important for our kids.  Our spouses were supposed to do the same.

The list looked something like this:

Please circle those words that you want for your child (check all that apply):
affectionate          talkative           sensitive
follower                  successful       quiet
shares easily         leader               active
even tempered    friendly            mature
self-confident      cheerful            eager to learn
independent        outgoing           happy

I remember sitting with Tim as we looked over the list.  He chose words like successful, self-confident, and independent.

I chose just one: happy.

**********

Gerry’s anxiety level always peaks around the third week of school.  I know this because it seems to happen just around “Back-to-School” night.  Every year since about second grade, I’m hunting down the adjustment counselor to ask her to check in on Gerry for the next few weeks.  The excitement of the new school year dies down and his anxiety about school work and friends goes sky high.  It manifests itself in difficulty sleeping, stomach aches, headaches and general grouchiness about anything and everything.

Then it calms down after about a week.  Every once in a while it flares and we make it through.  And then it’s better.

Last year, in fourth grade, it didn’t calm down as quickly.  He was really struggling.  He couldn’t focus in class, he was daydreaming, and when he’d click back in he was getting upset that he was missing the instruction.

The difficulty sleeping went on longer than usual.  As did the pleas to stay home.  I asked him what was happening and he said he just got lost in his thoughts and couldn’t turn off his brain, both at school and at home.

Every one told us that fourth grade was the year that all the issues came out.  The work gets harder and even the best students start to struggle.  And if there was any underlying anxieties or fear of failure…this is the year that we’d see it.

So we scheduled an appointment for a neuropsych evaluation.  Not because we suspected any disorder or concrete diagnosis, but because we wanted more information on how he processed information and where his strengths and challenges are.

You see, we’re old hats at all this testing stuff.  Having been through it with his two younger brothers and all.

Last January, Gerry sat through a whole day of tests.  One right after the other.

The results?  A little bit of anxiety here, a little Asperger-y there, a little bit of attentional issues over here, and a big gap in his verbal processing skills and his actual processing speed.  Meaning he has ideas in his head going a mile a minute but it’s hard for him to get it out verbally and on paper the way he wants it, leading to huge frustration levels and added pressure to succeed. No actual diagnosis but a clear understanding of where he does well and where he has challenges.

Oh and he needed glasses.  Part of the focus issue in the classroom was an actual focus issue.  He couldn’t see the board. Of course.

We talked with Gerry about the results of the testing.  Well, Tim did.  I couldn’t find the right words.  They talked about turning emotional problems into intellectual problems and working through them that way.  The strategies and accommodations suggested by the psychologist seemed to make sense to Gerry and the spring semester of school ended well.

And then came the last week of August.

**********

It started when we were on vacation.  We were renting a house on Cape Cod for a week.  I made him bring his summer work with him because of course he hadn’t touched it all summer long.

He worked on it for ten minutes, got angry, and walked away.  That night he was up until midnight and then back awake again from 2am until 4am.

His demeanor changed instantly.  The grumpiness returned.  The back talk.

The unhappy kid.

**********

Last week was the third week of fifth grade.  And right on cue, the anxiety reared its ugly head.  The who/what/where/why/how questions about school and band and piano came fast and furious. Gerry stopped sleeping.  Monday and Tuesday night he was up past 11pm, stuck in that spiral of “I have to go to bed/I can’t get to sleep/I have to get to bed/Now it’s so late I will never get any sleep/I can’t get to sleep”.  Crying.

I asked him to try to relax and visualize a place where he felt “happy”.  He was quiet a long time.

“The house,” he said. “Just in the house.”

He couldn’t find that place to retreat to to calm him.  He had nowhere that made him feel good.

Feeling a bit of sadness come over me, I said good night for the fourth time and left the room.

And I’ll admit it.  I was tired too.  My sympathy level was not there.  I told him he just needed to go to bed.  That I was done talking about it.

Ten minutes later, he came back into the room one more time.

“Mom,” he said. “I think I’d like to see a counselor.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “What made you decide that?”

“I need someone to talk to about why I can’t sleep.  Someone like you.  But who won’t get mad at me.”

I stopped for a moment.  This was big.  And as ego-bruising as it was…he was right.  He needed someone other than me.

“Of course.  I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

Gerry turned back to bed and went right to sleep.

**********

The anxiety piece is the one I struggle with the most as a parent.  Both Gerry and Howie get incredibly anxious – it’s about different things and it manifests itself differently but it’s still there.  Howie’s behavior changes and he stims more.  Gerry hits me with question after question about what is going to happen next and when and with whom and the questions keep coming until he’s up all night thinking about it.

I struggle partly because I can’t make it better.

I mostly struggle because they get this from me.

And because of that…I knew this couldn’t wait any longer.  I had to find a way to get my happy kid again.

**********

This morning, I had an intake appointment with a counselor.  He seems like a great fit for Gerry and we set up a first appointment for them for next week.

I told Gerry about it this afternoon.  “He seems really nice and I think you’ll like him.”

“Oh good,” he said, barely looking up from his iPad.

“Are you feeling okay about this?”

He looked up at me.

“Yes.  Thank you.  I actually feel really happy.”

I couldn’t wish for anything more.

Happy Together

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right” – Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles

I’m incredibly honored to be on the Modern Mom site today.  They have teamed up with Hot Wheels to promote their Take 10 challenge:

There’s one thing that all moms can agree on: kids grow up way too quickly. Before we know it they are out of diapers, heading to kindergarten and off to college. We can’t stop time, but we can take 10. Turn off your iPhone, turn on your imagination and give your child 10 minutes of your undivided attention. Hot Wheels® is here to get you started.

I am sharing our love of all things Hot Wheels over there (including our homemade Halloween Hot Wheels costume), and how those little metal cars changed our lives.  I am grateful to Rachel at Mattel for the opportunity to tell our story.

Please click HERE for “Driving A Deeper Conversation

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