I just got home from a car ride with my son Cooper. A rare time where it was just the two of us. The ride, taking 30 minutes, was joyful. He showed me an excavator. An airplane. And more than a dozen semi trucks. He moo’d at cows. Showed me a fire truck on his Kindle screen. And then tapped his chest, letting me know that he wants to ride a fire truck. He danced. And waved. He giggled at penguins on his screen before showing me how they waddle.…
We used to not be able to safely ride in the car as a family. Let that sink in for a moment. We had to take two cars, Jamie and I separating the boys, or one of us had to ride in the back with the kids and even then it wasn’t all that safe. At one point we had to have a safety plan. We couldn’t turn left. Or stop at stoplights. Road construction was the worst. Slowing down wasn’t allowed. I’d tell friends that we couldn’t go through…
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the paths that each of my children will take as they grow up. Three sons and a daughter. Ranging from 11 to 9 months. Cooper, my oldest, well, it’s been complicated. So many daycare’s until we finally couldn’t find one to take him anymore. Then starting in the school district at age 3, multiple day programs, IEP meetings, transportation to and from, trusting the world with my tiny, yet mighty, nonspeaking, spirited, child who could hardly hold up his backpack. I waved goodbye…
When we are out in public, I don’t worry about how my autistic son will act. I don’t worry about his mannerisms. Or his uniqueness. Because I know exactly who he is and how he is going to behave. And that he is learning and growing. I know he will flap his arms in pure joy. I know he will run. And sit. And maybe feel the cool of the cement with his cheek. I know he will squeal. And hum. And laugh. I know he will wave to strangers…
A letter to my little brother… Hey brother, I’m hoping that someday I can say this all to you. But there is a chance that I might never be able too…I’m hoping that when you are older you will read this and understand. I know I confuse you. I’m so loud. I flap my arms. I don’t notice toys. Or play sports. Or like to leave our house. I don’t play like you. I have never ridden a bike and I don’t care at all about hockey. And I know…
I just spent two whole days in a swim suit at a water park. At 38 years old. As a mother of four. And I found myself remembering back when. Back when I rocked a bikini and had no insecurities. I saw fit people and bigger people and thin people and athletic people. Some were covered in tattoos and some with piercings. Some were in one piece swimsuits and some in bikinis. Some were covered up and some were not. Some were confident and owned it and some were not.…
The other day I was scrolling through Instagram and I saw an adorable photo of a baby. A baby the same age as my fourth. 9 months old. And cute as a button. I know this because that baby’s mama and I were pregnant at the same time. We traded stories of heartburn and swollen feet more than once. The caption said her little one slept eleven hours the night before. I read it and felt that feeling. That one that social media gives me when I see women who…
I think about the beginning sometimes. When I first heard the word autism. It was in a lunch-and-learn at the nonprofit I worked at. I was eating a sandwich, minimally paying attention, when the woman started describing signs of autism in toddlers. As she ticked off a list of traits, I did everything I could to keep my cool. The only sign of my internal panic being the flush that turned my cheeks and neck a deep red. I could feel the heat radiating from my face. She was describing…
The article about Ukraine read: “Disabled orphans fleeing Kyiv received by Poles, Hungarians.” I was scrolling Facebook, two of my three kids snuggled up on the couch next to me. My baby was at my feet playing blocks. And my oldest, sleeping. He had a long day. A tiring one. “While many of those fleeing are able-bodied adults, choosing to brave long and sometimes dangerous journeys to bring themselves and their families to safety, other Ukrainians are at the mercy of their caregivers to deliver them out of danger.” I…
My son, Today was one of those days. One where you seemed confused by the world. One where I didn’t know how to help. Or fix it. Autism. Woven into everything you do. Into the way you think and see and react. Only I can’t see what you see. Or hear what you hear. Or feel what you feel. Today I felt confused. Much like any parent does I suppose. I know your brothers confuse me daily too. But with you, the stakes feel a bit higher. The rules a…
