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…
I had a long talk with my son’s teacher the other night at conferences about reading and math and wiggle breaks and how much I value my son’s kindness and heart above all. After that we spoke about much he is motivated by doing activities with his dad. I sorta smiled. And snickered. See, I’ve been noticing that too in his school work. His creative writing stories and drawings all include Dad and ice fishing and hockey and baseball. His teacher said, ‘trust me Kate, I know how much mom’s…
Hi there, my name is Kate. You found your way to my page. Well, Cooper’s page. The yellow haired boy from Minnesota who loves trains and smells like the wind. I am not autistic. But my son is. I don’t understand everything about him. But I’m learning. And here are the five things I want you to know about my son if you were to meet him at the grocery store or in line at Target. 1. He is a person. There is this interesting thing that happens when a…
The message said something like…‘why are women like you so obsessed with being skinny? I just don’t get it. And I have three kids. I don’t have time to go to the gym.’ It went on from there. They always do. I’ve been thinking about that message for days now. Especially every single time I squeeze my fat butt into jeans that are too tight or feel my bra fat bulge when I pick up one of my kids. Being shamed for exercising. That’s new one. Heck yes I want…
