Posts Tagged ‘school and autism’

Anywhere between 5:30 am and 7 am, my door bursts open with a sleepy “morning mom” and a barrel roll into bed next to me. Autism rises with the sun, sometimes before. I’m usually halfway through my cup of coffee, brewed 3 feet from my bed, with almond milk creamer from my tiny in-room fridge. Don’t judge. I’ve written in my gratitude journal, watched the news, and caught up on work. It’s my only quiet, restful alone time aside from the evening after he’s asleep and before I pass out.…

I brought my son Sawyer to skate night last night. A school event at a local roller skating rink. There was pizza and music and arcade games. Kindergarten through fifth grade. Families. Siblings. So many kids. I laced up his roller blades and watched him be a little boy. Skating way too fast. Being silly. Telling stories. Playfully pushing friends. Dancing. Doing the limbo. He has a social life. Friends. He’s growing up. As I sat there watching, holding my baby tight, I was suddenly overwhelmed by all the feelings…

This boy and I are connected. Mother and son. I am his person. He holds me now mostly out in public. A hand in mine or on my shoulder, me leading him. Always touching me. And if he does pull his hand away for a second, I see a bit of panic in his eyes before he reaches out again. At times, I feel I am his eyes and ears, as if he has a blindfold on and I’m telling him where to step and sit. Cooper and other individuals…

I’ve spent a lot of time recently reflecting on our journey living alongside autism. The road has been far from easy, but through the challenges, I learned some invaluable lessons. This is my son Jordan. He is 27 and on the autism spectrum. I am his guardian and full-time caregiver. Maybe you are in the thick of it, feeling exhausted, uncertain, and maybe even defeated. I get it. I was there more times than I can count and didn’t know how I was going to do it another day. But…

Let me show you the beauty of my son’s world. And how my perspective has greatly changed over the years. A while back, my son Cooper, who is now 12, began showing me a still frame of Dora the Explorer on his iPad. Dora happened to be wearing a purple pirate outfit. She was with her crew on a boat. They were making their way to Mermaid Rock. He has showed me Dora and her purple outfit at least a hundred times. Cooper also happens to be nonverbal. Meaning, he…

The comment said…It’s always about the special needs kids. You parents are always whining for them to get everything.” That comment was from a while back and it was in response to a post about how children with special needs/disabilities were forgotten during covid. A bold statement yes, but also true. The forgotten children is the phrase that I use. It was made be a lady. One the same age as me. One with kids. She felt that everything is just handed to kids in special education. The statement has…

‘It feels like everyone is staring at us mom.’ That’s what my 10-year-old son said to me a few days ago. First, I’ll tell you he wasn’t wrong. Everyone was staring at us. A member of our family has a disability and while it’s not physical, meaning, you don’t ‘see’ it…. everyone sees it. Our oldest is 12 years old. On the paper in my desk drawer, it says his diagnosis is severe, level 3, nonverbal autism. It says a lot of other things too. His most recent evaluation was…

‘Thanks for coming to my conferences mama.’ Of course buddy. ‘Did you like my owl? They are nocturnal. There is a girl I like. I’m going to ask her on a date on the last day of school. Then if she says no I won’t have to see her for the whole summer.’ That’s seriously genius. But you are too young to date. ‘I’m not doing for very good in reading. I’m trying. I need to stretch the words more. But it’s hard for me.’ You are doing just fine…

Being a confident mother to a child with a disability didn’t always come natural to me. Even though it may appear that way. On social media. Or if you see me sitting on the ground in Target next to my son while his hands dance as he takes it all in. I may appear fearless. As I sit there, my back absorbing the stares. But often I feel out of control. Like I’m standing in a room spinning a dozen plates in the air. And praying that none fall. And…