Roc-isms, Part VIII

“Mommy, you look so beautiful in your yellow shirt…now can I have more stories because I was so nice to you?  I cumplamented you!”

“Complimented.”

“Yes, complianteded you!  Now start reading!”

***

“Mommy!  I can’t find my ball!”

“It’s huge Roc, look around, I’m sure you can find it.”

“But Mooooommmy, don’t you know?  I’m a man, and mans don’t find stuff!”

“You are right that men have a hard time finding things.”

***

“Mommy I like your dress.  Are you a princess?  You are as beautiful as a dog Mommy.”

***

We were visiting my girlfriend and her new little family.  She struck up a conversation.

“Roc, how old are you?”

“I’m seven.”

“When will you be eight?”

“After seven.”

***

I couldn’t find black beans in the pantry.  I was muttering to myself about how I knew I had bought them the last time I was at the store.  Then I found them and made some sort of verbal exclamation upon finding them.

“So you were a little bit of a man too Mommy.  You couldn’t find the black beans and they were right there on the shelf.”

I giggled.

“Why are you laughing?  Was that funny?”

 

Tears + Sweat

“I need to run right now,” I said to GC as I passed through the kitchen.  Not, “Do you mind if I go for a run now?” or “Is it okay with you if I run now?”  But, “I need to run, right now.”

“Okay,” he replied.

I am already gasping for air as my feet cross the road and hit the trail, my stride jarring my body on the downhill.  Music in my ears.  My breath caught in my throat, tears burning behind my sunglasses.  Do not cry.  I will myself as the tears spilled out.

Shit.

My feet stop and I bend over at the waist, my forearms pressing into my hip bones.  I try in vain to contain the sob roaring up my windpipe.  My grief and anger swirl inside my chest, my ribs cannot contain the enormity.  I squeeze my eyes shut and wonder if there is anyone out on their deck to my right.  I must look like I am going to vomit bent over this way.  I want to vomit.  I want to purge myself of the grief, hurl my shame as far as possible, crush my anger to dust beneath my shoe.  The sob escapes, then another.

“How dare you cry!” a voice screams in my head.  ”What the f@!& do you have to complain about?  Stop crying!” she hisses.

“Move your feet,” I tell myself, ignoring my own worst enemy.

I set my eyes on the tree line ahead, then the curve, then the hill, then the pond.  The tears stream from my eyes as I settle into my stride.  The ache fills my upper body, right beneath my ribs, the sobs are pulsing to escape.  I close my throat to contain them and let the tears flow, the only escape.  The grief feels too big.  I cannot hear the music slipping from my ear buds.  There is a freight train in my head.

What is it so hard for him?  Why doesn’t he connect the dots?  He misses all the social ques.  The face expressing annoyance, the change in the tone of voice, the blatant requests for him to stop what he is doing.  He laughs when he should listen.  He laughs when they request he stop following so close, or stop repeating that phrase, stop ruining the game.  He laughs when he shouldn’t.  I try to intervene, using words that do not sink in.  It never ends well.  They do not care when he leaves, escaping written all over their faces…but only I see it.  He just laughs.  My mind replays the events, the missed cues, the missteps, the looks, everything, and I hurt all over.

I keep going.  My insides hurt.  The tears slow.  I pull apart the afternoon in my mind.  My thoughts tumble all over themselves.  I worry for the future.  When he finally learns these skills, because I will never give up, will it be too late?  Will these children give him a chance?  Or will they be soured on a friendship with him?  Always remembering the way he was, the way I’m sure he still will be to some extent.  He is not an easy friend to have at almost eight.  What will happen next year?  What will happen in middle school?  What will happen in adulthood?  Will he make real peer connections?  When?  What can I do to help?  This is too big for me.  Too big.  I am not enough.

Then the anger comes.  The tears are gone.  My pace quickens.  The muscles in my back flex.  I feel the anger rolling through the muscles in my legs.  My feet slap the pavement.  The drums beat in my throat and the guitars scream in my ears.  The music matches my insides.  I cannot contain the anger.

Why?

Why me?

Why him?

I am so angry.  I let myself feel it.  I use it to push me on.  My legs scream at me up the hill.  The physical pain a way to release the pain in my heart.  The sweat slides down my spine.  I am so angry.  Angry at the misunderstandings.  Angry that so much is difficult for him.  Angry that I am angry.  Angry at the jealously I often feel.  Angry at the shame I feel about the jealously.  Angry at the pain.  Angry at the tears.  Angry at what is.  Angry at what isn’t.  Angry.  The anger rolls off my body.

“WHY!?” the voice screams.  ”No FAIR!” she hisses.

It’s not.

It’s not fair.

No one guaranteed me or him fair.

I keep going.  The roar in my head slowly subsides, the ache in my chest diffuses, my lungs are free to breath again.  My pace is even, my breath is calm, my fingers tap the drum beat, and I mouth the lyrics not caring who sees me.  I think over the miles I just ran.  The thoughts I pulled apart thread by thread.  The grief I cycled through over five miles of trail, road, and sidewalk.  Just as the pain poured out in tears, the anger slides down my body in beads of sweat.

I am drenched in my emotions.

I watch my feet as I walk up the driveway, I have no energy to chit-chat with my neighbors.  I sit in the shade of my garage to stretch my legs, watching the sun through the leaves, listening to the neighbor children laughing as they ride their rip sticks and bounce a basketball.  The grief and anger have subsided.

I am spent and I am ready.

I go inside and smile at the Roc.

I will never give up.

ed note:  This was 2 Thursdays ago and every time I’ve run since then this post goes through my head.  I needed to get it out.  And in true Roc fashion, with tons and tons of reminders, many conversations about friendship, I saw a teeny, tiny step in the right direction yesterday.  He will get there.  I will never give up.

Pigs + Cows + Chickens + Canoe = Our Weekend

We have been busy almost every weekend, and the last one was no exception.

On Saturday we went up to GC’s coworkers farm where they have cows, pigs, chickens, goats, and a few other animals.  We bought a pig from them awhile ago and every week we buy fresh eggs and fresh milk.  The Roc will only eat eggs from K’s farm, we’ve tried passing off regular organic eggs from the store when we’ve run out of the fresh, and he tastes it right away and refuses to eat them.  He reacts the same to bacon from the store, he won’t eat it saying it tastes funny.  After a couple years eating fresh eggs, milk, and meat from an Amish farm out East and now fresh food from K’s farm, he is soured on store bought food.  Which is fine by us.

The Roc was very excited to go to K’s farm, but as usual he was very anxious when we got there.  He stayed by my side as K walked us around the property and showed us all the animals.  We got to see the mama pigs feeding some of the piglets.

We met the cow whose milk we drink.

GC got to help K move a calf,

and after he decided he could definitely be a farmer.

The Roc warmed up after awhile and played on the playset with K’s boys.  We hung out and had lunch, the Roc wanting to be done as soon as K’s kids went back outside to the play set.   It was neat to look out the window and see him swinging with 2 new kids, chatting and laughing.  When it was time to leave, he didn’t want to go.  I can always sense when the Roc is starting to head towards the cliff and I wanted to get going before he headed downhill.   There were lots of warnings as the time to leave came near and we were able to leave without a scene.  It’s always a treat when an outing can end nicely.   It was a wonderful afternoon.

Sunday was Mother’s Day and all I wanted was to lay in bed instead of getting up to run the morning bath and to take our new canoe out for a ride.  I got both my wishes.

We were all excited to get on the water.

We paddled along the shore and then down a little waterway.

At the other end of the lake GC and the Roc did a little fishing.

While Guinness enjoyed the breeze.

We had a great time and the Roc rode along for over 2 hours.  At one point I said, “This is my favorite Mother’s Day so far.”   “Really?” GC asked, looking over his shoulder at me.  ”Yup, I always dreamed of doing this.”

I did milk the Mother’s Day card a bit later when I relaxed with a margarita at my parents house while GC put together a marble run, made the burgers, got the Roc everything he needed during dinner, and then played ladder ball with him while I talked with my Mom.

Lots of animals and some time on the water equals a great weekend for us!

The Concert

It started with a phone message that made me stand still.

“Hi there, this is Ms. G.  I just wanted to let you know that the Roc volunteered for both a speaking and a singing part in the upcoming 1st grade concert.  I was pretty surprised when Mrs. C confirmed it.  We agreed that focusing on the speaking part would be where we would start.  The singing might be too much for him, but we’ll see.  I just wanted to let you know because his line should be coming home today or tomorrow if it hasn’t already.  We’ll be doing lots of prepping leading up to the concert.”

I stood with both hands on my desk, staring at the machine as the message played out and the play button stopped blinking red.  Then I played it again.

I asked the Roc about it later and couldn’t get much info out of him, which didn’t surprise me.  I wondered if he understood that he was volunteering to speak at the concert–not just that day in music class.  GC stared at me when I told him later, disbelief written on his face.

“Did he understand what he was trying out for?” he asked me.  I shrugged my shoulders.  I didn’t know.

I started asking the Roc what his “line” was, and over the next few days he started to remember and tell me a close approximation to what was printed on the narrators page.

“We won’t even need to get a passport.”

Ms. G wrote a social story, “What To Do When:  I Am At The Music Concert” complete with pictures of the Roc’s head photoshopped into the story.  We read it numerous time, and then again right before we piled into the van to go to the auditorium.

“I’m nervous to say my line at the concert,” the Roc repeated over and over as we drove.  He gripped my hand as we walked into the building and I felt his anxiety creep up my arm.  When all the kids started to go up behind the curtain onstage I motioned for the Roc to follow them.  He froze and I walked with him, encouraging him to give me a high-five before climbing the stairs.  When I got back to GC he told me that the Roc turned around just before slipping behind the curtain and made a face at me as I walked away, his anxiety bubbling out and boiling over.  I sat back and tried to settle my stomach.

Then the curtains opened and the concert started.  I could see the Roc’s nervousness in his stiffness and the way he would pull his lips right over his teeth.  During the very first song he moved down to the front of the stage with three of his classmates and my breath caught in my throat.

He went down there!  Would he remember his line?  Would he say it out loud?  Into the microphone?  I froze in my seat, waiting, hoping to would hear his voice, holding my breath as I watched.

Then he did it!  His classmate handed him the microphone and the Roc said his line.  He went to put the microphone back on the floor but remembered he had to hand it to the boy next to him!  Then he walked back to his spot on the top of the risers.

He did it!!!  I was so proud of him.  He conquered his anxiety and said his line!  I watched him during the rest of the concert, smiling as he watched one of his classmates, copying their every move.  He did the hand motions, waved his little American flag, and barely moved his lips.  When it was over GC looked at me and said, “I felt a little tear in my eye when he said his line.  I’m so proud of him!”

He was one of the last kids off the stage and as I made my way to him I saw he was talking to Ms. G.

“You did a great job Roc!” she told him.

“Yes!  You really did!” I chimed in.

“I said my line Mommy!” he boasted.  The pride on his face evident.

He did, he said his line, and he did so much more than that.  He is participating in life.  He is trying new things.  He is pushing through his anxiety, his nerves, his fears.  I am so proud of him.  More importantly, he is proud of himself.  As he should be.

Basketball + Eggs

Time is slipping away from me and when grabbed my camera today I realized that I hadn’t recorded our Easter weekend, all the photos were still there on my Rebel.  I transferred them to my computer and imported them into Lightroom, sighing at the couple of photos I had taken the Saturday before Easter.

It was a special day, but I didn’t manage to capture it through the photographs.  I still have the memories.  The week before I had seen a posting from one of the MN autism pages I follow on facebook about discounted tickets to see the Harlem Globetrotters, and participate in a meet and greet before the game.  The Roc loves basketball and even though he hadn’t been to a professional game, I figured he would enjoy seeing the Globetrotters.  What hooked me was the fact that it was with an autism group.  Being around fellow parents with children with autism during an outing is a no-brainer.  There is no pressure, no judgement, and no need for explanations.  I signed us up and showed the Roc a video of the Globetrotters on youtube.

When we arrived the Roc held tight to my hand, and repeatedly told me he was nervous.  We got our tickets and then looked around the rapidly filling lobby for any signs of the group were would be a part of.  I didn’t know anyone, but figured I would be able to spot “our” people.  Then we waited in the lobby of the Target Center for our meet and greet time.  There were a few other groups also waiting for their turn, and because not everyone from our group had shown up, we waited and waited in the lobby while the other groups went through the meet and greet first.  The Roc got restless and fidgety.  He started to whine about standing around, about wanting to go to his seat, and about the crowd.  Waiting is hard for any kid, waiting within a crowd of people is torturous for the Roc.  Finally we were lead through the arena to meet some of the players.  We always hang back in a group, the Roc is not fond of having a crowd follow him, so the small meet and greet area was jammed when we entered.  The Roc didn’t care about the players though, there were too many people in that small space, he just wanted to get out to his seat.  But we tried, and held himself together, even entering the group photo when he was asked.

When the “game” started the Roc alternated between gazing around the arena and watching the players.  He was happy to be there, eating some of the snacks we brought, and even accepting a hunk of cotton candy from the family sitting right beside me.  (Then handing the sticky clump to me when he decided he was done with it.  I had no place to put it, so I ate it, holy sugar!)   I ended up talking and talking to the mom sitting next to me, finding out that she is originally from Delaware!  We laughed at the coincidence and both agreed that we would attend the groups first support group meeting in May and see each other there.  We all had a good time!

When we got home that evening we broke out the dyes and colored some eggs for the Easter Bunny to hide.

The next morning the Roc woke up early and looked at the trails of eggs before he came to my side of the bed, or so he told me.  He was thrilled to see the eggs leading to a few small presents around the house and went right for them as soon as we came downstairs.

Then he followed the final trail and found his basket.  (One of my favorite pictures of that day!)

Later that afternoon we went over to my parents house for food and another egg hunt, this time outside.  The Roc raced around the yard looking for the 20 eggs my dad hid earlier that day.

He loved it and was so excited that candy was inside each egg.  We found 19 eggs but couldn’t locate the 20th!  My dad hid them so well that even he couldn’t find it (remember where he put it!)  I’m pretty sure he was still thinking about the location of the missing egg when we backed out of the driveway an hour later.

Which still makes me smile a couple weeks later.  I wonder if they found it yet?

 

Last Weekend + His Person

Last weekend was full of smiles and busy with lots of running around.   A haircut, a sleep over with grandma, a gymnastic misunderstanding, a quick trip to a playground and then another with the new friend, different friends over for dinner, playing with their two boys – sidewalk chalk, bouncy house, trains, cars, dinner with the Roc in the middle, puzzles, ice cream sundae desserts, and finally one terrific crash leaving two boys with lumps and bruises on their heads and lots of tears from one and lots of screaming from another.

So many moments where progress was noted, a moment when my eyes misted up to hear my parents talk about how many changes they’ve noticed since we moved here in June, the moment that brought me back to the place when I broke apart inside, and I gasped at the searing pain, remembering when I breathed that pain every day.

So many stories I wanted to write about.

But my mind keeps coming back to one moment.

The Roc and I were at a little park, our new friends had just left, we decided to walk down the trail before heading to the parking lot.  I took the Roc’s hand in mine and again wondered how long I would be allowed to hold his hand.  When would he get to the age where that isn’t cool anymore?  Will he get there?  Do I care?

I looked down at the sun bouncing off the Roc’s new hair cut, his blonde hair already turning blonder, signs of summer around the corner.  He turned his face up to mine and I saw those beautiful blue eyes.  Sometimes I am still startled to see them, to hold their gaze, to see him see me.

“I love you Roc, so much,” I told him.

“I love you Mommy,” he said.

I stopped on the trail and wrapped my arms around him.  He did the same, his arms snaking around my middle, holding on.  I pulled him tighter, laid my cheek against his hair, breathing him in, eyes closed, remembering that first spontaneous hug outside his bathroom in Delaware.  I take none of this for granted.

“I like being with you Mommy,” he said.

“Oh, I always like being with you Roc.  You are my favorite little boy ever.  Do you know that?”  I asked him.

“You are my favorite Mommy,” he replied.

I felt the sun on my back, heard the wind in the trees, and my heart was full and thankful for the gift of the Roc.

“Am I your person?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he whispered into my shirt.

Ease

There was a time when I completely dreaded going to the store with the Roc.  That was when we used picture schedules to run our days and I always felt a little apprehensive when I stuck that “shopping” picture to the velcro strip.  There were certain stores the Roc absolutely hated, and of course we went to those stores pretty frequently.  We could never just pick up and run out to the store, if it wasn’t on the schedule, it wasn’t going to happen that day.  When the three of us were out together and we needed to make an unscheduled stop at a store I usually waited in the car with the Roc, who screamed about how he didn’t want to stop at the store.  I’ve had my share of pretty horrid shopping experiences with the Roc in tow, and I know they were infinitely more awful for him than me.  I’ve had people stare in judgement, point at us, roll their eyes, I’ve heard people mutter under their breath about “parents these days,” and one time a lady basically told me that I needed to spank him and everything would be different, that she would whip him into shape if he were her child.

I know that going shopping with typical children isn’t always a picnic.  But being able to say, “We have to go to the store now,” and then pick up and go to the store is one of those little things that most people do not give much thought to.  It’s an ease that parents like me wish for and then we work for.  It’s why we do picture schedules, write social stories about what to expect at a store and what is expected of the child at the store.  We prep and prep, and then we practice, and practice, and practice.  We keep going even if it ended in disaster last time, holding onto the grain of hope that the next time will be a bit better.  We measure success in small increments.  The ability to enter the store, to stay for 15 minutes, to use words instead of screams, and on until we get to the stage where we can actually make a short list and then go to the store – with our child.

For over a year every outing to Walmart in our little town in Delaware felt like a therapy session.  Have you ever stopped by the checkout on a busy day in Walmart, closed your eyes and just listened?  Adults talking, babies crying, children whining, music and the occasional in-store announcement, rustling packages, squeaking carts, beeping scanners, the thump of items on the belt, the mechanical noise of the belt, register drawers slamming open, the whir of the air conditioner, cell phones ringing, the loud cell phone talkers, etc.  And that is just the auditory piece!  Visual overstimulation, the crowds, the lights, the fans, the changes, the unexpected, the anxiety about being touched by a stranger, an onslaught to an over sensitive system,

Even though it was hard, I kept going to the store with the Roc.  Little by little, bit by bit, schedule by schedule, all the prepping and practicing began to pay off.  I would make a list, he would ride in the big part of the cart, we would get our couple things, and then get the heck out of there.  Eventually he got to the point where he would walk in the store with me if we only got a few things.  We still couldn’t drop by a store unexpectedly, but I could tell him that I was adding it to the afternoon schedule and he would go willingly.  We developed routines at certain stores, looking at the cakes in the bakery section of the grocery store, or visiting the gift shop and outdoor area of our local natural food store/nursery, and we had to do these things every time, which I did willingly.  He was always “working for” something at every store, and there were times that I literally carried him out of a store abandoning what I had come to purchase when he melted down.  But we were there, he was there, it was slowly getting easier, and after awhile I stopped focusing so much on how hard it was to go to the store with the Roc.  We kept going, time went by and I didn’t notice it’s passing.

A few weeks ago the three of us were out running errands.  We told the Roc we would be doing some shopping and we didn’t know exactly how many stores we would be going too.  We decided to stop at a Thai restaurant for lunch.  Then we shopped.  We went into a couple craft stores, we looked around, I sent GC off with the Roc and looked by myself, and then they came and found me.  The Roc stayed with me for awhile, “helping” me and reminding me “not to get lost.”  Even though his voice rang through the store and the lady next to me was doing her best to ignore him, I smiled at him and told him he was doing a good job.  He waited in line with us, again his voice too loud, and this time the lady behind us couldn’t hide her annoyance, and again I smiled and told him he was waiting patiently.  We left the store and decided at the last minute to stop at Target before going home.

The weather was gorgeous, an unseasonably warm breeze lifted my hair as I took the Roc’s hand in the parking lot.  I looked up and saw the white tail of a jet expanding across the blue sky and I stopped and pointed it out to the Roc.

“What is that?” he asked, his head tilted back.

I felt jolted at once by his question, the fact that we were out shopping as a family, that we unexpectedly stopped at a restaurant to eat lunch, that we spent 20 minutes in a craft store, and then moved onto another store, that he was managing himself.  Overwhelmed by all of that and more.  I looked over at GC as he explained the jet and then I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face and the Roc’s hand in mine.  We were out on a busy Saturday just like any other family.  There was an ease to the day that I had never felt before.

The Roc was going with the flow.

(Did you do a double take on that line?  The Roc was going with the flow.)

Parenting isn’t easy.  We all know that.  But there is an everyday ease that most people take for granted.  I’ve wanted that so much, for me, for the Roc.  Not because I want it to be easy for us.  I want that ease for him.  For him to be able to do everyday tasks out in the world successfully and be at ease himself.

That Saturday proved that we’re getting there.  He’s getting there.  The prepping, the social stories, and all the times I wanted to give up, to stay in the car, to shop alone at night…but didn’t…it’s paid off.

That day happened.

It can happen again.