Today I managed to survive a conference call, take my tribe to the homeschool park day and also to Orchestra. Doesn’t sound impressive? Keep in mind that orchestra requires 5 music stands and 5 violins to be taken to the car, transported, and relocated to a classroom through hallways lined with the distraction of friends! It also includes assisting my 5-year-old non-reader and 8-year-old autistic son through the hour. I signed up to learn alongside them, but my own violin has still never made it out of the case. Continue reading “OOTD: Iron Chef Prairie Girl Meets Her Inner Yoda”
I had to come up with something, even if i was just going to share it with myself. Something poetic if only to justify my day to myself.
Ruckus destroyed a project.
The Brainiac and Big Sister had been working on for hours.
This happened while they were both downstairs working on their responsibilities in our home… one ironing and one loading dishes. They were being GOOD, and obedient, pleasantly working without complaint. They didn’t deserve their work destroyed yet here we are.
Same story, different day.
So I go through the routine, but he doesn’t get it today any more than he did yesterday or the day before. There is no remorse because there is no empathy. There is no click in his brain of understanding that he has ruined their work or why they are upset. He needed those legos. Now. That is all that exists to him.
Ruckus is a sensitive kid. He is caring and loving and full or emotions. They just don’t work on the same level of awareness that the majority has. So we work on this. Often.
How do we do it? How do we show the heart of the matter to these little ones who don’t have the capacity to put themselves in the place of others. They don’t “do” outside their own box well. Their box of understanding is as intriguingly limitless and bursting with potential as it is small and restricting, to those of us who can’t see inside of it.
His heart is there.
His feelings are there.
They are boxed up.
He sees what he did. He recognizes that it was not ok. It is done and he has moved on to something else. His logic tells him to do the next thing. The whole incident is outside of his box now. It’s up to me to work it back into his frame of reference.
So we worked through that today. For awhile. I see glimmers of hope and I know we’ll get there. Not today, not next week, but I have seen the amazing other side of these people, the ones who surf a different spectrum of viewing life. I know my son will turn out as a wonderful man. God made him to be. Without a doubt.
It just requires some serious dedication from everyone in our family and everyone around us. To work inside a box, and also nudge him outside of his box.
Still, sometimes as moms of spectrum surfers we need an outlet, if only to blow off some steam in a different direction that doesn’t point toward our kids. Steam can burn. We all no that.
We need to let it go in a way that doesn’t close them in.
Back to my opening sentence. I had to think of something. Something to decompress and let go of this situation and the angry response that well up in me, threatening to ruin any headway we have made with the Ruckus.
It felt good and I’ll share it with you for a little snort and chuckle. Here it is. My garbled attempt at throwing together a few words, with no time for rhyme or reason. Just words. My attempt at being one of those clever wordsmith types who throw together phrases that say something important, but not.
A Meme Artist, if you will.
With snorts and the spitting of coffee and rolling on floors type. I want the time to do that. That may never be me. I’m not that funny, yet here is today’s offering. My 15 minutes of free time:
Teaching empathy to an autism surfer is akin to
Climbing an Eiffel Tower constructed entirely of Legos
One leg glued to the other with a mix of glitter glue and E6000 adhesive
Flopping along like a mermaid out of water,
A weighty sloth on my back.. arms wrapped round my neck twice
Little paws flopped heavily over my eyes.
This would happen, of course, the only way it could,
With my hair bedraggled, no makeup, and teeth unbrushed
Wearing the stained, beat-to-threads kinda dress that is
Only meant to be seen around the house dress,
While suddenly finding my nostrils plugged with the baby wipes
The ones left over
from the last time I changed my 8 year old’s diaper,
Which was a really bad one.
Because as you know, if you know me at all, I always smell poop. Every where I go. I smell it.
Everyone should own some E6000. For realz.