Christmas Eve

Sharkboy couldn't stop singing Christmas carols yesterday. He would sing a line, catch himself and say in his grumpy old man voice, "Why do I keep singing? I hate singing!" But he can't help it because he loves Christmas. He craves excitement, then he always crashes after it's over. It's the rollercoaster of our life.

She's Back

Haven't written for awhile. I like to write, have been journaling since I got hormones, but sometimes I take breaks - when living the life seems like enough work, let alone reviewing it.

But life has settled down. After our summer of camping, leading VBS, birthdays, my missions trip to Costa Rica, my husband's missions trip to Africa, and a family vacation to eastern Oregon, school started.

So Sharkboy is in 2nd grade now and doing fantastic. A little more maturity and a daily dose of Prozac have brought us miles from where we were 4 years ago. We still struggle on a daily basis, but he seems more stable and happier. I no longer want to end it all. That's progress, right?

Just got back from a trip to Haiti (Sharkboy actually stayed with friends!) and I've got my head focused on Christmas now. Christmas is a good season for Aspies with lots of excitement and stimulation. Sharkboy didn't just write a Christmas list for Santa - he drew a chart with illustrations and all. Classic.

I can swim with a shark

Took Sharkboy and his brother to see the movie "Oceans" in the theater. Towards the end, they showed footage of a man swimming with a shark. The narrator was saying how we are discovering that sometimes the things we think are impossible are not. He said that sometimes we find a smile behind the most gruesome face. And it did inspire awe, watching a human traveling right alongside that awesome, frightening creature.

I cried, silently. My boys couldn't tell. But I knew God was giving me a visual of what is happening with me and my son. I am swimming alongside of him and I am not afraid. We are together and everyone is alright.

You see, it is but for the grace of God that my son is not destructive or violent. Autism is a disease of extremes and my son is sometimes passive, but more often volatile. Even when he gets excited at times, it is a jagged, tense excitement. He is definitely the shark.

I think back when he was little, those haunting years when a mother knows something is terribly wrong but assumes it is her. All those episodes that I expected him to be something he could not. Looking back, I expected him to be a dolphin. I got angry at him. I got frustrated. Of course, a shark can never be a dolphin.

Isn't is ridiculous that my own pediatrician said she was reluctant to mention the possibility of autism? She didn't want to freak me out or mislead me. How could she not see that I needed the truth?

Once it sunk into my mind and heart that he was a shark, not a dolphin, then I could learn. I have learned how to swim with sharks - when to pull back, when to come close, when to shut up. I have found some peace in facing the unpredictable. Best of all, I have learned that I can swim without fear.

He is Visual

I am finally catching on to one truth about Shark Boy. He is visual. I tell him often that I love him, I show him all the time that I love him, and YET he believes that I love him when I look happy. He tells me that when I look like I am mad, I hate him. Actually, when he is stressed out, any look of slight frustration tells him that I hate him. It is freakishly black and white for him.

Often when I'm tired and acting like it (Hey, I'm not a robot), he asks me, "[Do] you hate me, Momma?" "No, honey. I always love you. I never hate you."

Showing some hope for progress, he'll sometimes tell me, "Oh yeah, I remember. I think you're tired. [Are] you just tired, Momma?" "Yes, honey, I'm just tired."

Needless to say, those acting classes in college are paying off. I'm getting really good at my (fake) happy look.

Birthday Party Success

Good day...Sharkboy attended a classmate's birthday party. Best part was that he did it without me. I hung around for a minute to make sure all was well. He was wanting to cling to me a little and I knew I had to get out of there if he was going to be successful. It helped my peace of mind that the birthday Mom works in special ed at their school.

So I got out of there and it worked!!! Such an ordinary thing for neurotypical kids, but not for Sharkboy. This was a day to remember. (:

Feels like a Bad Dream

Monday evening was bad.
Tuesday evening was bad.
Wednesday evening was the worst.

Sharkboy is adjusting back to school after spring break.He holds himself together during school and then, about an hour after he comes home from school, it starts. Something goes wrong and he can't cope. He's whining, then he's crying, then he's stimming (repetitive behaviors). I'm trying to distract him, calm him down, reason with him. I try ignoring him. His brother and sister try to play with him and pull him out of it.

But now he's stuck. Whatever it was that went wrong has become larger than life. He's wailing, wailing, wailing. He can't stop himself. He's frantic, spitting out 7 year old profanity ("Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!") All communication becomes incoherent.

On Wednesday (the worst night), he even progresses to punching the walls, the nightstand. He is completely out of control and I grab his arms to restrain him. I'm screaming now, "What are you doing? Stop it! Just stop it!"

He throws himself on his bed, wailing like a wild dog. I rush out of the room, knowing I have lost control. I pace in the other room, trying to get a grip.

Daddy pulls up in the driveway. I call out to him, "Hurry, need you in the psych ward...ASAP!" He saves the day, but in my heart, nothing feels saved. Everything feels horrible and ruined.

This morning I helped out in Sharkboy's class. I smile at the kids, reviewing their spelling words. I love helping and I'm good with kids. But I keep remembering last night. How can I reconcile who we were last night with this sweet picture of the 1st grader and his doting Mommy helper? It feels like a bad dream.

Tonight is going well.
He's doing good...so far...we're doing good.
Tonight.

Finale

Last night, I was practicing violin with my 8 year old (neurotypical) son. On the final chord, Sharkboy, who was playing with his sister in the other room, let out a scream (long and whistling-pete-like) and IT WAS ACTUALLY PERFECTLY IN TUNE! It was glorious (and he was fine - it's usually something like he dropped a lego).