tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67588986185180443202024-03-14T00:41:12.752-04:00Bacon and Juice Boxes: Our Life With AutismAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-14577644144621488602016-04-21T20:44:00.000-04:002016-04-21T20:44:03.367-04:00Called Out by my 14 year old<br />
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So... I like to think I'm a very optimistic person. Look for the silver lining. Make lemonade out of lemons. Dance in the rain.... you get the idea. But recently, my daughter pointed out how I had been focusing on the negative. If you missed it, "Sister Bacon" (aka Anna) did a "facebook live" interview (this past Sunday in case you want to scroll back and watch it). She blew me away with her confidence, articulation and perfect amount of humor she injected as she answered questions with ease -- but that is subject for a separate future blog. Anyway, after the broadcast was over, she watched the entire thing again. I was sitting next to her and after every question I asked in the beginning [from a list I made myself just to get discussion started before the audience started submitting questions], she would say "there you go being negative again."<br />
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Hhmmph? Me? Negative? Nah it couldn't be. But as I listened I thought.... wow she is right. A few days later, I watched the broadcast again and it had a new perspective for me as I listened. Verdict: I was guilty as charged. I loved how she called us out on always talking so negative about our spring break Cruise vacation we took in 2015. She is right - there were 3 pretty good days on the first half of the cruise where Eric was in his glory marching all over the ship - especially to the pools - and had the greatest stash of bacon every morning at breakfast. The Autism on the Seas personnel and perks were very helpful - and I wish we used them more right away when we got on the ship and got Eric into the habit of maybe hanging with them and doing some activities for a few hours every day. I think it would have made for a very different experience. But just to set the record straight.... <br />
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There were many things to smile about on that cruise: <br />
<ul>
<li>We could have been at work instead of floating in paradise</li>
<li>I loved seeing my kids sleep on the pull out couch/bed together and fight over the covers</li>
<li>Anna got to ride the flow rider, fly in an air chamber, and swing on a trapeze</li>
<li>We had an impromptu family ride in the bumper cars - -I was literally still in my pajamas - but it was so much fun and Eric loved it (after initially not wanting to try it)</li>
<li>We went on a boat excursion looking for Dolphins and manatees and got to see several and Eric got very excited. </li>
<li>We were shown great kindness by our cabin neighbors after a particularly LOUD meltdown; their kindness seriously mad me sob tears of relief from not feeling judged as a parent.</li>
<li>We met some wonderful families and made some lasting friendships and connections that week.</li>
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We created memories. Yes some of them are painful memories from that trip, but our "story" is made up of the good, bad and ugly experiences we all go through on this journey of life.<br />
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As I listened to the interview questions, I heard myself asking about "hard times" and "things you can't do" and stuff like that. To be fair I feel I also asked about the 'best' memory and more positive things too, but it was very eye opening to me that my 14 year old zoned in on the negative aspects. It made me reflect and wonder if I do that more often than I think. After Eric was diagnosed, I did cry all the time. It was fear of the unknown and uncertainty for the future. I certainly still cry every so often - my husband knows that sometimes I just have to let it out - like a lid on a teapot - to be able to get it out and move on from whatever emotional moment I was having. It's just in my genetics (thanks mom) -- but I always said "I don't want my daughter to look back at her childhood and remember a mom that was always crying, sad, and depressed; and I certainly don't want her to say that I was always focusing on the negative aspects surrounding autism and how it's affected our family.<br />
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Our time on this earth is brief and I want to spend it enjoying and loving my family. Not worrying about the 'what if's' and 'what should have been.' We must make a conscious effort to use each day to fill our hearts with happiness and hope. Make time for yourself. Make time for everyone that is important in your life.<br />
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Sometimes the road is bumpy.... and sometimes it's very uphill, but sometimes you just gotta hold on and enjoy the ride and let your 14 year old lead the way......<br />
--Mrs. Bacon <br />
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[Picture is of big sister helping Eric wait for his turn in the bumper cars on the cruise <3 ]<br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-90636499746468741052016-04-06T15:16:00.000-04:002016-04-06T15:16:55.672-04:00EnoughI can't take away her fears.<br />
But I can hold her, listen, and make her trust in her soul that she'll never face them alone.<br />
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I can't melt away his anxiety. <br />
But I can support, comfort him, and be his rock.<br />
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I can't answer all of her tough questions.<br />
But I can listen and offer guidance with humility and understanding.<br />
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I can't pray away our struggles.<br />
But I can pray for guidance and strength.<br /><br />I can only do what I can do. <br />
And, that is enough. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-81751949065777003662016-03-19T19:42:00.001-04:002016-03-19T19:42:09.512-04:00When ya gotta go!<br />I took Eric to one of his favorite places today that’s about an hour away. About 10 minutes after I got on the road I realized I was never going to make it all the way there without stopping for a bathroom break (too much water after my morning workout!). I immediately started stressing out about where to stop. <br /><br />I couldn’t leave him in the car, despite him saying “Eric wait car,” but I really am starting to dread when I’m out by myself with him and I have to go.... (I’m almost to the point where in some places I would feel comfortable sending him into the men’s room if he had to go....but I would never have him wait outside a ladies room for me.)<br /><br />So I started thinking.....Where would it be empty enough that I wouldn’t have to wait for a bathroom, but busy enough that I wouldn’t be noticed bringing my 11 year old son into the ladies room with me? <br /><br />I felt sad that something so simple was causing me to stress out (and even consider pulling on the side of the road and running into the woods as a better option!)<br /><br />Family restrooms are starting to pop up in places - but still so very rare.... Why do we need separate men's & women’s rest rooms anyway? We all share one at our homes; so can’t we just have a big bathroom that has totally closed up little bathroom closets (like in Europe - where there are actually full size doors in public bathrooms).... then Dad’s traveling with their special girls and Mom’s traveling with their special boys won’t have to stress out about something so basic. <br /><br />----Mrs. BaconAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-11568471486801494972016-03-13T10:08:00.000-04:002016-03-13T10:08:04.116-04:00Never Miss a Moment<br />Recently I took Eric to a local indoor water park for a few hours. He loved it. I had a few very interesting social observations.<br /><br />One of the most obvious was how we, the parents of special needs kids, never miss a moment in our kids lives. We are ever present, hyper vigilant, (over bearing at times) and just stuck to them like their own shadow. I get to experience and watch 98% of every single thing my son does. <br /><br />It dawned on me when I was watching two siblings fighting in the line for the slide--and I found myself looking around for their parents because they were really young. And well, they worked out their differences, but those parents will never know how sad their little girl was by how mean her brother was talking to her. And I’m sure 10 minutes later she was probably the one being mean to her brother - so it really isn’t the point. They were independently growing up and figuring it out on their own.<br /><br />It dawned on me again later when I saw another small child screaming from the top of the play structure trying to get her parents attention, but they were yapping away to another set of adults and never heard her. She wanted to make sure her mom was witnessing the absolutely brave thing she was about to do. But they missed it. I saw it though - and gave her a little “thumbs up” as she got off the slide. (And she ran over to them afterwards and they were super happy to see her and watched the second time!)<br /><br />So, while there I found like I was a bit of a family concierge, I was chasing after a mom who dropped an article of clothing because she was carrying so much stuff for her family that she never noticed she dropped it. I alerted the lifeguard that he needed to do some crowd control because a mom was trying to get situated on a tube with her very young child and was practically being trampled by kids pushing to get into the lazy river.<br /><br />And that’s when it dawned on me again. How I never miss a moment in Eric’s life, how I really SEE people and their emotions and how their non-verbal actions speak volumes about how they are feeling. And I realized how blessed I am because Eric taught me how to be present and how to be there for as many moments as possible. Trust me there are many days I am envious of those parents who get to sit on a lounge chair, read a book or chat with other parents during an outing like this --but during this visit I felt like the lucky one.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-85146121887829257302016-03-03T19:52:00.002-05:002016-03-03T19:52:17.030-05:00It's All About the Experience<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
It's all about the experience.</div>
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Eric has a few borderline obsessive compulsions. He loves to go to Target, Walmart, or BJ's to buy a toy. What kid doesn't, right? But, Eric specifically only wants to buy "Cars" characters. Yes, he has several dozen of each of them. We kind of just went with it for a couple years. They aren't that expensive and they really make him happy. We started using trips to the store as motivators for good behavior and, besides the growing mount<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ain of Cars filling our living room, there wasn't much of a downside.</span></div>
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Then I realized, as much as it makes him happy, he completely discards the new toy as soon as we get back in the car and take it out of its packaging. The pleasure is in the experience of shopping, picking out the right one, and making the purchase. Possessing the item after the purchase is meaningless.</div>
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Recently, Eric added trips to Foodtown to buy Froot Loops to his list of guilty pleasures and also discovered the joys of Ebay. He watches us place the order, marks the calendar with the anticipated delivery date, and counts down the hours until his treasure arrives. The maturity and patience he shows in accepting delayed gratification is awesome. But, this is proving to be a little more expensive, since he seems to have a knack for choosing limited edition, rare, or discontinued toys to purchase.</div>
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So, I tried an experiment: I told him to find one of his favorite toys and help me pack it into a box. He picked out his favorite Bob the Builder figurine, wrapped it in paper towel and packaged it with great care. I helped him write out his name and address on the box and taped it up. Then I told him to go put it in the mail. He ran out to the curb, happily put the package containing his most prized possession in the mailbox and ran back into the house. He marked the calendar three days out and skipped away happy as a clam. On the third day, I put the package back in the mailbox before he got home from school (I had secretly taken it out). He jumped out of the car, ran to the mailbox and shrieked with delight when he saw his treasure. After he opened it, he ran to find another toy to pack and "mail" to himself in the exact same box.</div>
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It's not about receiving a new toy. It's about the experience of anticipating and receiving the package. We aren't fooling him. He knows he's just receiving a toy he already owns. He is completely in on the gag and he absolutely loves it. We currently have scheduled deliveries of Rolly, Muck, Lofty and Dizzy marked on the calender to round out the month of March. His mind is fascinating to me.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-80457629950561036752016-02-25T21:13:00.000-05:002016-02-25T21:13:23.047-05:00Vacation Amnesia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last month Mr. Bacon and I were blessed to be able to go away on vacation without the kids. (<span style="color: #741b47;">Thank you Grandma and Pop Pop</span>). We needed the break. REALLY needed the break. <br /><br />We have been to this place before with the kids back in 2012. So I found myself “seeing” the kids in different places I knew they enjoyed when we visited. But most interesting was that I seemed to remember only the good times... it was like I kind of forgot about how autism and anxiety accompanied us, too. I had vacation amnesia.<br /><br />I <i>remembered</i> all the fun Eric had going down the water slide.<br />I somehow “<u>forgot</u>” how he flung my $40 triathlon goggles over the fake rock waterfalls by that slide - never to be seen again!<br /><br />I <i>remembered</i> him sliding down, and swimming to the stairs, running past us, back up the stairs to do it again, and again and again.<br />I <u>forgot</u> how he gave us a heart attack, when after waiting a long time for him to come down the slide, we realized he ran down a “back walkway” and was halfway across the resort when we found him.<br /><br />I <i>remembered</i> having a great time in the ocean, with Daddy Bacon flinging him through the air.<br />I <u>forgot</u> how many times we trekked back and forth from the pool to the ocean, back to the pool, back to the ocean, up to the hotel room, back down to the pool..well you get the point! <br /><br />I <i>remembered</i> enjoying a sunset sail cruise with my entire family in honor of my parents 50th wedding anniversary.<br />I <u>forgot</u> how Eric had anxiety and cried for hours begging not to go; Daddy having to carry him about a mile down the beach to the pier; coaxing and calming him while waiting and listening to him cry “no boat!” over and over again. ---(He ended up loving it.)<br /><br />I <i>remembered</i> one night at dinner Eric danced with pure joy for an hour at an outdoor restaurant that had entertainment (steel drum band/singer).<br />I <u>forgot</u> the night we arrived where Daddy and Eric had to leave the restaurant even before their food arrived, because the anxiety from flying earlier that day had just left him (them ;-) ) fried.<br /><br />I <i>remembered</i> Eric sleeping through the night and waking up around 7am EVERY morning- and I declared we should move there!<br />I <u>forgot</u> hearing ‘no go home’ ‘no fly airplane’ ‘no go high’ ‘no stuck in clouds’ and hours of tears the morning we had to head home.<br /><br />But most of all, I <i><b>remembered</b></i> creating wonderful lasting memories with my beautiful family and looking forward to the day we could do it again! <br />
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--------Mrs. Bacon<br />
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(Image is of Eric lounging in 2012, and Daddy lounging in 2016)<br /><br /><br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-88352659015962529692016-02-21T08:27:00.003-05:002016-02-21T08:27:15.272-05:00Growth<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br />Yes, you should be expected to put the needs of your children first.</div>
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Yes, you should be expected to sacrifice greatly for their happiness.</div>
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No, this does not mean you should be expected to feel guilty about, or bury your valid, honest emotions.</div>
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No, you are not a bad parent for taking time to process and get your balance after life throws you a curve ball.</div>
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Yes, you should be supported and given a place to express these emotions as you work through them.</div>
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No, you should not be judged during this process.</div>
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God knows I'm not the same person I was 11 years ago. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't found an outlet to process and express these things to a few people who get it.</div>
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What better lesson can you offer your kids than an example of your own personal growth?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-25902482081647138282016-02-19T19:20:00.000-05:002016-02-19T19:20:06.546-05:00A Love Story - Breakthrough!<br />I’ll admit I’ve always hoped that Eric would “blend in” to the crowd; conform to publicly acceptable behaviors. It’s taken me many, many years to be OK with his noises and quirky movements that are an extension of his communication abilities.<br /><br />Last week in BJ’s...we <u>both</u> had a breakthrough. As I was packing up the items I just finished scanning in the self check out lane, Eric began to belt out the song that was on the radio, Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.” It’s one of my favorites --and I guess all those times I’ve blasted it in the car have sunk into his brain....because it all came pouring out with gusto.<br /><br />Normally, I would be shush-ing him...but something clicked and I let him belt his heart out. It was happiness. It made ME happy. If you’ve shopped in this warehouse store before, you know you have to stop at the exit and have them check your receipt. As we were waiting in line, I quickly grabbed my phone to start recording. (I should have really videotaped the people watching him. They were staring with big confused smiles on their faces - it was priceless!)<br />
<br /> I even encouraged him to sing louder! <br /><br />I’m always fascinated by the various ‘pop’ songs that Eric takes a liking to... and I always try to read into the meaning - like maybe he is trying to tell me something when he asks me to put on a certain song....<br /><br />For instance, he’s always loved the song “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield. Eric would fondly call this song “Staring Reaching” song. Such a perfect message that always reminds me about so many things on this journey with autism. I mean, seriously, read these lyrics.... <br /><br />"<i>I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined<br />I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned<br />Staring at the blank page before you<br />....<br />Reaching for something in the distance<br />So close you can almost taste it<br />Release your inhibitions<br />Feel the rain on your skin<br />No one else can feel it for you<br />Only you can let it in<br />No one else, no one else<br />Can speak the words on your lips<br />Drench yourself in words unspoken<br />Live your life with arms wide open<br />Today is where your book begins<br />The rest is still unwritten<br />I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines<br />We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way"</i><br /><br />And well, as I search for meaning in the lyrics of this Taylor Swift song--- I’ve narrowed it down to this one simple line:<br /><br /><i>“I love you, and that's all I really know.”</i><br /><br />I hope Eric always knows, understands and feels how much I love him.<br /><br />-----Mrs. Bacon<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-20240361624286696092016-02-17T14:43:00.001-05:002016-02-17T14:43:13.487-05:00An Open Letter to the Police From an Autism Dad (and a cop)<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
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Brothers and sisters, we are losing. We can argue about the reasons why (reality vs. perception); we can argue about the biased media; unreasonable expectations; poor self-promotion. But, the brutal truth is many special needs individuals and families are afraid to call us when they need help. They are afraid we wi<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ll hurt them. They are afraid we will judge them. They are afraid we will take their children away. That is both tragic and unacceptable to me, and I hope it is unacceptable to you too.<br /></span></div>
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This is difficult for me to say, but in all honesty, I'm afraid too. I am a high ranking officer in my police department. I am in charge of training. I teach this stuff. And, as a dad, I'm afraid too. You--we--are granted immense power to affect the trajectory of people's lives. That scares them--us.<br /></div>
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We are brothers. I would bleed for you. I am calling in my chips and begging you to hear me out. You will meet our families at our lowest points. Understand the courage and sheer desperation that is required, given their utter fear of us, to pick up the phone and dial 911 during a crisis. You will be tempted to judge us-- to "otherise" us. Please don't. I am a good father. My wife is a wonderful mother. We enjoy the luxury of an incredible support structure. And, if you were to judge me based on any of the four (YES, FOUR) times I have lost my son, you could make a case that I am completely unfit.<br /></div>
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Families like mine operate on Level 10 Alert Status twenty-four hours per day. I have not sat and enjoyed a meal with my wife at a family picnic in 11 years. We take turns keeping watch over my son. We sleep in shifts. We sleep with one ear open for the sound of the chain latch on our back door-- not because we are afraid of burglars coming in, but because we are afraid of our son breaking out. We are constantly aware of the ignorant stares and judgment of strangers. We have to carefully plan and coordinate even the shortest trips to the supermarket. This strains us.<br /></div>
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I'm not asking for your sympathy. This is not a tragedy. Leukemia is a tragedy. This is a challenge. And, sometimes our best isn't good enough. Sometimes we need help. Sometimes we need you.</div>
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I am your biggest fan. I am your loudest advocate. I am screaming from the rooftops that you are, without equivocation, The Good Guys. But it's so fragile. One negative headline spreads like wildfire and becomes the accepted perception. Open your hearts and minds, and learn about our families. Approach us with genuine curiosity and empathy. You have no idea how much we need you."</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-18056498568773148962016-02-15T15:01:00.002-05:002016-02-15T15:13:27.987-05:00My 20 Rules For the New Autism Blogger<br />
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5ig85-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5ig85-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="5ig85-0-0">My 20 Rules for the New Autism Blogger (or anyone thinking about becoming one):</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="1tk68-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5kup7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5kup7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="5kup7-0-0">1) Don't chase "Likes". You'll end up sacrificing your core principles.</span></div>
</div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="69v72-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="69v72-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="8ml6v-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8ml6v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="8ml6v-0-0">2) Know where you stand on tough issues, even if it's in the middle.</span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="81f4f-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="81f4f-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="81f4f-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="etv4q-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="etv4q-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="etv4q-0-0">3) Eventually, you'll piss off 50% of your audience. If you have remained true to Rules #1 and #2, they will stick around.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="d942e-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d942e-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="d942e-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="bt75l-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bt75l-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="bt75l-0-0">4) If they don't stick around, see #1. A good shaking of the tree is healthy once in a while. </span></div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="diinp-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="diinp-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="d1hvm-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d1hvm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="d1hvm-0-0">5) I never believed in the "Don't Feed the Trolls" philosophy. Highlight them, engage them, and torch them... without mercy. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="9bmr0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9bmr0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="9bmr0-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="57sle-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="57sle-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="57sle-0-0">6) But, never try to win them over. </span></div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d8hmg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="d8hmg-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7er7m-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7er7m-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7er7m-0-0">7) Facebook "Status Updates" spread better than links to blog posts. Type your blog post, then copy and paste it as a "status update". Hat tip to </span><span class="_5u8u" data-offset-key="7er7m-1-0" spellcheck="false" style="background-color: #dce6f8;"><span data-offset-key="7er7m-1-0"><span data-text="true">Autism Daddy</span></span></span><span data-offset-key="7er7m-2-0"> for that one. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="8101o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8101o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="8101o-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="ev05o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ev05o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="ev05o-0-0">8) Watermark your memes. The one that you don't will go viral. Count on it.</span></div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5ghl4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="5ghl4-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="jmg2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="jmg2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="jmg2-0-0">9) Memes get old. Give your audience content. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="2p3bu-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2p3bu-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="2p3bu-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="1j452-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1j452-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1j452-0-0">10) Corny memes cost you followers.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="clns7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="clns7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="clns7-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5t5k0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5t5k0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="5t5k0-0-0">11) Be you. If you're not witty, don't try to emulate someone who is. If you're snarky, let it flow. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="344vl-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="344vl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="344vl-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="auv46-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="auv46-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="auv46-0-0">12) Nobody likes a Know-It-All.</span></div>
</div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eruij-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="eruij-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="6ijfm-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6ijfm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="6ijfm-0-0">13) Everybody hates a whiner.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="amcke-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="amcke-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="amcke-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7qn8a-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7qn8a-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7qn8a-0-0">14) 30% of the population will dislike you for no reason at all. That's not a scientific number or anything, just an educated stab. See #1. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7pt0u-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7pt0u-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7pt0u-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="6hrlo-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6hrlo-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="6hrlo-0-0">15) Think Kardashians... don't be that. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="9fsf0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9fsf0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="9fsf0-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="4pgfk-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4pgfk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="4pgfk-0-0">16) Cherish your audience. Be grateful for them. Honor their time. Treat them like family.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="53rij-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="53rij-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="53rij-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="drj31-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="drj31-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="drj31-0-0">17) "Share for Share" agreements are bullshit and water the whole system down. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="744eb-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="744eb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="744eb-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="2lhe2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2lhe2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="2lhe2-0-0">18) The most popular posts are usually descriptions of tiny real-life moments. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="bvm6r-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bvm6r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="bvm6r-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7napi-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7napi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7napi-0-0">19) It doesn't have to be Shakespear. Just share your story. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="9sc8h-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9sc8h-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="9sc8h-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="f2fg9-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f2fg9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="f2fg9-0-0">20) Laugh at yourself. People like that shit. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="a7rq5-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a7rq5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="a7rq5-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-offset-key="dqjfg-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dqjfg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="dqjfg-0-0">21) 12 real, genuine followers are better than 12 million part-timers who forget about you as soon as they click "Like". See #1. </span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-28030884649717992042016-02-08T19:35:00.000-05:002016-02-08T19:35:37.657-05:00The Good GuysI know I'm fighting an uphill battle. The things I've read in recent days-- the anger and bitterness I have heard-- leave little room for optimism. I'm going to try anyway. <br /><br />I understand the fear. I understand the anger. My biggest fear is that my son will soon meet a police officer who will misunderstand his behavior and hurt him. Fear is reasonable. <br />
<br />
It is also dangerously deceptive. <br />
<br />
There are literally hundreds of positive, successful and tragedy-averting interactions between our loved ones and our police on a daily basis. You never hear of most of them because cops, traditionally, are lousy at self-promotion. But, like a spark in dry kindling, news of one tragic event, however sparse in detail it may be, ignites and spreads across social media and becomes the assumed rule, rather than the statistically rare exception. <br />
<br />
For reasons I have yet to figure out, negativity and outrage spread at a rate exponentially faster than positivity and hope. They also linger in our consciousness far longer. Some of you have already stopped reading and begun typing your "comment" citing a negative police encounter you experienced or heard about. Some of you have grown angry at me for even attempting to defend our cops. <br />
<br />Fear has seeped into our souls, pessimism has taken root and outrage has become a comfortable emotion. In response, our police have grown defensive. They feel attacked, under appreciated, bitter and completely unmotivated. This is a recipe for unrecoverable disaster. <br />
<br />I know I'm fighting an uphill battle. Hell, it may already be too late. But, I am going to try anyway. I am going to tell you about the cops that I have met.<br />
<br />
I have met the biggest, toughest, most hardened officers dressed in tactical gear and body armor. And, I've watched them wipe away tears as I described the challenges and struggles facing our families. <br />
<br />
I have seen groups of police Chiefs spend hours on a Saturday morning sitting and taking meticulous notes as they eagerly learned about our needs, concerns, and fears. <br />
<br />
I have witnessed the most junior officers get on the floor and make connections with our kids that would draw envy from the most experienced therapists. <br />
<br />
I have seen decorated investigators and police administrators devote countless hours of their time creating and implementing a database of identifying information and personal interests of our loved ones to better serve our needs.<br />
<br />
I have watched officers cold, tired and wet, shivering in the rain and snow, refusing to be relieved from their shift until one of our wandering kids was located. <br />
<br />
I have watched them cheer and hug each other when the child was found.<br />
<br />
I have watched those same officers fall to their knees in grief and self-blame when their heroic efforts were tragically unsuccessful. <br />
<br />
I have heard officers beg through tears for the individual at the end of their gun's sights to drop their weapon and not force them to pull their trigger. <br />
<br />
I know of officers so damaged and broken from what they were forced to do, they have chosen suicide over living with the grief and guilt. <br />
<br />
I have seen staggering kindness and jaw-dropping selflessness. I've seen Good so pure, the only reasonable explanation is Divine intervention.<br />
<br />
Believe me, I am critical when it is warranted. I have spoken plainly and frankly about our failings and needs for improvement. I do not view this topic with rose-colored glasses and I fight back the fear and dread of "what if" just like you do. <br />
<br />
But, I have seen the Good. And, I want you to see it too. <br /><br />Reach out to them, yes. Educate them, yes. Train them, absolutely.<br />
<br />
But take a minute to get educated about them as well. <br />
<br />
Be critical. Demand excellence.<br />
<br />
But, don't judge them unrealistically and rashly. <br />
<br />
Don't dehumanize them. Don't underestimate their humanity. <br />
<br />
They are people. They simply want to survive their shift, do some good, and go home to mow the lawn. <br />
<br />
They are my family... like you are my family. I will defend them and go to war for them... like I will for you. <br />
<br />
They... We... are the good guys. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-5793335746440500612016-01-26T07:18:00.001-05:002016-01-26T08:43:53.637-05:00Crossed wiresIt's been 9 days since it happened. Somehow the emotional scars seem to heal quicker than the physical scars. We left the local aquarium because Eric started screaming really loud. After sitting in the car seeing if he would settle down enough for us to go back in, I decided to head home - and told him we could come back later that day once he calmed down. He was sad. He was quietly crying. I started driving and less than a mile away, Eric yanked at my hair so hard from the back seat that my head jerked up- and I was staring at the ceiling of my car. Thankfully, it was a quiet beach town street not busy in the winter - and I was able to quickly pull over and park. But I couldn't move my head. He pulled so hard for several minutes that later I gathered up and vacuumed up clumps of my hair.<br />
<br />
I screamed at the top of my lungs and then realized I was making it worse. I finally said in my calmest voice that we would go back to the aquarium (a lie) and he immediately let go. I took my opportunity to jump out of the car and locked him inside (child safety locks). I was scared. I didn't know how I would safely drive home and called my husband.<br />
<br />
My son is 11. Only about 115 pounds and he was able to over power me at that moment while I was in the vulnerable position of the drivers seat.<br />
<br />
For several days after I felt numb and in an emotional daze. How could my child who I gave birth to, who I take care of, who I love with everything I have want to hurt me? This is the part of autism that I will never accept as a special or unique quality. It is the part of autism where the wrong wires are crossed; he loves me. He should never want to intentionally hurt me. But in that moment, he was not reachable; I was not his mother - I was the vehicle that removed him from his day at the aquarium and he wasn't happy.<br />
<br />
When my husband wrote a brief update about it that day on this page, I cried as I read hundreds of your comments with similar stories or worries. Our kids needs us more than ever to be there to reassure them that we will keep them safe; that we love them; that we will be there for them. And we will.<br />
<br />
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(Image is from 2008 Eric's first time on ice skates).<br />
<span id="goog_648226057"></span><span id="goog_648226058"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-11104880220877154022015-12-17T05:05:00.000-05:002015-12-17T05:20:02.649-05:00The MarathonI ran my first marathon about a month ago. Twenty (freaking) six point two miles through the heart of Philadelphia. It was everything they said it would be.<br />
<br />
The thing that sticks with me was the spectators: Thousands upon thousands of friends and family and strangers lining the streets of the city to watch and root us on.<br />
<br />
They clapped.<br />
They cheered.<br />
They rang bells.<br />
They offered encouragement.<br />
They offered water and juice.<br />
One guy offered me beer (I love you, dude).<br />
They made me laugh. My favorite sign read, "Hurry up! The Kenyans are drinking all the beer!"<br />
<br />
What they didn't offer was pity. They didn't express their condolences for the pain we were enduring. They didn't whisper, "I just don't know how you do it". They didn't cry for us: the thousands of runners who were enduring a great challenge for a thousand different personal reasons and goals because they knew, when we crossed that finish line all those miles in the distance, there would be triumph; we would be better.<br />
<br />
They just offered tiny gestures of support. And, it was perfect.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-15096607916282104872015-11-30T18:04:00.001-05:002015-11-30T18:04:35.703-05:00Each ornament has a story....This past weekend, we hauled all the Christmas decorations down from the attic. To be honest, I dread doing it every year. I wasn't always like that- but somehow along the way, I've lost my Christmas magic. Our daughter was so excited to do it, that we took advantage of the long holiday weekend and got it done.<br />
<br />
Every year Eric gets more and more excited about Christmas. He starts jumping around like crazy watching the tree and lights go up - and once the ornaments are almost finished, he puts the finishing touch in place; by unpacking and setting up our Little People Nativity set. My job is to unpack the ornaments from my meticulously organized box (;-) ) and hand them strategically to each person for hanging. (I give Eric all the ones that won't break if they fall!) <br />
<br />There are a few ornaments that stir up a lot of emotions in me. One in particular you see in the picture. It looks ordinary enough.... but there is a story to go along with it. Grandma and Pop Pop Bacon purchase beautiful keepsake ornaments every year for the kids and try to tie it into something that took place during the year- so for instance, Anna receive a diploma ornament this year since she had graduated from 8th grade; and we have a soccer ball ornament signifying the year Eric joined a buddy league.<br />
<br />
But this ornament. Mickey ears. 2005. It says so much to me.<br />
<br />
We went to Disney during the famous NJ teacher convention week in November that year. We traveled with my sister and her family. It was the first visit to Disney for both kids. We were so excited! The trip got off to a sad start because my Papa (grandfather) passed away and we all attended his funeral, so we had to delay vacation by one day. But once we arrived at the hotel, we started creating our magical memories. <br />
--swimming in the pool<br />
--meals with the characters<br />
--staying up way past kids bedtime for the light parade<br />
....and the list goes on and on....<br />
<br />
But the one thing I remember as my most precious memory of that trip is how a 16 month old Eric ran up and down hotel hallways, jumped on the bed, and chased his cousins and sister around with glee. Eric loved his cousin Bryan's buzz hair cut - and was continually trying to rub his head. He was engaged; connected; all was right in the world.<br />
<br />
Those memories will be seared in my mind forever.<br />
<br />
Soon after we returned from that trip was when we really started seeing a difference in Eric; and could see him withdrawing from playing with other kids; losing language and becoming cranky and irritable all the time. It wasn't all peaches and cream up until that point - but it was nowhere near where we landed in the 2-3 years that followed. I affectionately call those the "painful years." As I further dissect pictures- snapshots in time - I can see a distant glaze in Eric's eyes that started around Halloween that year- -and there were glimmers of disconnectedness during the Disney trip too; but of course I didn't notice that until several months later. <br />
<br />
So while I try to remember to focus on the Reason for the Season, there are certain memories that still jab me pretty sharp. Those years it was like trying to hold sand in your palm; you just can't. He just started to slip away into his complicated, yet innocent little world.<br />
<br />
I would love to go back in time and grasp a lot harder.<br />
---------------------------------------------------------------------------Mrs. B <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-81451503225260845242015-11-15T19:45:00.000-05:002015-11-15T19:54:41.283-05:00Parenting “rookie” mistakes; and the surprise Successes that followed.<br />
It was your typical Sunday. Eric had “a plan.” Daddy was going to take him to the local zoo to visit his favorite seals (they are really sea lions – but don’t correct him, or he’ll yell at you LOL). Daddy has some experience under his belt and logged onto their website and immediately a message popped up to say that the sea lion (oops I mean “seals”) exhibit was closed. It was a near disaster averted! Score for Daddy! So, I started to search for another place local that had seals and came across the Central Park Zoo. It was a beautiful Fall day and I was feeling adventurous – so figured I’d give it a whirl. We ended up have a pretty adventurous day… but it definitely had its up’s and down’s. Here are a few of the mistakes and successes that I experienced:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">1 Mistake:</span> When you decide to drive into NYC, make sure you don’t follow your GPS, since it will take you right through Times Square. As an extra bonus all the side streets around that area were closed for Sunday markets.<br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f;">1 Success</span>: Eric got to sight see, and window shop in Disney and Toys R Us as we drove by…very slowly….<br />
<br />
2 <span style="color: #990000;">Mistake</span>: When you realize you pulled into the wrong parking garage, and have to walk about 8 extra blocks.<br />
2 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: It was priceless to see Eric bee-bopping through the city streets like a little explorer.<br />
<br />
3 <span style="color: #990000;">Mistake</span>: When you ask your son if he wants to see the Walrus exhibit; only to find out it was the Monkey exhibit.<br />
3 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: He loved the monkeys; and he even went back to see them two other times; and started reading the exhibit description sign all on his own.<br />
<br />
4 <span style="color: #990000;">Mistake</span>: When you ask if he has to go to the bathroom and he starts yelling “NO POOP!” at the top of his lungs.<br />
4 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: Yeah, well…. you know what happened. ;-)<br />
<br />
5 <span style="color: #990000;">Mistake</span>: When you get tired of sitting and watching the seals and decide to try and coerce him into seeing the penguin exhibit; and he proceeds to scream his head off and goes into a complete meltdown the second you walk inside.<br />
5 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: …..it was hard to find one in that moment. I took him out of the exhibit, sat on a bench with him and let him cry while I tried to calmly wait until he got through it. I pulled out a timer and put a few minutes on the clock and told him he had to finish crying before timer buzzed….. And he did!<br />
<br />
…..and during that hour it was so hard to decide:<br />
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<br />
<br />
Should I stay? Or should I go? I had the entire zoo staring at us; why was this big boy (11 yrs old) crying? And screaming? I avoided eye contact with anyone except my son. It would have been easier for me to pack it in and head home; and I had visions of me dragging him through the park exit screaming, and down 8 city blocks howling, and then waiting at the parking garage for our car. I saw myself getting in the car and sobbing all the way home about how awful and hard it was….. but then I decided I wasn’t letting an autism meltdown ruin our afternoon. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t think Eric wanted to go home. I just had to help him get through it. And he did. He pulled out of his tail spin and we ended up having a great afternoon, with even more successes!<br />
<br />
6 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: He asked to go see the Penguins; and he was so happy and calm watching them.<br />
7 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: He agreed to see a short 4D movie; and loved it!<br />
8 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: He asked to go back into the zoo after the movie; he was having fun and didn’t want to go home yet!<br />
9 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: I ignored the GPS on the way home and got out of NYC without hitting a stitch of traffic.<br />
10 <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Success</span>: When faced with the Choice: “Stay” or “Go?” --- I picked the right answer!<br />
It’s my mission to push Eric out of his comfort zone and out exploring more of the world around us – instead of always visiting the same places and reinforcing some of his rigid routines and habits. It isn’t always going to be easy, but I know it’s my job to help my son work through some of these harder moments so he can experience some of the happier times that always follow! <br />
--------------------------------mrs. baconAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-18684894825000846722015-10-21T19:39:00.000-04:002015-10-21T19:39:27.958-04:00"The Specialist"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(Note: this specialist decided to remove Eric's sock and shoe and rub his leg/foot </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>while we were talking #awkward #appreciatedtheattempt) </i></div>
<br />
It’s been almost 9 years since we received a diagnosis. We have tried lots of different treatments to lessen the burden of some of Eric’s symptoms. Most have been focused around GI and feeding issues, speech and OT deficits and a touch of OCD. Over the past couple of years, 3 new symptoms have grown some roots: anxiety, aggression and insomnia!<br />
<br />
After realizing we cannot be exhausted for the rest of our lives, I did some research to see if I could find a specialist that could help. We are lucky to be within driving distance of several world class institutions. I came across one that sounded like the perfect place for us. They claimed to have an “integrated care program” for patients with autism and employed physician specialists, nurses, psychologists, psychiatrists, occupational therapists, speech-language pathologists and more.<br />
<br />
When I called for an appointment, I was told it would be 12-18 month wait. Resisting the urge to hang up, I bit my lip and said “OK, sign me up.” I figured time was going to pass by anyway, so why not? When I was asked the question, ‘why do you want to see the specialist?’ I broke down in tears. The scheduler was AMAZING, obviously has heard many tears from callers over the years. Told me to take my time, take a deep breath and she would be ready when I was. I got myself together and shared my worries and explained that Eric is getting bigger and we wanted to be sure we were doing what we could to manage these symptoms and ensure his happiness. She recommended I meet with a particular specialist that <u>only</u> had about an 8 month wait, and so with a few clicks of her keyboard, I was on the list. I was sent an “intake” packet and she said the clock would start ticking once they received everything back.<br />
<br />
I went right to work gathering initial diagnosis paperwork, and at least 47 evaluations, assessments and reports done by various therapists and school personnel from the past 9 years. It took hours. I sealed up my envelope and mailed it away. Then waited…. Finally, got the call and appointment was scheduled. I was kicking myself for waiting 9 years; convinced that these specialists were--for sure--going to have some important advice and recommendations. <br />
<br />
On the day of the appointment, I was a little apprehensive in the car and got a bit emotional. We told Eric we were going for “a meeting.” I didn’t want to say “doctor” since I didn’t want to raise his anxiety levels. He asked to “look see pictures of meeting.” So I googled the building and found an image to show him on the phone. He gripped that phone and looked out the window waiting to see that building come into sight. I know that Eric understands so much more than we probably realize. I talked to him and said we wanted to have a meeting to talk about why he won’t sleep and why he sometimes feels angry. I’m not sure if he understood, but I tried. The one thing I always worry about is wondering if Eric wants to ask us “Why do you keep bringing me to doctors? Aren’t I OK just the way I am?” I feel selfish that it’s more for US than for him. He may not realize the impact his daily anxiety and occasional aggression has on others; and he may not need sleep to function – but WE DO!! So we keep on driving….<br />
<br />
And here are the realities of what we found, along with my misguided hopes:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><i>Reality</i></span>: We arrive, and the waiting area is pretty generic with the exception of a few computers and ipads that people can use while they wait. <br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: I expected a room filled with sensory friendly pillows and toys.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: We waited quite some time before they came to get us.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: These people will understand Eric won’t be able to wait too long; most individuals with autism have problems waiting.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: The first specialist we met, was nice enough; but asked so many questions and talked over us as if to answer her own questions.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: I was looking forward to speaking with someone who “got it!” who has been through the trenches and would have a plan.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: We were given behavioral modification suggestions to help align Eric with his “sun” clock.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: After 5 years of no sleep, I desperately wanted someone to have a magic solution.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: After 1 hour – (yes 1 hour) in a consultation room that contained a pathetic Tupperware container of mismatched and uninteresting small toys, I took Eric back out to the waiting room to play on the computers so that Daddy could talk to the nurse without Eric’s constant interruptions.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: Thought for sure there would be some engaging toys, maybe some cool fiber optic lighting, a fish tank, bean bags and maybe a trampoline (ha! ok maybe not that one) to keep Eric happy and also allow the practitioner to observe him at the same time.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: Daddy came back into the waiting room since she now needed to “talk to mom.” When she started asking me what kind of probiotics he was taking, I started to show my frustration. “Do you need that information <i>AGAIN</i>? I assumed you had access to the documentation that I prepared?” and she replied ‘oh is that in there?”…. Wrong Answer! <br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: I spent no less than 5 hours finding papers, copying papers and compiling the phone-book-thick file for you. <b>Humor me and pretend that you read it.</b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: Again, we found ourselves in the waiting room, as we were now moving onto specialist #2. After 5, 10, 15 minutes later I asked at front desk about how much longer we would have to wait. This break in between specialists was not ideal, as once we left that room – Eric thought he was DONE. They said it should only be another 5 minutes.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: Knowing this whole appointment was going to take 2-3 hours, and assuming they had done this once or twice before, I figured it would have been better coordinated and consideration given to the patient – who 1) has anxiety issues and 2) who hates to wait.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Reality</i></span></span>: After waiting 20 minutes, Daddy took Eric to the car. I think Daddy was more frustrated at that point than Eric. When the two specialists came back out to the waiting room to get us – they looked quite perplexed to find only me. I promptly informed them that Daddy and Eric retreated to the car. As we walked back to the consultation room, I matter-of-factly asked: “Although I’m sure I already know the answer to this question, I really have to ask if you’ve ever worked with kids who have autism before??” They both looked at me with stunned silence and I continued “This format simply does not work.”<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i>Hope</i></span>: With such an incredibly high number of children (and adults) diagnosed with autism, there are now a multitude of specialists making a living treating our loved ones who, by now, collectively have years and years of experience. I would have thought that such an esteemed establishment would have been prepared with a PLAN and maybe a check list at our meeting that covered something like this:<br />
<ol>
<li>Insomnia – ok let’s do this test, check for this and regroup and if that doesn’t work; we can then try this…...</li>
<li>Anxiety – hhmm..based on the symptoms you have described, the most successful approach we have seen is….. (fill in the blank)</li>
<li>Etc etc…</li>
</ol>
Right down to the last minute, this appointment was a disappointment. After I was done listening to some rather superficial and not helpful advice, the appointment ended. I was asked by the nurse to give her 5 minutes to print out my report and she would meet me in the lobby downstairs to give it to me. After waiting 18 minutes, I went back upstairs to have the receptionist call her- only to have Daddy text me and say she just came outside to the car to find me. Instead of leaving the paperwork with Daddy, she brought it back inside – and by the time I came out to the car – she was gone. WTH?! I was SO frustrated! There was no way I was stepping foot back inside that building, so I started the car and drove away. [It is now 6 days later, I have never received a phone call, email or letter in mail with any sort of follow-up].<br />
<br />
No one talked on the way home.<br />
<br />
For the next 1 hour 45 minutes of traffic, I fought back tears of frustration knowing that we wasted so much time. 8 months for the date to come, 3 hours for the appointment and over 3 hours commuting to/from the amount. I silently wished that I had all the necessary credentials to open my own center. It is SO needed.<br />
<br />
Once we finally allowed our blood pressure to return to normal, Daddy and I chatted over “breakfast for dinner” about some of the ridiculous recommendations. He nailed it on the head when he said “they didn’t know what to do with us.” This center was really geared toward those families who were at the start of their journey, and either looking for a diagnosis or just receiving a diagnosis. They had a few basic things to recommend – but for families like ours who have been on this journey for a number of years – they had very little to offer.<br />
<br />
The medical community needs to face the realities that small children diagnosed with autism grow up to be adults with autism. So, just as there are recommendations and common therapies suggested for the little ones, there needs to be guidelines created that are directed toward adolescence and adulthood too. <br />
<br />
I’m convinced that a parent-run center, or parent advisory committee could be more powerful and impactful in creating recommendations, guidelines, options or simply general advice that could be helpful for families across the entire width of the "ability and age" spectrum. <br />
<br />
Maybe I have just found what to do for my “next” career.<br />
<br />
---Written by Mrs. Bacon. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-22573493215853167772015-10-12T09:22:00.001-04:002015-10-12T09:24:33.755-04:00Status ReportHere is where I am on this journey:<br />
<br />
Would I take away his anxiety? Yes.<br />
Would I heal his gut issues that give him pain and discomfort? Yes.<br />
Would I give anything to have a full and "typical" conversation with my son? Anything.<br />
Would I silence the quirky noises that draw stares from the uneducated? Maybe.<br />
Would I take away the obsessive fixations? Perhaps.<br />
<br />
But, if the price for any of these wishes involved dampening his spirit, squashing his personality or lessening his love of life... I'd pass. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-39411811567882031182015-10-11T20:59:00.002-04:002015-10-11T20:59:57.237-04:00A few things I fear because of autism; that really have nothing to do with autism.<br />
<br />
A few things I fear because of autism; that really have nothing to do with autism.<br />
<br />
1. I worry that my daughter will remember me as always stressed, crying or tired. When we have a hard day, I know I'm quick to snap at her. I pray that I can remember that the years are passing quickly and I need to find ways to force myself to crawl out of the dark spots and live in a way that I can experience joy even if there is sometimes pain and sadness, too.<br />
<br />
2. For the past 10+ years my daughter has gone to school and grown up with friends that know her brother has autism. Those friends have been understanding, inclusive and downright amazing with him. Now that she just started high school, and is meeting and making new friends, I hope and pray that she never feels too embarrassed or ashamed about her brother. I know she is probably always worrying what quirky things he might do if she invites them over. Most importantly, when they do have an opportunity to meet him, I hope she never feels judged afterwards or excluded because he is a little different. I know society tells us to "fit in" and if you don't... you tend to be the odd man out.<br />
<br />
3. I hope that I don't feel alone when surrounded by tons of people. I know that sounds weird - but sometimes those "busy" times are the ones that make me realize how "noisy" life is and I can for a few moments understand what Eric endures each and every day with sensory assault; and so I find myself trying to put a protective bubble around him and move away from the chaos. I find myself glaring at children who are shrieking with glee on a ride in the seat behind us because I know that must be like razor blades to Eric's ears. Some days it seems like it would be safer and easier to decide to stay home; but I think about my brave little Eric and how he continues to venture out to busy places like amusement parks and aquariums; and I remind myself that he is capable of anything.<br />
<br />
I continue to fight my fears every day....thanks to my two amazing kids.<br />
--Mrs. Bacon <br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-91211811199080540322015-10-06T06:01:00.000-04:002015-10-06T06:01:00.353-04:00The Competitor<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Walk with me a minute as I momentarily drift off the Autism topic.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I won't insult her by claiming to know the first thing about being a Freshman girl. But, I remember vividly being a Freshman boy, and it was an incredibly stressful time. All I wanted to be was a brick in the wall, to blend in, to be out of the spotlight of judgement and ridicule. I imagine it is similar for her.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Today she competed in her first High School gymnastics meet. This alone brings me pride an<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">d joy that I lack the vocabulary to express. But, there is more to the story.</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
You see, she isn't part of the team. She IS the team. Literally, she's the only gymnast in her High School. She could have chosen to go to a school with a large, established team, but for noble, valid and very mature reasons, she chose a smaller school with a barely surviving program. She could have chosen to move on from gymnastics and join a club or two for extracurricular credit. She chose to compete.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Today, her "team" suited up and competed with two other schools. One school had 18 gymnasts. The other had 4. She was alone. She entered the gym by herself. She wasn't a brick in the wall. The spotlight was on her, as were the eyes of her competitors, judges and spectators. In this league, they don't even recognize individual gymnasts with awards or medals. She knew that going in. She went anyway. She suited up. She competed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
And, she slayed it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
She did flips and tucks and dismounts that I could only dream of attempting. She showed poise and grit and toughness and grace. The other competitors cheered for her and made her feel welcome. The other parents complimented us on her skills.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
After she finished, she put on her sweats and left the gym with no fanfare or recognition. We went to Ruby Tuesday's for dinner. She wondered aloud what the point of it all was.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
You'll understand one day, Sweetie. I promise.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-31124463768392028992015-10-05T19:09:00.001-04:002015-10-05T19:09:31.680-04:00How I learned to be ok with changing "plans"---by Mrs. Bacon<br />
All of my life I've been a "planner."<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I still have the 3 ring binder that I used to plan our wedding and can tell you exactly how much we paid for our honeymoon and videographer by glancing at the FINANCE tab.</li>
<li>I would mail out cards for every special occasion so that they would arrive right on time.</li>
<li>And I feel an enormous sense of satisfaction by crossing things off of a good to-do list.</li>
</ul>
<div>
So autism threw off my planning a little.......... well maybe more than a little ;-)</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I've been late paying bills</li>
<li>I am lucky if I remember to email someone on the same date (or day after) a special day to send my good wishes</li>
<li>And I am lucky if I can plan who is supposed to pick up each kid after school at least 1 day in advance.</li>
</ul>
<div>
It has taken me years to learn to relax a bit and give up on some of the fantasies I had about family life:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>I planned to be extremely festive and decorate for every holiday and have the kids sit around the table making hand-made keepsakes; instead I am thankful for whenever inspiration strikes that allows us to maybe color an Easter egg or two - after 5 or 6 are cracked all over the place before boiling them.</li>
<li>I planned to be the ever-involved PTA mom that would be able to contribute to the enriched learning environment for all the kids; instead I have become extremely thankful for the mom's that can do this and amazingly find a way to squeeze valuable minutes out of their day volunteering their time. I'm even more grateful when those mom's find ways to include the special needs classes in activities too.</li>
<li>I planned to have the house where all of the kid's and their friends hang out; instead I'm sure my daughter second guesses whether or not she should invite anyone over for fear of her brother streaking naked around the house while they are here; and unfortunately at the age of 11, Eric still doesn't seem to have any interest in making or hanging out with "friends." </li>
</ol>
<div>
Besides a few of these preconceived, yet unrealistic, thoughts about motherhood, I have a lot of other things that STILL are right "on plan."</div>
</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>I revel and celebrate every accomplishment that my children achieve. Whether it's an academic award or amazing gymnastics score for my daughter, or my son using some new language, asking a question in perfect context or coming out of school with a smiley face colored in on his behavior chart.</li>
<li>I have an amazing husband to share in all of these parenting moments. I count my lucky stars.</li>
<li>I love my kids more than I ever thought possible. I experience a range of emotions each day that includes joy to sadness, to happiness to anger, to excitement and pride, to exhaustion and stress, to hope and never-ending heart pumping love.</li>
</ol>
</div>
<div>
Ironically, the one thing that helps my son stay on track is writing out his own plan! it usually involves a 22 step list of what is going to happen over the next day or so....and I am super proud that some days when we need to adjust the plan, he has learned to be better at 'rolling with it'.....and coming up with a NEW PLAN. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all..... Our plans will continue to evolve and change, and the only way my son will learn how to adapt and adjust is to see others do the same thing. So, I've learned it's ok to let go of most plans and just wing it most days! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-5422837051682506772015-09-28T21:11:00.001-04:002015-09-28T21:11:32.139-04:00"Relax"<br />He gets a little excited. <br />
<br />
We pulled into the parking lot of Walmart for our semi-weekly excursion to buy a new Cars toy for being a good boy at school. I barely put the car in Park before he threw open the rear door. <br />
<br />
Finesse is not one of his strong suits. <br />
<br />
The car door banged lightly into the passenger side of the car parked next to us. <br />
<br />
I do not have the greatest luck.<br />
<br />
The neighboring car was occupied by a middle-aged man and his wife(?). I scolded my son and waved to the occupants of the neighboring car offering a gesture of apology. <br />
<br />
It wasn't accepted. <br />
<br />
The middle-aged man rolled down the passenger window and screamed at us, "What the Hell is wrong with you?" <br />
<br />
Patience is not one of my strong suits.<br />
<br />
I yelled back as we kept walking, "I said I was sorry. Relax." <br />
<br />
He didn't relax.<br />
<br />
He screamed louder, "You dinged my car! What the Hell is wrong with you?" Then he began to get out.<br />
<br />
My son was now starting to get very upset. The yelling was making him anxious. My peripheral vision was starting to darken. I went into a defensive posture and I was getting angry. I started walking toward my new friend.<br /><br />Over his shoulder I made eye contact with his wife(?). She had been sitting in the driver's seat. She mouthed to me behind his back, "I'm sorry." Then she motioned to his head.<br /><br />I understood instantly and I felt guilty. <br />
<br />
I led my son to her window and prompted him to say he was sorry. She replied, "It's O.K., honey. I know you didn't mean it". <br />
<br />
I apologized as well; not for the car door.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-67982835299764329732015-09-12T07:53:00.001-04:002015-09-12T07:53:14.049-04:00The All Star <br />
<br />
The kid is huge. He is a gifted athlete. He
is the star of his traveling baseball team and, at 13 years-old, already
famous in our small town for his ability to hit a baseball a country
mile. He is popular, good looking and carries himself with the
cockiness that can be expected from someone born with his gifts.<br />
<br />
He wasn't pushed by a teacher. He wasn't trying to earn brownie points
with his mom. He wasn't trying to impress a girl or star in a viral
feel-<span class="text_exposed_show">good YouTube video. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
He saw my son getting out of the car, anxious and stimming. It was his
first day of Middle School. He changed his course, walked over to my
son, greeted him with, "Hey, Eric," and gave him a high five. <br />
<br />
I
have no idea if the greeting meant anything to my son. I envy his
ability to seemingly not give a care about such trivial interpersonal
gestures. But, the greeting made my wife tear up, and it won this young
man another fan in me that has nothing to do with athletics.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-73778936947502833352015-08-23T12:48:00.004-04:002015-10-29T05:31:45.929-04:00On Healing<br />
<br />
It’s not like the movies. There isn’t a climactic “Ah-ha” moment where everybody cheers. The scene doesn’t fade to black and reappear with the credits rolling over an upbeat soundtrack and a compilation of all the main characters singing and dancing.<br />
<br />
Healing is slow.<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<br />
Sometimes you know the right answer in your soul, but your head and heart get in the way.<br />
<br />
Emotions are powerful.<br />
<br />
Comparison is mighty.<br />
<br />
Sometimes they win a battle or two. I’ve learned the virtue in tactical retreat. I’ve learned to trust that sometimes you have to take two steps backward and regroup.<br />
<br />
I’ve also learned the terrain is slippery. Just when you think you’ve conquered one small hill, you find yourself lying on your back at the bottom looking up at the sky wondering what the hell just happened.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kexVWkJZeMISnlMvW6fzwNLiBUIJa4Iu1pE9fxfjsL9IevFbkVkYyPvLtw1iUrC79QiiKnt6cRdijCRVxp62qiXdwibFc94zP6YetTsvE2yVXaeledzzWLyM3wBc7Fgo8eYIN00Xw9M/s1600/10473471_10202940689270771_532536866149019495_o.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kexVWkJZeMISnlMvW6fzwNLiBUIJa4Iu1pE9fxfjsL9IevFbkVkYyPvLtw1iUrC79QiiKnt6cRdijCRVxp62qiXdwibFc94zP6YetTsvE2yVXaeledzzWLyM3wBc7Fgo8eYIN00Xw9M/s320/10473471_10202940689270771_532536866149019495_o.jpg" width="320" /></a>Just accepting that makes the process easier. The important part is getting back up, wiping your brow, spitting some blood and starting back up the slope again a little wiser, a little tougher, a little more healed.<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-28639801946651950732015-07-23T05:53:00.001-04:002015-07-23T05:53:00.181-04:00Rigged<br /><br />-Discipline your child-- you're a bully.<br /> -Let him cry-- you're disconnected and insensitive.<br /> -Comfort him-- you're spoiling him.<br /> -Negotiate with him-- you're giving in. <br /> -Stay home-- you're not trying.<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> -Bring them out-- you're disrupting others' good time.<br /> -Ask for concessions-- you're milking the disability for special treatment.<br /> -Ask for help-- you're weak.<br /> -Do it yourself-- you're trying to be a martyr. <br /> -Call out insensitivity-- you're on your high horse.<br /> -Avoid confrontation-- you're not a strong advocate.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
The game is rigged. All we have is each other. Keep your chin up.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6758898618518044320.post-63549575507823946732015-06-21T20:16:00.000-04:002015-12-13T19:50:31.688-05:00What I've Learned (so far) On This Autism Parenting Roller Coaster11 years on this ride. Here's what I've learned so far:<br />
<br />
1) You're never as good as your best day or as bad as your worst.<br />
2) Our biggest victories often follow short bursts of brutal tests of will.<br />
3) Comparison is a vile, ugly monster.<br />
4) He is sneaky like a ninja and never far away.<br />
5) It's possible that the people who know you best are thousands of miles away, and you've never met them.<br />
6) God has a sense of humor.<br />
7) That plan you had don't mean sh*@. <br />
8) The sweetest sentence ever uttered: "Daddy, lay with me."<br />
9) Bacon, ketchup and a toasted hamburger bun is a perfectly acceptable meal at Chili's.<br />
10) If you get a server who approves without judgement, tip them well.<br />
11) Facebook can be your best friend, or a bitter enemy.<br />
12) You can't do this alone. Ask for help.<br />
13) Finding a babysitter you can trust enough to actually relax over dinner is like finding a gold brick.<br />
14) Those little suckers are ALWAYS listening. Trust me.<br />
15) If he's quiet, he's either sleeping or pooping. And, he never sleeps.<br />
16) The human body can do amazing things on very little sleep.<br />
17) When in doubt about what's bothering him, start with sensory.<br />
18) People are drawn toward positivity. But, if you fake it, they know. <br />
19) Puberty is a bit*@.<br />
20) There is a bigger plan. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01598173927188950531noreply@blogger.com1