Uncomfortable Truth

My well-meaning husband linked this blog-in-progress to his Facebook page without my permission.  I was livid when I saw it.  I immediately called him up and quietly asked for his password.  He could tell I was angry because I didn't raise my voice even a little.

"OK.  Why?"
"Because you linked to my blog and I didn't want you to.  I wanted it to be private."
"You didn't tell me that.  Why write a blog if you don't want anyone to see it?"

Why, indeed?  I wanted people to see it, just not anyone I know.  I liked the idea of venting to the universe, bitching about my problems in a way that might be seen by many or none.  I figured if I didn't tell anyone about the blog, the only people who would see if would be people who found it by accident.  They'd either read it or pass it by, and it wouldn't matter.  Maybe a stranger would read it and it would strike a chord and that would be really, really great.

Because the thing is, I don't want my friends to know how much I resent them sometimes.

My friends, who send us lovely Christmas cards, with all of their children looking into the camera.

My friends, who complain when their child has an ear infection.  Yes, ear infections hurt and they suck.  I get it.  But you know what cures an ear infection?  Penicillin.  You know what cures autism?  Fuck all.


My friends, who watch TV at night, or read, or exercise, or, I dunno, sleep.

My friends, who don't have to lock their fridges and pantries and doors, because their children don't get up at night and butter the couch.  (Yes.  As God is my witness, the boy has buttered the couch on more than one occasion.)

There's so much that parents of typical kids take for granted, and on bad days, I can hate them for it.  I hate when they complain and I hate when they sympathize.  They'll say, "I know I shouldn't even say anything, because you have it way worse, but..."

And I hate them for that, too.

It's not fair or rational, I know.  But it's how I feel sometimes.  I resent people I really like, and I don't want them to know about it.  So my husband removed the link months ago, and I'm just getting around to posting this.  Hopefully, the people we know have forgotten that my effin' autism blog even exists.

Squeaky Wheel

The boy is in his third year of special needs pre-K.  (He's a November baby and so he aged out of Early Intervention with almost an entire school to go.)  In previous years, we'd get lovely reports from his teachers.  So happy!  So charming!  What a sweetheart!

The boy is in a decidedly un-charming phase.

I'm starting to think that's a good thing.  You see, when he wasn't a problem, we weren't getting a lot of input as to how to help him.  Now that he's being a royal pain in the ass, his teachers, therapists, doctors, and parents are being really proactive. 

Today, the boy had a victory!  We all had a victory!

He's been hitting and pinching when he's frustrated and not getting his way.  When he gets angry, his teacher prompts him with a picture of an "angry face" and cues him to say, "I'm mad."  Then she asks him to tell her what he wants, and he eventually calms down and uses his words.

Well, today was a big day!  During circle time, the boy grabbed his teacher's hand and was about to pinch, when he stopped himself.  He let go of her hand, looked her in the face, and said, "I'm mad."

"Why are you mad?"

"I want the monkey book."

"OK, you can work for it during work time."

And that was it!  He accepted that and returned to the circle.  He didn't hulk out or throw a fit or anything.  And he did it all without prompting.

A miracle.

If you a parent of a child on the spectrum, you understand what a big deal this is.  If you are not, you probably feel sorry for me.  Don't.  It's been a good day.