The same familiar dialogue ran through my head as we pulled into the unfamiliar parking lot. I held my breath as we weaved our way through the painted lines and medians. I know that forecasting is a valuable tool for all kids, prepping them in advance for what is about to transpire, but I never really know how to do that in a new situation. I don’t know anymore than Austin does what it will be like inside.
I opened up the conversation, “Austin, this is a new church. Let’s talk about some rules.” Immediately he launched into his standard spiel, a run-on litany of the behaviors he believes make up a “good” child. “I won’t run away from you. I will listen. I will not scream or yell.”
Yes, yes, yes. We piled out and headed, hand-in-hand, inside.
Just inside the vestibule we saw Andy’s friend, Rodney. He’d invited us. “Heeey, Austin! What’s going on, buddy?” Yikes. Fail. I had neglected to forecast this part. For my tiny Asperger’s child, being the center of attention in a crowded room is the last thing he wants. He buried his head into Andy’s knees and squealed the long mournful cry of a child trying desperately to disappear. Instead, it had the exact opposite effect. All eyes turned to us. Ugh. Then, I wanted to disappear. I shuffled us along. That’s one of the best parental coping skills I've learned. Just keep moving, just keep moving. Not unlike Dory, of Nemo fame.
We moved along to the registration table and completed the forms. Under the category, “Other Conditions” I hesitated, as I always do. Do I bring it up or don’t I? Will they notice if I don’t? Will they understand if I do? Most people have never heard of Asperger's or Sensory Processing Disorder. Or, if they have, they think that my son is Autistic, because Aspergers is ‘on the spectrum.’
In the spirit of Dory, I just kept swimming, and left the entire section blank, instantly second guessing myself and agonizing over it the whole way to the four-year-old room.
Drop off was incredibly easy. There was a terrarium in the room and both boys were mesmerized by the turtles. Just keep swimming (shuffled my husband out, as he tends to linger) dropped Raleigh in the two-year-old room and aaaahhhh. We were out.
We headed into the service and I didn’t even turn on my cell ringer. The childcare team had instructed me that if necessary, that’s how they would reach me, but at that point I allowed my faith to kick in and trusted that God would hold both of my children tightly until we were able to pick them up. Surely He would allow us an hour to worship Him uninterrupted. He did. Plus, I figured they could just do some good old fashioned gumshoe detective work to find us in the adjoining sanctuary if they really needed to.
Picking up the kids the teacher said only, “He didn’t know what to make of us at first, but he came around.” Hmm. Cryptic. I nodded furiously with a vapid, yet pleased expression. I didn't want to imagine what that meant or deal with it then and there, so I faked like she had just said, "He had a great time and we'll see you next week." Nod, nod, nod.
Later, in the car, I asked Austin, “How was it? Were you nice to the teachers?”
His reply was honest and characteristic, “Well, at first I told them just to get away from me. But then they were nice and I got to use the markers.” With a glance at one another across the center console, my husband and I wordlessly chose to call the outing a victory and we just kept swimming all the way home.
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