In Memoriam

Eight weeks after I was engaged to be married, my husband to be was deployed to Afghanistan. I was living in a non military community, and was ignorant to the ways of the wives. The military wives, that is. Military wives living in a military community have a support network all their own, coping skills, etc. i wasnt privy to any of this. The support that I got from those around me sounded a lot like, "Afghanistan is a lot less dangerous than Iraq. At least you don't have to worry as much." Although I knew it sounded ignorant, I was grateful for the words and the intentions behind them. So, very unlike my worrisome nature, worry, I did not.

I spent my days writing him letters, making him cookies, and obsessively planning our wedding. I completely put out of my head any remote possibility that he could be hurt. I fit the cliche, "That happens to other people. It won't happen to me." I chose not to allow my absolute worst nightmare to manifest in my head, fearing that if I did, I might cause it to manifest in the world. So I never thought about it. Memorial Day weekend 2005 I got the call that Andy had been injured in an IED blast, and we began the uphill road toward recovery, spending the next 8 months at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC.

Now, as a mother, I worry less about my husband's safety, and totally about my children's. My worst possible fear has become something terrible happening to my kids. Although I maniacally do everything I can to prevent any possible injury or demise, I still choose to ignore the fact that something could happen to them. I allow them to stay with a babysitter, ride the bus, ride in a car with my parents, and play (sometimes) unsupervised. When I was a little girl, if I wanted to cry on cue, I would think about my grandmother dying. As an adult, I would never ever ever want to imagine life without my boys. Not for any reason ever. It is hard to even type it without fearing reprisal.

My faith teaches me that as humans we do not control destiny and that God is in control. I believe that premise. I also believe that bad things happen to good people and vice versa. Even still, I can't help but feel a little superstitious. Although I believe in God's ultimate authority, I still will never ever consider the possibility of life without my children in the world, lest I introduce the idea into the realm of possibility. I think we are all that way, otherwise we might never get out of bed in the morning. We have to keep living life, in all it's sticky floor, dirty laundry, late for work glory. If I worried about every tiny step then my kids might still crawl.

A little boy from my son's school, a teacher's child, was killed last week, on Thanksgiving in an ATV accident. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. It has brought front and forward my worst fear. I couldn't rest until I found out how he died, so that I could add the activity to the list if things I would never let Austin do again. An air of sorrow an grief looms large around me.

Although I have a child with needs like Austin has, I tend to treat them as idiosyncrasies rather than debilitating life inhibitors. I am sure to many parents, having a child with Asperger's might be the proverbial "worst possible thing" that could happen to them. We have just kept going and dealt with each new issue in kind, not stopping to think about how horrible it is that this fate has befallen us. We have embraced it.

My heart is heavy for the family at school this week, and for the school family. I did pause mid rant about the messy bathroom this morning and give my kid an extra hug and I love you, feeling fully confident that while we are away from one another today he will stay safe so that we can resume our conversation about bathroom hygiene this evening.



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Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

I have been to Kindergarten several times since my last post...sometimes as a spectator, and sometimes as a participant. Following is a recap of what I have learned.

1. The disparity between my child and the others was enormous.

Perched along a round table amid a gaggle of angelic blond girls, Austin stood out like a sore thumb. From his dramatic expressions in reaction to everything, (shaking his head and muttering, "doh!" Homer Simpson style, or growling low and menacingly) to his refusal to join the simplest classroom event (circle time,) I really had no idea how NORMAL normal kids are. It sounds so ridiculous, I'm sure, but with Austin being my only real frame of reference for typical 5 year old behavior, I was totally out of the loop on how compliant and adult like they really are. They listen, they joke, they look you in the eye. They understand nuances of humor in a conversation. I was used to instant meltdowns, literal translations, and being ignored.

2. I totally underestimated Common Core.

Austin attended one daycare from the time he was 9 mos old on. That school was a 5 star facility with a curriculum and semi annual report cards. I was worried that getting to Kindergarten would be a breeze academically for Austin, that he might be bored. Little did I know Kindergarten would involve memorizing passwords, learning punctuation and parts of speech and homework on the computer (at home!) I was under the impression that kindergarten was a sort of trial run for real school, getting acclimated to backpacks, lunch boxes, no naps, etc. The learning curve on all that is now nearly non-existent. Kindergarten upped the ante and we were left to catch up fast.

3. They are busy in that little class!

It seemed like every second was occupied by some activity or task. There was ample time allotted to finish each assignment, but there wasn't really any downtime. The coordinated effort it took between the teacher and assistant made it extremely evident how difficult it would be to deal with a child like Austin, who struggles with transitions and pressure and authority and failure. I was exhausted mentally by day's end from trying to keep him quiet and in his seat, and on task.

4. The other children are very loving and forgiving.

Believe me, I heard a lot that day from those kids. "Mrs. Johnson? See that table right there? Austin hid under that table one day kicking other kids." "See all that stuff over there? One day Austin knocked all that stuff off and into the floor."
I felt like his liaison. Constantly coaching him through how to respond appropriately and trying to get him to engage with them. "This is Charlie. He's your buddy. You guys have to look after each other!" "Did you guys know Austin has a little brother?" "Guess what Austin is going to be for Halloween?""Austin, look how great Annabella did on this drawing! Isn't she a great artist?"

One day I took him in late after a doctor's appointment and another child had put his book bag in Austin's cubby. We discovered this as the rest of the class was entering the room. They ran over, excited to see him, "Hi Austin!" He responded by wrestling the offending backpack out of the cubby and flinging it to the ground at their feet, his teeth clenched and jaw tensed. I found myself explaining to them and him, calmly, soothingly, trying to make each side see the other's point, like the Jimmy Carter of kindergarten. "It's ok. It's no big deal. Look how excited everyone is to see you!"

Since my initial attendance, we have had green weeks, and we have had yellow, but there have been no more suspensions. We have started an IEP. He spends most of his afternoon in an EC class and loves it ("because I get my own desk.") His teacher has moved him to a table of boys. It still isn't perfect, but it is better, and for the time being at least, my tears have subsided.