Something I found out about myself is that I don’t like anything to be out of the ordinary. I would like it if I could keep all my schedules as they always have been. The same television shows with even better twists and turns and things like that, no one leaving no one coming no one doing anything that isn’t the same as they did yesterday. With the exception of the fact that I wish that my husband was here a lot more- but making the same money as he always does.
I would like us to stay the same age. I would like Booga to stay the same age as he is right now and I would like everything to go on just as it has since I became adjusted to this whole course of routine of the here and now.
Don’t make me change this routine again…that’s too painful. Part of my children becoming adults is that whole changing thing and every time they’ve changed it’s been painful and hard. Every time they’ve left and every time the cycle of them changing from my child to an individual adult in the world has been as painful as a dull rusty knife.
When my children were small I couldn’t wait until they were older and less of a concern, and when they got to be older and less of a concern I missed the little ones they were and wished I could go back there just so I could do over my mistakes and cherish them a little more as the babies they were.
When I dream of my children they are little children. In my dreams they are little ones. Maybe this is because they were little for so long? Or maybe because I don’t want to let go of that special sparkling time in their lives and how much better it could have been if they had been little children in this time in mine and my husbands life when we are more centered and more settled? But then who is to say we would have even had children if this had been the case or if I would have even had the same children? Because I would want my children that I have now- I’ve never wanted anyone else’s children. Even before birth I felt a kinship with my children that far surpassed any relationship with the exception of my mother and my husband.
And here it is, the precipice of my last child becoming an adult. He’s speeding towards it like a locomotive. He’s pulling away from my hand with little concern about my feelings in the whole matter. Because that’s the way kids are. They can’t care how you feel about their own adulthood, because if they do, well, then they are too worried about how you’ll feel about them no longer being your baby.
Why is it that we want to hold that hand just a bit longer?
Is it because we are concerned about how our child will fare in the world or is it this selfish need for the world to go on as it has for the past few months or years? Is this our need for sameness-for our routine not to change? What is it?
It’s painful and like movies where the hero or heroine is having a hard time just before things turn and all turn out fine. I always want to quickly move through their conflict in their lives and get to the happy ending where you think that this is the way it is going to go on from now on. You know, everyone settled and happy and the world spinning and babies laughing and birds singing and the sun shining and your children happily playing at your feet. That sort of scenario, you know it, it’s gone on forever. However, growing happens and things do change. This is part of life and if it stopped then we really couldn’t call ourselves alive…We’d just be existing- just existing in the world. Wouldn’t we? Not actually what you could call living.
No one prepares you for Grown up things. Like the fact that your child with special needs will someday be attracted to girls. Or the fact that they will go through puberty….Slowly and painfully….And that you will have more wonderful and frightening things come about because of that. No one prepares you for it. It’s like you don’t believe it will happen that they will eventually grow up and move on from you. That someday they will start pushing away from you because so much of their lives are about needing you.
Booga came home from school and was pumped about going on a school trip to an island some ways away from home. And he was bouncing like a school kid. I was sure that I had read that they needed sleeping bags and pillows but then it could have been all that prep that went into getting my other kids ready for sleep away camp when they were in school. SO I called his teacher who immediately knew it was me. That is never a good sign. It means you’ve called her way too much. She said hello like she was getting a call from a pesky neighbor who called a lot about her dog barking too much. “Ooo, that’s not a good sign.” I said aloud, “You already knew it was me.” “Well, I have you programmed into my phone.” Another not so great sign… “Oh well, I was just calling to ask if Boog needs a pillow or a sleeping bag?”
About this time Booga had come up behind me and was leaning over me listening to this conversation. He stood like a vulture that would-if need be- grab the phone from me immediately if I said anything that might hinder his sojourn to the island. He was so close in fact that I began laughing at his concern about this….
“What’s funny?” “Boog is standing over me because he’s terrified I’m going to do something so that he can’t go…”
As soon as I got off the phone we completed his packing by making sure he knew how the camera’s worked. I had told his teacher he might need help advancing the film but it would be fun finding out what he thought was interesting. I gave him his money we had saved out for his trip. And he dutifully put it in his wallet. I put his bag next to the door so he wouldn’t forget it and sometime during the evening he picked it up and moved it to his room-because clearly it would be safer there right? Anyone who thinks that would really have to see Boog’s room. It’s “everything in it’s place and everything has a place” but his dad and I are going to have to clean it out this summer when he is spending some respite time with his aunt because it’s the home of the one the worlds oddest pack rats.
So this morning he got up like usual and had his breakfast and coffee…(Coffee- which is something that has just manifested in Booga’s life…..the need to drink a cup of coffee with creamer and Splenda.) He brought his bag out to the dining room and he ate his cereal and drank his juice and put on his shoes like he does every morning after he showers and puts on aftershave and deodorant. He grabbed his other bag and then stopped when he saw the bus pull in the drive way; which he never does. And in a manner of the way his father says goodbye when leaving for a foreign country or a road trip that is going to take him to some distant far off land like-Alabama-where they still serve Coke in glass bottles. He looked at me and said, “Well, I’m going.” Suddenly I realized this was my cue to get all mushy-like when dad leaves. “Okay, be careful. And take lots of pictures and have fun.” “Okay Mom. Bye.” “Bye.”
And with that he took off for his retreat from me. It’s about the time he would be getting home right now. But on the itinerary, they should be in the Butterfly house or back at the hotel or shopping now. I hope he took pictures. I hope he doesn’t give them a hard time at bed time. I hope he’s okay with the pizza and doesn’t get all freaky about it. I hope he gets up when they want him to and I hope he doesn’t fight with anyone.
I started losing family members way before most people should.
I lost my sister at age two.
She and I would have been about 18 months apart and we would have been a force to be recon with I think.
My great grandmother on my mother's side died when I was five. It was the first time I had ever been to a funeral home and seen a person in a casket. It was also the first time I ever saw my great grandmother, or at least could remember seeing her.
I don't remember my great grandfather's on my paternal side's funeral. I think my parents left me in the care of a sitter.
I then lost my maternal grandfather at seven and then my other grandfather at thirteen.
At the age of twenty-five I lost both of my grandmother's and at the age of thirty one of my friends.
I know loss. I do.
All those losses however never prepared me for my children leaving home though.
No one mentioned that it was going to be hard to let them grow up and leave.
When Booga was diagnosed, I became involved with The Autism Society in our area. There hadn't been one and I was one of the people who started it. I remember I was first contact for many people who were in the midst of finding out that their child was Autistic.
One conversation I had with a parent stood out in my mind.
It was a conversation with an elderly woman about her thirty or forty year old son who she was so worried about because she didn't know what they would do with him when they were gone? She was perplexed and honestly I had no answers for her and I think I told her to call mental health and or talk to The Autism Society and ask for options. I tried to be compassionate and understanding but to be honest I was out of my league in terms of being able to be helpful.
The way she had gotten my number was through her husband who had met my husband in the garage my husband was employed in at the time. I don't know how the subject came up but somehow they both related to each other that they each had a son with Autism. It broke my heart I wasn't able to give her clear answers but this was something I was not prepared for.
When I finally was able to hang up the phone (to be honest I think I was making cookies because I remember handling dough while I was talking to her) I couldn't stop thinking about how "that could be me".
Since then the idea of someday having Boog leave us and live elsewhere has morphed. At first it was out of the question. Then my other children were adamant to the fact that he would surely come and live with them (even though I expressed reservations to the fact that future spouses might not want their little Autistic brother living with them. This has proved to be a wrong assumption, as Chewie's wife-to-be is very accepting of their little, special, brother). Now it has congealed into an idea that someday Boog might live in an assisted living home.
The other day I told him that he will be working with a company that hires special needs personal as a part-time job this summer. He looked at me like, "What?" And I explained it would only be three times a week and that he would get paid (weakly) and that he could save that money for something or somewhere he wanted to go.
That seemed okay by him.
His biggest concern was when lunch would be.
That's important in Boogaland.
It's a step to independence. It's a step to pulling away from us as he does all the time when he goes to use the key to help me get in the back door; handling it like he has always done it. It's a step like when he doesn't want me to watch him use the computer that he has just suddenly begun to express interest in since he found a way to play games on it. (This isn't too far from being like his older brother). It's a step like not allowing me to watch him like a hawk when he does chores. He looks at me disgustedly and waves me off to go in the other room. And of course I go, with one ear open to whether or not the water is continually running in the sink or whether he is putting something in the clothes washer (which he is told not to do-at least not yet. Not until he understands the difference between bleach and detergent).
And when time comes for him to separate from me it's probably going to be as heartbreaking if not more as the other two, because Booga will have spent more years at home than the other two spawn.
When Missy left, it was sudden. She graduated from high school and she left and went to another state and got married the same year and I knew- I knew the moment she got married that she was not coming back- and it broke my heart.
I spent hours in her room watching her television and laying on her bed. I sobbed at night for her. When we came home after she got married I cried all the way home. Every few minutes I sobbed and nothing could consol me. I missed her so very much because she and I were so close and I believed that we always would be like that. That she always would be just a short drive away. Not a thousand or more miles.
However, eventually after she established a career path, I knew it was okay.
I had raised a strong woman, like I had always told myself I would do. I had raised an independent woman that would not rely on anyone but herself (although there are times in this life when we have to take the help of other people….I would have to remind her of that sometimes). I finally allowed myself to let her go, although nothing would make me happier to hear than the words, "Mom, I found a job at home and I'm moving back!"
And she would chuckle at that.
When my son Chewie became addicted to computer games and couldn't find a job, it became apparent that we would have to send him somewhere, where there were jobs, and where he could establish himself and somewhere where he could get away from computer games and focus on real life.
We took what money we had saved for a new driveway and heart broken, we sent him to live with his sister and find a life in her city.
It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I was depressed and shattered. I didn't want to talk to anyone, I didn't want to be around people, I wanted the world to stop spinning and smiling and laughing, I felt alone and defeated. I felt ripped apart because my Chewie and I were so very close- and for as much grief as I gave him- he had to know how very much I loved him.
Love takes many forms and one of the most loving things a parent can do is force their children into the world and out into life and I couldn't see that at that moment. All I could see is the fact that I had abandoned my son to world. Neither of my older children was within a few minutes of me anymore. I was alone. I was angry at the game company Blizzard for making me make such a choice. I was sad because I was so lonely, I was sad because I had to push him out of the nest I had so carefully constructed. It took a long time to be okay with it. But then he met his fiancée and I realized that there are reasons why God makes us do things.
It was odd because when he was moving there were people we were talking to that said they were from the state he was moving to and there were songs that would randomly come on the radio about the place he was moving to, almost like God was sending us little signs that this was what needed to happen.
And as it turned out, this was the best thing for him. It was difficult and hard at first but sometimes you have throw someone into water and make them sink or swim. And he began to tread water after a few difficult and painful months and now seems to be at least dogpaddling into life.
Things finally have begun to be normal again.
Now what of Booga?
I don't know what is going to happen with that? I have a feeling this might be worse. Not only because I have spent my life in pursuit of helping him have a life, but because he will have lived with us so long.
I know that I need him to grow up because every once in a while I think to myself that Boog is kind of a ball and chain, I can do nothing without consideration as to what kind of impact this will make on Boog. I can go nowhere without finding care for Booga. I can't just leave, I can't go back to work (not that anyone would hire me at my age- in my profession) because he takes up so much of my time and I am at his beck and call. So what happens the moment that the umbilical cord is cut with him? What is going to be my reaction to that?
I have had some pretty profound losses, and I think to myself that everything works to the good of those that love God. I wonder how I am going to deal with that and if all these other losses and growths of my adulthood will have prepared me for this eventuality?
I can only pray and hope that it has. We will see and then we will know, I guess.
Have I told you lately that I love you? Well, it’s because honestly I don’t know you so why should I say that? But as a person in God’s world I must tell you that I do. This morning it just came flooding out of my hands on to my keyboard and so there it is. Booga is one of the most fastidiously clean people you will ever meet. He takes a shower everyday and wears his favorite aftershave every morning. For a person with special needs whom you would think you would have to be right on top of to make sure his grooming is up to snuff, this kid, well, is similarly like my brothers in the way that he can’t stand to be anything but impeccable in his appearance.. It is odd. However, praise God for this smallest of favors. If someone has a beard or if their hair is uncombed or they smell bad or they are dirty…Well according to Boog, “You look like dang it!” If he doesn’t like the way something looks, “It looks like dang it!” You don’t feel well, well then, “You feel like dang it!” It’s adorable; this resistance to using any kind of profanity to get his ideas across and on another level it is part of the humor that makes living with the Autism tolerable and in some aspects almost enjoyable. How much less laughter we would have in our lives without our Boog. He can’t stand having a beard-he hates it! We made him grow one, once for a Christmas picture where we had him dress like Santa and hold the cats. It was an adorable picture but he couldn’t wait to shave. He looked a great deal more like his older brother than we ever thought possible. But then again, they are brothers. What a handsome lot of men I have. Now shaving for the most part is something that I have to keep close eyes on because one can never forget the horror of him cutting himself. It was pretty monumentally scary I must say. I will never forget the utter terror in his voice when he, covertly had shaved in the bathroom and came out and said in a frightened, shaky, voice, “Mom, I have bleeding and blood….” I shutter even now to think about it. The really bad part about it (and I hesitate to tell you about it but the really appalling part of Booga’s hygiene routine) is his insistence on being naked when he shaves. Yikes! Yikes in a big way! I’ll never forget wanting to gouge my eyes out for the crime of accidentally walking in on him one time when he was getting in the bath tub. “My eyes! My eyes!” There is nothing more unnerving to a parent than walking in on their grown child naked and shaving in the bathroom. Nothing more heart rendingly difficult than getting that image deleted from your mind than the grown child naked with a face full of shaving cream and sink full of water. And I’ve done it. I’ve walked in on him shaving at the sink, stark naked. GAH!!! Once you have seen it, well; as a friend of mine put it, you cannot “un-see” it. But since he is insistent on shaving naked (???) and since I have to know when it is happening so that at least if something happens I can render assistance immediately; I guess I will keep the door closed and pray that I’ll never have to do so. If something does happen and I hope to The Lord Almighty it never does, then I will have to have years of therapy afterward. However, I “need” to know because Boog simply can’t be left to his own abilities while shaving because of the whole “blood and bleeding” episode. It’s like cooking or washing or loading the dishwasher. Left on his own- bad things happen to good people. Anyway, to continue…. He is a clothes horse. Thankfully, he is a clothes horse with the thought process that a pair of jeans and a nice golf shirt is the height of fashion. A tie and nice pants and a nice shirt for church; Or a t-shirt and pajama bottoms on a day when we aren’t going anywhere. And luckily he isn’t particularly hard to buy for, he likes going to Goodwill, because for one thing, they have cheap movies, for another they have cheap CD’s that he can buy with his small amount of money that he is given. They have jeans that are in pretty good shape and nice golf shirts; sometimes brand new ones with the tags still on them.
People don’t realize the good savings they can get from going into second hand stores. It is very true that one mans junk is another mans treasure. It’s so very true. Recently I read where a University some time from us is now doing a thing where the students can give their used furniture and clothing and so forth that they are going to throw out at the end of the semester, to an organization that will set it up in a hall and let people come in and take whatever they want for free. Apparently the last time they did it the general public cleared them out in less than an hour and left only a single bag of clothing that was taken to Goodwill. I remember my husband and I, as a young couple doing what is commonly called “dumpster diving” when the University began to throw out their students furniture for the end of the year. More than once did I find a piece of furniture or a table or something I could take home and use in my own house. I still have a table that folds down in my office and it was in a dumpster. Amazing what people think is junk. Thank God that someone finally realized that people will take what other’s don’t want and use it. Thank God someone realized that throwing something that is perfectly fine just because it was inconvenient to carry home was a waste! I thank God for the people who take their gently used clothing that they have either no purpose for or have not worn in a year to Goodwill so that I will have something to buy for my Booga. Oh don’t get me wrong, I don’t just buy used clothing for him or myself. One of my favorite hobbies is going through clearance racks at department stores and seeing what kind of good buys I can get on brand new clothes for me, or Boog or for my husband and even for my children, although they generally buy their own clothes now. I rarely buy anything at full cost. Rarely. I do but it has to be something pretty freaking amazing. Even the materials I make into pajamas bottoms and sew into useful items at home I buy on sale generally, unless it’s something pretty spectacular. Live poor- It’s economical. Now don’t sit there and think, well, you live poor, you must dress poorly. No no, my friend, I have good taste. Even though I shunned my mother’s fashion sense as a teenager, I as an adult, hear her voice in my head when I look at clothes. The last thing I want to do if I buy something is come home and put it on and hear from Booga, that I look like dang it! No one wants to look like dang it!
My mother worked in a high end ladies dress store pretty much all her life. She was always up on the latest fashion. She would have liked it if I had taken better interest in how I looked. However, I was not going to be like her. I preferred the quirky, weird, dress styles and the odd outfits I put together. The only thing my mother ever bought me that we truly agreed on was a trench coat…A very nice trench coat and that I wore all through high school.
Me, my trench coat, and my science fiction books under my arm- that was my costume. Weird, quirky, sci-fi nerds…These were my people.
Much to the dismay of my mother and father who were very popular in high school….
My dad was a very brainy jock. My mom was the drama queen, destined for Broadway. My dad, well, he went on to devise different ways to mold plastic into useful, albeit eternal, items. My mother went on to have four children and work in a high-end dress shop pedaling “London Fog” coats, “Ample Togs” and “Melissa Petite” dresses for older well-to-do ladies.
So, it didn’t surprise us at all that when their 60th wedding anniversary came around that there were scads of people at the party…Scads. Of people. And they were in high school again.
Sigh….
People I didn’t know were coming up and talking to me, asking me questions and I would look at them like, “Who are you?” Then suddenly I would recognize them beneath the wrinkled exterior and I would, wide-eyed, look at them and think, “Oh my gosh, I do know you- but your OLD NOW!!!” Quite the shocker.
However, it was nothing compared to when Booga went up to one of them who was apparently still and happily stuck in the 1970’s- wearing a seemingly “Huggie-Bear-From-Starsky-And-Hutch” shirt and asked what the deal was with the long scar under his nearly buttoned-down shirt? He was very polite and told him he’d had open heart surgery and I very quickly made it a point to tell him that he was autistic…Like he would understand that…..
He looked at me like I had just spoken to him in Vietnamese.
I spent a lot of time talking about Autism to people.
For some reason, this is a topic of much interest in the over-seventy crowd. They are somewhat taken aback and curious about this disorder that so many kids are coming up with these days. Which is great I guess…But, you know, it’s not my life. It seems to define me sometimes. Sometimes I would rather not have to talk primarily about it. Sometimes I would like to talk about my photography or my artwork or computers or anything other than Autism.
Sigh again.
Booga ate and drank and danced-carefree and happy.
This particular day, I was the one having a problem with socializing, not Booga. I was uncomfortable all day. It’s not that I don’t like my parent’s friends or anything like that. I am just not real comfortable in crowds of people who are looking to have me entertain them with my witty repartee ….That’s my own little segment of Autism in my own life.
Eventually the crowds thinned and family was all that was left.
It was a big hall.So we were scattered throughout....Which was kind of nice.
My sister in law and I stood in the back towards the end of the party, taking apart centerpieces and we talked about Boog, and about how we felt about his Autism.
I told her that my husband and I had talked about how we wouldn’t change him.
I told her I thought he would be very much like my nephew (who is a music major in college right now) had Boog been an average kid.
“He did ‘Cats’ this year.” I said. “He loves musicals. He’s obsessed with ‘Evita.’”
Things went silent for a moment.
“We’ve talked about what it would be like to look into a crystal ball and see him as an average kid…What that would be like?”
I looked over at him twirling his hands in time to the music.
“I worry,” I said, “That it would break our hearts more to know what he’d be like….”
She looked at me sadly. “Oh…” She said in a sympathetic tone. Then she spoke my name in that way people do when they want to say something to give you comfort but there are no words of comfort to be given.
I smiled at her trying to make it okay for her. In the way I smile when people are searching for words of feeling and finding none…And you can see it…I would have said normally, “its okay, we’re okay with this…We’ve been dealing with this a long, long time.”
But instead I said, “But look at him now,” I nodded toward the dancing figure twirling across the floor… “He’s dancing.”
And I smiled at her again.
Not a care in the world right now, all that mattered was a full stomach, good drinks, cake and coffee, good music, dancing and music…That’s all.
For Booga, that was whirled peace.
There are times I don’t know why I am writing this thing. Sometimes it’s because I think that I have some kind of crazy sick idea that someone out there can benefit from something I’ve said.
Let’s be clear.
For the most part, dealing with Autism is like any other kind of thing that blindsides you on any given day…It comes along and knocks you off your feet. But really, it’s what you do with this knowledge afterward that defines you as a person.
Do you sit and stew?
Do you allow yourself to rage with self-pity?
Do you get angry at your spouse?
Do you get angry with God?
Do you get angry with child?
Do you get angry with yourself?
Well, to be honest, none of those things really can help.
Sitting and stewing, helps no one. Not even you. You can’t rage into self-pity. It doesn’t help.
I remember a quote from a movie that said “….Conflict and hardship can either burn you to a crisp or turn you into Gold.” It’s what you do with it. I don’t remember what movie that was…I think it was a “Tammy” movie. It stuck with me. And it’s probably a good thing.
I like to think I am a better person for what we’ve gone through.
For starters here are some nuggets of wisdom I have learned living with this thing.
You can’t get angry at your spouse. Autism is a roll of the dice. With or without that person in your life you may or may not still have had an autistic child.
God may have given you your child-however, it’s not as a punishment- rather, I like to think of Booga as a gift. More than once I have thought, “What would life be like without Booga?” And the thing is; I don’t know if I would want a life without him in the world. He brings so much to mine.
Would I wish the problems that Autism presents on anyone? No. I know people who would benefit personally from having an autistic person in their lives…But do I wish this on any family. No.
I believe God chooses who gets blessed with the autistic child. Of course there are people, who don’t receive this gift with the optimism or the patience that is required by it. In that case it is given over to other people to be blessed by this child. Sometimes, it’s the simple fact that they are in the world that blesses not just the people around them, but the greater community in the whole.
Does that make sense?
In any case, there is no sense believing that your autistic child is doing the things that they do just to piss you off. They don’t want to be driven to do the things they do…I can’t be angry with Booga. He didn’t do this to himself. In fact I know that if he could make himself an average kid he would. But he has no real choice in the matter. It’s his nature. And it’s not to me to try and change who he is rather it is for me to help him cope with the rest of the world and to help the rest of the world cope with him.
And I am all done being angry with myself. There was nothing in the pregnancy I could have done-according to the doctors (back to the whole-roll-of-the-dice thing).
The biggest part of dealing with Autism is getting to the point where you realize, it’s not your deal, it’s not something to cure. There is no cure for Autism, they will always be autistic. You’ll just frustrate yourself into a tizzy if you think that way. Even these people who say, “I cured my child of autism and you can too!” Are either lying or aren’t seeing the autistic tendencies. They treat the symptoms and not the illness. They have trained their child to react in certain ways. I’ve done that. Booga says please and thank you. But when you get right down to it- and you’re around these so-called-cured- kids- hello, there’s still some Autistic characteristics present that either mom or dad doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to see them. They are fooling themselves; because they couldn’t handle the diagnosis. Maybe they weren’t strong enough or had too much going on in their lives to have this thing blindside them, either way, they are kidding themselves.
Get over it; it’s not the end of the world.
You can treat this child like any other child. Granted it’s going to be a slower process, but it is still the best way to raise a special needs child. Granted it’s going to take them that much longer to grow up. But we as parents can’t put time limits on children. Eighteen was made up by the government to send men to war at a certain age. Eighteen is no magic number. I think of myself at 22 and I was a child; A child marrying and having a child as a child.
I have come to the conclusion that I am probably going to end up putting Booga in a group home or some place where he can monitored. I’ll tell you why: my husband and I need that time when we are older to enjoy our retirement, and Boog needs a place to be when we are no longer able to take care of him. Granted he has a brother and sister, but I can’t count on them to take care of Boog- that would be unfair. And Boog needs some kind of separation as a person in the world. And granted someday he will be able to do a lot of the things that we all do as adults but he still has to be monitored all the time. He will always have a tendency to not use the common sense you and I take for naught. For example; you don’t put a porcelain teapot on the stove to heat. It’s one of those things you have to make tea for separately for and then put in the pot. The pot never sees fire. Or another thing is that you don’t wear long draping sleeves to cook in because they’ll catch fire. He doesn’t get that. You don’t make yourself huge amounts of food for every meal.
If I let Boog he would eat himself sick. And he has before. We’ve walked out of restaurants with Boog and he’s thrown up in the parking lot- because he’ll stuff himself. You have to stop him after your done with your meal and he’s still eating and ask him if he would like a box, and tell him, “You can take it home and have it later.”
It’s one of those things where at least it gives him the ride home to take a breather from eating. I don’t know why he does this? But I think it has something to do with one of the para-pro’s he had in preschool who insisted on taking his food away from him and not giving it back if he got up and left the table for any reason while he was eating.
That’s all a good and fine disciplinary move, but you can also instill bad habits like stuffing themselves with all their food on their plate, because they think that if they leave the table to go to the rest room or get a drink all their food is going to be gone when they come back.
It’s not how I raised my children.
That’s another thing you have to guard against; other people’s ideas of how you are raising this child.
You know how this child works; how they think and react and their limitations. If you don’t think this is the right thing for your kid…Say so. And if they insist on it, then make them lock themselves into responsibility if it is wrong. I have learned this from so many years of having people (who think they know Boog ) tell me what he is and isn’t capable of and allowing myself to be duped into trying to get him to do these absurd things that are beyond his capabilities. Sometimes with embarrassing consequences, so I have learned to lock them into the responsibility of ownership if things go wrong. That way I don’t have to mop up the results and it all rests in their lap. You can do this by writing down what you think will happen and sending it in with them and having the person send back a note either disagreeing or agreeing. That is why Boog has a notebook aside from his planner that he takes with him everyday. This thing is set up so that his teacher has to write in it everyday about what’s going on. I want documentation. Not only does it serve the purpose of locking them into responsibility, but it gets me out of going to those useless parent/teacher conferences, where they tell you the same thing they told you three months ago.
It does not take the place of an IEP.
An IEP is a totally different liter of kittens.
So you see, these are all things I’ve learned over time. You, I am sure, can understand why sometimes when I am writing I wonder if anyone is listening; if I am writing this for no good reason other than my own outlet or is by my writing these things and sending it out into the ether world of the internet is a useful thing?
I hope so.
God gave me this for a reason and I need to take this and not hide it under a bushel. I wish to let this light shine, if not for everyone, maybe for just one person other out there.
Use this wisely and for your benefit.
Learn from me.
