Hooters Therapy

Sean likes girls.  He’s said so.

In fact, he’s said it many times.

About every 20 minutes type of many times.

Yep, he likes girls.

The only problem is, is that he doesn’t look at girls.

Talking with them?  Having an actual conversation with them? 

Yea, right… are you kidding??

Let’s start with just looking and we’ll leave the rest for later.

Sean differentiates people by the sound of their voices.  At times his system has found its flaws… a woman with a lower pitch or a pre-pubescent boy.  But over the years his way has served him as well as can be expected.

Thus, the idea… the need… to learn to look at people fell to the wayside.

Now girls are saying “Hi” to him in the hallway.  They say “Hi” to him at his sister’s basketball games.

He’s even made the bathroom wall…. I (heart) Shawn Lehning.

Awww… if only she knew how to spell his name….

So who are these girls that have sought out the company of my handsome son by uttering one simple two-letter word?

Sean has no idea.

Why?  Because he doesn’t know what they look like.

He couldn’t pick them out of line-up interspersed with NFL players.

Heck, he doesn’t even know their names.

How crushed would the female population of 13-year old girls in Elk Grove Village be if they knew that their great love didn’t even know their names, let alone if Sally has red hair or was that Molly???

He’s completely unaware of his heartbreaker status.

So with that in mind, as well as a gift card to a local Hooters restaurant, we charged Sean with one simple task…

LOOK at the girls.

Laugh all you want but amongst all the therapies out there… all the things we parents have tried… all the hype that we have bought into… this scheme is crazy enough to work.

It didn’t.

But he did enjoy himself enough to say that he wanted to go back.

He said the food was good.

Ugh....

My boy goes to Hooters and talks about the food.

Seriously???

A bonus was when an employee noticed his gymnastics shirt and commented on it.

WOW… an opportunity for conversation!!!!  With a girl no doubt!!!!

Yea… that didn’t work out either.

As Sean summed it up, “Conversation failure.”

I look at it this way….

The total meal before gift card was $34…. A heck of lot cheaper than therapy, less paperwork hassle and it included food.

The employees were nice and friendly, very professional.   I certainly wouldn’t have to worry about them teasing him or breaking his heart like 8^th grade girls would tend to do.

He did, in fact, work on his independence and communication skills by ordering his entire meal himself.

And for once Sean didn’t complain about going out of the house…especially since today was his first day off of a weeklong banishment from the computer for disrespecting me.

Sounds like a win-win situation all around, don’t you think?

This “Hooters Therapy” might just work out after all.

Now the only question remaining would be…. 

Will my insurance company cover it???

Hmmmm….

A Valentine's Day Bully

Bullying…. You hear that word as a mom or parent or guardian of a disabled child and you go instantly to a dark place.  Your blood pressure rises.  You forget about everything and everyone around you.  You want to find out who and, to be adult and responsible and politically correct, give them a piece of your mind.

But you also want to protect.  And the helplessness when you can’t is something that you don’t ever want to bear.

Today is Valentine’s Day.  It’s supposed to be a day of love and caring… sharing one’s feelings with each other.

It’s also a day where a kid… any kid… can get bullied.

And today it was mine.

It’s difficult enough when your child gets bullied at school and they know exactly who it is.  They understand what’s going on.  They know it’s happening.

But for mine, and maybe yours as well and countless other kids out there, they don’t know or understand.

Hell, mine can’t even describe to you who it is.

Frustrating.  So frustrating.

How do you teach sincerity and trust to your disabled child?  Better yet, how do you teach them at this age insincerity and distrust???

Teenage kids are masters at lying and manipulating.  Absolute masters.

So how then do we teach our kids to know the subtle differences? 

How?

Sean’s Life experience adds up to a few years of mainstream school, years in special education, and hour upon hour reading about things in books and on-line.

He is hardly prepared for the viciousness of the junior high crowd.

Heck, on some days, I’m not prepared for the stunts they pull or the things they say when I run into them around town.

How do I prepare him for a kid making fun of him when Sean doesn’t even realize that he’s being made fun of??

How do I go to the school and say something in the hope of protecting my child when Sean can’t even tell me anything about the boys who did it?

Sean doesn’t look people in the eye when they speak.

He doesn’t look at people at all…

Sean identifies people by voices and in the Peter Brady world of junior high, voices are difficult to define.

So what am I to do?  What are any of us parents, guardians, friends, therapists, people who care, supposed to do?

I guess we hope.  We pray.

And we teach our child as much as we can.  We have them experience Life outside of their own world as much as possible.

And we’re there for them. 

We can’t physically watch over them 24 hours a day.  We can’t raise them in a bubble or in a constant state of monitoring.  But our spirits can be with them and hopefully that little voice inside of them will help guide their way when it comes to unpleasant and unknown situations.

Unfortunately, bullying is part of growing up and it’s even worse now than when I was a teen.

And I wasn’t autistic.

We can only do what we can… and when we set our minds to it, parents and guardians of disabled children can do just about anything…

So with fair warning….

Don’t mess with Mama Bear boys... because Mama Bear is pissed.

Mr. Know-It-All

Today I am taking my son’s advice and just writing.

Sean’s been begging me for weeks to post something on my blog.  Just about every day something will come up and he’ll ask, “So Mom… are you going to write about this in your blog?”

I generally answer, “No, honey.  Not today.”

But I should… I really should.

The other day he asked me what was wrong.  He senses that I am stressed all the time.  I told him that with everything going on that my mind was too jumbled to put two thoughts together…let alone, write an entire entry.

So then he told me to write about that….

Nice, I get called out on the carpet by my own 13 year old kid.

The year of 2012 has sucked.  There really is no better word for it.  Although I could certainly use a lot of other words to describe it!

My 80-year old mother hurt herself New Year’s Eve.  Then, under my watch, she found herself – and her head – being bounced out of a revolving door.

You want to talk guilt???  Let’s talk guilt.

Ugh.

Modern medicine and my mother’s thick stubborn skull – although it might have been that babushka she was wearing – saved her mind and spirit and she has mended quite well.

But then Smokey, my 15-½ year old German Shepard/Boxer mix, took ill.

And then she died.

It was heart breaking.  It was awful.  One day she would eat and the next she wouldn’t.

Sean… I don’t know why…. But he has this sixth sense about him.  And he’s frank about it…so frank.  Out of the blue one day, he just came out and said, “So Mom, Smokey’s…um… dying.”

“Yes, honey.  She is.”

“Oh, well that’s OK.  She’s lived a good life.”

And that was it.  No real emotion.  No tears.  No sadness to his voice.  But I knew he knew.  And I knew he understood.

When that night finally came and Smokey, surrounded by the five of us, breathed her last, Sean stayed calm amongst the overwhelming emotions of the moment.

Was he being autistic or simply strong for his family?

I needed to stay home with the girls and Rich couldn’t possibly take Smokey to the animal hospital by himself so Sean went with.

I think father and son bonded on that final trip with our beloved family pet.  Rich said he told stories about Smokey being a puppy…. and what a naughty little puppy she was!

It was only weeks earlier that Sean admitted he had let Smokey take the blame for the wallpaper being torn off the wall in the kitchen.

When they got to the animal hospital Rich took Smokey out of the car.  She was stiff…. something I wanted to shield the girls from.

But Sean… sweet Sean…. took note of it.  He said as he always does when Life actually mimics what he’s only read in books or on the computer….

“Wow… I didn’t think that really happened.”

It’s Life, Sean.  And Life also means Death.  You can read about it in books but you’re going to have to experience it one day for real.

So my son finally stepped away from the computer, stepped out of his world, and joined ours for just awhile.

It’s sad that it had to be for such a moment.

But it needed to be done.

Just like getting off of my butt, unscrambling my brain, and writing this blog.

Sometimes you have to listen to your kid’s unfiltered wisdom.

But let’s keep the fact that he was truly right this time our little secret.

Sean already thinks he knows it all.  There would be no living with him if he ever got the idea that sometimes, he actually does!

Are You Excited?

I told my son he was annoying today.

Not exactly something that gets me “Mother of the Year”… especially considering it was my 13 year-old autistic son that I said this to.

But it was truthful.

It’s been a heck of a 2012 for me.  I won’t go into details but it’s been stressful enough for 12 months, let alone 3 weeks.

And so this morning when Sean called out from the other room, trying once again to gather information from an adult conversation that he had no reason to be listening in on, I told him that he was annoying.

Ouch.

That toe-walking, excited pacing between the kitchen and the other rooms that was so cute in the days before Christmas has taken up permanent residence.

That “Are you excited?” has become white noise.

And the ever present “I like girls” statement hangs in the air like a conversation balloon from a cartoon.

I am annoyed.

True, it was not fair – or right – to tell him that.  It was actually pretty mean and I felt bad afterward.

But sometimes you get frustrated.  Sometimes you want the quiet.  Sometimes you need the quiet.  Sometimes you feel like every call for “mom”… every word that is spoken to you by someone chips away at your sanity.

And sometimes you get annoyed.

Am I excited Sean?  Yes.  I am excited and so proud of you for scoring well on your high school placement tests.

But I am scared as well.  Scared for what lies in the next building down the street.  High school is just a block down the road from the junior high but for me, it’s as if I’m sending my son off to a foreign land with no passport, no cell phone, no credit card, and no way to come back home.

In a short two years time, Sean will have gone from the comfort of special education and 100 students in the entire school to a junior high with over 800 and then to a high school with over 2000.

Two thousand faces to not recognize.  Two thousand kids with ample opportunity to bully my son.  Two thousand reasons to worry every single day.

And you wonder why I am annoyed.

Excitement is not the word.  Fear is.

So while I applaud my son for sticking his nose into adult business and trying to understand, I also wish he would remain oblivious and continue to be just a kid.

But I can’t keep him from growing up.  I can’t protect him from girls who laugh at him behind his back or from boys who taunt and throw things at him.

I can only hope that given all that he has…. all the difficulties that he has faced… I can hope that he overcomes.

Success will not be measured on a report card or by awards on a shelf.

Sean’s happiness will be the standard by which his high school experience will be calculated.

And right now, the toe walking, the pacing, and the asking all imply one thing…  Sean is happy.

So the next time Sean asks me, “Are you excited, Mom?”

I’ll answer, “Yes, Sean.  I am.”

And I will be… because my son will be happy at that moment.  The rest of the moments, those thousands of moments ahead of us on that journey through high school, those times when I am annoyed at a world I cannot control… those moments will just have to wait because right now my son is happy and therefore, so am I.

Christmas... Walker, Texas Ranger Style

“So Mom…. Are you excited?”

I can’t quite remember exactly when Sean started asking me if I was excited about Christmas.  Certainly, it was at least double digit days ago.

“So Mom…. Are you excited?”

Sometimes I’d say, “Yes.”

Other times I’d ask, “About what?”

I’ve even told him, “No.”

Face it.  You have to have some fun when you’re asked the same question over and over again.

And over…and over…. and over.

While Sean is thirteen, he is as excited as a six year old over this year’s Christmas. 

Could it be the asked-for Chuck Norris movie that has made him giddy with anticipation?  Or is it the combination of the Hawaiian shirt and cowboy hat that appeared on his Christmas wish list?

Hmmm….  I guess in less than 24 hours we will all know what has caused my boy to take to his tiptoe walk and smacking at his ear as he paces back and forth between the kitchen and other rooms of the house.

Yep… the boy is definitely excited.

As for me…  Well, the holidays are different.  People are constantly asking what my plans are…eagerly awaiting me to unfold some grand adventure.

However, Christmas Day will be much like Christmas Eve and Christmas Eve will be much like any other day of the year.

They have to be.

You know routine – and comfort and that feeling of being in a safe zone – is always key to getting through anything.

And “anything” means holidays.

Sean, in a true moment of clarity one year, inquired why we were always the last ones to arrive and the first ones to leave any family gathering.

We were truthful.

We said it was because of him.

Two hours was our usual time limit….Three at the most.

Sometimes it was a matter of minutes.

It’s better now.  Sean has the coping capabilities to go sit in a corner and read or think.  But will he join in conversations with his numerous cousins or wait patiently for his turn at the foosball table?

No.

Sure, you’ll hear him talk.  But is he talking to anyone in particular?  Probably not.  Is he talking with someone instead of at someone?  No.

Will he eat or even attempt to eat the lavish spread that’s been prepared?

No.

When it comes to the holidays and family gatherings, you feel so much like you just want to be “normal” for once…for just a few hours.

You pray, “Please, let us get through this.”

And then you can’t.

Your family tries to understand.  They go out of their way to accommodate.  They try to convince Sean that a turkey leg is actually from a really big chicken.

But in the end, your heart breaks as your child has a meltdown over some minor thing that you never in your exhausted brain could have anticipated or you see the pained expression on his face from being in unfamiliar surroundings or you selfishly tell him 5 more minutes in the hopes of visiting with your relatives just a bit longer after he’s asked you for the zillionth time when you’re going home.

That turkey dinner…that 40 mile drive… those 5 minutes more are simply not worth it.

Nothing is worth putting Sean through that type of stress.

So today on Christmas Eve we will arrive late and leave early.  We will snack but wait until we get home to have dinner.

And tomorrow we will wake up and be as normal as can be…with, of course, a few minutes of frenzied unwrapping thrown in.

We will stop by Grandma’s for a bit to say “Hi” and then it’s back home to have what we call in the Lehning household “hodge podge” for dinner.

Chicken nuggets.  Mac & cheese.  Whatever Sean wants for dinner.  In fact, it will be whatever each of the kids wants for dinner.

As the saying goes, “The kitchen is open.”  The short-order cook awaits…

Our Christmas will be simple…as it should be.

Because kids – autistic or not – are simple.

And Christmas is all about the kids – with a little Chuck Norris thrown in - isn’t it?

Merry Christmas everyone and, as an old family traditional saying goes, I wish you all health and happiness.

Cheers.

A Blessing

There’s a saying about good friends…. You can’t ever break up with them because they know too much.

I have one of those.

We were talking late the other night.  We had both had a really rough few days.  Break-ups, meltdowns, problems at work, crazy schedules…  you name it and the world was crashing it down upon us.

As she turned to leave, she looked at me and said, “You have such a hard life.”

I didn’t think about it for a minute.  I didn’t hesitate for a second with my answer.

“No, I don’t.”

“But you have a disabled child….” she replied.

“I don’t have it any different than anybody else,” was my answer.

And then she left.

And I got to wondering….

Looking back, life was difficult.  I remember the epic meltdowns that lasted as long as 3 hours.  I remember the bruises and the scrapes on both of us as I tried to keep Sean from hurting himself as he banged various body parts on the walls or floors. 

I remember the exhaustion - not only physically, but mentally and emotionally.

I remember those days of absolute helplessness as you dealt with school districts or teachers or parents that simply didn’t understand.

They would call Sean a monster.

They would say that he was being disruptive to the other kids’ learning.  They would say he didn’t deserve to be in the classroom.

And I could only say in return, “We’re trying.”

I was crippled with fear, frustration, and worry back in those days.  I’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and just cry.

I didn’t know how to help my son.  I was struggling to find the right doctors, the right medication, the right therapists.

I often thought that he’d be better off without me.

But then one day led to another and then to another.

And you slowly start to figure things out.

Sure, Ashley cried and screamed the other day about having to go to therapy after school for Sean. 

And yes, the other day we futilely attempted to get Sean to say “yes” instead of “yea” and “this” instead of “dis.”

And the crack in the girls’ closet door from when Sean inadvertently kicked it during a meltdown seven years ago will remain for at least seven more…

But I’m also thankful… grateful….

I am grateful for those “go nowhere” days that we have to put into our busy schedule because Sean needs them.

They give us a chance to slow down and see what is really necessary in life.

I am grateful for the re-heated Kentucky Fried Chicken that we have on Thanksgiving because Sean somehow has it in his head that The Colonel attended that first feast along with the pilgrims and the Indians.

It has taught us that whom you celebrate with is more important than how you celebrate or what you serve.

I am grateful for the “team” that follows Sean’s every movement in school.  I would rather have him over-watched than simply be a number or name on an attendance list.

I am grateful for all the hours I have spent in waiting rooms of doctors and therapists.  I have met some amazing people and heard stories of tremendous strength in spirit.

I am grateful for the kindness of strangers who do understand…

And, in a way, I am grateful for autism.  It has taught me that the best joys in life are simple, sporadic, and worth cherishing.

Finally, I am grateful for my friend who led me down this journey. 

No, my life’s not difficult.  Not anymore than anyone else’s.

In fact, it’s a blessing.

Because Mom-ipedia Said So....

After 8 days (including the holiday weekend), Sean went back to school.

Of course, I didn’t want him to go.  I didn’t think he was ready. 

Beyond the typical concerns of would he be tired or have coughing fits, I worried about more basic stuff.

Like…

Would he cover his mouth when he coughed?

Something that is so simple that even 5-year old Ashley has been telling him to do it for years.

So why then, does he not do it?

I could say, “I don’t know” but I kind of, sort of do.

Sean is a defiant little chap.

Yep, that’s my boy…always questioning authority even when I know best.

The worst thing is that because he spends untold hours on the Internet researching whatever passes his fancy that day; he’ll have some obscure study to back up his argument.

How can I, good old Mom, compete with Wikipedia and Google??

Seriously???!!!!

Takes all the fun out of “Because I said so” because I can never say so!

Thus, Sean has some logical explanation for why he doesn’t have to cover his mouth when he coughs.

It’s frustrating because in one sense you’re dealing with a highly intelligent child who probably knows more than you.

Then again, you have a child…a child… who needs to be taught manners and respect and the true meaning of “Because I said so.”

Now that Sean is mainstreamed his lack of manners and teenage defiance actually scares me.

He could be reprimanded for the slightest thing… not washing his hands, not covering his mouth, eating with his fingers…. and it could escalate into an incident that jeopardizes his integration.

I know that sounds completely irrational and like total paranoia, but we all know how things can get out of hand quickly.

And that’s why we worry… or, at least, that’s why I worry.

I don’t think about those things with my “typical” kids.  If Ashley doesn’t wash her hands after using the bathroom then her teacher will remind her and she will obediently head off to the sink.

Carissa would do the same.

Sean would let out a huge sigh and turn it into a civil rights violation.

It’s hand washing for god’s sake!

But that’s the type of stuff that keeps me up at night and why I wanted to keep him home an extra day from school.

What if?

What if?

One of my favourite movies of all time is Letters To Juliet.  In one of the final scenes the characters talk about the words “what” and “if.”  Separate, they are so innocent.  Combined  – and I’m taking great liberties with paraphrasing – they really mess with your mind.

What if?

While Sean learns the system of the junior high and how it feels to be mainstreamed, I need to learn to stop losing sleep over two little words.

What if he gets in trouble for not covering his mouth when he coughs?

It’s not like I didn’t tell him.  It’s not like we didn’t try to get him to do it.

You all know I can be a nag when I want to….

But I have to learn to let him take some of the responsibility for his actions.  He’s almost in high school now.  I can’t be there for every sniffle, every bathroom break.

He’s going to have to learn on his own and figure out that conforming to society doesn’t necessarily mean a constitutional violation.

He’ll learn.  I’ll learn.

And we’ll go on from there…

Why?

Because I said so…

But let me check with Wikipedia first.