Griffin's Day

I know today is a somber anniversary for our nation.  My kids have been discussing it at school all week, and it was our topic of conversation before school this morning.

But this day is also significant to our family as the day Griffin received his official diagnosis from Easter Seals.  I wrote about it on this day last year (read here).  I actually had to look up that blog post to figure out how many years have passed since the diagnosis day!

I guess it's hard to believe that today only marks two years since that day because SO much has happened since then.

This week we had a little regression with Griffin, and it was a painful reminder of how things used to be.  It was also a great reminder to be grateful for how much progress he has made.  

Griffin is difficult to describe to people.  He recently moved up to a new class at church and is now in "Kidzone," which is a branch of church specifically for 1st graders through 6th graders.  The teachers he had in his preschool class and kindergarten class at church were phenomenal and took the time to get to know him personally and figure out how to work with him individually.  His new teachers in the 1st and 2nd grade class are also amazing teachers, but they have a very large class and are also used to kids functioning better on their own without needing so much individual help.  

One of his teachers from church recently told me about an incident that had happened the Sunday before.  Griffin got very upset and wasn't really able to say exactly why.  After a little work, she figured out that he had messed up on his worksheet that they were doing, and his perfectionism just couldn't handle it.  {What?!  Where did he get that??}  Once she figured out the root of the problem, she gave him a new paper and he was good as new.  She was telling me how that simple solution solved the whole problem.  Then she said I need to tell her how to prepare for these moments and what to do.  The problem is:  we don't know how to help Griffin until each hurdle presents itself.  

Last week I met with Griffin's school teacher to check in and see how things are going so far.  She also asked for ways she can help Griffin.  I felt kind of tongue-tied as I searched my brain for pointers to give her.  I guess we have just become used to the little things we do to help Griffin through everyday life and don't really think about them anymore.  We also really do just take each struggle as it comes and figure out a way to overcome it.

Here's what I do know.  Griffin is doing amazingly well in school.  He follows rules, excels academically, and has friends.  He has adjusted pretty well to changes at church (moving up to Kidzone, moving up in our Wednesday night scouting program, etc.).  I have learned more and more that he's actually pretty sensitive, which is not what I expected from someone on the Autism Spectrum.  He still has trouble controlling his reactions to things not going his way or someone hurting his feelings.  (Don't most of us still struggle in these areas?)  He gives me hugs and kisses when I want them.  If you get him connected to the right book, he will read and read and read.  If he is not interested in the book, he will not read.  He loves Minecraft more than life itself, and I just have to make sure he spends more time in the real world than in his virtual world.  He likes "voting" for lunch at school (eating school lunch) a couple times per week.  I think it makes him feel independent.  He likes to be in control whenever possible.  He has his own way of eating any food, and he basically has his own way of going about any task.  I have to force myself to allow him to accomplish tasks in his own way rather than insisting he do it my way.

This kid has the softest skin ever created and one of the best smiles around.  His brown eyes melt my heart, and his bony frame is precious to me.

I feel as though we have lived about five years worth of life with Griffin in the last two years.  I'm very satisfied with where we are today, and I'm so proud of how far he has come.  If you're interested to read any more about our journey with Griffin, simply click on the label "Asperger's" to read other related posts.

I'm so thankful for how far God has brought us in the last two years, and I am beyond grateful for the blessing of Griffin in our life!

Jessica

Your Mama Loves You

I'm a very affectionate person.  I like to smother shower my kids with physical affection and loving words. 

This became a source of pain when Griffin was little and refused physical affection.  I praise God all the time for the progress Griffin has made.  He now accepts my affection and even initiates it with me fairly often. 

There's still a difference between Griffin and my other two children.  The other two will say, "Mom, can we snuggle?"  They seem to crave physical affection and affirming loving words more than Griffin does.

I remember one therapist telling me that Griffin just may not need as much affection as other kids (or me).  She suggested that he already feels secure and loved and doesn't need it affirmed as much.  That explanation was much more comforting than how my mind was tempted to interpret Griffin's more distant nature.

About a month or two ago, Griffin pretty much stopped saying "I love you."  I have no explanation for it.  In our family we tell each other "I love you" every single time we part ways, go to bed, and lots of times just because. 

Lately when I tell Griffin I love him, he just doesn't respond.  Occasionally he'll say, "Thank you."  Or if I'm leaving and tell him I love him, he just says, "Bye."

So I've been working on letting Griffin be Griffin.  I don't take it personally.  We love each other deeply, and I'm not going to require him to say it.

Every night before I go to bed, I make my way into each sleeping child's room.  I fix their blankets, snuggle them briefly, and smooch them.  It may seem weird to some people, but these are literally some of my favorite moments each day.  This is when I marvel at how little and big they are, appreciate how soft they are, and selfishly sneak in a little more snuggle time from them.

I whisper things in their ears, imagining my affirming words being woven into their dreams.  You are beautiful.  I adore you.  You are such a good kid.  I have special things I say to each child.

One thing I often whisper to each kid is, "Your mama loves you."  It's true.  And it's a message I want them to carry always.  When the world tells them all sorts of lies, I want their minds to have that message irreversibly seared into them.

A few nights ago when I was making my nightly rounds, I was snuggling a balled up bundle named Griffin.  I whispered into his sleeping ear, "Your mama loves you."

That precious boy, who appeared to be completely asleep, spoke to me without opening his eyes.  He whispered back, "Your Griffy loves you."

Oh, those words filled up my love tank!  That'll last me awhile. 

These kids keep me on my toes, and they make me appreciate every wonderful thing about them!

Jessica

A Basketball Win

I can't tell you about how Griffin's first basketball session went and then not tell you about how the second one (last Saturday) went.

I was hoping for some improvement.  I was hoping for less or no crying.  I wanted him to participate.

Wanna know how it went?  In a word, it was...perfection!

Griffin participated.  He ran after his ball when it bounced/rolled away from him.  He followed all directions.  He practiced his dribbling.  He high-fived the girl coach who helped him the first week (by the way, I did track her down and thank her).  When the kids sat together so the head coach could talk to them, Griffin raised his hand and answered a question.  Seriously!

I held my breath on two occasions.  The first was when he jammed his finger on the basketball.  He shook it off, showed his coach girlfriend, and went back to playing.  The second was when the helper coaches were running the kids through defense drills, and someone other than the girl who always helps Griffin called him over to run the drill.  I wasn't sure how Griffin would handle working with a guy he didn't know, but he did a great job!

I was so thrilled.  Jared, my dad, and I were BEAMING up in the stands.  We gushed all over Griffin when he was done with practice.  He's been working hard toward a behavior goal to earn a prize, and we gave it to him early.  I literally didn't have one complaint about how Griffin did at that second basketball session, and I wanted to make a big deal about every little component of his success.

Now I have to get my mind and expectations right for this Saturday.  I can't expect Griffin to do a perfect job every single time.  I have to make allowances for him to be a human, a kid, and a boy with some pertinent struggles.  I don't want to go backwards, but I know that my expectations of Griffin have to be hopeful but realistic.  

See?  Sometimes tough stuff gets better (even temporarily).  I like to celebrate the small victories to keep me going towards whatever is ahead!

Jessica

Ouch

I've done a fair bit of damage to my body this weekend.

Today I did a brutal P90X workout, and now it feels as if each of my limbs weighs 300 lbs. whenever I attempt to move.  I seriously consider if it's worth it just to get up and use the bathroom.  Today my muscles are just fatigued.  Tomorrow they're going to actually hurt.  School has already been cancelled for tomorrow due to plummeting temperatures and piling snow, and my kids are going to have to entertain themselves and take care of themselves since I won't be able to function.

The workout was necessary because I gained a science-defying amount of weight this Christmas season.  Why is it so easy to put on and so painful to take off??  Plus Jared is trying to convince me to go on some tropical getaway this summer to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary.  The threat of a swimsuit is enough to make me bump up my exercise.

The other damaging thing I did was that yesterday I chewed all the skin off from inside my lips and inside my cheeks.  It's a nervous habit.

Yesterday Griffin started a basketball program for kindergarteners (Union Mission, for you locals). 

We actually attempted this same program (for preschoolers) two years ago.  The kids joined the head coach and teenage helpers down on the gym floor while the eager parents and grandparents sat in the upper deck and looked down over their little darlings. 

This was the exact setting in which I realized that my child was different than the children around him.  As I looked down and watched Griffin flapping his hands and refusing to follow the coach's directions, I felt the sympathetic glances from the other parents.  Griffin clearly looked like a child who was "not normal."  Everyone around me knew it, and I fully realized it for the first time.

We were determined (perhaps foolishly) to finish the season, and it became a source of severe stress every week.  For all involved.  We had paid a lot of money, and I hadn't yet learned that sometimes you can quit things if it's in your child's best interest.

That basketball experience was the final straw that made us take Griffin to Easter Seals for testing.

After his diagnosis and life that followed, we came to the conclusion that Griffin just may not be cut out for team sports.  To be completely honest, I've never actually accepted this conclusion.  We haven't attempted any team sports since that AWFUL basketball experience, but Griffin told us that he wanted to try basketball this winter after his brother started playing.  We double and triple checked with him.  And then asked again just to be sure.

So with butterflies in my stomach, I gave Griffin my cheeriest pep talk and reminded him of rewards that awaited him if he just complied with the coaches' instructions. 

It started out well.  I set up camp in the upper seating area with Nolan and Nora as well as my dad and Jared's dad (I love having The Grandpas at the kids' activities!).  Jared walked Griffin down to join the other kids who were just shooting around.  Jared didn't return right away, and I was afraid Griffin was already breaking down over the separation, but then I spotted Griffin timidly carrying a blue basketball toward an open hoop.

Victory!

He shot around for awhile, and then we hit our first little bump when his ball rolled away from him to the other side of the gym.  He just froze.  He didn't run after it.  I'm not sure why, but he just stood there.  Eventually, thankfully, one of the teen helpers retrieved the ball and gave it back to him.  Whew!

When the head coach got the practice officially started, I got nervous about how Griffin would do switching from an activity where he was in control (shooting around at his own pace) to an activity where he had to do everything the coach said.

First was an intro:  fine.  Then came warm ups:  fine.  Then the kids were given basketballs and I held my breath to see how Griffin would react to getting a yellow ball instead of a blue one (blue is his favorite color).  Yes, you may be silently judging me for having a child that might melt down over the color of basketball that he gets.  He's a work in progress.  I just didn't want any tiny detail to derail his otherwise successful time at basketball.  And he did just fine with the yellow ball. 

You may have guessed that there was trouble at some point, and that's about where we are in this story.  After an explanation of how to dribble with your fingerprints and where to put your other hand and how to stand, the coach wanted the kids to practice dribbling.  Griffin melted.  His face crumpled and he began silently crying.

A teenage girl helper noticed him crying and tried to comfort him.  Jared quickly headed down to intervene.  Jared and Griffin ended up sitting on the sidelines for 5-10 minutes.  Griffin got a drink and Jared tried to talk to him.  Apparently, Griffin said he doesn't know how to dribble.  He didn't want everyone watching him since he wasn't confident in what he was doing.

Eventually Griffin rejoined the kids and Jared rejoined us in the upper deck (as I fidgeted, nibbled, twisted, and clenched).  Griffin didn't cry, but he didn't exactly participate.  That same teenage girl stayed by his side and tried to get him to do the drills the other kids were doing.  It was rough until they switched to some shooting drills. 

Griffin is actually pretty good at shooting.  When he sank his first shot, his helper tried to get him to give her a high-five.  He refused, which is odd since giving super duper hard high-fives or weird high-fives (like using his head instead of his hand) is one of his favorite things.  She stuck by him though.  His team won every single scoring competition.

I'm sure that we would have had to bail early and take Griffin home if that blessed teenage girl hadn't been so willing to stick with him and keep working on him.  I told my dad I wanted to find that girl afterward and mouth kiss her.

Don't worry; I didn't assault the poor girl.  I actually didn't even get to talk to her afterward to thank her, so that's a priority for next week.

So basketball wasn't a smashing success or a wretched train wreck.  We had some victories:  good drop off, some participation, and Griffin plugged back in eventually after melting down.  We also had some frustrations:  the meltdown and refusal to fully participate.

We'll go back next Saturday and see how he does.  Hopefully my mouth heals before then.

Jessica

One Year Ago Today

September 11th is a significant date for all Americans.  I don't mean to diminish that significance in any way.  However, this date now has a new significance for my family.  It's a personal anniversary of sorts.

On September 11, 2012, we took Griffin to his Easter Seals evaluation.  After months of paperwork, phone interviews, observations, discussions, and heartache, we finally reached the day when Griffin could be evaluated by multiple professionals all day long to see how he was functioning in various categories of development.

After hours of evaluation, we took Griffin out to lunch and then left him with my sister while Jared and I went back to Easter Seals alone to face the panel of professionals to hear their diagnosis.

One year ago today, Griffin was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.

A lot has changed in a year.

For one thing, Asperger's is no longer an actual diagnosis.  When the American Psychiatric Association published the newest version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-V), they changed the structuring of diagnostic criteria and naming of autism-related disorders.

Now Griffin's diagnosis falls under the umbrella of Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD).  That's about all I understand about the change for now.  Several professionals have used the term autistic to describe Griffin (and other children with Asperger's and other Autism Spectrum Disorders), so I find it easier to use that same term.

A year ago we felt overwhelmed.  We were heartbroken to have skilled professionals tell us that our child wasn't "normal."  We really didn't know what would change after Griffin had an official diagnosis.  We were filled with questions.  How would he do in school?  Would he ever make friends on his own?  Would he ever date?  Would we ever find extracurricular activities to engage him?

We needed time to work through the raw emotions.  We had to wrestle with our own questions in our own private little world.  We had been going through the whole evaluation process without really discussing it with anyone.  We needed time to grieve, process, and grow a little thicker skin before we could share this news with anyone.

We received the diagnosis on September 11, we had our follow-up meeting at Easter Seals in October, and we finally told our families in November.  It took a few more months after that before we started to discuss Griffin's diagnosis with friends and people at church.

Eventually, I learned to see Griffin's diagnosis not as something to be ashamed of but as a way to help people understand Griffin.  Most people don't really understand Asperger's or Autism Spectrum Disorder, but they are much more willing to listen and work with Griffin's challenges when they know that he has an actual diagnosis.

Having a diagnosis helps other people see that Griffin is not just an out of control kid who needs better parenting.  There's always room for improvement in our parenting (trust me).  But Griffin is just created a little differently than other kids, even the other kids in our family.  He processes the world differently.  He functions differently and responds differently.

I choose to see Griffin as a unique creation, hand-crafted by God.  In addition to being a bit challenging, Griffin is different in ways that are strengths (or will develop into strengths).  When I look at that precious boy, there is no doubt in my mind that God will accomplish great things through Griffin that He could not accomplish through other people.

Jared and I often joke that we just have to harness Griffin's powers for good rather than evil.

It's actually true.  We pray for God's wisdom in how we should parent our children.  We want to help them develop into the people God created them to be.   We want to seek God's approval of our parenting rather than the approval of the people around us.  I'm still working on that one. 

I actually can't believe that it's only been one year since the day we were given Griffin's diagnosis.  I guess I've finally embraced who Griffin is.  He is a child who shares many characteristics as other children on the Autism Spectrum.  But there's no one else in this world like him.

Griffin has overcome a lot of challenges in a year.  He has improved in his behavior, tried new things, improved his coping skills, learned a lot about relating to people, and adjusted to many life changes.

I've overcome a lot of challenges in a year.  I've improved my parenting behavior, tried new things, improved my coping skills, learned about relating to people, and adjusted to many life changes.

See?  We're all making progress.

I thought this date would always be a painful date.  I can honestly say that just one year later, it doesn't even sting anymore.  There will be harder days ahead.  They have a way of popping up every now and then. 

Today doesn't feel nearly as hard as I thought it would.

Today is a day to acknowledge and remember where we've been and everything we've overcome.  I don't dread the next September 11th because I believe we'll make even more progress by then. 

To continue my previous trend (Blogiversary, Housiversary, etc.), I'll say it:  Happy Aspergiversary! :)

Jessica

Something to Tell You

It's no secret that our middle son Griffin has Asperger's, an Autism Spectrum Disorder.  But we've never actually told him.

We've discussed it with family, friends, teachers, church volunteers, etc.  We've even talked about it around the kids.

Several weeks ago the kids and I were in the car discussing Griffin's Monday afternoon swim group at Easter Seals, which is actually a social skills group that meets in the therapy pool.  I was explaining to the kids why sometimes we see other kids doing individual therapy in the pool, and some of them yell out or display odd behaviors.  We talked about how people can all be different, physically and mentally.

Last year Nolan had an autistic girl in his class.  She had an aide who frequently pulled her out of class.  In the several times that I visited Nolan's class, I observed this girl doing different activities from the rest of the students.  I often secretly wondered what Nolan thought about this girl and what he understood about her autism.

Partway through the school year, Nolan began to mention her when he told me about his day.  He couldn't understand why the other students just ignored her, and he told me he was her friend.  Soon I heard stories of him walking through the lunch line with her, talking to her, and helping her.  I was so incredibly proud of my son for the way he treated this girl whom the rest of the class ignored.  I also felt that God was clearly preparing Nolan to grasp his own brother's autism.

So back to that day in the car a few weeks ago.  I let on that Griffin's group was more than just a swimming group.  I explained that it was to help Griffin and the other kids learn better social skills.  The kids seemed to understand.

Then Nolan asked me, "Mom, is Griffin autistic?"

I froze.  It seemed like the perfect time to tell all three kids.  But Jared wasn't with us and I hadn't discussed any of this with Jared (telling the kids).  I replied, "We'll talk more about that later."

Griffin chimed in with, "Mom, I don't mind if you talk about it."

Oh, how I wanted to take this perfect opportunity to finally tell the kids!  I still felt odd about telling them without Jared, who was on a business trip at the time.  So I put it off.

We worried about how Griffin would tolerate us moving.  He had his rough moments, but he's doing well.  We worry about how he will do in kindergarten, especially now that he'll be going to a new school rather than the one we've gone to every day for two years to take Nolan and pick him up.

Last spring I started working with our school district's Special Education Coordinator to prepare for Griffin entering kindergarten.  She and I had several conversations, she reviewed Griffin's paperwork from Easter Seals, and she observed him at his preschool.  The principal at our previous school called me to discuss Griffin and make sure we were all on the same page and ready for him to start school there.

Since we moved and the boys will be attending a new school, I called the new school to discuss Griffin.  I didn't get much of a response and was told that nothing needed to be done before the school year in regards to Griffin.  This mama disagreed.

So I called the Special Education Coordinator (who works with the entire school district not just our previous school) to try to get more help.  She gave me more of the answers I was looking for.  For example, she already has a meeting scheduled for tomorrow with the principal at the new school to discuss Griffin.  She also said she would trust either kindergarten teacher at the new school to be able to work well with Griffin.  And before I could even ask for it, she suggested that we schedule a time to bring Griffin into the school and show him around before the crazy chaotic Meet the Teacher night. 

Last night I felt much calmer about the upcoming school year, but I also felt very aware of how much Griffin's autism might be discussed in front of him as we meet with his teacher, the principal, and the Special Education Coordinator.  And I was reminded of how odd it seems that we've never told Griffin and his siblings that he's autistic.

Our dinner last night was rushed and crazy as I was on the phone while preparing it and had to rush off to a church meeting as soon as I swallowed my last bite.  Yet I felt that it was time to use our dinnertime as a family meeting to discuss Griffin's diagnosis with the kids.  I knew it wouldn't be as big of a deal to them as it is to us, so there was no need to set up some special time to discuss it.  This was as good a time as any.

I cleared it with Jared just before we started eating, and he was on board.  So last night during dinner, we told the kids that Griffin has a form of autism. 

They seemed to understand, especially since our previous conversation had laid the groundwork for this one.  We found it easier to explain what "autism" and "autistic" mean and how autism affects Griffin.  When we did finally explain "Asperger's," the kids mostly just giggled at the name.  One of the boys said through laughs, "Mom, that sounds like hamburgers!"

As I suspected, the kids had no questions and quickly lost interest in the conversation.  I had to remind myself that it's just not a big deal to them, and I really just wanted to open up the communication with them on this topic.

Griffin did grin from ear to ear when I told him that his autism also affects him in positive ways, like how he started reading super early and can do crazy math.  He looked so proud.

Then as I kept talking, thinking I had gained ground explaining all this to him, he interrupted me to say, "Mom, 20 times 20 is 400."  Yep, it is Babe.  Good talking to you.

So, the whole conversation was fairly anticlimactic.  I might as well have been telling the kids that Griffin has brown eyes.  But now I don't have to worry about the kids overhearing us talking about Griffin's autism, and they know they can ask us questions about it.

We're making progress!

Now if I could just make peace with my second child going to kindergarten...

Jessica

Graduation

Oh, my cup runneth over.

Tonight Griffin had his preschool graduation.  I have been very anxious about this ever since I realized that Jared would be gone for the graduation. 

I kept having flashbacks to the Christmas program.  Griffin had a major meltdown when we tried to leave him with his classmates so we could take our seats in the gym to watch the program.  His issue was that all the kids met in the other classroom, not the classroom where Griffin's class meets.  It was an unfamiliar environment, and he wasn't in the mood to stay there.  That was one of those occasions where I was sweating in all my crevices and trying (unsuccessfully) not to cry.

I started talking to Griffin about the graduation about a week or so ago.  First he told me he didn't want to be on stage with everyone looking at him.  This is a common theme with him.  Then he just said he didn't want to do it.  Eventually, he even articulated that it made him sad because he's going to miss his friends.  Outwardly I tried to talk him through it, but inwardly I was doing a little happy dance.  Why?  First, because he was able to tell me what he was feeling.  Second, because my little boy with social struggles has made friends and is sad to not see his friends anymore.

I prayed about the graduation, and begged asked my prayer warrior friend to join me in praying.  I also begged asked the grandparents to come to support Griffin and help me.

My pleas must have had an impact because three of the grandparents came, and they were all early and super helpful.  Nolan and Nora enjoyed the evening as well because they got to spend lots of time with grandparents.

And Griffin.  My Griffers.  Little Griffy.

He wore the light blue button up shirt that makes him look like a little man.  We negotiated, and he wore the shoes I wanted and I let him skip wearing his tie.  We both got in the car happily and set off to the school.

When we walked in the gym, one of his two teachers came up to him right away to take him back to his class.  He didn't cling to me.  He didn't cry.  He didn't whine about going with the rest of the kids.  He took her hand and walked back to the classroom that's not his so he could get ready for the ceremony.

When the kids paraded up to the stage, Griffin smiled and waved at me.  When they lined up on stage, Griffin did let the boy next to him know that he needed to scoot over about three inches to be on his actual spot. 

And then he spotted me and smiled and waved. 

He sang every song.  He did every motion.  He stayed focused and did everything he was supposed to do.  And all the songs had lyrics about how special the kids are and how they can be anything God wants them to be.

I'm sure those songs tugged at every parent's heart, but I have to say that the songs were especially significant to me in light of Griffin's Asperger's.  He truly is a very special child, and I know God has special plans for him.  I was overwhelmed with pride and joy as I watched my son doing things that most kids did right from the start of the year.  He went along with what was expected, and he did it with a smile.

When I got home and looked through the pictures my dad took (while I recorded video so Jared can see it later), I noticed a little girl crying in a few of the pictures.  I hadn't even noticed her tonight.  I felt sorry for her parents.  I've been those parents.  I've felt disappointed and frustrated as I wondered why my child can't just sing the songs and do the motions and let a program or ceremony be a fun time.  I've felt the pressure for my child to perform and wondered what all the other parents thought of my child's behavior.

Now I know.  All the other parents were so focused on their own child that they didn't notice mine.  I know because tonight I was so busy beaming as I watched Griffin that I never even noticed the little girl two spots away who was having a rough time.

After the graduation ceremony and heart-wrenching slide show set to the song "Let Them Be Little," we were able to get a picture of Griffin with his two teachers.  These ladies are truly extraordinary.  I don't even have words to express the impact they've had on our family through Nolan's year with them and now Griffin's.

Then we headed to the cafeteria for cookies and punch.  While we were there, I was able to chat with Griffin's teachers a bit.  They remarked on how much progress he has made over this year and how amazing it is that he's come so far.  Griffin had told his teacher that graduation makes him sad, and she explained to him that it can make mommies sad too.  They talked about starting kindergarten and how some kids don't mind it at all and some feel a bit sad or afraid. 

The director of the preschool program complimented Griffin and told me some very positive and encouraging things about him.  I just felt like those comments started to even the scales after every time I've had someone tell me that Griffin had a hard time doing something or got sad or just couldn't fit in with his peers.  After being told that a class at church "just might not work out for Griffin," I now had someone whose opinion I value highly tell me that I'm doing a good job with Griffin. 

Finally.  Progress.  Accomplishments.  Kind words.

As we were leaving, Griffin overheard his other teacher say, "Griffin is such a good boy."  He lit up and turned to me.  He said, "Mom, she said I'm a good boy!  I don't like getting in trouble and so I always try to be the best boy that I can be, and she said I'm a good boy!" 

Oh, those kind words are just as good for him as they are for me. 

If we hadn't gone through the struggles, I never would have appreciated tonight as much as I do.  None of the other parents knew what a big deal it was for Griffin to stand on stage and sing with the other kids.  When there was a technical issue with getting the next song started, and the whole gym filled with concerns and nervous chatter, I watched my boy as he stood calmly.  After he received his little diploma and hugged his teacher, he was put in a different spot on stage.  I watched and could practically read his thoughts as he processed the situation.  And then he chose just to stand in the spot that wasn't his.  And he smiled and waved at me.

Dear Jessica,
When Griffin struggles to start a new school year, or when he has a hard time smoothing out conflicts with friends, remember the graduation.  When people don't understand him and don't know how to hide their annoyance, remember the teachers who believed in him.  When he has a meltdown and chooses the most inconvenient times to not follow the crowd, remember him saying "I feel nervous" and "I feel sad" tonight.  When loneliness threatens to overwhelm you, remember the grandparents who showed up, helped out, and lavished love on your precious little ones.  When something is new and hard and scary, remember that it, too, will end in a graduation.

Love,
Jessica

Where do we fit?

Ever since Griffin was diagnosed with Asperger's, I have struggled to find my footing and figure out where we fit. 

I don't feel like we fit in with families coping with debilitating disabilities.  What do I have to offer to a parent of a child who isn't mobile, can't be potty trained, or has a severe cognitive disability?

We don't even seem to fit into the world of autism.  Griffin is on the high functioning end of the Autism Spectrum, but so many kiddos on the spectrum are nonverbal or struggle much more with daily life than we do. 

Yet I can't pretend that we don't have this diagnosis.  I don't quite fit completely into my old spot as a mom of three healthy run-of-the-mill "neurotypical" (you're not supposed to say "normal") kids.

Not knowing where we fit has paralyzed me and kept me from moving forward in any direction.

Then my friend Jessica invited me to attend a conference with her.  She has a pretty adorable four-year-old son with autism.  Maybe she just wanted a companion for the conference she was already planning to attend.  Or maybe she recognized my wide-eyed paralysis and decided to give me a gentle nudge. 

So last Saturday Jessica and I ("the Jessicas") attended a conference that helped us understand how to work with our kids' schools to create a successful IEP (Individualized Education Program).  This is a crucial starting point for me since Griffin is starting kindergarten in the fall and I have NO idea how to work with the school to help Griffin have the most successful school experience possible.

There was just one problem.  The conference was for parents of children with disabilities. 

I've never considered myself a parent of a child with a disability.  Is Griffin disabled? 

The conference was filled with a mix of parents/guardians and educators (teachers, therapists, etc.).  When everyone at our table was introducing themselves, I was afraid to tell everyone I have a son with Asperger's.  I mean, one mom at the table has four children and each has special needs ranging from ADHD to hearing impairment.  Another had a son with Downs Syndrome.  And two were special education teachers/aids who work with severely disabled children.  I felt like I might get boo'ed out of the room. 

But guess what?  No one even flinched when I introduced myself.  And the conference was totally applicable to us.  Not only did I get to spend time with my friend, but I also gathered lots of valuable information.  Plus two of the women at our table invited us to another workshop just a few days later.

I decide to take hold of the opportunity, so Monday evening I attended a workshop called Educational Rights and Responsibilities:  Understanding Special Education in Illinois.  This workshop was incredibly informative and helpful for me.

But here's another confession:  I never envisioned any of my kids being in special education.  I guess the words "special ed" tripped me up just like "disability" did. Please hear me that I do not in any way want to offend anyone who is in the special education system.  This is just all so new and confusing to me.  I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that these terms and services apply to my son.  Or do they?  I don't know.  I'm only two conferences in.

One thing I have learned through this last week:  people who work with or parent kids with special needs are incredibly gracious and compassionate.  No one belittled my parenting struggles just because Griffin's disorder isn't more devastating.  I didn't have to explain how Asperger's affects kids' behavior.  I also didn't have to justify my presence at the conferences.  These people accepted me and even applauded me for being proactive and gathering information.  They offered me helpful advice and gave me lots of resources and contacts to help me. 

I used to say that we were in "no man's land."  Now I think of it more as we're in a neutral spot with ties to both worlds (the general neurotypical population and the world of diagnoses, disabilities, IEPs, and special education).  It should be interesting as we create our own road map through these worlds!

Jessica

Book Review: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

I recently told you about my trip to the library.  I checked out the book Look Me in the Eye and wrote a review of it.  Then the author of the book commented on my blog!  Twice!  Just thought that was worth mentioning one more time. :)

Anyhow, while I was at the library looking at the book sale, I spotted the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.  I had watched the movie last year and absolutely loved it.  You can read about that here.

I have a rule about movies based on books:  I always read the book first before seeing the movie (never the movie before the book).  However, I loved this movie SO much that I decided it would be worth reading the book.

Let me tell you:  it is so worth reading this book!  This might be the best thing I've ever bought for $2.

Part of the synopsis of the book on Wikipedia reads as follows:

The main protagonist of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is a nine-year-old boy named Oskar Schell. Oskar Schell's father Thomas Schell dies in the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, before the narrative begins. While looking through his father's closet, Oskar finds a key in a small envelope inside a vase, on the outside of the envelope the word "Black" is written in the top left corner. Curious, Oskar sets off on a mission to contact every person in New York City with the last name Black, in alphabetical order, in order to find the lock to the key his father left behind. The novel also tells a separate narrative that eventually converges with the main story through a series of letters written by Oskar's grandfather to Oskar's father and by Oskar's grandmother to Oskar himself, based on real life events.

There were a lot of differences between the book and the movie, and I have to say I prefer the book's version of this tale.  I had to adjust to the unique writing style in this book, and at times I had trouble following exactly who was talking.  I didn't mind using a little extra brain power to follow this incredible story.

In the movie Oskar says he was tested for Asperger's, but there is no such mention in the book.  I still connected with Oskar in a way that I probably wouldn't have if I did not have a son with Asperger's.  I think the author's portrayal of Oskar gives any reader more appreciation for people who are quirky or different in any way. 

Not only did this book make me cry on many occasions, but it also made me smile and laugh out loud over and over.  There were admittedly a few parts that I had trouble believing (mostly involving Oskar's grandparents), but I didn't let them detract from my overall enjoyment of the book.

This book now holds the distinction of being my current favorite fiction book.

If you loved the movie, read this book.  If you haven't seen the movie, read this book.  If you didn't like the movie, well, I suppose I leave it up to you to read the book or not.

Jessica

Griffin's Super Power

Even before Griffin was diagnosed with Asperger's, I had heard about autistic "super powers."  Basically, people on the autism spectrum are lacking in social skills (and often language skills and motor skills), but they excel in some other area.

When Griffin was a young toddler, he showed an incredible interest in music.  He loved musical instruments, toys and books that played music, and he was obsessed with his musical aquarium (it hung in his crib and then moved with him to a twin bed).  He used to sing the tune of a familiar song but use a single word over and over.  For example, he would sing the word "Mom" to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

So we started to think that Griffin was our musical child (despite the fact that I'm tone deaf and Jared has no--I mean no--rhythm).  Then his musical interest shifted to manipulating music.  He got a toy for Christmas that played music, had a small keyboard, and had turn tables and dials to control the tempo, volume, and sound of the music.  He loved it!  We eventually had to ban him from taking it in the car because he wanted to take it everywhere.  The loud music (his favorite song over and over and over) was too annoying for the driver (me).

He loves to use an app on my old phone called HeyTell to record songs, sayings, and noises from his favorite movies, shows, games, and everyday life.  The app is designed to let you record a memo and send it to someone else (like an audible text), but Griffin figured out how to HeyTell himself so he can listen to his recordings over and over.  He even plays his recordings from the phone as he records them on the iPad so he can further manipulate his music and sounds.

Griffin still seems to have a special interest in certain aspects of music, but he's not obsessed with it anymore.

The next candidate for Griffin's super power was reading.  I didn't even know Griffin could read yet until one day when he read an entire book to me.  It was roughly a first grade reading level.  He was four.  I read to my kids a lot, but I hadn't even started teaching Griffin how to read.  He somehow learned it by himself.  And then we went through months of him asking questions about our ridiculous language, and he noticed every exception to every pronunciation and spelling rule.

I have no idea what his current reading level is, but I'm pretty sure it's at least a third grade level.  One day a couple weeks ago, I had just picked him up from preschool and we were driving home.  He told me he had an important note for the parents in his back pack and he tried to hand it to me right then.  I told him I was driving and needed him to read it to me.  He basically took one deep breath and read the whole thing without even pausing between sentences.  It had words like "participate" and he didn't even hesitate on the tricky words.

So I thought maybe reading was Griffin's super power.  But lately another power seems to be rising:  math.

Griffin has been interested in numbers for a long time.  It can even become a problem at times.  For example, he might ask how many bites of something he has to eat at dinner.  I tell him the amount of food I want him to eat (like all of your green beans and half of your meat).  He insists on being told a number of bites to eat.  Then we both start using less patient tones as I say, "I don't care how many bites it takes you; just eat your green beans," and he pushes with, "but seriously how many bites?"

When Griffin was very young, he took notice of numbers around him and started asking me simple math problems.  I answered his question and then looked around to get to the bottom of why he asked.  One day (he was probably 3) he asked, "What's 2 plus 2 plus 2 plus 1?"  After I told him the answer, I followed his line of sight to the rug where we take off our shoes.  On the rug were three pairs of shoes and one lonely shoe without its mate.

I could tell that Griffin was processing numbers and relationships between numbers.  He would ask me more math questions as we drove from place to place.  Sometimes his problems were too tough for me to do in my head.  Or he would talk too quickly for me to keep up ("Whats 5+6+7+8+9+10?" while I'm merging onto the highway, for example).

Eventually Griffin's math questions took us into areas I wasn't sure a preschooler could understand.  Months ago he was asking me various subtraction problems.  Inevitable, he asked me about a smaller number minus a larger number (like 10-12).  So, remembering the way my grandma would always answer our questions with the matter-of-fact truth, I told him the answer was a negative number.  I briefly explained.

Now he understands without my help.  Several weeks ago, I was cleaning the kitchen and Griffin yelled from the next room, "Mom, 40 minus 50 is negative 10."  My jaw dropped.

Griffin received a toy cash register for his birthday.  It holds money but it also houses a working calculator.  He loves it!  He started taking it every time we left the house, even though it's way bigger than his lap.  He loves typing in math problems.  I thought I was brilliant when I bought him a little calculator to put in his Christmas stocking.  It only cost $1 and it's really small.  But Griffin still kept taking his cash register everywhere instead.  I asked him why he didn't take the smaller calculator.  His answer?  "The little calculator can't show as many numbers as the cash register."  Sure enough, the cash register has a larger display for more digits.

There have been several occasions of Griffin applying math to time, as in calculating how many minutes until something.  Last Tuesday I had a dentist appointment, and the kids went to my friend Megan's house during my appointment.  Griffin kept asking me how much longer until they could go to her house.  At one point, I told him an hour and a half.  Ten minutes later, he asked me yet again.  I told him it was now an hour and twenty minutes.  He replied, "So, 80 minutes?"

Now Griffin is applying math to everyday life.  Yesterday he and Nora were playing with play dough and Griffin was trying hard to convince Nora to give him her play dough.  After lots of lobbying, he said, "Nora, I need 1,000 play dough and I only have 900.  So I need 100 more."  She bought it and gave up her play dough.

Last night Griffin and I made cookie dough together (we freeze it in little balls and pretend that we'll keep it to bake later, but everyone in my house ends up eating the dough balls for dessert/snacks).  I was seriously enjoying the time with Griffin.  He insisted on reading the recipe card (which he's never done), so I got to teach him about fractions (like 1/4 cup) and abbreviations (like tsp.).

We had to melt two sticks of butter.  I put them in a bowl and put the bowl in the microwave.  Griffin loves pushing the buttons on the microwave.  I told him to start with 30 seconds.  The butter was barely even softened.  So I told him to do 20 more seconds.  He said, "Then you should have just said 50 seconds the first time."  I chuckled, he did as I asked, and the butter still wasn't even starting to melt.  I told him to do 20 more seconds.  Without missing a beat he said, "That's 70 seconds."  I looked at Jared in disbelief that Griffin was keeping a running total in his head.  The butter just started to melt.  So I told Griffin to do another round of 20 seconds.  "Ninety seconds," he said as he punched in my request.  We checked the butter.  It was fairly melted with a few stubborn solid parts.  I suggested that we do 15 more seconds, but Griffin felt we should do 14.  He punched in the numbers and hit start.  I asked him how many seconds we had microwaved the butter altogether, and he smiled and said 104.  Seriously.

I have no idea the depths of Griffin's mind.  I am continually shocked at what I discover he already knows, which begs the question of what he knows but I don't know that he knows (you know?).  He may or may not have a musical super power or a reading super power or a math super power.  He may just have intellectual growth spurts in these areas and then slow down as the rest of his peers catch up.  {For my fellow "Friends" fans:  Griffin is like Ross' "Science Boy."  What's was his super power?  "A super human thirst for knowledge."}

What I do know is that this is thrilling and exciting, but I'm terrified of what will happen when he starts kindergarten this fall.  He needs much more than what kindergarten curriculum has to offer.  Yet he will likely struggle with many of the social aspects, as well as his tendency to take things strictly literally and his inability to be flexible.  I am going to have to work very closely with his teacher to keep him engaged and also anticipate and alleviate his meltdowns.  It will be interesting!

After Griffin and I successfully made the cookie dough, learned about reading recipes, and discovered Griffin's mental math abilities, I was overflowing with joy.  "Griffin!"  I squealed.  "How did you get to be so handsome and so smart?"  He smiled a genuine, sweet smile.  And he let me kiss him four times on his face.  Then he ran off with a spoonful of cookie dough.  I stood smiling in the kitchen, thinking about what a super kid he is.

Jessica

John Elder Robison

Well, I sure got quite a jolt of excitement and nervousness when I wrote about the book Look Me in the Eye and received a comment from the author himself, John Elder Robison.  I literally couldn't go to sleep that night!  Jared kept texting me the next day saying things like, "Hey, aren't you that girl who got a blog comment from a famous author?"  The whole thing made me giddy.

I spent a little time on his website and looking at his other two books (which I would now like to read).  Then today my friend sent me two YouTube videos of a show that Mr. Robison appeared on for Discovery Science Channel called "Ingenious Minds."

It was fascinating to watch!  I really enjoyed the visuals of things I had read about in his book (photos, drawings, etc.).  I also enjoyed hearing his voice and watching/listening to him speak after I had already learned so much about his life and tried to imagine what it was really like.  The scientific research portion of the video is also quite intriguing.  You can watch the videos here (Part 1 of 2 and part 2 of 2):

 

 
I learned new things I didn't know from Look Me in the Eye.  For example, John has since divorced the wife he spoke about in Chapter 27 of the book and has remarried.  Also, his son has been diagnosed with Asperger's, which is the topic of his newest book Raising Cubby. 

Robison has done incredible work shedding light on Asperger's and helping so many people understand Aspergians more.  His story is eye-opening and inspiring.  It helped me as a mom to a child with Asperger's, and he helped lift my spirits just by leaving a brief comment on some housewife's blog.  What a rush this little adventure has been right in the middle of my mundane week!

I guess you just never know when you might cross paths with someone important.

Jessica 

Book Review: Look Me in the Eye

Every Wednesday morning, I get about 2 hours of kid-free time.  Two hours per week.  So I always feel like I have to make the very most of these two hours.  Do you know how hard it is to cram in relaxation?  So, I've defaulted to using my Wednesday morning time to run errands, and I pretty much always end up at Walmart.

A couple weeks ago, I decided that Walmart was forbidden for my Wednesday morning two hours of freedom.  I wanted to do something just for me.  But what?

I hesitantly ended up at the library.  Now let me tell you that I only go to the children's side of our library.  I never venture over to the adult side.  Once I went over there with two of my kids so I could go see the book sale room, and I felt every dirty look and glare that we got as we walked through the quiet rows of books because my children weren't silent.

So I decided to dip my toes in the water of the grown-up side of the library while I was alone.  I walked in, took a left to enter the silent side, and realized I had no idea where to go.  I took slow jerky steps to nowhere.

Then I spotted several tables with rows of books for sale laid out.  Aha!  I know how to browse the books for sale.  This felt safe.  So I spent 20-30 minutes developing a cramp in my neck by walking slowly past all the books and reading all the titles.

I really didn't see anything interesting, but I didn't know where else to go.  Finally, I stumbled upon a gem.  I found a book I've been very interested in reading, so I paid the $2 to buy it.  But I'll tell you about that book in another post.

Once I grew very bored of walking with my head sideways pretending to be interested in the books for sale, I decide that this would be a good opportunity to look up books about Asperger's.  But there was a problem.  There are several sections of computers in this foreign land of the grown-up library world.  And there were people on all of them.  And I had no idea how to look up a book on their computers.

So I earned the Dork of the Year Award by coming up with my own solution.  I casually made my way to one of the comfy reading chairs, got out my smart phone, and searched on the library's website for books about Asperger's.  Yes, I was too timid to figure out the computers myself and too afraid to ask for help, so I used my phone.

At least I remembered the basics of the Dewie Decimal system, and I found the book myself once I had it pulled up on my phone.  There were lots of good options in the section on Autism and Asperger's.  I chose "Look Me in the Eye" by John Elder Robison.

I had heard of this book from several people.  John Elder Robison grew up with Asperger's but wasn't diagnosed until he was 40.  I thought it would be interesting to read about his life with Asperger's.

I had been warned that the book has some strong language and adult content, so I was prepared and found it tolerable.

I poured over the first several chapters, trying to absorb everything he said.  I kept comparing his words to what I've observed in Griffin.  Then my fervor for the book slowed down in the middle chapters when Robison talked about designing special effects guitars for the band KISS.  He went into detail about the various engineering projects he mastered throughout various stages of his life, and to be honest, I just couldn't stay very interested in all those details.  But I pressed on and tried to stay in the mindset of learning about this man's life (rather than just trying to understand Griffin better).

I really picked up reading speed again at Chapter 20, when Robison switched from a chronological retelling of his life to discussing specifics of how he processes conversations.  I was fascinated as he explained what goes through his mind during a typical social interaction.  Those parts of the book were extremely helpful for me to understand Griffin better and think about how to help him more.

Here are some of my favorite excerpts from the book: 

"Asperger's is not a disease.  It's a way of being.  There is no cure, nor is there a need for one.  There is, however, a need for knowledge and adaptation on the part of Aspergian kids and their families and friends.  I hope readers--especially those who are struggling to grow up or live with Asperger's--will see that the twists and turns and unconventional choices I made led to a pretty good life, and will learn from my story."  Page 5

"My conversational difficulties highlight a problem Aspergians face every day.  A person with an obvious disability--for example, someone in a wheelchair--is treated compassionately because his handicap is obvious.  No one turns to a guy in a wheelchair and says, "Quick!  Let's run across the street!"  And when he can't run across the street, no one says, "What's his problem?"  They offer to help him across the street.  With me, though, there is no external sign that I am conversationally handicapped.  So folks hear some conversational misstep and say, "What an arrogant jerk!"  I look forward to the day when my handicap will afford me the same respect accorded to a guy in a wheelchair.  And if the respect comes with a preferred parking space, I won't turn it down." Page 194

I have actually thought about that before.  People can't tell by looking at Griffin that he struggles with social interactions or transitions or things not following the order that he thinks they should.  His missteps are usually chalked up to him being a difficult child or to faulty parenting by me and Jared.  It's not that I want him to have an obvious visible defect, but I would love for people to know that he is an imperfect human who may just have different struggles than the rest of us.

Robison discussed a particular conversation he had with a friend named Laurie.  He broke down exactly what she said to him and how he thought through what his response should be.  Ultimately, Laurie did not like the response he chose, even though he used his best logical thinking skills to respond to her.  Then he wrote this:

"Thinking about conversations like the one I had with Laurie makes me mad.  People approach me, uninvited, and make unsolicited statements.  When they don't get the response they expect, they become indignant.  If I offer no response at all, they become indignant at that.  So there is no way for me to win.  Given that line of reasoning, why talk to people at all?  Well, many autistic people don't, possibly for that very reason.  But, for some reason, I want the Lauries of the world to like me.  To not think I'm weird.  I can be eccentric, but I don't want to be weird.  So I persist.  I try to say things a "normal" person would say."  Page 192

This passage struck me because I've already developed a bit of a hot button with the word "weird."  Griffin is a lot of things, but please don't call him weird.

I also noticed throughout the entire book that John Elder Robison truly wanted to have successful relationships with people.  This part of Asperger's has been a mystery to me.  Sometimes Griffin says or does something with absolutely no regard for how it affects the other person involved.  Even when I point out to him why he was rude/offensive/inconsiderate, he usually has no emotional response and often combats me with an overly logical argument for what he said or did.  And yet at other times, he does show empathy and connections to other people's emotions.

Last week he was supposed to take a pair of old mittens to preschool for an activity.  We only had gloves, so my friend Megan let us borrow a pair of their mittens.  After school, he was on a mission to return the mittens clean, matched, and in their bag to Megan.  He was so determined that he totally interrupted Megan while she was trying to talk to the teacher (Megan's son is in the same class as Griffin).  He didn't notice the problem of interrupting because he was set on proudly returning Megan's mittens to her.  Furthermore, he told me that they were supposed to eat their pie for snack time while wearing their mittens.  "Mom, I didn't wear the mittens to eat my pie because I didn't want to get Megan's mittens dirty," he told me.  So he was being considerate of her feelings and her property.  {Also, he told me that the pie was moose pie.  I later discovered that it was a chocolate mousse pie!}

Sometimes he says things like, "I feel sad for Owen because he was sick and couldn't come to school today."  Other times he doesn't care one bit that his actions are having a negative effect on others.  Or at least he appears to not care.  He used to not care at all when I disciplined him, often raising my voice more than I should.  Now he has times of responding with crying and even saying, "I don't want you to be mad at me."

Some of these mysteries are what kept us from having Griffin tested for an Autism Spectrum Disorder in the first place.  They are part of why I feel like I still don't understand Asperger's.  But I feel like the author of "Look Me in the Eye" gave me a better understanding of the fact that people with Asperger's still feel emotions and still want to have successful relationships with other people, but they just don't always understand how to navigate emotions and social interactions.

Robison described in his book that he felt he reached a choice between Door Number One and Door Number Two.  A choice between pressing on and learning to navigate the "normal" world or retreating into his own world of machines and circuits and things he loved and understood.  He chose Door Number One, but he also wrote this:

"As a functional Aspergian adult, one thing troubles me deeply about those kids who end up behind the second door.  Many descriptions of autism and Asperger's describe people like me as 'not wanting contact with others' or 'preferring to play alone.'  I can't speak for other kids, but I'd like to be very clear about my own feelings:  I did not ever want to be alone.  And all those child psychologists who said 'John prefers to play by himself' were dead wrong.  I played by myself because I was a failure at playing with others.  I was alone as a result of my own limitations, and being alone was one of the bitterest disappointments of my young life.  The string of those early failures followed me long into adulthood, even after I learned about Asperger's."  Page 211

The book overall was encouraging to me.  It definitely had its scary moments.  I was trembling at his descriptions of the horrible pranks he pulled on people and his ability to lie to people in a way that they completely believed him.  I just reminded myself that he and Griffin don't have identical personalities, and they certainly don't have the same upbringing (Robison's dad was an abusive alcoholic and his mother suffered with mental illness).

I'm so grateful to have this insider's view of Asperger's.  I think the book challenged me more to nurture Griffin in a way that appreciates who he is and pushes him to integrate into meaningful relationships.  I'm still really overwhelmed.  I still don't understand exactly where Griffin's pitfalls are.  I still don't know how much of what he says and does is because he has Asperger's and how much is because he's barely 5 years old and just hasn't mastered being human.

The last few chapters of the book were enlightening and entertaining.  And inspiring.  I cried through the whole Epilogue, which alone would have made the book worth reading.  I secretly cheered as I learned about Robison's successes as an adult living amongst other people.  I took mental notes as he described things his wife does that make their marriage and life together easier for them both.  Seriously heart-warming stuff.

Griffin may not be the exact same person as John Elder Robison, and I bet their Asperger's affects them both in different ways, but I'm so glad I read this book to understand this man better and hopefully use his life story (thus far) as a resource to understand my son.

Jessica  

*Update:  Please check out the comment I received just hours after posting this book review.  That's right folks, it's really him!  THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK!  I think this is what normal people feel like when they encounter a celebrity.

New Year's

The last couple years, I've heard sermons and read devotionals knocking New Year's resolutions.  I personally love this time of year.  I think it's time to let New Year's resolutions off the hook and take advantage of what they offer.

All year long, I get consumed in the day-to-day.  I shift into survival mode.  I juggle schedules, remember important events, and do anything I can to keep my family moving in the right direction.

Wrapping up one year and preparing for a new one offers me the opportunity to step away from the daily grind and assess where I've been and where I'm going.

This is the time of year when I look back over the last year.  I acknowledge every hardship and feel thankful to be on the other side of most of the difficulties.  I give myself credit for any area where I've grown personally.  I see more clearly how God has been present and working with me every single day.  I reflect on all the good stuff and offer prayers of gratitude for blessings great and small.

This time of year is also the time when I suddenly realize that change is possible.  The hard stuff doesn't have to keep being hard.  Eventually babies sleep through the night, weight gets worked off, and I figure out more tricks to keep my house organized.  On New Year's Eve, I take a deep breath and allow myself to feel hope and anticipation.

My resolutions have almost always been about three things:

1. My body (lose weight, tone up, dress better, accessorize more, etc.)
2. My house (organize clutter, keep house cleaner, incorporate meal schedules, fix house problems, update decorations, etc.)
3. My performance (be a gentler mom, be a more supportive wife, pray more, read my Bible more, mend relationships, etc.)

Last year, I lost 45 lbs. between January 1 and April 14 (my birthday).  I kept it off all year (okay...except for the 2-3 lbs. I put back on this month).  This year, I would like to take off that last 10 lbs. I never touched and try to generally tone things up.  This will be an interesting (and somewhat scary) process for me since losing weight last year brought up so many digestive problems that are still lingering today.

My house needs repairs, updates, cleaning, organizing, and purging.  I don't even know where to focus this year.

In terms of my performance, I know that God is still working on me and my mental battles.  I'm learning to stop the negative conversations I have with myself about things I say and do and things others say and do.  I think for now I'll keep working on learning to show grace to myself and others.

When I try to reflect on 2012, my recollection is completely overshadowed by the whole process that led to Griffin's Asperger's diagnosis.  I can't really remember other milestones right this minute.  So maybe my starting point should be to take a serious look at the last year and acknowledge other hurdles we cleared and blessings we received.  The fact that all three of my children are alive and healthy is actually enough for me.

I hope this New Year's you'll pause and take a little time to reflect on the past and gear up for a hopeful future.  There's nothing wrong with setting goals and making resolutions (in my book).  I think it takes a little processing time to close one chapter and start writing the next.  Now is a great time for that.

Here's to all the possibilities of a new year!

Jessica  

P.S.  Here are two great free printables if you need help with your New Year's resolutions!

Kids' Resolutions Worksheet

Adults' Resolutions Worksheet

Diagnosis

Diagnosis.  This word has taken on many meanings in our home.

In May of this year, the word diagnosis became a term referring to a possibility in the future.  It carried the weight of both hope and dread.  Both clarity and confusion.  Could it be?  Will it be?  A specifically named diagnosis might answer some questions, but we knew it would lead to some difficult decisions as well as new questions.

Over the summer, the word diagnosis referred to a process we were painfully going through in order to end at some destination with a name.  Unending paperwork, interviews, analyzing every little thing.  "Diagnosis" became more of a grueling diagnostic process.

In the fall, diagnosis became synonymous with a specific day, a long-awaited meeting.  We couldn't bring ourselves to say the name of the facility where this meeting would take place.  So we simply talked about the day we would be going for the diagnosis.  A looming day.  An anticipated and dreaded day.

That day we thought would never actually happen came to fruition on September 11, 2012.  That is such a historically significant date.  I remember "the first" September 11, the day that terrorism and homeland security became household discussions.  But this year, my thoughts were not reflecting on the day my college classes were cancelled and I waited something like six hours at a Red Cross to give blood.  This year, my thoughts were simply weighing every comment, glance, facial expression.  I waited to hear the final word, and I assumed it would be no diagnosis at all.

But there was a diagnosis given that day.

And it took us a whole month to even be able to say the words to each other.  So in the meantime, we just used the word "diagnosis."  We thought we'd never utter the words to anyone, but as time passed and we processed this new diagnosis 24 hours a day, we eventually decided to tell our families about all of it:  the questions about a diagnosis, the diagnostic process, and the final heavy words of an actual diagnosis.

I've kept part of my life tucked away in an invisible folder labeled "Diagnosis" ever since May.  It's a private folder.  Confidential.  For my eyes only.  But then I struggled at times with trying to write about other things when my mind and heart were consumed with the contents of my private folder.  I desperately needed prayer but didn't want to share why or be vague and mysterious.  I needed grace and understanding from others, but how could I expect that when I wasn't willing to share what we've been going through.

So, I think it's time.  It's time to exchange the symbolic word diagnosis for the real words.  They're hard to say.  They're even hard to type.  But here we go.

My son Griffin has Asperger's Syndrome.

To learn more about Asperger's, an Autism Spectrum Disorder, click here or here.

Now that I've taken the plunge to reveal my secret Diagnosis file, I am free to occasionally write about how this affects my family and my life as a mom.  I think I'd rather walk the scary path of honesty than take one more step hiding it.

Jessica