So You’re Thinking Your Kid Might Have Autism?

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So you’re thinking your kid might have autism?

Okay, mama.

Deep breath.

It can be overwhelming, I know. Seven years ago, I was right where you are now.

At first, I thought it was an adjustment to his new baby sister. Then, I thought maybe it was a lack of experience, so we enrolled him in a part-time preschool class. It only took two days for his teacher to see what I couldn’t.

I will never forget that conversation. His sweet teacher was loving and gracious and could not have handled it better. But still. My stomach sank to my toes. For the entire ride home, every time I glanced in the rearview mirror at his sweet three-year-old face, the tears came hot and fast.

We wrestled with the idea of an official evaluation. We resisted the idea of a “label.” We didn’t want this to change our kid.

But here’s the thing, mama, an autism diagnosis is not the end of the road. It’s just the beginning of a new path.

Actually, it’s not even a new path at all. It’s just a signpost for the path you are already on.

Because a diagnosis cannot and will not change your child. Your kiddo is still the same awesome kid, fearfully and wonderfully made. The only thing that changes is your filter…

I’d love for you to continue reading this post and join the conversation at Atlanta Area Moms Blog. Click here: So You’re Wondering if Your Kid Might Have Autism? Share it with a mom (or dad) you know who might be going through the evaluation and/or diagnosis process. Let them know they are not alone! 

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And Then I Blinked: 10 Years with Caleb

I was a week past my due date. It was mid-June in Florida. My ankles and feet could have matched a sumo wrestler whose dinner was a little too salty.

It was a full moon.

There was a tropical storm coming.

And yet this baby girl was in no hurry.

I walked. I ate the magic eggplant parmesan. I walked some more. I tried a little glass of wine and a bubble bath. I walked again.

I did all I could to get things started.

Everything was ready. As soon as we left our gender-revealing ultrasound, we’d named her and decorated her room.

We were ready! For labor, for the baby, for parenthood.

23 hours of induced labor. Three hours of pushing. All four pages of my birth plan had gone out the window at about hour seven.

The baby was five minutes old before someone mentioned that she was a he. Oops. Big, big ultrasound oops.

From that moment on, he’s been surprising us.

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When he was 18 months old, he could point out about half the United States on a map. His favorite shape was an octagon. He was absolutely fascinated by windmills.

Then he discovered trains.

Yes, there was the token Thomas the Tank here and there. When someone would ask him about his favorite engine, they would expect a short answer about Edward or Percy or maybe even Chuggington. What they got was 15 minutes of dialogue about the Union Pacific 4-8-8-4 and how it compares to the Union Pacific 4-6-6-4.

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Thomas episodes were quickly replaced by hours-long documentaries about Amtrak’s Sunset Limited or The Era of Steam. He could hold his own in conversations with the old pros at the Model Railroad Show.

When he was four years old, he became interested in the human body and decided he was going to learn all about it. So he did. He pored over anatomy books. When someone asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he’d answer, “A train engineer for my job and a pulmonologist as my hobby.”

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This kid.

He is one in a million. He has changed my life and molded me into the person I am now and will continue to change me as we each grow.

I became a mama when he was born. I became an autism research professional when he was two. I became an advocate when he was three. I became the proverbial firewalker when he was four.

There have been some long, hard days. When his little body just could not handle the barrage of sensory input. When the world was overwhelming. When every transition was so very hard.

And yet.

This kid.

He has pushed through. He has shown up. He has kept trying.

He has overcome so much in his ten years.

He has taught me more about love, courage, and perseverance than I even knew there was to learn.

I could have never imagined the crazy ride parenthood would take us on when we were waiting and waiting for him to get here.

I wouldn’t trade a single minute of it for anything in the world.

He was so worth the wait.

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Dear New Autism Mama

Dear New Autism Mama,

You’ve never met me, but I think we might know each other a little. If you come sit next to me for a bit, you’ll find we have something in common.

You see, I’ve been there.

It probably started with a funny feeling. I know that feeling. It almost feels like a little flip of your tummy. That odd feeling leads to questions that you’re not quite ready to ask out loud just yet. And you worry if you give a voice to your fears, they might become real.

When you finally found the courage to release those fears you once guarded and protected, you might have found they were disregarded, belittled even. You might have been told you’re overreacting. You might have heard you’re paranoid. Attention-seeking. He’ll outgrow it. He just needs discipline. We’ve heard it all, haven’t we?

Then you probably entered No Man’s Land. That frustratingly long time between the first tug on your mommy’s instinct until you have an answer. For me, this was the worst part. You now know you’re a part of something different, but you’re not completely sure just what it might be. You do a lot of soul-searching. You do a lot of research. You consume every book and article you can get your hands on. You begin to see your sweet baby in a new light. No, he hasn’t changed. But his whole life will flash before your eyes. You’ll begin to get acquainted with the idea. You’ll want to reach out to people who get it. You’ll want to hear their stories and tell yours. But you won’t have an exact answer yet. You might feel like you need a membership card that you haven’t been given yet…

To read more of this open letter or to share it with a friend who might need to hear she’s not alone, please click through to visit Chronically Whole! I am honored to be sharing some words over there today. http://chronicallywhole.com/606-2/

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Refined and Renewed

Many families facing various challenges will hear things like: “I don’t know how you do it” or “I could never handle it so well” or “You guys are superheroes.”

While I’m not saying there aren’t days when I feel like someone should hand over a cape, the truth is?  We don’t do it.  We can’t handle it.  We aren’t the superheroes in our stories.

God does.  God can.  God is.

I’m frequently reminded of our utter dependence on God and that no one said life would be easy.  I always think of this post from New Year’s Day 2011 and remember that, three years later, I’m still learning to be grateful for the refining process.

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(The following post was originally published at my previous blog, Stinker Babies.)

Is it possible to sum up 365 days with just one word? Or to wrap up all your hopes, dreams and desires for an entire year into a neat and tiny one-word package? We’ll see. I’m going to try my best!

I’ve already posted about my lack of tears over seeing 2010 finally draw to a close. It was not an easy year to get through.

Jake hit the ground running with nursing school. Between studying, class, working, clinicals, and more studying, he was gone pretty much all the time. Sometimes, I would wake up at 3:30 am just to make sure he had come home. At one point, we found ourselves explaining Caleb’s statement, “My daddy is not at my house anymore.” Ouch.

School alone might have been enough to make this year interesting. But we were really on our toes when it came to figuring out Caleb.

For the last nine months, we suspected, denied, suspected again, advocated, waited, learned, and waited some more. Eventually, just before Christmas, we received a diagnosis of autism for our sweet boy.

Add Mama’s fatigue due to a dying thyroid, Grace entering the Terrible Twos, and learning that Daddy will be in school an entire year longer than we anticipated. I am not going to lie. It was entirely overwhelming at times.

So what word would I use to sum up the craziness that was 2010?

Refine.

According to ehow.com, refining silver is necessary in order to separate the pure silver from the dross. The process includes such pleasantries as nitric acid and being heated to 1200 degrees Celsius. Ouch.



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God never promised that following him would be easy.

We all go through times in our lives when we are pruned and refined. I’m learning to be thankful for those times. It means that God still finds me worth improving. It means that I still have a role to play, small as it may be, in His plan. That’s very humbling.

So after a year like 2010, what word would sum up my hope for 2011?

Renew.



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This is our prayer. We pray with confidence because we choose to believe His promises.

“But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior.” – Titus 3:4-6

Amen.

 

The Talk: Telling Our Son about His Autism

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It started like every other night. It could have been any other ordinary day. Any at all. The same instructions had been given. The same teeth-brushing arguments, both pro and con, had been repeated. The blessed melatonin had been given. We sat down and pulled open the devotion book but we never read past the date–April 2nd.

Before I even realized what I was saying, I asked the kids if they knew that it was World Autism Awareness Day. They looked interested and were being exceptionally angelic at the moment. So I took it a little bit further. “You’ve heard the word, ‘autism,’ many times. But do you know what it means?” They shook their heads and wanted to know more.

It was happening. We had anticipated this moment for four years. When would we tell Caleb about his autism? How would we tell him? We decided on the gradual method of slowly, bit by bit and inch by inch, laying down the groundwork. We wanted them to have a firm foundation in knowing that everyone is different and that is a beautiful thing. We wanted them to be solid on the fact that God has created each and every one of us so beautifully and wondrously and intricately and intentionally. We wanted them to have the practice of loving others and seeing past differences to the heart and soul.

Years of anticipating this moment, sometimes eagerly and sometimes anxiously, and it was here. Even in those first few moments, I was unsure if I should shut it down. Jake was still at work. He was missing this milestone. But the ball was rolling and it was rolling down a steep hill. It felt right to allow it to continue on its path. Wherever it led.

We talked about what ASD is and how it can make some things easier and others more challenging. I told them about some common experiences among those who live life on the spectrum. And I simply asked if it sounded like anyone we might know. I could see his wheels turning. I showed them the episode of Arthur (“When Carl Met George”) and within 35 seconds, it happened.

And right there, right smack in the middle of our messy living room with the laundry piled high and the dinner dishes still on the table and the trash waiting to be taken out, with us and the dog all squished together on the couch, it happened. It started with his eyes. They looked brighter. After five or so minutes, his face had changed. He looked older somehow. By the time the video was over, he was eagerly asking, “Mom?  Do I have ASD?”

I took a shaky breath and said confidently–no wait–I said proudly, “Yes, buddy. You do. What do you think about that?”

And he knew.

And just. like. it happened to us when we received his diagnosis, his life began flashing before his eyes. He was seeing it all with a fresh understanding. His filter had changed.

And he understood.

And he told me about how the things, the hard things, he now knows were the challenging parts of his ASD. And we talked about how far he’s come. And how much he’s overcome. And how he has done the hard things and how he can continue to do the hard things.

And he was proud.

Jake came home from work to find his boy had grown. Caleb seemed to stand taller as he told his dad about ASD and how God had made his brain special.

He went to bed that night having diagnosed our dog with autism as well. “She loves her toy like I love trains.” And any loneliness he might have felt dissolved away in the solidarity of puppy kisses.

He woke the next morning, ready to share himself with the world.

So, world? Get ready. You’re about to get a whole lot of awesome.


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Our 4 Paws Adventure – Day 11 – Graduation!!

*This post is part of a series originally posted on my former blog, Stinker Babies. I’m reposting here for families who are interested in learning more about the process of being matched with a service dog for their children. This series was written during March of 2013.*

Because packing up everything, loading up the car, and taking our public access test wasn’t stressful enough, it took us 35 minutes to get to the mall because of a crazy traffic jam.  We left Homewood at 11:30 to make the five-minute drive to the mall.  Despite leaving a half hour early, we were five minutes late.  I was seriously about to have a panic attack.  I screeched to a stop right in front of the entrance that said Dick’s Sporting Goods and threw Jake and April out of the car.  The kids and I parked and ran in.  We did not end up in Dick’s like the sign said but just in front of the kiddie rides.  That was fun.  I half-dragged, half-carried the kids past the rides and up the stairs to the food court.  We made it.

Jake did the public access test which was fantastic for me because my nerves were shot.  April passed with flying colors.  We headed back to 4 Paws where I sat down with Jennifer and went over all of our final paperwork.  We got her official badge to go in her harness, her collar with all of her tags, and her medical history.  We signed our contract and she was ours!543530_10151537891649697_332825084_n

The graduation started and we each went around the room and tried to share our thoughts.  Most of us ended up crying too hard to even get it all out.  Each family was called to the front where we took a family photo in front of the graduation banner.  Then we were handed our certificate.  At the end, the kids got to “sign” the banner with their names and the names of their dogs.

It was a moment we’ve dreamed of for a very long time.  It almost didn’t even feel real.

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We then bid teary farewells to our new friends and got in the car and headed south.  We made it to Corbin, Kentucky where we stopped for the night at the same hotel as my sister from another mister (college roomie) who was travelling north with her sweet family.  It was wonderful to hug their necks and have breakfast with them the next morning before starting out on the rest of the drive home.

We drove 500 miles yesterday.  It took us 12 hours.  It was an especially trying day for Caleb who had quite a few meltdowns.  I had a couple of my own.  I literally cried a tear of joy when we crossed the Florida line (about 10 miles from our house).  If I hadn’t been so crazed and desperate to get home, I would have stopped and taken a picture of us kissing the ground.  Okay, maybe we wouldn’t go that far.  But it was just so wonderful to be back home with the warm temperatures and the green.  Oh everything is so beautiful and green!  I absolutely loved our time in Ohio and it was beautiful there, too.  But there’s no place like home!  April seems to love her new home and has really enjoyed exploring it.  She’s still getting used to our laminate floors, though, and has been sliding a bit.  We took her over for a family Easter dinner and she enjoyed meeting my sister’s little dog, Jack.  When we returned the rental car, we decided to leave her at home.  We filled her “bong” (as Gracie calls the Kong…I’m sure that won’t raise any eyebrows) with peanut butter and turned on the TV music channel.  When we got home, she was just chillin’ and listenin’ to some P.M. Dawn.  Gotta love the 90s station!

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It has been amazing to have April here.  She has made such a huge difference already and I can’t imagine it without her now.  A few of you future 4 Paws class members have asked me some great questions.  Once I’ve had some time to reflect, I’ll compile a list of tips and tricks that we were given from previous members and also what we discovered to be helpful.

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Thank you so much to all of you who followed our journey to bring April home.  Some of you very loyal and wonderful people have been following this story since the whole Pepsi Pup fiasco.  I so appreciate your support, your prayers, your encouragement, your shoulders to cry on and your cheers along the way.  It has made all the difference and I am forever grateful!

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