Can I Scream Now?

There must be something in the water, or should I say something stirring my waters... But like the wonderful Kelley over at MagnetoBoldToo I have had this horrible feeling of dread for weeks now.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop...

My child is a complex blend of brilliance, blinding beauty and batshit craziness. My child dazzles in his happy moments, and despairs in his darkest depths. My child, who puzzles all of us... even his psych, with his inability to understand the social web of life, whilst being so far advanced of his years in articulation, emotional perception and intellect.

His teachers, whilst wonderful, just don't get what his short life has been like with a brother on the spectrum.

One of them did the unthinkable today, the cardinal comment sin. We talked of the incident last term, when he once again lost the plot. We discussed the "why" theories... the catalyst of this climactic conflict of character that is my youngest son. And then whilst I brought up and spoke of the content of the post I wrote for Autism Awareness Day (though I cheated and called it an article, lol), of how he had been shunted aside in the early years... she brought up the dreaded comparison of "Oh, we all do that, I did with my kids due to the age difference..."

I did not scream. I did not curse. She meant no harm.

But seriously? Don't ever fucking tell me it is the same thing. Don't ever, ever dare to compare the white bread niceties of your life with the charred black toast of ours.

Fuck.

Seriously.

Or as my youngest son would say... Indubitably.

Still waiting for the thud of my left foot shroud to tell me it has hit.

Hyperventilation - The New Coping Mechanism

Yes, I have been off the radar AGAIN.

Yes, I know this poor blog languishes untouched.

But I have rather a lot on my plate right now.

We have until January 31st to be completely out of our shop. That means packing stock, files, fitout and anything else not nailed down and moving it into our storage shed on our property. Which is an hour from our shop.

I am listing madly on eBay only to have some idiot buy one of the expensive display cabinets (one of five) but not win any others thus "he doesn't want it" and becomes abusive when it becomes an issue for me.

And tomorrow... tomorrow... is Boy 1's first day of High School.

Hard for any child. Especially hard for a child on the spectrum.

We feel it is the right choice. A small private school (capped at 225) which caters to the individual, encourages success socially and academically, sets the bar higher but not out of reach.

BUT... it is a totally new environment.

"I am nervous" he tells us.

"I am excited" he tells others.

The truth is somewhere in between.

I am hoping that he is okay, that he is just nervous, not on the verge of meltdowns or terrified. It is so hard to gauge the degree to which this nervousness will affect him. It is so easy for him to lose his grip on his emotions with such a major change.

We have done all we can to facilitate this move, have prepared as much as possible - both him and the school.

His two best friends are not here, they both are going to the public school. This is part of what worries me. How will they see him? Will they get past the differences and see the wonderful person he is? Or will he be alone, no-one to talk too?

He pulls into himself when he is scared, will anyone try to bring him back out?

And to top it off, the one child who has continually mocked and bullied my son is going to be at this school, but I can only hope the school is onto it (which they tell me they are, for of 4 boys attending 3 mothers have been in to request this child NOT be in the same class... says it all really). To be honest, I hope this new start turns this boy around. If it does not then I have been assured he will be gone, removed from this school community. But what damage he could do in the meantime...

But now I must concentrate on my child, not what ifs.

And try to pretend I am not terrified and on the verge of meltdown.

The Glass Heart

He has a glass heart, gloriously beautiful, vibrant and filled with the colours of innocence, passion and joy. It beats in syncopated rhythm with a tempo driven by loyalty, imagination, friendship and compassion.

But a glass heart can shatter if hit hard enough. Or it can be slowly chipped away until the damage is so great it can no longer sustain its purity.

It can erode under the everyday pressures which flow from expectations, judgement and censure. It can dissolve under the strain of conformity, the weight of derision, the tension of trying to fit in.

I can only keep it safely encased in my hands for such a short time, then it must be handed over to the care of others, less experienced and more careless than a mother. And I must sit and wait, and hope it is not returned so badly damaged that it will never be repaired.