Weekend Grateful: Hope.

I follow a lot of blogs of Mum's with kids on the spectrum. I AM the mother of a kid on the spectrum. Autism has kicked my arse and the legs out from under me more times than I can bear to remember. Search this blog for ASD, the posts are endless.

Ten years we have been on this ride. A decade. My first born is now 13, quickly approaching 14. Puberty is running rampant, hormones are in overdrive, Year 7 school pressure is mounting fast.

Should be a horror story in the making, eh?

I am here to tell you otherwise. I am here to offer other mums something I struggled with during the bad days, the early hard days. I am here to give you hope.

If you had met my son when he was little, you probably would have reacted the way so many did. Pity. Pity for me, pity for us as a family, pity for the lack of quality of life you assumed this low functioning, severely affected little boy would have.

Yes, he was that badly affected.

Big Boy & Boy 1 2008

No matter that I adored him and believed deep within my very core that his strengths would win out, you, as an outsider, would have thought I was deluding myself. Hell, there were a lot of days I thought I was deluding myself.

But some stubborn, gritty, intense thing deep inside me would not accept the dire predictions of the professionals, of friends, of random acquaintances. Something called a mother's gut instinct. I fought against the world like a lioness in full attack, WE fought against convention, traditional ideals in the autism world, the specialists. Me, Big Boy, Wise Woman, even Boy 2. Our family core, our battalion.

He is thirteen. When you meet him you sense he is different (oh God, don't get him started on string theory...pleeease). He will never be your typical bloke. No, he is far too extraordinary. I could go on and on. But all I can tell you is the fight is worth it. And fight you must, for this is their very future we are talking about.



Boy 1 & C - August 2011
Best mates for over a decade

 This boy was with seven other boys at Adventure Parc for his little brother's birthday last weekend. Climbing rope bridges, swinging from pulley contraptions, launching over huge drops on a flying fox. He and his bestie only completed two of the four runs. Why? Because his mate has an issue with flying foxes and a fear of heights. I met them both walking out of the bush, only to be surprised at the role reversal. For once it was Boy 1 supporting, encouraging, just being there for his friend. And happy to do so.

My young man. No longer a boy. Well on the way to becoming the incredible adult all around him can now see. Yes, even the naysayers have had to succumb to a mother's vision. To acknowledge this amazing teen. Most want to bottle him, or at least swap their surly ones for him. I, of course, refuse.

I am so grateful to be able to post this, to share with others a positive outcome (so far). To offer hope. Believe in your gut, fight with your heart. The impossible is possible.

Thanks Maxabella, for giving me the opportunity to give back.

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The meaning of life. Right now I am pondering the meaning of life here at this blog. What do I want from here? What is this blog to me, or more importantly to others?

When I began this blog over two years ago the community was small, tight, supportive. Now so much of it is about earning potential, stats, hits, comments, followers.

I have never been one to run with the crowd and crowded the blogosphere has become.

Is this why I am not drawn here as I once was? Is it why I do not have the yearning to write like I once did?

Maybe it is because I am writing my tales of fantasy for my dear friend, sending them off with love. Maybe that is filling the hole once satisfied by blogging?

Maybe I am sick of commenting and supporting those who offer none back? Only some, not all, but their silence pisses me off to be perfectly honest.

Maybe I feel the blogosphere is not the place I need to look to for ideas, ideals, friendship?

Maybe it is time for change.

I just don't know anymore.

You Never Know Who Is Watching... A Facebook Horror Story.

What would you do if you found out someone had used another friend's business page to spy on your facebook status? What would you do if you had proof that they then took a status written when you were extremely distressed, when your child's life was on the line, when you thought only your friends could see it... if they printed that information, took it into your child's school purely to cause trouble for you and to hell with your child?

Seriously, what would you do?

This happened to us last year, but it is only now I have the concrete evidence of whom the perpetrator is.

Right now I want to eradicate them from my proximity - to be so toxic, so purile as to risk a child's life????

What sort of scum does that?

Oh, that's right... the sort of scum who use their own child to try and cause trouble, even if that child is now becoming loathed by their peers. An evil hobbit whose spiteful, jealous nature knows no bounds.

You make me sick and I thank God I no longer am alone in seeing you as you really are.

Filth.

Living 1001 Arabian Nights...

"Scheherezade: These people sit for hours - just listening. It's a miracle!

Storyteller: People need stories more than bread itself. They tell us how to live, and why."

~1001 Arabian Nights~

Have you wondered where I am? I am here, but in an unfamiliar guise. I am Scheherazade, weaving my tales, casting my spell of distraction. Each day I am writing a new story, each week I am bundling them together and sending them off in the post of Australia.

Why? I cannot do much, I am too far away and her needs are met by family and friends who live in her proximity. All I can do, as she spends this endless, horrific month being bombarded by chemo, is to offer a distraction. I send my love woven in my words, I send her something to take her away, be it only in mind. I send her parts of me, birthed in short bursts of insane inspiration.

It is all I can do, it is so little, but maybe, in my own unique way, I am helping. Just a tiny bit.

Fight my friend, fight.