How is it that fall just suddenly appears? Spring comes gradually, slowly revealed as winter loosens her grip on the earth. Summer takes over little by little, until our days are mostly warm and beachy. Even winter creeps in, as the winds get colder and the days get darker.
But not fall. Something happens right around Labour Day, and even when I’m looking for it, I miss it. One day we’re at the lake, cooling off in the water and trying to eat our sandwiches around the inevitable sand, and the next, it’s cooler. The shadows are longer in the afternoon. Cravings turn to baked goods, apple cider, and, yes, pumpkin spice (which, let it be known, I only appreciate in pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread).
Fall just… falls on us.
Which is kind of how time has happened for me. I got my autism/Asperger’s diagnosis just over two years ago, and I took a bit of a break from here to regroup. And now it’s fall, in 2016, and it’s been two years.
Fall is my most favourite season, so it seems fitting that it serves as the backdrop to my return.
I started this blog/website in March of 2010 as a way to share stories about my hilarious, autistic, then-four-year-old son. I wanted to show the world a face of autism they may not have been familiar with, and a family that functions on a different wavelength.
I think I’ve more than accomplished that, and today this blog is six and a half, and my son is just about eleven. He’s still quite hilarious, and now very much a tween. I still have stories to tell and experiences to share, but now they include myself as well as Jack.
As the fates would have it, Jack is homeschooling this year (a story I’ll share in a separate post), so there will be a lot to tell. There is also a lot to share about myself, my journey to a diagnosis, and how I came to finally know myself completely.
I hope this post finds you well, and I look forward to a long future together.
NamasteShare this: Twitter | StumbleUpon | Facebook | digg | reddit | eMail Read More
It’s been a year since I’ve posted here.
A year to process my new reality and think about what that means.
For me, for Jack, for my site.
I think it means a lot.
So change is coming.
I am coming back.
<3Share this: Twitter | StumbleUpon | Facebook | digg | reddit | eMail Read More
I’ve been away for a bit. I’ve been in a self-made cocoon of sorts, waiting for the right time to reveal my “new” self.
Or the self I’ve always been, but didn’t really know it.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking on the best way to start the conversation here. This place that I’ve built to laugh and cry, and bemoan, and celebrate autism in our family. This place that has become a safe haven for me and others, a place where it’s OK to be our true selves, autism, warts, and all.
I thought for a while that I needed to bring platitudes and great revelations. That I needed to be profound.
And as I sat, cozy and safe in my self-imposed little box, it came to me.
Rather, Jack came to me.
Jack has been my teacher on so many levels, and I should have known this would be no different.
A couple of weeks ago, we went to a small amusement park and a big water slide park on the same day. We don’t do amusement parks, as a rule, for a few different reasons: Money, crowds, autism, crowds, crazy children, lines, money, and, of course, crowds. The kids have been on a few rides here and there (most recently the Great Wheel in Seattle), but we haven’t done a full-fledged amusement park since Disneyland years ago when the kids were small.
The only water slides my kids have encountered have been the small ones at a downtown spray park, and the slide at our local pool (not small by any means, but not theme-park-sized).
I was worried how Jack would do on the rides, since he really seemed to hate them when he was younger. I also didn’t know how he would react to the water-slides, as you can’t exactly avoid being splashed in the face or dunked underwater.
To our relief, the amusement park was both quite small and fairly empty. The kids didn’t have to wait in line for anything. It was like an Autism Miracle.
He handled it all. Really well. By himself.
For instance, he did this:
He both shot his brother in the face, and took many hits in return. All with a big grin.
This one amazed me. Jack HATED swings as a baby and small child. It took about two full years of occupational therapy to get him to not only ride a swing, but enjoy it. Now he’s a swinging fool.
He did this:
This ride made my husband ill just looking at it. They’re up there spinning around, while spinning around. Like teacups up in the air.
And then he did this:
If you can’t tell from the photos, this little ride here is like a carousel on acid. You sit on a horse, and the platform starts to rotate. Then, the whole thing rises up one side of an arc, then down and up the other side. All while the platform is still rotating. Like someone thought the pirate ship that goes back and forth is a little too tame, and the carousel is just not dangerous enough.
So yeah, he rode that thing. Smiling.
We headed to the water slides, and Jack took off alone. I was worried about him, but figured he’d end up entertaining himself in the splash areas or pools.
Toward the end of our visit, my child ran up to me, dripping wet.
He had done this:
He was so excited to tell me. “Mom! I really conquered my fears today!”
And then he ran off to do it again.
I realize now that I haven’t been hiding in contemplation so much as in fear. I’ve been afraid. This post changes everything for me, but it’s time. If my child, who has come so very far in his almost-nine years of life, can stand up to his own fears and break through to the brighter side, so can I. And I will, for him.
This is my vertical drop.
So, here goes.
My name is Wendy, and I have Asperger’s.
I am autistic.
And I am happy.
Share this: Twitter | StumbleUpon | Facebook | digg | reddit | eMail Read More