Tales Of The Wild Things

The pause. It's a period of time every parent facing a diagnosis for their child finds themselves in. The pause is this purgatory of denial, and research, and blame. You wonder if this is real or if you're misinterpreting symptoms. You wonder if you caused this, somehow. You wonder what this would mean for their future. You wonder if the answers might be even worse than the questions. You pause. For me, the pause started pre-diagnosis when I had to check an entire row of "not yet" boxes on a developmental questionnaire. I wore my insecurities and fear like weights tied around my ankles, and I drug my feet through the long process of seeking help. Seeking help, then turned into seeking an official diagnosis, and that added yet another weight to my body; The weight of other people's opinions about autism. Some people built me up and commended my efforts. But some, even to this day, don't believe this is a real thing and that I was just looking for an e...

Why are we so quick to judge? The other day my family and I went to the grocery store, and right as we turned to the produce isle we saw friends that we stopped to chat with. We happened to stop right between the avacado display, and the flower display. Luckily for me, Wyatt quickly turned his attention to the avacados spaced in a way that bothered him and not to the vases of flowers that were not lined up in size order. I allowed him to shuffle the avacados around because it meant he would be quiet and mostly still rather than having a meltdown before we even had a chance to start shopping, An older woman walked up as Wyatt stacked the avacados on one side of the display. She very loudly expressed her disapproval by clucking at him. I shot a glance in her direction, but very specifically chose not to acknowledge her. Then she began to lecture Wyatt about not moving the avacados because he was going to bruise them. Wyatt stared blankly at her, my husband politely joked with her, and...

This is the part I haven't figured out yet. Friends, I can spin beautiful words on a page about all the amazing things that autism has brought to our lives. I can give you a glimpse into how we have overcome the day to day issues. But I don't know how to do this. I don't know what to do as I watch my child sink it sickness, utterly clueless about what's wrong. I see the way he holds his eyes differently. I watch as his words quickly slip from vaguely being able to tell me something is wrong with his stomach, to no words at all and just groans of severe discomfort. He swaddles himself in a blanket and stares blankly at the wall. He is spending all his energy on whatever is going on inside him, and there is nothing left to even ask for one of his favorite toys. My mom-gut sounds an alarm that this is a different kind of not communicating. This is a different kind of tired. There is something really wrong. And with that comes anxiety that I think only special needs ...

"Autism wasn't a thing in my day." "Doctors just want to diagnose everything these days. Everybody is sick with some made up thing". "A spankin' should knock the 'autism' right out of him." Oh, the things I was told in those early days of getting Wyatt diagnosed. It was probably the most insecure time in my life. I knew the doctors were onto something, but I would listen to these people talk at me and nod my head in silent agreement, and then cry in my car on the way home because of the fear that no one would accept my son for who he was if he didn't fit the cookie cutter mold of All American Boy. I also know this story is the same for just about everyone who's child receives an autism diagnosis. Because of that, a lot of families --ours included-- choose not to talk about the diagnosis. I've finally come to realize that people don't say these things to be malicious or to devalue our children. They say it because they...

"He's on the Spectrum," she said. The words rolled off her tongue like it was nothing. Like she had just told me the sky was blue. But those words sent tears rolling down my cheeks and sucked the air from my lungs. We had been dancing around this diagnosis for over a year, but hearing the words made it so real. I knew that my son was different. I knew that he had struggles that needed to be addressed. But the big A word. Autism. My son was Autistic. I wish I could go back to that moment and tell myself what I know now. I wish I knew what a gift this diagnosis would be. I wish I knew it would open the door that would completely change Wyatt's life for the better. I think the #1 thing people ask me, is "How did you know he had Autism?" The answer is, I didn't. Not until that phone call. The reality though is that knowing he had autism, wasn't nearly as important as the moment I knew he and I needed help. That moment came when he was 2 1/2...

Autism Spectrum Disorder. The name even implies that it is a spectrum of diversity, but still when most of us hear the word "autism" we imagine a socially inept savant who adheres to strict schedules. The thing is, while that may describe a number of people with ASD, it doesn't define them all. The spectrum was made even broader in 2013 when conditions like Aspergers were added to the definition of Autism. Wyatt falls somewhere between high functioning autism and Asperger's. His initial diagnosis in 2017 was "Autism", but in 2018 more therapists started throwing around the term Asperger's. I've researched them both, and the lines between the two are fuzzy, so I've started using the terms interchangeably since his care providers seem to do it as well. Much like the stereotypical characteristics of autism, Wyatt becomes intensely focused on his favorite things, which are trains and dinosaurs. He also stacks or lines up EVERYTHING. His speech ...

🎶 It's the most wonderful time of the year🎶 Or is it? Go talk to any family who has a child on the spectrum or who struggles with SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder), and they will tell you that this time of year is ROUGH! I think sometimes we get so caught up in the spirit of Christmas and the traditions, that we forget this time of year is stressful for some people.     Let's take a second and go back to the basics of ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) or SPD. These kids usually struggle with lights, sounds, noises, textures, and people.     That is literally what Christmas is!!     Put yourself in their shoes a second.     It's flashing lights, and mobs of loud people and music all crammed in one spot so you can go sit on some weird old dude's lap, whose wearing a suit that feels strange, and you're in clothes that aren't comfortable. He's asking you what you want and if you've been good -- and for young k...

I hope you're a man who cooks. When it's time for you to move into your own home, I hope you're a man who can take care of himself. I hope you can do your own laundry, clean your own home and cook your own meals. I hope when "The Girl" comes into your life, that you will be the type of man who will appreciate when she does these things for you. I hope you're the type of man who does these things for her. I hope you're a man who cooks. I hope you're a man who works. When it's time for you to leave our home, I hope you're a man who does more than just earn a pay check. I hope you take pride in what you do and do it with purpose. I hope you're the man people can call on for help. I hope you're the man who never stears away from a challenge just because it's hard. I hope you're a man who works. I hope you're a man who prays. When this world is unforgiving I hope that you have a forgiving heart. I hope you live your life ...

I have a confession to make. When I was a mother to just one precious little angel, I was a judgy mom. I had my nose in the air and firmly believed there was no excuse for children misbehaving in public, or worse yet, children who ran their home. Nope those parents just needed to look at me and my perfect child to know how to be a good mom And then The Honey Badger was born. My son wasted no time serving me a big ole slice of humble pie. Now, to be honest, I spend my days worrying about how people judge me, or even worse, how they judge him. I've thought about having a shirt made that says "I know we're a shit show. Don't feed the animals and keep moving". So today as I'm dropping off my son at speech, I see this mom and her son who are new to the therapy office. I just want to hug her because I see all the same things on her face that I wore on my own when we started this journey with Wyatt. Exhaustion. Shame. Anxiety. Reluctance. And all of it u...