"PICK A LANE" we have all screamed out our car window when the person in front of us can't decide which lane suits them best, or heaven forbid, thinks their destination is much more vital than our own. You've seen these drivers and chances are, if you have a truck driver mouth like me and an itchy middle finger, you've let these inconsiderate drivers know just how you feel about their lane hopping. These lane changers may slowly drift into a lane having little to no effect on other drivers, or some people may abruptly change lanes with little to no thought of how this abrupt change could cause a chain reaction to all those following them. Yep, some of these lane changers we only see on the road, others seem to pop up in various lanes of life, effecting others. both in good ways and bad. Frequently, these road hogs, pop up in my People Magazine right next to the perfectly pregnant Kate Middleton (could she be an perkier pregnant?) and ruin my perfectly good lunch.

Celebrities are famous (pun intended) for "lane changing" off the highway. If they win an Oscar, they want a Grammy. If they win a Grammy, they want an Oscar. Sadly, many celebrities realize too late that they should have stayed in their original lane as the new lane is an embarrassingly dead end with the critics reviews to prove it. "PICK A LANE" celebrities because very few of you are the JT triple threat....sing, dance and act (well, sort of). Just like the loose cannon drivers, sometimes I think celebrities need to pick a lane and stick with it. Would you want John Travolta, wearing his Saturday Night Fever white suit sans pilot wings and stripes flying your plane in a severe thunderstorm with wind shear? What if Olivia Newton John was in first class wearing her black hot pants singing, "Your the One That I Want"? When John Travolta switched lanes from actor to pilot was he fully trained on blocking out hot chicks in hot pants? Wouldn't you prefer a seasoned pilot like Chesley "Sulley" Sullenberger who spent his entire career sticking to the same lane, living and breathing flying, taking off and landing safely in open water to pilot your plane? I bet "Sulley" wouldn't let Sandy toy with his landings. Pick a lane Danny Zuko!

Celebrities have the perfect platform for various causes and they are notorious for switching lanes. And thanks to those of us non-celebrities who are so enamored with them, these celebrity lane hoppers forget which lane they really belong in and sometimes it can be disastrous (think The Rock as The Tooth Fairy). Celebrities live a high profile life so they are in the perfect position to raise awareness and bring attention to various platforms to pitiful folks like myself who anxiously wait every Thursday for my beloved mailman to show up with People Magazine. Some celebrity lane changers have saved lives. Katie Couric bravely had her colonoscopy televised on The Today Show to help remove the embarrassing stigma of this ultra invasive, somewhat embarrassing, but life saving procedure. No doubt, Katie's courage and her colon has saved countless lives when she chose to switch lanes from morning talk show host to colon cancer advocate. Katie Couric is a courteous driver and looks at both her rear view and side view mirrors before switching lanes.

Some celebrities stir up controversy when changing lanes. They may believe that they have checked all the mirrors while slowly picking a new lane, but little did they know the impact a slight side scrape from their high end Mercedes can have on an average Toyota sedan. Perfect example....Jenny McCarthy. Ahhhh, yes, now you know where this lane is going. Jenny McCarthy has become a big time lane changer, a total road hog. Playboy Playmate, actress, author and very well known autism advocate. Love her or hate her, believe her vaccine theory and that her son has been "cured" of autism or don't, but regardless of your opinion of her, Jenny McCarthy has certainly made an impact on autism awareness. And with her announcement of her new lane switch, co-host on the The View, social media sites were blowing up last week. Those who hate Jenny McCarthy and discredit her vaccination view, feel this new lane will cause even more damage to those poor Toyota sedans just sitting in their lane minding their own business wondering if their choices have been enough. After all, Jenny McCarthy has (had) a son with autism, she dated Jim Carrey, she marched on Washington to advocate for safer childhood vaccinations and she's famous! Why wouldn't we all listen to her?

Jenny McCarthy is very outspoken in her belief that her son's autism was caused by childhood vaccinations. She is a huge proponent of safer vaccinations for kids, marching on Washington to try and make a difference. Depending on which lane you are traveling in, depends on your opinion of her high profile, outspoken views. Once when I asked a doctor about the safety of vaccines for Emma, the doctor rolled his eyes and told me that he thought Jenny McCarthy should be imprisoned for using her celebrity platform to strike fear in parents hearts about vaccinations and increasing childhood diseases that a decade ago were on the decline. (Needless to say he is not a fan. I'm not sure how he feels about her previous "work" in other lanes). This doctor said the most important thing he does in his practice is to save children's lives by vaccinating them. I admit it, the vaccine thing freaked me out and yes, some of that had to do with reading about the famous (or infamous) Jenny McCarthy in People Magazine.  

Yes, I vaccinated Ryan and yes he got a bump on his leg with each and every vaccine. Does that make me a monster? Did my continuing the vaccines cause Ryan's autism? How was I to know? I'm not an autism researcher or a doctor, I'm just cruising in the Mom Lane with all the other moms who have traveled this same lane for years and always vaccinated their kids. I  AWEnestly was freaked out enough by Jenny McCarthy and others who shared her view in terms of the alleged vaccine autism link, that I waited to vaccinate Emma until she was three. That was right about the time I watched an episode of Private Practice where a child died from the measles because the mother feared vaccinating him due to her older son's autism diagnosis. Seriously? Where was the Botox laden, wrinkle free face celebrity touting the importance of vaccinations in my People Magazine?  After watching that child actor succumb to measles on a made up television show with wrinkle free, beautiful celebrities, I was even more freaked out that I hadn't vaccinated Emma, so I immediately called the pediatrician's office the next morning and made an appointment to got Emma the suspect MMR. Then for weeks, I watched Emma's every move like a hawk, terrified she would disappear. Emma is perfect, happy and healthy and I have no idea if waiting to vaccinate her did that or not.
All I know is a complete and total stranger who once bared it all as a Playboy Centerfold, switched lanes and totally sideswiped this average, freaked out Toyota.

It's hard to believe that a high profile celebrity can have such an impact when they switch lanes to autism advocate. Why do any of us care what a former Playboy pinup, actress, actor, athlete or rock star have to say about ASD? Besides their notoriety for their celebrated chosen lane, do they really know more than say, an autism researcher, a neurologist, a developmental pediatrician or someone living with an ASD? I had the privilege, and I do mean privilege, of sharing a dinner table with John Elder Robison and his wife, Maripat last weekend. After the first five minutes of hearing Mr. Robison speak, I realized he is the rock star celebrity we parents loving a child with an ASD should be listening to. John Elder Robison wrote the book, "Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's". This book was the first book I read that actually gave me a glimpse into the working of Ryan's mind and it AWEnestly opened my eyes and my heart permanently.  Mr. Robison changed lanes numerous times in his life. He went from pyro-technic whiz kid designing exploding guitars for Ace Frehley of Kiss, to designing some of the first electronic toys (remember Simon and Speak and Spell?) to his current career of mechanical guru for some of the highest end cars ever produced. Mr. Robison changed lanes several times. This lane changing was not because he was rich and famous, but because before Mr. Robison knew he had Asperger's Syndrome, he felt he was "defective" and struggled to find the right lane where he belonged. John Elder Robison's lane changing was a means of surviving a world that he did not understand and that did not understand him. Mr. Robison did not discuss what caused his autism or what treatments he believed would "cure" him. Instead, he talked of the gifts autism has given him and swore that he wouldn't be in his chosen lane today if it weren't for his autism. John Elder Robison does not think his Asperger's Syndrome is a disability, he believes it is a different ability. Where was this man 7 years ago when I needed him, not fake boobed, Playmate, Jenny McCarthy?

I realize that Ryan and most kids with an Autism Spectrum Disorder will not be as celebrated as John Elder Robison and Temple Grandin, but that does not make each and every success any less important. I would much prefer to see John Elder Robison or some other adult living with ASD co-hosting The View this fall, because given the right platform, they could educate us neurotypicals more than an awards banquet room filled with celebrities. Chances are that won't happen because the lights of the studio would be bright, the clapping from the audience would be loud and quite frankly, many people with an ASD don't give a sh** what we neurotypicals think of them in the first place and don't feel a need to explain themselves on live television. As a mom who is trying to understand her son, I am grateful for the John Elder Robisons of the world, willing to take the time to give us a glimpse into what it is like to live with autism. I wish that someone would have come along and given John Elder Robison's mother the gift he has given to mothers loving and parenting a child with autism today, so that Mr. Robison wouldn't have spent 5 seconds feeling "defective".  But who knows, without Mr. Robison's struggles, his victories and his defeats and the quest for his true lane, maybe Mr. Robison would not be the celebrity he is today.  Without these true celebrities, sharing their struggles, their successes and their ability to find the perfect lane, the misunderstood clues of autism would still be light years over the horizon.

Ryan could care less about any of the Jenny McCarthys of the world, or the John Elder Robisons for that matter. After all, they are not the ones making his meatless cheeseburgers, finding him the softest Hollister tshirts and returning the sugar free Jello Vanilla pudding for the "right one". This old Toyota who picked the "Mom Lane" over 15 years ago, is reliable, safe, and has just enough bells and whistles to get everyone where they need to go with as little damage as possible. And although some may believe I have hopped lanes from gun toting juvenile probation officer mother to autism blogger, I am not marching on Washington proclaiming that going peri-menopausal crazy on your kid in order to get him to wear the new shirt he promised he would wear, will be effective for every child with an ASD,  I'm just AWEnestly, and somewhat guiltily, admitting that it works for us.

Since picking the Mom Lane all those years ago, I have tried not to drift into other lanes. I have no idea if vaccines, toxins in the environment, the feta cheese from Greek salads I ate or the flu shot I received before knowing I was pregnant caused my son's AWEtism, because I don't have the research experience, the medical know how or the time to waste on how or why it happened. I'm too busy making sure I am doing what is best for Ryan in spite of what the latest and greatest treatments, therapies, etc the celebrities of Autism Advocates are shouting from their Mercedes sun roof. I know that most of us driving our Toyotas and Hondas will never travel in the same lane as the Jenny McCarthy's of the world, so chances are, we will not be given a platform to promote our belief that children and adults with autism do not need their own "special" lane, they just need to find the lane that fits them, and regardless of what lane we are in, or what car we drive, we need to give these people living with an ASD the space on the road to do so.

Autism Spectrum Disorders do not discriminate. They effect the rich and the poor, the famous and the average Joes. With 1 in 54 boys receiving an ASD, and with a 1 in 11,500, chance of winning an Academy Award, there are a lot more Toyotas chugging along the highway than there are Mercedes' lane hoppers. Even though the Toyotas do not have all the bells and whistles and safety features of a Mercedes, they are reliable, safe, and people depend on them. While traveling down the road, you may occasionally glimpse the shiny, beautiful Mercedes and all the perks that having one entails, and just for a second, you might picture yourself behind the wheel in THAT lane, but, keep in mind, that those driving the Mercedes are not the mechanical or design experts who understand the ins and outs of the vehicle. Just because someone has been fortunate enough to drive the Mercedes does not make them an expert and we Toyota drivers must keep in mind that what works for a Mercedes does not always work for a Toyota and this should not ever make us feel less.

Whether you have been traveling in your lane for quite some time, or this lane is brand new to you, keep in mind that you know the occupants of your car better than any lane changing celebrity in their Mercedes, Ferrari or Jag. So unless a celebrity is touting the latest shoe trend for fall on the page of your People Magazine take what they have to say with a grain of salt, mumble, "Pick a lane!" and flip the page. Then go and find a real celebrity, one who has suffered scrapes, dings and dents while searching for the lane where they eventually found happiness, contentment and a sense of belonging. This celebrity may not be on the cover of People Magazine, have 3.2 million followers on Twitter, or be able to find the words to share their success with you, but their smile, their joy, and their success gives you hope that one day, your child will find his lane, and he won't care who is in front of him or who is behind him, as long as someone he loves is beside him.

When the school bell rings on that warm summer day in June signaling the end of yet another school year, moms everywhere are smiling. No more homework headaches, no more panicked "you forgot to add money to my lunch account and now I'm going to starve to death" phone calls and no more frantic chases to catch the school bus after watching just one more minute of The Today Show. Yes, summer is a glorious season and a call for rejoicing, until it hits you....especially if you are a stay at home mom....the kids will be with you 24 hours a day. And that my friend is the moment when the frantic search for summer camps begin. As many camps as you can find, as many camps as you can afford. While the search for the perfect camp turns into a full time job, you assure yourself that the structure and routine will be "good for them" even though the little devil on your shoulder whispers, "I thought you couldn't wait to have them home." As you flick the little devil to the floor, you assure yourself that these camps are not about making your life easier, less chaotic and less loud, these camps are designed to enhance your child's summer and remove their glued on faces from the television screen, the computer screen and the iDevice screen. Guilt gone...until the little devil stabs you with his pitchfork.

Back in the old days, when I was a kid, my parents forced me to go to our local township recreational camp to make crafts, play games, and pray. No, it was not a church affilitated camp, but I spent a lot of time praying that my bladder and bowels were strong enough to "hold it" so I wouldn't have to use the camp porta potty because almost daily that thing "magically" ended up on it's side. Kids are really quite horrible. There weren't a lot of camps to chose from back in the day, so my township rec camp was my camp experience. Thanks Mom and Dad. My how times have changed. With today's motto of "My Kid Has to Be the Best", there are camps for just about anything your child wants to be the best at. There are sport camps, craft camps, spy camps, math camps, science camps, Lego camps, theater camps, CSI camps, music camps, art camps and on and on and on. Many of these camps also provide indoor plumbing so no porta potty or bladder and bowel strengthening is needed. Kids today have no idea how good they have it, but boy parents sure do.

Sadly, I'm no exception to the "My Kid Has To Be The Best" in addition to, "My Kid Has To Be Out Of My Hair For At Least Three Hours" (shut up devil) camp mania and my kids have attended camps they have loved and camps I convinced them they would love.  Kyle has spent many hot, sultry days on a baseball diamond at the peak of summer. One year, he even went to an overnight baseball camp in Williamsport where the Little League World Series is played. Playing on "that" field, where he watched many games from the stands and from his family room television was a dream come true. Kyle loved it and I spent most of the week worrying that somehow he would accidentally ingest peanut butter (he is severely allergic) or fall off the top bunk and crack his head open. The little devil chuckled as I spent many sleepless nights worrying needlessly about my first born. Par for the course, my worrying was all for not as my boy not only survived camp, he loved it and I have to admit, seeing my son playing on the baseball diamond in Lamade Stadium was pretty freaking cool.

Emma has gone to dance camps, cheer camps, craft camps and cooking camps. Yes, she is only 6 years old, but I swear she wanted to go to every single one (not only have I flicked the scowling little devil off my shoulder with his "seriously?" face, he is now squished under my shoe). Emma is my social busy bee and she loves spending time hanging at home with her fabulous mother in the summer, but if she were being AWEnest, I think Emma would tell you that she prefers hanging with a posse of girls to good old Mom. Camps of all types suit Emma just fine, but her favorites have been cheer camp and dance camp where the ultra cool high school girls are the instructors. The pinnacle of these camps come on a hot, late August evening when Emma gets to perform her routines and cheers with the so much cooler than boring old Mom high school girls at the first home football game of the season. My girl LOVES an audience and seeing that tiny tot run across that gigantic football field shaking her booty both terrifies me and humors me.

Needless to say, Ryan has no interest in sports camps, dance camps, cheer camps or craft camps, however he loves attending math camp and Knex camp every summer and like any good, obsessive I Want My Kid To Be The Best mother, I have been known to wake up at the crack of dawn to ensure a spot for him in these camps. This year, I dropped the ball, shut off the alarm and missed a Knex camp spot and yeah, I heard about it....for a month. I was berated for "destroying his summer" and the irony of this was the teacher who conducts the camp told Ryan "Don't feel bad Ryan, we are doing the exact same things we did last year" which of course is precisely why Ryan wanted to go again. Sigh. Thanks to the Knex camp debacle and no beach trip this summer Ryan has told me repeatedly that "this summer is not living up to my expectations". Like any compassionate mother, I told Ryan maybe he needed to lower his expectations, and find something constructive to do besides guilt his beloved mother. Then lo and behold in the blink of an eye, it was time. The peak of Ryan's summer (since I "destroyed" everything else) had finally arrived. Friendship Camp began and saved us all.

Ryan has been attending a Friendship Camp for years. No, this is not a camp where kids sit around making friendship bracelets, riding horses and holding hands around a campfire while singing Kumbya. This is a camp for kids diagnosed with an ASD or some other type of different ability that makes having and being a friend difficult. This is a camp where kids learn to look their peers in the eye, call their peers by name, initiate conversation and respond appropriately with a peer. A successful camp week is not determined by a child's rope knot tying, his equestrian skills or his curve ball, a child's progress is measured by whether or not they smile or laugh at appropriate times, if their brain and body are "in the group" and if they have learned to take perspective of their peers. All of these skills are important in the quest for The My Kid Has To Be The Best Camp, but the best lesson Ryan has taken away from Friendship Camp is that losing a game really isn't as bad as the apocalypse and understanding what it really means to be a (Warning, I'm going to say the F word) FRIEND. This camp was never on the My Kid Has To Be The Best Camp list and it's not exactly the camp I ever dreamed my kid would one day attend, but I have loved Friendship Camp, the glorious counselors and the AWEsome kids that have enabled my son to feel The Best.

When a child has an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis, Friendship Camps and Friendship Groups are essential. Unfortunately, "friend" can be a dirty word for kids with an ASD because social deficits is a key feature of autism and making friends can be difficult. Many kids with an ASD struggle picking up social cues because they don't recognize a lot of facial expressions and body language. For example, Ryan is very aware of my extreme emotions, in fact at times I think he is somewhat intrigued by them. When Ryan believes I have heard or seen something that will make me sad, he literally gets all up in my face to see if I am crying. Sometimes my tears bring Ryan to tears (yes, kids with autism have empathy oh yee uneducated websites, sometimes they just express it differently) and sometimes he smiles almost like, "aha, I knew you'd be crying!". In complete opposite moments when my head spins around and spittle comes flying out of my mouth while screaming like a raving lunatic, Ryan is very aware that anger is the emotion of the moment, in fact when he sees my hideous transformation coming he often says, "Don't start!" Some body language and facial expressions, like steam coming out of my ears and my nostrils flaring like a bull, Ryan can absolutely pick up on, but facial expressions like pride, confused, or embarrassed he does not pick up on so easily. Most of us neurotypicals learn these social cues by observing others, but autism has a way of blocking this observation for many kids on the spectrum. 

Even though Ryan has told me numerous times that he has no friends and that his lack of friends does not make him "sad at all", Ryan still needs to understand how to have a friend and how to be a friend. Maybe Ryan's lack of desire for a friend is because he AWEnestly does not care, or maybe it's because friendship is hard and being alone is easier, safer and it greatly reduces the chance of rejection. If Ryan struggles to read a friend's emotions, it's hard to determine if that friend is shocked or amused by Ryan's exact mimic of Angry Birds so it's difficult for Ryan to figure out what to say or do next. Then throw in a heightened sensory system where filtering out background noise is next to impossible, while trying to remember how to greet and talk to a friend, it's easy to see why Ryan and kids like him prefer to be alone.

The social skills it takes to have and be a friend are needed in other areas of life and will be invaluable to Ryan as he becomes a young man and Mama Bear isn't always around to protect her little cub. Compromise, empathy, compassion, understanding and perspective are all traits of being a good friend, a good student, a good employee and a good human being. Although these skills may not exude out of Ryan's pores, he has the cognitive capacity to understand the importance of such skills and try to embody them or at the very least, try and fake it. 

Although Denial and I have gone our separate ways, we still cross paths occasionally. Just this week we were in the same parking lot while I dropped Ryan off at Friendship Camp. As I watched the other boys file in, some seemingly more affected by autism than my son, Denial sidled up to my car window and said, "Does Ryan really need to be here? Wouldn't it be better to have Ryan in camps with neurotypical kids so he can learn how they play, interact and socialize?". I hated Denial and wondered what I ever saw in her in the first place. Denial did however strike a chord. If I'm being AWEnest, I have wondered if putting Ryan in a camp with other kids on the spectrum helps him learn appropriate, neurotypical social skills since many of the kids have similar struggles. Then I thought to myself, Ryan enjoys coming here, he is happy and he has the support of wonderful occupational therapists and speech therapists guiding him and prompting him when he needs help. How the he** does Denial always worm her way back under my skin?! After I told Denial to shut up and ran her over, I decided, for the last time (yeah, right) to stop listening to Denial and ask the one person who would know best, Ryan.

After leaving camp one afternoon, I asked Ryan, "Do you like going to Friendship Camp?" and he responded, "Of course I do, why wouldn't I?". We discussed how Ryan seems to enjoy the kids at camp more than his classmates at school. And what my wonderfully, smart and fabulous boy said to me made me realize that no matter how convinced I am that I no longer need Denial and Clueless in my life, they will always be lurking in the shadows waiting for those moments where regardless of the depth and unwavering love I have for my son, I will never quite fully "get" him. Ryan looked at me, which typically doesn't last long, and said, "The kids at camp are easier to be with...they are more like me." And there it was, the AWEnest truth. They get him, and Ryan gets it. As much as it occasionally still stings a little that my son's face is included on a sheet of paper sent home from camp with every child's photo on it with their names proudly displayed underneath so all the boys can learn each other's names, Ryan's beautiful awkward smile does belong there. Ryan belongs at that camp because for a change he actually feels like he belongs and that, my stupid ex-friend Denial, is what matters. 

I once read a novel about a boy with Asperger's Syndrome (an ASD) entitled "the curious incident of the dog in the night-time" by Mark Haddon. The story was great and I thoroughly enjoyed the book, but one part of the story has always stuck with me. The main character, Christopher, recognizes that he is different and he believes he would be much happier if all the kids like him lived on their own planet, or better yet, if all the nurotypical people (or people not like him) went and lived on a different planet. Christopher believed life would be so much easier if the planet was inhabited by only people like him because he would no longer have to worry about recognizing emotions, remembering the proper way to greet someone or carrying on a conversation about a topic he could care less about. To Christopher, and all his new inhabitants, this new "just like him only" planet would be utopia.

Maybe this is why Ryan loves Friendship Camp, he is on his own planet with his own kind. The aliens, with their undecipherable facial expressions and body language, are off making small talk with other aliens who understand them somewhere else. Friendship Camp is an escape into a world more easily understood with kids who "get it". Ryan may not spend time at camp praying he won't have to use the porta potty like I did (there is an indoor toilet), but I can't help but wonder if he ever prays that we aliens will one day understand that there is nothing "wrong" with how Ryan and kids like him think, talk, and express themselves. There is nothing we aliens need to probe at and "fix". Those living with an ASD just want to inhabit the same planet as the rest of us without feeling like an alien themselves. In fact, many of these kids think we neurotypicals are the ones who are weird and could use a little probing and fixing.

As for this mom, who happens to need a whole lot of fixing in various departments, I try not to worry whether this camp or that camp is right for Ryan. Just like a mom of any neurotypical child, when your kid hops in the car you don't immediately ask, "Did you perfect your curve ball today?" or "Did you learn how to dance like Beyoncé in three hours?" or "Did all the kids seem as high-functioning as you?". No, whether the camp was your idea or your child's, whether it's a sports camp, a dance camp or a social skills building camp, the first words out of your mouth, should always be, "Well, did you have fun today?". And when you get a resounding, "Yep!", you can take that stupid little devil off your shoulder and lock him in the same box with Denial and the list of the I Want My Kid To Be The Best camps, because after all, it's summer time and regardless of which planet your child feels like they belong on, being a kid during the summer is suppose to be carefree and fun. As long as that fun requires them to be out of your hair for a minimum of three hours a day. 

"Frogs and snails and puppy dog tails" that's what little boys are made of, or so the nursery rhyme goes, but what if your little boy thinks frogs are too hoppy, snails are too slimey and puppy dog tails feel like leather whips slashing against his leg? Is there any kind of ingredient substitution to make a little boy or do you have to follow the recipe to a tee? Ryan's "ingredients" have always varied a bit from the standard little boy recipe, and it took me many attempts to realize that when his ingredients are mixed properly, kneaded gently and left to cool completely, the final product is more satisfying than all the frogs and snails combined. And even when a surprising, unpredictable puppy dog tail falls into the mix, as long as the sous chef is available to build a wooden barrier to keep the hyper, unpredictable puppy at arms length, then a giggling little boy still emerges from the near perfect recipe.

Meet Rook, aka, Rookie...the puppy dog tail just added to Ryan's very strict, very routine, very predictable ingredient list. Rook is a sweet, lovable yellow lab puppy who likes to nip with his piranha teeth, scratch with his switchblade knife claws and make himself known with his ear splitting, glass shattering howl. Needless to say, Ryan is less than pleased. In fact, when we voted "yea" or "nay" for a new dog, Ryan's vote was the only nay heard on the floor. Ryan told us under no uncertain terms would he be helping with "the stupid dog" since he "didn't want him anyway". Ryan's feelings and his valid concerns were considered, but this was one time his vote was vetoed. Democracy sucks.

When you have a child with an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis whose main ingredients vary greatly from the rest of the family members' mix, consolations, accommodations, substitutions, and sacrifices are made, sometimes to the detriment of the siblings. It took a trip to Disney World for Kyle and Emma to see their first firework show. Ryan was utterly terrified of fireworks for years, so scared in fact that he would count down the days, then the hours and finally the minutes until the 4th of July would come to a glorious end. He was however, indignant if so much as a sparkler was lit on any day other than the 4th of July. The Disney fireworks was another time we pushed Ryan outside of his comfort zone. With his hands over his ears and standing in an area he deemed a safe distance away (it happened to be on a bridge with water flowing underneath it...I don't think that was a coincidence) to ensure none of us would catch on fire, Ryan sat back and enjoyed the fireworks. Ok, maybe enjoy is too strong of a word, but over the years, Ryan has learned to tolerate fireworks and he no longer needs to hide in the bathroom on the 4th of July.

As I have said before, Ryan likes his routine, so spontaneous family picnics, hikes, vacations, etc aren't exactly a piece of cake for him or for many kids on the spectrum. There are just way too many unpredictable, uncontrollable variables such as bugs, thunderstorms, exercise and the possibility that the "right" kind of food will not be available. Holiday parties, vacations, and various social events need at the very least, ample warning and at the most, careful planning and consideration, especially if said event varies from the previous year. Our annual beach trip with friends did not happen this summer for various reasons, so we as a family discussed possibly taking a trip to Niagara Falls and the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Although we were all disappointed about no beach trip this summer, everyone except Ryan thought this DIFFERENT trip would be kind of cool. Ryan adamantly refused and informed us that he does not go north on summer vacations. Excuse me, what? Yep, vacations for our family are southbound trips only. I have no idea why. I wonder if Ryan was made aware that there are very few "killer bugs" found at the North Pole if he would change his mind? Probably not, since that creepy stranger who Ryan still hides from named Santa Claus still lives there. No bugs or Santa and his elves....hmmmm....that would be an interesting choice.

As parents there are times we all cave, throw our hands up in the air and just give in to whatever the demand at the moment is. There are times we say "yes" to ice cream before lunch, or "go ahead" to the toy that will wind up in next year's yard sale or "it's fine" through clenched teeth at the hideous outfit chosen for the school picture. Even though we know we shouldn't, we do, because as all the mothers and fathers who have come before us have told us, "pick your battles". That's a great motto to live by as it helps reduce your guilt when your child has ice cream sprinkles hanging from their lips before 10 AM, but when skirmishes erupt regularly throughout the day and they effect all the members of your troops, sometimes it's difficult to decide when to retreat and when to wage a full on war. Don't get me wrong, Ryan is not the captain of this army, (ok, AWEnestly, sometimes he is) and Dan and I have pushed Ryan outside his comfort zone many, many times because we know, that like it or not, the world is not going to adapt to Ryan's needs and desires, Ryan has to adapt to the world. And this past week, that world has expanded to include a puppy because regardless of the battlefield damage, Ryan can't always be victorious.

This is not our first pet experience, we had a Siberian Husky named Niyka for 15 years, 10 of which Ryan was present for. Needless to say, a 15 year old dog behaves much differently than a 9 week old puppy. When Ryan was little, we have a video of him taking pieces of Niyka's food and running with it and giggling while Niyka chased gently after him, but for most of Niyka's life, Ryan ignored her. So, you can imagine my surprise when Dan and I broke the sad news to Ryan that Niyka's time with us had ended and he responded with gut wrenching sobs while crawling onto my lap protesting, "but I didn't even get to tell her that I loved her". We assured Ryan that Niyka knew and I believe in some way she did. At least Ryan didn't scream at Niyka when her 97 human year old bladder failed her ALL THE TIME. Poor Niyka, Ryan may have left her alone most of the time, but when you are 97, that may be just want you want.

Maybe it's Ryan's lack of "puppy dog tail" ingredient that made him somewhat indifferent to Niyka or maybe it was the fact that she was old for so long, she just bored him, but unlike many kids on the spectrum, dogs don't impress Ryan. For whatever reason, many kids with an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis actually love animals, sometimes preferring these fuzzy friends to people. Several studies have shown that when autistic children are interacting or in the presence of animals, these kids smile more, talk more and become more socially engaged. This calming influence has lead to pet therapy for children and adults with ASD. In addition to pet therapy, service dogs are often used for children with autism who tend to wander. The dogs are trained to track the child if he wanders away and also to nudge the child when the child begins to wander thus avoiding a full out, terrifying search for these lost kids who often find themselves in danger. I met a mother once whose son had autism and she told me her son's service dog was trained to bump her son when his stimming (self-stimulation) became so obsessive that he could actually injure himself. The dog helped calm her son down to the point that he no longer needed to "stim".

There is no real definitive answer to why so many children and adults with autism have this supposed animal connection, but Temple Grandin, the well known animal scientist, author and professor living with autism believes autistic people can often think the way animals think. In fact, in Grandin's book, "Animals in Translation: Using the Mysteries of Autism to Decode Animal Behavior" she sees "autism as a kind of way station on the road from animals to humans---putting autistic people in the perfect position to translate "animal talk". Although Temple Grandin may have changed the cattle industry with her ability to relate and understand cattle, I don't believe Ryan is the next Dr. Doolittle. However, I do believe that Ryan appreciates and loves that neither one of our dogs ever asked him to discuss his day and he fully appreciates that dogs don't care one way or another whether he brushes his teeth or combs his hair.

Although a near death wasp experience at the first puppy shopping stop we made may have prevented Ryan from utilizing any Dr. Doolittle expertise he had up his sleeve, he did at least pet two of the puppies we carried to the van where he sat waiting with the windows up to prevent any further wasp fly by's. Ryan's choice of Rook was weighted higher than anyone else's which gave Ryan some sense of control of a decision he felt was totally unfair. And although Ryan didn't want "any stupid dog" in the first place, he watched and giggled at the puppy's antics from a safe distance in the van most of the way home.

Upon returning home, Ryan begged to go with me to the pet store to pick up all the expensive, necessary items a new puppy requires. I figured he had candy in mind because yes, even in the check out line at the pet store, there is enticing candy right at kid level. Ryan helped shop for a few things then asked if he could go see the other "animals". When I found Ryan ten minutes later he was entranced by of all things, the mice. With intermittent times of flat out belly laughing to his big trying not to smile autismy grin when another man equally interested in the mice approached, to his concern that the one mouse wasn't moving, my Dr. Doolittle was more impressed with some little vermin than cute, snuggly puppies. Of course it helped that the mice were safely encased in 2 inch think glass. I asked Ryan why he liked the mice so much and he said they were "funny" and "interesting". When I told him with all his math and sciencey smartness maybe one day he could become a scientist working with mice conducting experiments on how animals think and why they behave the way they do. Ryan was thrilled such a job existed. My beautiful, intelligent son may prefer mice to people one day, and if you take just 10 minutes to watch the news, read the paper, or watch some ridiculous reality television show, you might just discover that Ryan, and kids like him, are smarter than any of us.

Although it took exactly 30 minutes of Rook's arrival for Ryan to ask, "Does anyone else think this was a bad decision?", Ryan has already "gotten use to Rookie" and he loves playing with Rookie on the safe side of the wall. I hope as Rook gets bigger and calmer, Ryan and he will become the best of friends because even though Ryan's ingredient list is different than many little boys, he still wants to be loved, understood and respected even if there has never been a frog in his pocket or dirt on his knees. There is nothing like loyal, unconditional, unwavering love that curls up next to you after a day of drafting a confusing fictional writing piece, tolerating the stupid, testosterone filled bullies on the bus and suffering through a torturous 42 minutes of smelly, sticky art class. All the ugliness of the day seems to dissolve into that soft, snuggly fur and the stench of narrow mindedness and prejudice is replaced with the sweet, warm, stinky dog breath panting up at you. Regardless of our ingredient list, whether we are made of sugar and spice and everything nice or frogs, snails and puppy dog tails, we all need to add heaping cups of love, handfuls of understanding, abundant sprinkles of laughter, a touch of flexibility and unlimited forgiveness in order to turn out "just right". Otherwise, we may just end up on the other side of the pet store glass while the genetically altered "interesting" and "funny"  laboratory mice take over the world. I'm pretty sure Ryan would be spared.

We've all heard the phrase, "stubborn as a mule", in fact, we wives have probably mumbled it under our breath or screamed it out loud when our mule like husbands refuse to ask for directions and this stubbornness inevitably leads to endless wrong turns, new names for the British woman squawking through the GPS and new, colorful language for our children to use on the playground. Yes, chances are we have all encountered the backside of a mule. Whether it's been your soul mate in the driver's seat next to you or the jackass who cuts you off on the highway only to immediately take the next exit, these encounters with "mules" very rarely causes us to think or say aloud, "Wow, I bet they are smart!"

Believe it or not, mules have gotten a bad rap for all these years, because you see, mules aren't really stubborn, they are really smart. Mules may appear stubborn or lazy, but AWEnestly, these creatures' "stubbornness" stems from their intelligence and unwillingness to put themselves in danger. A mule is NOT going to walk across the Grand Canyon on a 2 inch cable like that not so smart, Nik Wallenda while praying for Jesus to keep the winds down to a low blow (a mule, and most humans, are defintely smarter than Nik Wallenda). The mule has been unfairly portrayed in movies, books, cartoons, etc as being too stubborn to move while their caretaker pulls, pushes and bribes the long eared creature to budge just a little. The fact of the matter is, whether it's a 2 inch cable across the Grand Canyon or a perfectly sturdy, sound bridge across a babbling brook, a mule will not budge if he does not feel safe. In fact, many people who have experience working with these animals will tell you, "Trust your mule". Their innate sense of survival makes these "stubborn" mules worth listening to. Little did I know, that for years my very own mule had been trying to get me to "trust" him and aid him in crossing many bridges with a safety harness, a net, bug repellant, a reliable weather tracking system and oregano free pasta.

To say that Ryan is as "stubborn as a mule" would be the grossest understatement of the year. Ryan is as stubborn as a pack of mules and more stubborn than a pack of navigationally challenged husbands driving aimlessly on the back streets of Smalltown, USA looking for a "shortcut". Back in my early days, when I was traveling those back streets with Clueless and Denial, I thought I could "break" my stubborn little mule. Clearly, I am NOT as smart as a mule (but, still smarter than Nik Wallenda).

In the days before I had a better understanding of my AWEsome son, when Denial and Clueless were sitting at the dinner table with me (and other equally clueless family members), they would shout, "He will eat when he is hungry!" as Ryan sat staring at his plate, tears streaming down his face refusing to put one bite of spaghetti in his mouth because he was convinced the oregano was "disgusting meat". Or the countless times Denial convinced me that Ryan would "get use to his new_______" (insert any word here....shoes, coat, car seat, pillow, etc) while he screamed his head off and I tried desperately to knock my head off by banging it repeatedly against the wall. I so wanted to believe Denial, that this "stubbornness" was the Terrible 2's and that Ryan was just struggling with his new found independence, but when the Terrible 2's became the Traumatizing 3's, the Freaking Out 4's and the Furious 5's, I knew that Denial, once again, lead me out onto a 2 inch cable over the Grand Canyon without a safety harness. 

After learning that autism had much to do with Ryan's "stubbornness", I repeatedly asked the experts, "How do I know where the stubbornness ends and autism begins?". After many years of not getting a satisfactory answer, and countless goose eggs on my head from bouncing it off of terribly hard drywall, I realized that there is no beginning or end. Autism and "stubbornness" are as intertwined as the DNA of a horse mare and a donkey stallion (this DNA cross breeding equals a mule...trivia tip for the day. You're welcome). Ryan's so called "stubbornness" is as misunderstood for him and kids on the autism spectrum as it is for the mule. Ryan's intelligence and heightened fight or flight system, gives him a deep rooted, innate sense of self-preservation. Whether it's a rickety old bridge or oregano disguised as meat, protecting himself from harm isn't stubbornness, it's just plain smart.

Rigidity of thinking is the term used for kids with an ASD, not "stubbornness". Whether it's as extreme as Rainman's refusal to fly on an airplane or "four minutes til Wapner" or as mild (I use the term mild VERY loosely) as Ryan's refusal to eat a cheese sandwich for lunch in the summer time because it's not served cold from his lunchbox while sitting in a school cafeteria, this rigidity of thinking can make the best moms and dads lose their minds. However, what it does to my sweet little mule and kids like him, can be paralyzing, stopping these kids in their tracks, just like the so called, stubborn mule. This rigidity to kids on the spectrum is as self-preserving as the mules innate sense to stop working before being worked to death. Ryan is certainly rigid, but with some valuable lessons from Straight Nate and Curvy Herbie, my little boy has learned to bend...sometimes....thanks to a couple of stick figures and to his AWEsome speech therapist.

Here is an example, just the other night I warned Ryan we may have to postpone our weekly Wednesday grocery shopping trip until Thursday because I was helping my girlfriend move her father into a retirement community. Well, you would have thought I just told Ryan that someone blew up the Jello Pudding plant (pudding is the precise reason the grocery store was so vital, we were out. Even in the back up pudding fridge). Besides his beloved pudding, Ryan also lives for Donut Thursdays. The kids are allowed to pick out a donut on Wednesday to have Thursday morning for breakfast (AWEful, I know, but don't judge). Needless to say, Donut Friday is NOT Donut Thursday. After Ryan wailed, "I don't care about any stupid move, you are causing me to suffer greatly!", Curvy Herbie sidled up beside him when I said, "I bet the 4th of July donuts are so much better than the 3rd of July donuts". Maybe years of trying to get Curvy Herbie to take out Straight Nate have made me smart as a mule. Ryan still complains, shouts and feels all the injustice of the often scary, loud and chaotic world, but he has become a bit more flexible in his thinking and I didn't even have to "break" him.

Ryan's rigidity of thought also makes apologizing and being wrong VERY difficult. Let's face it, most of us don't like to be wrong and some of us have a much harder time saying the epitome of wrongness words, "I'm sorry", but for Ryan, it shakes the core of his existence. His need for sameness and being right is what makes an otherwise chaotic world, predictable and safe. Ryan lost his underwater pool oasis privileges the other day for dunking his sister in the deep end. All Ryan had to do was apologize. He refused and spent the rest of the day pacing around the pool berating himself for being "an idiot", but no way was he uttering, "I'm sorry". Ryan has been known to sit for hours staring at his homework not writing a single word for fear of not knowing with absolute certainty that his answer is correct. Not getting it "right" could make the sky come falling down on his head, or at the very least, make him "feel stupid". Just like the mule taking his good old, stubborn time deciding if the bridge will lead him safely to the other side or possibly send him plunging over the edge, for Ryan, being right, eating the same food, wearing the same clothes and grocery shopping on the same day has proven time and time again to be predictable and "safe", so why risk the change? Why swap a sturdy bridge for a 2 inch cable across the Grand Canyon or heaven forbid, plain old pasta for a little oregano sprinkled spaghetti sauce?

Ryan is more flexible when he is prepared for change or warned of perceived
impending danger. It may be alerting him days in advance or showing him a
visual schedule or a plan for something new. Maybe, after all these
years of misunderstanding the intelligent mule, had someone shown the mules a
social story of making it safely across the bridge, we wouldn't say, "stubborn
as a mule", we would say, "smart as a mule" and we would have to find a new
animal to compare our stubborn, refuse to ask for directions, husbands.

As I sit watching my incredibly smart, beautiful son slugging in front of the television during these long days of summer, I feel certain that like the mule, Ryan's innate sense of self-preservation will keep him from ever working himself to death. And although there were many times I wanted to strap a bit and harness on my boy to pull him in the direction he needed to go, I never did. Instead, I screamed, I swore, I cried and at times I wondered if God made the right choice in giving such an intelligent, beautiful creature to this average, old stable hand mother. Most days, however, regardless of how many times I have had to push or pull, I try to "see" through Ryan's eyes, "hear" through Ryan's ears, "feel" through Ryan's skin and "think" through Ryan's brain in order to help my "stubborn" son cross all the scary bridges of life.  Whether it is something truly threatening such as a tornado watch or something perceived as threatening like oregano lurking in his pasta (which by the way he has totally boycotted....it's just not worth the risk), as Ryan's mother, I have hung up the harness and instead of throwing a saddle on his back to "break" him, I continue to throw my arms around him and try to understand him. Sadly though, the rest of the world has not. So, on the days when ignorance wins and the world is trying to "break" my boy by pulling too much and pushing too hard, my arms will be his safety harness and my heart will be his net, and together we will cross all the swinging, unsteady, rickety bridges together one hoof, I mean, one step at a time.