Well, it's been one week. Have you rushed out to get the iPhone 6? Were you standing in line so you could, as my husband likes to put it, be the first to "stick your head in the oven because everyone else does"? I was not standing in line, even though I wanted to be....even though my contract was up over 8 months ago....even though I am more than ready for an upgrade, but, with a husband like that, I couldn't be the first to put my head in the oven, because I hate to prove my husband right. In fact, AWEnestly, I love to prove him wrong. 

So, here I sit, blogging on my iPhone 4s dinosaur, trying to act like it's no biggie that it takes 90 seconds for Facebook to open up, or that my battery lasts approximately 45 minutes before I have to run to an outlet somewhere, trying to act like I don't care what "everyone else is doing". Just an FYI, I'm secretly dying to be like all the other people out there baking their head, impatiently waiting to stick my head right alongside their head in the iPhone 6 oven, assuming the oven is big enough and the temperature is set to low. And I don't even care if the new, problematic iOS8 keeps me from making a call on my "phone" or if I keep my new iPhone 6 in my pocket too long and it bends like a pretzel, it's still an iPhone, right?

If I'm AWEnest, part of my love affair with Steve Jobs and all things Apple is indeed, because "everyone's doing it", but, I truly do love and bow to all things "i" because for someone who is as technologically savvy as the Anti-Steve Jobs, "i" devices are simple and easy. I love my iPhone, iPad and I just recently started a romance with my MacBook Air. So as much as I have a love-hate relationship with my antiquated iPhone 4s, I still love it when my old dinosaur outsmarts Dan's Samsung. "Oh yes, it's quite easy for me to upload this video of our dog chasing his tail to Vine. Your Samsung can't do that?", I ask innocently while gloating inside.

Like any good mother, I want my kids to put their heads in the oven with me so they can be on my side, not Dad's side. (The oven would be on very, very low and everyone would have their heads wrapped in oven mitts). This is why Kyle has an iPhone, Emma has an iPad Mini, Ryan has an iPod Touch and just last month, when Ryan turned 13, he became an official put your head in the oven, iPhone user. Well, maybe "user" isn't the correct word, more like an iPhone "owner", or iPhone "shelf decorator" (that's two words), since Ryan's iPhone has seen little to no use, besides that first day when I forced his head into the oven with mine.

As parents, it is our job to lead our children safely into the age of technology, making them choose the technological path that is right for them without trying to sway them too much to "our side". This is true for most things in the parenting department. Whether it's smart phones, religion, college selection or dating prospects, we parents are suppose to guide, not choose. For example, the main character in the book, "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." , Margaret is trying to figure out which religion she belongs to since her mother's family is Christian and her father's family is Jewish. With both families trying to convince Margaret where she belongs, trying to pull her to their "side", Margaret turns to God while trying to figure out her own choices and not letting family influence her. 

Clearly, Dan believes I am trying to force Ryan into believing in the Apple Gods which is why it made perfect sense that I would jump on the iPhone 5c as the ideal 13th birthday gift for Ryan. However, if I'm being AWEnest, it wasn't so much my belief in Steve Jobs that caused me to push Ryan's head in the oven with mine as much as it was my desire to have Ryan "be like everyone else'. It seems that just when I think I have removed Denial from my Favorites on my iPhone, I find myself calling her again and again, "Are you there Denial? It's me, Kate."

Unfortunately, no matter how many iPhone upgrades I get, how many iOS operating systems I download, or how many factory resets I do, Denial always remain somewhere in the vastness of the iCloud, always at my disposal, waiting for my call. Regardless of how far down on my Favorites Denial goes, no matter how many times I have deleted her contact information, thanks to the Cloud, Denial is always there, ready to answer my call when I get caught up in the "everyone is doing it" mindset that so often does not apply to my son.

Denial assured me that with this new iPhone, Ryan would become more social. After all, it's easier to socialize via texts, tweets, and posts. Yet Ryan's iPhone has remained on his dresser for most of a month, with Siri begging for something to do. The iPod Touch, is still Ryan's go to, the iPhone, which "every kid" would love to have, sits on his dresser collecting dust. It didn't help that the original iPhone 5c we bought Ryan had a glitch and it deleted all of Ryan's overpriced data in 48 hours and put the fear of God and Verizon Overage Charges in my boy's psyche, but, mostly, I believe the reason Ryan's iPhone has become a dust collector is because Ryan is more like his dad, not quite ready to stick his head in the oven just because everyone else is doing it, or because good old mom had Siri ring up Denial for me....again.

Needless to say, when you aren't sure how the oven works, or how other people hanging out in the oven with you may respond to your new found place in the oven, it's easy to understand the fear of being burnt. Taking social risks for Ryan, whether it's in the school lunchroom or via a text in the privacy and safety of his bedroom, is scary. Ryan wants his response to be cool, to be "right", to be perfect. Rather than risk getting burnt, much to my dismay, Ryan has decided to keep the oven off and now it's Dan's turn to gloat.

I know it makes perfect sense that I want Ryan to text, tweet, post, and snap like all the other kids his age. And even when Ryan's words, "you know I'm not a real social guy" rang in my head at the Verizon store, I believed in my heart, that the magic of Apple would change all of that, or at the very least, I believed being social on social media, might come more easily for Ryan than being social face to face. Denial tweeted that she believed it too, #letsgetsocial, so of course I proudly retweeted it, right from Ryan's new, white iPhone 5c (that is costing us $50 a month to collect dust).

When I either intentionally call or butt dial Denial, Denial usually steers me in the wrong direction, because Denial tends to see the world more through my eyes rather than through Ryan's eyes. This time though, I believe that the joy Ryan felt when he opened his new iPhone is truly how he feels in his heart and on his birthday, in that moment, there was no denying Ryan's joy when he opened that iPhone. Denial may have caused me to turn the oven on a little too soon, but, I think in time, Ryan may actually love the oven (sorry Dad) and in time he may just retweet Denial's #letsgetsocial. Just like so many developmental milestones with Ryan, all things eventually come to him, it just takes a little longer for him to catch on to the notion that "everyone is doing it" whether that's walking, talking, texting or tweeting. 

Will Ryan become a social media extraordinaire or the next YouTube sensation? Will Ryan's iPhoto be as filled with selfies and photos of friends as his big brother Kyle or his aging, still trying to be cool, mother? I doubt it, but, I do believe in time, Ryan will feel comfortable texting and posting his latest Minecraft zombie kill on Instagram. Ryan once told me being social is difficult because "it's hard to think fast", and the magic of Apple, Samsung, and Droid is that no matter which oven you decide to stick your head into, you can ignore, delete, silence or have Siri respond for you, after you have had time to "think" and formulate a response. Maybe it's still Denial talking, but, I believe socializing on social media will open, or at the very least crack, the oven door a little wider in all things social for Ryan, regardless of which oven he chooses.

Just like Margaret had to figure out who she was on her own regardless of the influences of family, peers, and the pressure of growing up, Ryan will find his place regardless of the influence of his dad, his mom, or his mom's BFF, Denial. Whether it's smart phones, religion, school socials, proms, or career choices, Ryan will need our guidance, but, ultimately Ryan will choose. Perhaps Ryan will stick his head in the "everybody's doing it" oven with me, the non-conformist oven with his father, or his very own, yet to be determined, oven. 

Regardless of which oven Ryan chooses, he will figure it out his way, in his own time. I just hope that whatever path Ryan embarks upon, he will take loads of photos that he can share with me in iPhoto, send me tons of iMessages to fill me in on what he's up to, and FaceTime me regularly to let me know where he is heading next, so that I can proudly tweet, text, and post from my latest, greatest iPhone, assuming, that I can get my head out of the oven in order to do so.

My yard (and my pool) are filled with leaves, so, I guess that means the falling star I wished (begged) upon, for just one more month of summer, burned out before my wish reached it. Never trust a hot, firey, ball of gas burning in the atmosphere thousands of miles away, to make your dreams come true.

Along with the leaves, the crisp air and everything pumpkin flavored, tis the season for germs too. We've already had one stomach virus, three colds, a sore throat, and a horrific cough that I immediately assumed was the first east coast case of Enterovirus D68 (My parents actually called to see if I was "aware" of this horrifically contagious virus. Silly parents.) that has been plaguing the mid-west. Thanks to all these nasty little germs, when the seasons change, sadly, so do my kisses. That's when my full smack them on the lips kisses quickly morph into, at best, a kiss on the cheek, or during a serious stomach virus outbreak, perhaps a quick peck on top of the head (as long as no vomit hit the top of their head) or a butterfly kiss to a fairly germ free area, like the elbow.

When kids are little, they love smooching you right on the lips, germs be damned. And it's cute and adorable and you enjoy it (germ spreading and all) because you know it wont' last forever. The kisses, the snuggles, the hugs, will change as quickly as the seasons. They may become fewer, less publicly displayed, given only in exchange for a bribe, or disappear all together. The love that was once behind the kisses may feel like it changes too and I guess in a way it does, but, it does not make the love or the kisses any less real.

Kisses come in various forms depending on the kisser, the kissee and whether or not flu shots have been administered yet. There is the peck on the cheek kiss, the smooch on the lips kiss, the butterfly kiss, the Eskimo kiss (which is called a kunik and the nose rubbing thing is not done because Eskimos believe their lips will freeze, it's done because typically noses are the only thing exposed in subzero temperatures), and the French kiss (blush). There are kisses reserved for our children, for our parents, for our grandparents, for our friends, and for our lovers. Believe it or not, there is actually a science for studying kisses, it's called Philematology. Imagine if under your yearbook photo you had "Future Philematologist" as your chosen career path. I bet you wouldn't have had any problem finding a prom date, as long as your date's parents didn't see the yearbook.

I wonder what a philematologist would call a kiss that nearly suffocates you? What kind of hypothesis could a kissing scientist make of a hard to breath because while kissing, the kisser's nose is pushed so hard on the kissee's cheek that air stops circulating to the kisser's lungs, type of kiss? This is not an intentional kiss of death like a mafia mob boss places on his next unsuspecting victim's cheek, signaling an equally unsuspecting "swim in the river", no, this is a kiss to the cheek of a boy who can only tolerate deep pressure smooches to his cheek. Butterfly and Eskimo kisses are not wanted here. I guess that rules out a move to Alaska or Antarctica for Ryan.

I have always been a snuggler. Many days my lips would be chapped form kissing the tops of my babies sweet smelling heads. Each of my kids were smooched and suffocated with my love equally. When Ryan was little, before we heard The A Word, my friend Denial would assure me that my worries of "something being wrong" with Ryan were ridiculous because Ryan loved to be snuggled and smooched. Denial was right, Ryan did love snuggles by someone he trusted, someone he knew, but, it took years for those snuggles to be reciprocated. Years until those sweet chubby arms found my neck, and even longer until those sweet tiny lips found my cheek. I hoped upon hope that one day, my snuggling would be returned, but, while I waited, I kept on kissing, hugging and snuggling. It was so worth the wait.

For a while, Ryan tolerated my kisses, even smiled after he received one. In time though, as Ryan got older, my smooches would often get rubbed off immediately, and vigorously, even if they weren't "wet" and even if I appeared relatively germ free. Ryan's removal of my kisses did not happen because Ryan was a germaphobe like his mother, it was because my light, gentle kiss on the cheek, or the head, was as bothersome to Ryan as the Mafia's Kiss of Death.

One time, Ryan's Occupational Therapist, Miss M noticed my little smooch to Ryan's cheek that he immediately tried to rub off with the palm of his hand. I hadn't noticed Miss M observing us because by then, I had grown use to this behavior and tried not to take it personally (uh-huh, right). So, I was surprised when Miss M explained that it was the light touch of my kiss that caused Ryan discomfort, so in order to remove the "feeling" of my soft, tickly, feeling kiss, Ryan would apply deep pressure to his cheek to sort of counteract the light touch of my kiss.

That was when I learned about the positive and calming effects of deep pressure for kids with an ASD. A light touch, like a kiss, for someone with a heightened sensory system, tends to alert the nervous system, putting the fight or flight mode into high gear, but, deep pressure, like a big squeezie tight hug, a squeeze to the arm or shoulder, can have a more calming effect.

There are weighted vests, weighted blankets, weighted shirts for kids and adults with an ASD that offers them the deep pressure their sensory system so desperately craves. Many experts believe that the reason many kids and adults with an ASD love water is because water provides that feeling of deep pressure, the sensory input their nervous system needs to help calm them down or just to make them feel better.

It is this same deep pressure need for Ryan that has caused our kisses to change as quickly as the seasons. The easy, gentle kisses of childhood have been carried away with the summer sun. They have been replaced with kisses that border on a take your breath away, knock you over, strip all the final leaves off the trees, winter time nor'easter. When I go to kiss that teenage cheek, in order to get that deep pressure feeling Ryan's sensory system craves, Ryan pulls the back of my head and firmly pushes my kiss so tightly against his cheek, I am almost knocked over. I laugh and tell Ryan he is going to suffocate me or break my nose, and he eases his grip and starts giggling. Ryan understands that my kisses reaffirm my love for him. Ryan may not need or want that kiss, but, he knows it's something Mommy loves to do. So, although a kiss to the cheek may not be what Ryan needs to understand my love, I am fortunate because Ryan has found a way to tolerate my kisses. I just need to take a deep breath, get my balance, and have an Ear Nose and Throat doctor on standby, before going in for a goodnight kiss.   

I have always been grateful that for the most part, Ryan has tolerated my snuggles, my hugs, my kisses. For many parents loving a child with an ASD, those light touches are too much for their sensory sensitive child to handle, so many kids pull away from a loving touch quickly, or don't allow it at all. These parents have had to find a different way to show their love and the lack of kisses and hugs don't make a parent's love any less, in fact, I believe it makes their love that much deeper. These moms and dads have put away their wants, their needs for hugs, snuggles and kisses, to give their child what they need, and after all, isn't that what unconditional love is ultimately about? Putting someone else's needs before your own....no matter how much it hurts.

This is why, even though Ryan no longer kisses my cheek ("Your skin tastes gross", and yes, I have tried numerous lotions and they all make my skin "taste gross"), I am grateful for any stolen kiss I can give to him, even if those kisses almost break my nose and lead to a slight loss of oxygen. So, regardless of the change of season, and what germs may be silently lurking in my house, I will happily risk a 48 hour bug for a 10 second deep pressure, possible cervical vertebrae misalignment kiss, to give Ryan and me what we both need to feel happy, calm and loved. 

If the Philematologist I contacted earlier is reading this post, please disregard my call. Like so many things on this autism journey, Ryan and I figured this out on our own.

As a mother, after your baby is born and you get over the whole, "OMG I am responsible for taking care of this squirming, squishy, helpless creature", whose only form of communicating his or her needs and wants is via a banshee type cry, it doesn't take long for your maternal instincts to kick in and you quickly learn how to decipher one banshee wail from the next. It's funny how the cries of a child vary from situation to situation and how quickly we moms figure out which cry you need to run to with a bucket, a band aid, or a kiss.

There is the "Feed me now I don't care if it's 3AM cry". The "How many more episodes of Friends are you going to watch before you change my big, puffy, soggy diaper?" cry. The "I'm never going to nap, no matter how long you hold out so just get in here and pick me up because you know you are going to pick me up anyway" cry. And of course, a personal favorite of mine, the "Oops Mommy forgot the baby's head sticks out farther than Mommy's elbow and when Mommy walks through the door she whacks baby's head on the door frame." cry. Even as our babies get bigger and are able to communicate with more than a cry, a wail or a scream, the cry is still what gets our attention. The cry calls moms to action. And as crying experts, regardless of the age of our child, we moms are still able to differentiate the cry of fear, hurt, heartache, stress, and anger.

A "big brother who just ran over little sister's favorite, can't live without it, Cinderella doll with his Tonka truck" cry, is very discernible from "brother just pinched little sister because he likes to watch her get what she has coming to her" cry. A "someone finished the Pringles and left the empty container in the pantry" cry is much different than an "I got tearless, burnless shampoo (doesn't exist) in my eye" cry. 

Yes, we moms know the wail of a skinned knee, the crocodile tears of a broken heart, the stifled, hiding the face in a couch pillow sob of a Disney movie death (AWEnestly, someone always dies and 9 chances out of 10, it's the mother), and the terrified scream of a nightmare. We know when mommy's kiss will make it all better or when more extreme measures are necessary. Maybe it comes with years of training our ear to hear a cry that signals a real emergency so we don't have to pause the DVR during the season finale of Downton Abbey, or maybe it's just that moms have a direct line from our child's heart to our own. We feel their needs, so we know when and how to respond. Whatever the reason, a child's cry is mom's signal that help is wanted or needed, and so, we act. 

But what if there are no cries, no wails, no screams, or no tears? What if a child suffers quietly, alone and in silence? How then does a mother discern the kind of pain, the degree of pain and the right treatment of the pain if she is completely unaware the pain even exists? How do you kiss it and make it better when "it" is completely unknown?

When Ryan was little, I use to worry that he had some freakishly high threshold of pain. I'd put him in the tubby in what felt like "just right" tubby water only to discover he was firetruck red from the waist down with not so much as a peep out of him. Then as Ryan got older, I believed his threshold for pain was so low that I wondered if he had some type of neurological problem. A tiny little bump to his finger or toe would elicit blood curdling screams of what he believed was certain impending amputation. Then once I knew, once we heard The A Word, than I realized that Ryan's pain level may vary somewhat due to his overtaxed sensory system, but, for the most part, Ryan's level of pain isn't much different than yours or mine, but, how Ryan expresses his pain, or doesn't express his pain, is what varies from you or me.

Just this week I found out that for Ryan, some boo boos are too ouchy to cry about.  Some pain is too difficult to share, so the hurt is hidden, buried away, and the pain does not illicit a cry, a scream or a tear. Some hurts remain hidden behind a veil of silence until one day, a simple English assignment pulls the veil away.

Ryan had to do a writing assignment about himself. Some of his major accomplishments, things he enjoys, as well as writing about "some of the worst things that have happened to you". It was in this category where Ryan's cry was finally heard. He wrote, "4th grade" then "massive humiliations that I don't want to mention here". What? Fourth grade? There were no cries of help, no screams of injustices, no tears of pain. How did I, his mother, his protector, his translator of cries, not know Ryan had suffered "massive humiliations"?

After a bit of prompting, Ryan admitted that a boy in his grade had been bullying him for years. I felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. I truly thought I might throw up directly on his writing assignment, which would have lead to one more example for my poor boy to put in the category, "some of the worst things that have ever happened to you". I had my suspicions about this boy, in my gut I knew something was going on, but, Ryan did not cry, he did not scream, he did not wail so how could I interpret silence? I was terrified, that somehow, when Ryan needed me most, our connection, the line from his heart to mine, had been disrupted.

As I tried to go back and recall signs of what I had been missing, I wondered, was it my good old bullying friend Denial whispering in my ear, "He's fine, there would be signs if he was being bullied." the reason that I didn't hear Ryan's cries? What parent wants to believe their child is being harassed, taunted and made to feel badly about himself? Even with Denial's influence, I followed my gut and I still warned Ryan's teachers, his principal and his guidance counselor to be on alert for this bully. They watched out for problems, they listened for cries, they looked for tears, yet they were as blinded by bullying as I was. Ryan saw it, he heard it and what's worse, he felt it, yet, Ryan never cried. He never told Mommy to kiss it and make it better. So I didn't.

When I asked Ryan why he didn't tell me, or tell one of his teachers, he said, "I couldn't find my words". Along with my dinner contents, the blood from my heart spilled over onto Ryan's writing assignment. Ryan's words, along with his pain, were buried deep inside his AWEsome brain and he wasn't sure how to get the words out. Along with processing his pain differently, autism causes Ryan to process his feelings and his language differently. It's hard for him to put words to feelings, so instead of trying, instead of crying, he suffered in silence. A silence that even Mommy's kiss couldn't break through.

I have cried more tears than I can count this week and have gone through a range of emotions...heartache, anger, guilt, shame....feelings that all stem back to, Mommy failed to protect him and could not kiss it and make it better. As easy as it would be to blame myself, blame the school, and even blame Ryan for not telling, I blame no one other than the bully, with a little bit of blame directed toward the bully's parents.

Bullies are sneaky. Bullies are manipulative. Bullies prey on those they perceive as weak. Bullies are nice to their victims in front of school personnel, in front of students who will "tell" and even in front of the victim"s mother. The bully hides in the shadows where no one is looking, where no one can hear the cries of his victims.

The irony for you bully, is that my son is not weak. Despite your name calling, your teasing, your harassment, my son has thrived. My son has reached goals you could only ever dream of reaching. My son has more accomplishments under his belt than mean names that you shamelessly carry under yours. You did not win bully. You will never win.

In the middle of my angst this week, one of my BFF's said, "One day (insert bully's name here) will be washing Ryan's Mercedes". In that moment, it felt good to picture this bully washing the rims of Ryan's shiny new Benz, while Ryan sat inside looking down at the boy who no longer posed any kind of threat, feeling like justice had finally been served. The moment of gleeful retribution quickly passed though because Ryan does not have a Mercedes today. 

Today, Ryan is not worrying about who will wash his imaginary car or what he will be when he grows up or what prison the bully may wind up in, Ryan just wants to go to school, to learn about the metric system and algebraic equations, and to continue singing his heart out in a safe place free of bullies. In a place where Ryan feels valued, a place where Ryan feels pride, a place where Ryan feels special, a place where Ryan feels protected.

With the range of emotions that hit you as a mother when they place that squishy, funny looking creature on your chest seconds after they enter the world, the strongest of these emotions is the instinct to protect. Regardless of how smooshy and wrinkly that new baby looks, and how very briefly you have known him, you know that you would do anything to protect him, but, sometimes we can't always be there to kiss it and make it better. Sometimes we can't be there to kiss the scraped knee at recess, to hug a broken heart sitting alone in a college dorm room, or to call out the bully in the classroom, and to a mother, this inability to protect is anguishing. The pain of your silently suffering child makes the pain of childbirth feel as mild as a scraped knee. It is when we can't kiss it and make it better that we mother's need an epidural to ease our pain.

Yes, I will probably always suffer from the guilt of not hearing my son's silent cries, for not listening more with my heart than with me ears. I will wonder if autism stood in Ryan's way, if autism made it hard for Ryan to "find his words" and to find his cry. As Ryan continues to grow and mature, I may not always be able to kiss it and make it better, that is the sad reality for all parents. However, just like a newborn baby knows that even if you don't hear their cries at first, eventually you will be there to pick them up, to soothe them, to hold them, and to kiss it and make it better. 

I take comfort in knowing that no matter what was happening in the classroom, on the playground and in the hallways, Ryan knew that when he got home, when he made it safely to my arms, then, at that time, he felt safe, he felt happy, he felt loved. Ryan knew that even if I wasn't "there", eventually, I would be, and Mommy would kiss it and make it better, without him ever needing to utter a word. 

Autism may sometimes disrupt the line of communication between Ryan and me, making it harder for me to hear him, but, that disruption doesn't make our line, our connection, or the message Ryan is conveying any weaker. Ryan's difficulty with expressing himself just makes me appreciate the words, the cries and even the banshee wails all the more because I know how hard he worked to"find his words" which makes the line from my heart to his, even stronger.

In this instance, although my heart may ache and lead me to believe that my connection with Ryan was weak, and that I failed him, my brain knows our connection was strong and even though I didn't "hear" him, the love, support, and encouragement Ryan felt at home, helped him prevail. The only thing weak here, is the bully and his meager, failed attempt to keep my son from succeeding. 

Ryan is not weak, Ryan is strong. Strong enough to know that even though this bully's teasing and words may have caused Ryan "massive humiliations", when he was in 4th grade, and even though the bully still makes Ryan feel "uncomfortable" today, Ryan now believes in himself, not in the empty words of a bully. I believe going forward, it will be Ryan who will find his words and it will be the bully that will be at a loss for words, for names, for taunts and the bully will find himself cast out of the shadows. And we all know, that without the shadows, the bully's words, his actions, and sometimes even the bully himself, amount to nothing.

As for my friend's glimpse into Ryan's Mercedes driving future, and the bully's soap and bucket car washing future, well, all I can say is, I hope Ryan picks a white or a black Mercedes because those two colors are very, very, difficult to clean and Ryan is incredibly meticulous.  

When I awoke Tuesday morning to what I believe is the real official, there is no denying summer is over, and the kids are officially back to school week, through my bleary eyed, I wish I liked coffee morning haze, I saw a scuttlebutt on the news about some private nude celebrities' photos being leaked over the internet. Of course, like any good 45 year old mother who has three kids to get ready for school, I tossed aside the waffles and quickly turned to social media to see what all the hulabaloo was about. And sure enough, Facebook and Twitter were trending the news that photos of Jennifer Lawrence, Kate Upton and numerous other celebrities in various stages of undress, were downloaded from private phones for the entire world to see.

Ironically, I just watched Kate Upton in the movie, The Other Woman this weekend, and the bikini she was wearing in the film certainly qualified as a "various stage of undress" and although I get and respect the whole invasion of privacy stuff, I failed to see what all the excitement was about.

Yes, my 16 year old son would have loved a quick peak at Kate's nude selfie (which makes me throw up a little bit), but, I failed to see the media fervor over such an event. I mean, a new sighting of Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster (clothed or unclothed) wouldn't have created such a social media storm. Is that because even though there have been over 3,000 sightings of the mythical creature, some folks still have a hard time believing Nessie is real since they haven't seen her with their own eyes? Or is it because a topless Kate Upton selfie is living proof to doubters that "they" are real, which is even harder to believe than a giant, 1,000 year old sea creature? Whatever you believe, this week was living proof that naked celebrity selfies beat out the Loch Ness Monster any day.

Just like poor, can't go viral no matter what she does, Nessie, and Kate Upton's hard to believe "they" are real "lung protectors" (my lungs are so doomed), myths, legends, lore and fallacies abound throughout our society. Whether it's believing in Big Foot or little green man, or believing that Kim Kardashian and Kanye West will grow old together, some myths are based solely on what others have heard, seen, or believe and for many folks, that's all the proof they need.

The mystery of autism and how this complex disorder impacts each and every person living with autism so differently, has lead to many beliefs and fallacies that result from "believing what you hear". Myths about autism are almost as far fetched as the belief of a 1,000 year old sea creature living in a big lake in Scotland and the belief that beautiful celebrities never take nude selfies.

I have to admit, back in my Loch Ness Monster tracking days, when my BFF's Denial and Clueless would bundle up for a cruise around Loch Ness in hopes of seeing a mythical creature we had heard so much about, I too fell for some of those autism myths. Myths like, "people with autism don't understand or feel love" (nearly killed me), "people with autism don't need friends" (another tough pill to swallow), "autism is caused by poor parenting" (ouch), and my favorite, "people with autism all have savant like skills" ("Oh, just like Rain Man"). It was hard reading, seeing, hearing, and yes, sometimes believing such things about my son, but, just like Nessie and her fan club, sometimes you can't believe sight unseen, sometimes, you truly do have to see for yourself. 

Of all the autism myths, one that is particularly frustrating for parents is the belief that all people living with autism have some savant type ability, like Dustin Hoffman portrayed as Ray in the movie, Rain Man. The truth is, approximately 1 in 10 people with autism have savant skills, skills that are considered profound and are outside the realm of what is considered "normal". These savant abilities are typically found in math, music, memory, or art. With only 1 out of 10 "Rain Man" type abilities found in the autism population, that means 9 of those people living with autism do not have some prodigious ability. 

It is true that many people living with autism have splinter skills, a certain skill or skills that is well above their overall functioning in other areas, but, that does not make them a savant. That does not make them bound for Las Vegas to count cards. 

For example, Ryan's memory, and nonverbal skills exceed his verbal language and executive functioning. This makes Ryan typical in the atypical world of autism. Ryan also has an intuitive gift of music, his ability to hear a note, immediately name the note and replicate the note, falls in line with someone who has perfect pitch. Does having perfect pitch make Ryan a savant? I use to hope so. I use to pray so. If I'm AWEnest, I use to pray, "If Ryan has autism, then please let him have some supernatural, crazy skill. Let him be the next Bill Gates, Mozart, or Einstein. Amen.". 

As I became more comfortable and accepting of The A Word, I eventually stopped looking for Nessie in every large body of water I entered and I also began believing that Ryan's memory and his musical ability did not make Ryan a savant. These unique and special abilities just made Ryan, Ryan. 

A dear friend of mine has a son with an ASD. Just like every neurotypical child is different than the next child, kids with ASD are equally as different too. My girlfriend's son is much more social than Ryan, but, he has a harder time with school work. Our two boys' strengths and weaknesses vary as much as their interests and their hair color. 

One time, like all mothers, my friend and I were comparing notes on our two boys. A mother loving a child with an ASD finds the most comfort in discussing her child with another mother who "gets it". When we were talking about our AWEsome boys, I remember my girlfriend telling me how so few people actually do "get it" and how little "real" information folks have about autism. It seems, when it comes to autism, that more people believe in the myths, believe in what they hear, not what they actually see, when it comes to The A Word.

When my girlfriend would talk about her son, she would often be asked that mythical autism question, "Oh, what is he good at?". It may be rephrased in various ways, like, "What is his gift?"or "What is his special skill?". The words may be different, but, the belief, the myth, is still the same. If your child has autism then he or must have some savant type skill. And my girlfriend, who worried that her son was given this autism label, yet, didn't have some Rain Man like quality, would respond, "He's just Grant.".

"Just Grant", those two words, two words put together as a result of myth believers when one word should be enough, "Grant". The word Grant or Ryan or Hannah or Caden should never have to be uttered with the word "just" in front of such a beautiful name. "Just Grant" are two words that are filled with such meaning that, it's a wonder the words make it from my friend's heart to her lips. 

"Grant" should be enough, for these Loch Ness Monster, Big Foot myth believers. In fact, "Grant" should be everything, and to my girlfriend, "Grant" is not only enough, "Grant" is all she needs. However, for those who believe the myths, believe what they hear and not what they see, Grant, who falls in the 9 out of 10 kids with autism that do not have savant like skills, for some people, it may seem like something is missing. These are the same people who spend countless hours searching for mythical creatures like Nessie, Big Foot and E.T., looking for something they heard about and desperately want to believe exists, instead of seeing what really exists right in front of them.

Grant, is not "just Grant". Grant is a beautiful little boy who loves all things mechanical. Whether it's a $1.00 mechanical pencil, or a priceless heirloom, Grant loves to take things apart and create something new, using his imagination (which then dispels the "people with autism lack imagination" myth). Grant may not win his parents millions of dollars by counting cards in Vegas, but, that's okay, because Grant's parents already feel like they have struck it rich.

As a parent, it is hard to hear the words, "your child has autism". You spend days, weeks, months, and years convincing yourself that regardless of that label, your child will be okay, even though the myths of autism shroud a blanket of doubt around your heart as thick as fog over the Loch Ness Lake.

Whether it's a giant sea creature, an alien from outer space or a Kate Upton naked selfie, sometimes, seeing is believing. There are still many things we don't know about autism, many aspects about this complex neurological disorder remain as dark and mysterious as the alleged cave where Nessie lives on the bottom of Loch Ness Lake. However, there is one thing we do know, people living with autism want you to accept them, believe in them and SEE them with an open mind free of myths, legends and fallacies. 

Maybe if you do that, you will actually see for yourself and start believing in what is actually real, and not succumb to the belief of a tall tale that was told around a campfire, in a movie script or in a Google search in order to strike fear and ignorance in the hearts of the storyteller's listeners. You will see with your own two eyes, what his mother has known all along, he is not "just" Grant, he is Grant, and then you too will finally believe.