Twice the harmless gym bag has gone missing and now this week, thanks to a hole in the bottom of the 100% nylon (Hollister cotton would have held up so much better) bag, the combination lock has gone missing (insert moaning, groaning and anxiety here). When I went to put the clean clothes in the gym bag, I did not hear the clunk of the lock or feel the pain shoot through my toe as I accidentally dumped the lock onto my, inevitably shoe-less foot. I thought to myself, "Crap. Here we go again...another trip to the dreaded Lost and Found Box. When I mentioned this, Ryan quickly and shakily assured me, "Don't worry about that lock, I don't need a lock. I'm perfectly fine without one.". I think trying to find the lost in a menagerie of junk is more stressful to Ryan than swift and quick punishment by his gym teacher.

Every school has one, and depending on how forgetful the student body is, the Lost and Found could be a box, a bin, or a closet. Regardless of size and location, the Lost and Found is typically filled with a disorganized, random collection of books, hats, action figures, water bottles, a leftover winter mitten, and quite regularly, a gym bag. These items sit in the box sometimes for hours, days and months, waiting among the mess of other sad and discarded belongings for their owner to come and retrieve them. Trying to find something that is lost in such a disorganized mess is difficult, and sometimes, it's just not worth the search, so the owner claims it a "loss" and moves on. Eventually, the Lost and Not Found items make their way to the local landfill, never to be heard from again.

For years, just like sorting through the mishmash of items in his school's Lost and Found bin for the missing gym bag, Ryan has had to sort through a jumble of verbs, nouns, and pronouns to find the word he is looking for, the word that in the moment, seems "lost". Even today, there are times when Ryan still struggles to get his words out, but, I AWEnestly believe that the words are not, nor have ever been "lost", they have just been hidden under a mess of other words, words he is not looking for, words that in the moment, he does not need, words that may be too hard to pull out of the "box".

"Find your words" I use to say to the screaming, crying, melting down toddler. "Find your words" I use to say to the frustrated, bright, overstimulated preschooler. Little did I know, those behaviors, those screams, those cries were Ryan's "words", he was indeed communicating with me, but, I just wasn't listening. His frustration, his anger, his fear, were mixed among the words, jumbled in the Lost and Found, in plain sight, but, he was unable to retrieve them. I can only imagine his frustration.

Telling Ryan to "find his words" were poorly chosen words on my part. For Ryan, his words were not lost, he knew where they were, he just couldn't reach the bottom of the box. I don't know that Ryan's words have ever been lost. I think his words have always been "there", but, just like the messy, disorganized Lost and Found box, sometimes, rooting around and digging for what he is missing, is just too difficult, and it's not worth sorting through all the other words scattered about to find that one word that Ryan just can't reach. If the search for the word becomes too difficult, if there is just too much in the box to sort through, then Ryan discontinues the search, gives up and walks away. Frustrated, but, not the least bit concerned if that word ends up with the elusive mitten in a landfill. 

Telling Ryan to "find his words" probably made him want to dump me head first into the Lost and Found box with the smelly missing gym sock and dirty water bottles. Ryan's words weren't "lost", he just had trouble retrieving them and expressing them. Many kids with an ASD struggle with expressive language, and Ryan is no different. Neither is Naoki Higashida who struggled to "find his words", yet, became a published author at the tender age of 13.

When Ryan and I were discussing different methods for building the dodecagon, I suggested that maybe I could buy Ryan some rubber gloves to help desensitize his fingers to the paper. Ryan immediately assured me rubber gloves would not work. When I asked him why, Ryan had no trouble finding or expressing his words. "The rubber gloves will still make me feel the paper in my central nervous system. There are some feelings and some sounds that I feel directly in my central nervous system and paper is one of them." I stood there with my mouth hanging open.

Ryan had no trouble finding his words, because I don't believe those words, or any others, were ever lost. In fact, all those years ago, during haircuts, and doctor's appointments and trying on new jeans, and wearing shirts with tags, Ryan's cries were telling me the same exact thing. These sensory sensations were being felt in his central nervous system and making him utterly miserable.

All those years of me telling Ryan, "find your words", he probably wanted to tell me, "find your ears". Ryan's words were not lost, they were just hidden amidst a bunch of other words and it was difficult for him to retrieve the right word with all his nerve endings poking through his central nervous system distracting him. 

Stephen R. Covey said, "Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.". I wanted Ryan to find his words, so I could reply. It was hard to reply to groans, moans, scripts, and meltdowns, it was Ryan's words that I wanted to hear even though I understood him loud and clear.

Whether it's a lost gym bag or a "lost" word, sometimes, it's easier for Ryan to "not worry about it" and move on. Digging through the jumbled words in his brain some days feels as pointless as digging through that heap of lost belongings in the Lost and Found. Ryan knows there are other ways to get his meaning out. Whether it's a script from Austin Powers, a paper shoved at me with his foot, or a moan when I grab the wrong glass for his grape juice, Ryan's words were never "lost", in fact, he has been using his "words" for years, I just wasn't listening.

I have a confession to make. I promised that when I started this blog a year and a half ago, that I would be AWEnest. I promised I would be real and raw and that I wouldn't hide anything from my readers, so here goes....in 1983, I was a member of The Outsiders Fan Club. Wow. There, I said it. That was hard to admit, since when I told Ryan this little piece of mommy trivia, he said, "Wow, I can't believe how ridiculous you were as a child.". After such an embarrassing confession, and such a horrified response, I did not share with Ryan that I may or may not be 1 of 6 Likes on The Outsiders Facebook Page.

To say that I LOVED The Outsiders book and movie would be a gross understatement. I had 106 pictures of Ponyboy Curtis (cut out of my Tiger Beat Outsiders Fan Club Magazines) on my bedroom wall. As enamored as I was with Ponyboy, my two best friends were equally in love with Johnny and Dally. We may or may not have won switchblades at our local carnival (I know it was the 80's, but, who in the he** has switchblades for prizes in ring toss?) and carried them around to prove we were "tuff" like a Greaser. We dreamed of rescuing a bunch of little kids from a burning church and making headlines in our local paper, but, alas, we never got to be Greaser heroes which is probably best because even though the knife I may or may not have carried in my Jordache jeans made me feel tuff, at 13, I don't know that I would have had the courage to run into a burning church, kids or no kids.

Ponyboy, Dally, Johnny, and Sodapop were the Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco of my generation. The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton was published in 1967, but, The Outsiders movie made the book come to life for my equally "ridiculous" friends and me. In many ways, my "gang" resembled the Socs more than the Greasers because we came from good homes, we were part of the "in" crowd, and we could afford switchblades at the local carnie, yet, we were still drawn to the unfairness, the harsh life and the stereotypes of the kids from the wrong side of town...the hoods...the punks...the delinquents...the Greasers. Whether or not I was an "insider", The Outsiders, was the coming of age novel that not only turned me into a reader, but, taught how stereotypes and prejudices can literally mean life or death.

Fast forward many, many, many years, and I am sitting at Ryan's 7th grade back to school night with Denial and Clueless sitting in the desks right next to me. When Ryan's teacher announced they would be reading The Outsiders this year, as quick as a flip of a switchblade knife, I regressed back to my middle school years. As I remembered sitting in my room reading The Outsiders for the first time, I thought, "Ryan is going to love this book. He hates to read, but, this book, these characters, are going to change all of that for him. The Greasers and the Socs are going to quickly replace Mario and Luigi.". Denial and Clueless assured me I was right and of course, those two never lead me astray.

I swear it felt like the cold metal of a switchblade knife was shoved deep into my heart when the oh so sacred book, The Outsiders, was thrown at my head weeks later with the exasperated cry of, "This book is so complicated! I don't understand it at all!". It was like blasphemy to my ears. What? How could it be complicated? After all it's about friendship, loyalty, social norms, stereotypes, societal expectations, fitting in, not fitting in....ohhhh...wait a minute. For a child with an ASD, all those themes in one book would make their head hurt. Which is precisely why Ryan said, "I think the stress in my brain is going to make my head explode.". So, like any good mom, I went on Amazon and ordered the movie (I swear it was to help Ryan, it wasn't for me to relive my Greaser wannabe youth).

When I asked Ryan what he thought the overall theme of the book was about he said, "a warfare between the Greasers and the Socs". Ryan understood there was a fight. He understood (spoiler alert) that someone died. He understood there was a winner and a loser, but, what Ryan did not understand was the deeper meaning of the book. He did not recognize the stereotypes placed upon each group. He did not fully comprehend the "outsiders" versus the "insiders". Ryan did not see the subtle themes woven throughout the authors words trying to convince the reader that in many ways the Socs and the Greasers were very much alike, but, it was the stereotypes placed upon the two groups that lead them to believe that they were different. The fact that both the Socs and the Greasers, felt pressure from their "gangs", felt a loyalty to their friends, and that no matter what part of town they came from, they all watched the same sunset regardless of their differences, was lost on Ryan, because in his mind, this book was about a rumble and winners and losers. The end. Move on to a less complicated book please, preferably non-fiction.

As I tried to explain about stereotypes and how they impact people's perceptions about others and sometimes even themselves, I no longer felt like Cherry Valance, caught up in the trials and tribulations of Socs and Greasers, I felt like a mom who tries so hard to make people see past the autism "Rainman" stereotypes and see the beautiful boy who lies behind the soft cotton Hollister tshirt (Ryan would never wear madras or a jean jacket regardless of what side of the rumble he was on). I want people to look beyond the autism stereotypes to a beautiful boy that is more like you than different. I want people to understand that if you would take the time to get to know Ryan, many of your stereotypes would expire as quickly as my Outsiders Fan Club Membership.

I'm not sure how much my explanation of stereotypes sunk in, since Ryan failed his Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 combined quiz. Ryan may not get the deeper meaning of The Outsiders other than "warfare", he may not understand that seeing past the stereotypes allows you to see the person, not the label, but, I do, so I will continue to be a member of Ryan's gang and lead him safely into any rumble that lies ahead.

Even though Ryan may not fully understand the stereotypes of autism, he is aware of how it feels to be an outsider. Ryan knows he is "different" and I believe there are times that Ryan wishes he was more Soc than Greaser. I hope that with the love and encouragement Ryan is surrounded by, he understand that the stereotypes of someone living with autism, can be torn apart as quickly as a Socs' Mustang by a gang of Greasers and that all of us, regardless of labels, watch the very same sunset.

As a silly 13 year old girl, in love with Ponyboy Curtis, my favorite part of The Outsiders movie was when Ponyboy recites a poem from Robert Frost called, "Nothing Gold Can Stay":

As a teenage girl, I didn't even care what that poem meant, I just stared dreamily at my 106 pictures of Ponyboy on my bedroom wall dreaming that he was reading the words to me. As a mom, I now know that the gold in the poem signifies the innocence of the young, before the outside elements tarnish the shine and luster of such a precious element. As we get older and are influenced more by what others think or believe, it gets harder and harder for people to hold onto that golden hue thanks to stereotypes and discriminations that surround us.

Although it breaks my heart that Ryan "hates this stupid book", I hope that the reason Ryan finds The Outsiders book so difficult to understand is because Ryan is still "gold" and that his luster and shine never dulls due to the stereotypes and ignorance of others. The deficits autism brings to Ryan's understanding of the world, in some ways makes it difficult for him to "read between the lines", but, the blessing of such deficits also keeps Ryan free of stereotyping, it keeps him innocent and most importantly, it keeps Ryan gold...the "hardest hue to hold". We should all be so fortunate.

Autism makes understanding stereotypes, social caste systems, racism, and being an insider or an outsider difficult to comprehend. Don't get me wrong, Ryan and people living with an ASD know when they are shunned, when they are treated unfairly, and when stereotypes surround them, but, what they don't understand is why. 

Ryan can be rude, curmudgeonly, and a little mean if you get in his way, change the rules, change the routine, act too silly, or talk too fast, but, Ryan would never be mean to someone because of the clothes they wear, the car they drive, the neighborhood they live in, the color of their skin, the religion they practice, who they love, or a label attached to their name. Ryan will not discriminate against anyone who eats the last donut, because it doesn't matter if you are a Soc or a Greaser, there is going to be a rumble, and if that donut happenes to be a white iced with seasonal colored icing on top, I'd put my money on gold every time.

Whether you were a member of The Outsiders Fan Club or not, whether you ever read The Outsiders book or watched The Outsiders movie, what S.E. Hinton wanted us all to know was that "even though we must sometimes except what is happening now...in the present...there is always the potential to change what it could one day be". So rub off that tarnish, remove all that build up, and do your best to shine and stay gold. If not for yourself, if not for Ryan and kids like him, well, then, "let's do if for Johnny".

If I didn't have pictures of Ryan at birth, entering the world in only his birthday suit, I might not believe that it was his exceedingly large cranium that caused me so much discomfort upon his arrival. If the proof wasn't in the photos, it would not have taken much convincing had the doctor said, "It's a boy.... and he's holding an Xbox controller!". It would have made perfect sense that it wasn't Ryan's large pumpkin shaped head that got hung up in the birth canal, but, rather the unmalleability of the Xbox Controller's plastic form that had caused me so much pain, since after all, Ryan was able to hold a video game controller long before he could hold crayons or scissors. 

Ryan loved electronic toys at a very early age. The sensory input of toys that beeped, lit up, and had cause and effect provided Ryan with more joy than any ball or Matchbox car every could. So, it was no surprise that video games would give Ryan unmitigated joy as well. Little did I know, that one day, that sensory buzz Ryan got from video games would supersede all things in life for him, except maybe donuts.

The minute Ryan first held a Gameboy in his hand, Thomas the Tank Engine went hurtling over a cliff, doomed to spend his retirement years covered in a pile of dust next to the likes of Blues Clues and Tickle Me Elmo. Once Ryan found his way into the glorious land of Video Games, he did not leave a trail of bread crumbs for anyone to find him. Ryan was happy to be left alone with Sonic the Hedgehog, Mario and Luigi, and Kirby. Even without the trail of breadcrumbs, I could occasionally pick up the scent of stinky boy and hear the exact mimic of Mario's Italian accent coming from Ryan's room and I would try and lure Ryan out, but, leaving behind Ryan's "friends" only worked if there was a good episode of Spongebob On Demand.

I admit, Ryan spends way too much time in front of a screen. If I had to appear before a judge and jury and the judge asked, "Does your son spend countless hours playing video games?", I would respond, "Guilty Your Honor". "Do you allow your son to pick up the Comcast remote as soon as he puts down the XBox controller? Lowering my head in shame, I would quietly mumble, "Guilty, Your Honor." "Even though, as his mother, you are aware that too many video games, too much television and too much screen time may impact his socialization, yet you still allow it?" Now trying to hide under the defense table, I would whisper "Guilty, Your Honor", but, before the jury left the courtroom to deliberate I would jump up from under the table and shout, "Guilty, by reason of insanity".

Before I would begin proving my insanity plea, like any good mother defending her case, I would try to place the guilt elsewhere to take the heat off of me and totally throw big brother Kyle under the bus, in an attempt to absolve my guilt and save my own a**. "Well, Your Honor, my son Kyle had the video game first, so naturally, his brother wanted to have a video game too. No, I did not buy the games for Kyle or Ryan, that jolly old elf named Santa Claus did." Just like the insanity defense is hard to prove in a court of law, proving that a 5 year old boy and Santa Claus are culpable in my negligent video game allowances would be equally as difficult to prove to the judge and to myself.

I know too much "screen time" is not good for Ryan, I know it's not helping him be more social, and I know as his mom, I need to do better, but, when video games is the one thing Ryan perseverates on, the one thing he talks about, the one thing he can relate to with other kids, the one and ONLY thing he has any interest in, it's HARD to pull him away. Not hard, like my family is starving and I don't know where our next meal is coming from hard, but, hard like, autism keeps his interests so limited and rigid, Ryan struggles to find joy in anything else and I shamefully admit to throwing in the towel. 

Since I know there is not a Judge in the land who would find Kyle or Santa guilty (have you seen Miracle on 34th Street?) of Ryan's video game obsession, I would absolutely plead the insanity defense to save my own sorry self. After all, defense attorneys try this defense when they believe their clients are "not responsible for his or her actions during a mental health episode." Uh, hello? 

Suffice it to say, that when I watched Ryan struggle to play, to have friends, to "fit in", when I saw the joy video games gave him and how playing these games made Ryan seem "like all the other kids", I may have had a "mental health episode". I may have had a moment of temporary insanity where at the time of the purchase of a Gameboy, Nintendo DS, Wii, Wii Plus, iPod Touch, etc, etc I was "briefly insane at the time the acts were committed", blinded by my craziness to have Ryan "be like everyone else".

Temporary insanity legitimately kicks in during one of my "I love him, I accept him, but, I really still want him to fit in occasionally" mental health episodes. And during one of these episodes, I may be "briefly insane", as I commit acts such as signing Ryan up for baseball, soccer, or buying him countless video games in an attempt to have him "be like all the other kids". 

For a little boy who rarely played with toys in a typical manner, when Ryan picked up his first Game Boy and actually played it, not tossed it aside, not rolled his body on it, but played it the way it was suppose to be played, all I could think in that frenzied, crazed moment was, "He's playing something the way it's supposed to be played....like his brother....like our neighbors....like everyone else.". My temporary insanity lead Ryan down the video game path, my "mental healthy episode" caused me to believe that video games would help Ryan fit in, lead me to my insanity defense.

Perhaps it was temporary insanity that lead Ryan and me down the dark, and evil video game path, but, insanity plea or not, what I was most assuredly guilty of back in those early days, was trying too hard for so long to make Ryan "fit in" as I constantly compared him to other kids. And in my defense, although there was and still is too much "screen time", video games is the one connector, the one link between Ryan and friends. 

So if today, I had to appear in a court of law, after taking the oath and taking my seat in the witness stand, when the prosecutor asked, "Does your son play video games too much?", I would first ask if Apps on his iPod Touch count as "video games" before turning to the judge and telling him I would like to plead guilty, by reason of insanity. 

Because today, I am still guilty for allowing Ryan too much screen time. I am insane because it makes me crazy that I can't get Ryan to go outside, learn to ride a bike, play a board game or read a book. I lose my mind worrying about his love of all things electronic and his lack of desire to socialize in the "real world". I look temporarily insane when my head spins around and I scream, "turn off that blankety blank, blank, blank video game right now" then 2 hours later after Ryan moans he is bored and has eaten an entire bag of Goldfish Crackers out of sheer boredom, asks, "Can I play my game now?" and I sweetly kiss him on the head and say, "Sure, but not too long". Cra-a-zy.

The famous Temple Grandin, who I had the pleasure to meet and hear speak this past spring, has a very strong opinion on video games and kids with an autism diagnosis. As I sat beaming listening to her wonderful insights on what living with autism has been like for her, my smile quickly faded as she turned to the topic of video games. 

When Temple adamantly insisted on getting "these kids off the video games and out of the basement" I was so relieved because Ryan doesn't have video games in the basement, the xBox, Wii, WiiU and his Nintendo DS are all in his bedroom. As I breathed a sigh of relief Denial, who was sitting next to me, and I happily gloated that surely Temple wasn't talking to us. I looked around the room and saw loads of other mothers, mothers who put their kids video game systems in the basement, hiding their eyes, cowering under chairs and pretending that Temple was talking to someone else, not them. 

As I listened to Temple describe her life, I realized that just like it is unfair for me to compare Ryan to other neurotypical kids, it is unfair for me to compare him to other kids with autism. It's true, like many kids with an ASD, Ryan needs more social time, and it's true that Ryan is obsessed with video games and has too much screen time, but, Ryan is still remarkably successful and happy. Yes, I need to work harder at increasing his interests outside of Minecraft and Mario Kart, but, I also need to stop going insane and feeling so guilty when I can't. 

With Temple's video game lecture still ringing in my ears, I smiled to myself as I watched a slew of mothers pulling out their phones, excusing themselves to the restroom and doing everything, but, plugging their ears, to drown out Temple's words that rang all too true in their hearts. I realized that day, that if my insanity plea sticks, there are going to be a boat load of other mothers in the medication line with me at the psychiatric facility whether Temple likes it or not.

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.

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.

Next Monday school begins and no one is more excited about that upcoming date than Ryan. He longs for the feel of a freshly sharpened wooden pencil (#2 Ticonderoga only please) held securely in his hand, as well as the soothing, steady hum of the fluorescent lights (please Mr. and Mrs. Custodian replace any blinking, flashing bulbs as well as any super loud buzzing bulbs) and the smell of the freshly waxed classroom floors drifting through the hallways that within hours, will be replaced with the stench of hundreds of teenagers wearing fall back to school clothes on an 80 degree summer day. The routine of routine is just around the corner for my soon to be seventh grader and he will breath a big, sigh of relief having survived another "boring" summer.

Yes, as my beautiful boy happily enters the hallowed middle school doorway, movin' on up as a seventh grader, Ryan will not look back to sixth grade days gone by.....ever. I want to apologize in advance to all his former sixth grade teachers, the 6R Team, but, just like George and Louise (aka, Weezy) moved to that "deeeeluxe apartment in the skyy-hii-hiii" after they finally "got a piece of the pie", their old neighbors in Queens, Archie and Edith Bunker, became a distant memory. Ryan will remember you all fondly, but, now that he has moved on up to the East Side, chances are he won't ever look back down. Yes, in this scenario you are The Bunkers and sorry, but, chances are also good that you won't make a guest appearance in a later episode.

Try not to take it personally, you wonderful teachers who so willingly and eagerly helped my boy feel at home each and every day, this sort of love 'em and leave 'em pattern has been going on for quite some time. 

Sometimes I think this behavior is a result of autism's hold on Ryan's brain and he sees little benefit in a long term relationship with someone who has fulfilled their purpose. He needed you last year, you did your job so well last year, that he no longer needs you this year, so, sayonara, end of story. 

However, sometimes I think this love 'em and leave 'em attitude has nothing to do with autism and Ryan's brain, but, more to do with his heart. As I have watched my boy love and leave so many, I believe this attitude has more to do with protecting his sensitive, beautiful heart, than his atypical social and communication skills. Good byes are hard, pretending he never knew you is easier.

Ryan cries at the end of every school year, rejoicing in his success at getting closer and closer to finding his piece of the pie, but, sad that it is once again, time to move on up. Ryan truly loves the folks who helped serve him his piece of the pie, but, it's easier to just toss his pie plate aside waiting for the next bigger piece of pie than it is to get caught up in remembering all the ingredients it took to make that pie. It's not that Ryan doesn't realize the sugar, the butter, and the milk is what made his pie so sweet, it's just that eating the pie and tossing the plate aside is a lot less stressful on his overtaxed brain and a lot less painful on his ultra sensitive heart.

It has happened year after year, Ryan will pass his former teachers in the hallway and they may occasionally get a grunt or a halfhearted trying not to smile smile, but, chances are much higher that Ryan may completely ignore them. Some of Ryan's most beloved teachers have come to me at the beginning of the next school year, gripping their heart with a look of confused bewilderment in their eyes, and before the first syllable starts to from on their trembling lips, before the next beat of their abandoned heart, I know exactly what they are going to say, "Ryan just ignored me....again."  

As for you sooooooooo....last year teachers, still hanging out in the 6th grade hallway of Queens, sorry, but, you are no longer needed and you have quickly been replaced since my boy has moved on up. Ryan may occasionally allow his doorman to let you visit, but, chances are you won't get a key to his new place. 

I know it's hard not to take his love 'em and leave 'em attitude personally, especially for a student who has so few friends, who often stands alone in the hallway or on the playground, who for 180 days trusted you, relied on you, needed you, above anyone else, to allow you to fade away as quickly as summer break, is difficult to understand, but, inevitably, it still happens. Ryan doesn't really mean to leave you behind in Queens, it's just that Ryan struggles to find a place for the past, while he puts all his effort into movin' on up, because for kids like Ryan, it takes "a whole lot of tryin' just to get up that hill".

Trust me, this summer more than ever, I have felt the love'em and leave 'em attitude as my almost teenage son has decided he no longer needs me to tuck him in at night, snuggle him or kiss him when "WE ARE IN PUBLIC". Just last year, before he moved on up, as a 6th grader in the Queens Borough hallway, I bragged about Ryan walking hand in hand into school with me, giving me a big "I love you" hug at the bus stop and not giving a hoot about what his fellow neighbors in Queens thought about his public displays of affection with dear old mom.

This summer, I have felt more like The Bunkers, staying behind watching my boy movin' on up. Standing in the shadow of Ryan's new high rise on the East Side, as he moves on up without me...just as he should...just as I want him to....just as I feared he never would. And yet, as much as I hoped this day would come, I can't help, but, feel a little like Archie Bunker, pretending I don't care even though watching Ryan movin' on up as he repeatedly pulls away from my snuggles and kisses, feels like getting hit by the 7 train traveling from Queens to Manhattan.

I know that part of growing up means moving up...without me...yet I know that I will always be a part of Ryan's life. And on the days where I feel more like Florence the housekeeper than good old mom, I will keep in my heart the days gone by when a little hand warmed mine as we walked down the street ("IN PUBLIC"), I will touch my cheek right where his sweet little lips use to hurriedly brush across as he ran to the bus ("IN PUBLIC") and I will remember the AWE in his voice as we watched popsicle sunsets on our front porch back in the good old days in Queens, before Ryan moved on up. 

So, come Monday morning, I will happily watch Ryan run, bent over, wearing new, uncomfortable not yet broken in clothes, charging at the bus like a bull, holding my cold cheek where his kisses once left my cheek warm and smelling of toothpaste. No doubt, I will shed a tear...or two. Not for my own selfish needs of hugs and kisses, but, for this AWEsome boy who is becoming more and more independent....just as he should be....just as I want him to....just as I feared he never would. 

As for you glorious 6R teachers, still hanging out in the Queens Borough Hallway, remember that alone, you may have been the 2 tbs of butter, the cup of sugar, or the 1/2 cup of milk, but, combined together, you, along with every other teacher Ryan has been blessed to have, all helped my son get that elusive piece of the pie. 

So, if you catch a glimpse of my boy movin' on up, through the seventh grade hallways on the East Side, keep saying hello, keep trying to reach him because I promise you, you have made an everlasting mark, even if you are ignored, you have not been forgotten. And if you keep trying, I promise, one day, you may be given just a tiny little crumb of that pie you helped bake, in the form of a smile or a quick hello, which may not be as filling as it once was, but, I hope it will still be equally satisfying.

As for me, well, just like Archie Bunker watched his former neighbor George Jefferson move on up without him, I will grumble and complain about being left behind, but, inside I will be beaming with pride hoping that one day, my boy remembers who was always by his side helping put all the necessary ingredients together before he finally got a piece of the pie. And selfishly, like any mom who loves her son and never, ever wants him to move on up without her, I will constantly remind Ryan that "as long as we live, it's you and me baby, there ain't nothing wrong with that".

Once upon a time, a very, very, very long time ago in what feels like a kingdom far, far, far away, a young 20 something year old princess lived in a castle, I mean, a single bedroom apartment, on her own. One night after returning home from a night of revelry, with other princesses, the princess approached her castle door to turn in for the night. Little did the princess know, that on that evening, her very own Prince Charming opted to replace his prince hat with a court jester hat. In Prince Charming's attempt to bring joy and laughter to the princess, he decided to hide in the bushes right at the doorway to the castle, I mean apartment, and scare his future queen.

Prince Charming jumped out of the bushes and nearly scared the princess to death. The princess found very little humor in such entertainment and she quickly went all ogre on his a**. The princess, who at the time was performing her less than royal duty as a juvenile probation officer, fortunately was not packing heat that evening, for if she had been, Prince Charming may have laid alongside Snow White in a glass bed deep in the forest.

Sorry, we've been watching a lot of Shrek this summer and AWEnestly, Ryan makes a much better Donkey than Eddie Murphy himself.

Yes, one summer a long, long time ago, Dan thought it would be funny to hide in the bushes, jump out at me and make my heart stop beating for a millisecond. Needless to say, this princess almost soiled her pants, which would have been very undignified behavior for a princess. As I approached my apartment, I certainly was not expected someone to be hiding in the bushes, no matter how many horror movies had prepared me for that exact scenario over the years. So, when the unexpected happened, I was not the least bit prepared for it and my bodily functions reacted as poorly as my future husband's role as court jester.

Whether it's your creepy fiance (I did not kill him and yes he still enjoys scaring me) hiding in the bushes, or your boss showing up at your office door to tell you that the deadline for that report you have been stalling on has been moved from next week until tomorrow, being ill-prepared for the unexpected can make you feel, well...ill. 

Your pulse may quicken. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest...in your ears...and in your brain. Your mouth immediately goes dry and you feel like you may hurl your breakfast all over your new shoes. Then suddenly, your brain no longer works. You are momentarily frozen and at a total loss for words. Then finally, your fight or flight goes into overdrive and you either wind up running or swinging. When your body is so incredibly freaked out, it makes preparing for the unexpected very difficult.

Yes, the unexpected, can do a number on a person. Whether the unexpected is something wonderful or something dreadful, your body may still react the exact same way. An unexpected surprise birthday party, an unexpected marriage proposal, or an unexpected fortune bequeathed by a long, lost relative (does that really ever happen?) are all wonderful events, but, your brain just may not see it that way initially. If your brain didn't see it coming, your body reacts accordingly to such an unexpected event.

For Ryan, and many kids with an ASD, the unexpected, be it good (a surprise visit from the Ice Cream Man) or bad (a thunderstorm knocks out the cable five minutes before the new Gumball episode is about to begin) is not expected, so their reaction may not be what you or the family sitting next to you at the restaurant where they just removed grilled cheese sandwiches from the menu, expected either.

This week, Ryan is attending a Vocal Camp at a local music center. I did a poor job preparing him for the unexpected. I showed Ryan the website online, but, we did not do a drive by for him to get a visual of the music center. Ryan has been looking forward to this camp all summer as he loves his new found "instrument", his voice, so, he eagerly got up early, got himself ready and out the door we went. Ryan happily scripted Shrek and Donkey on the way to camp and all seemed right with the world, until the unexpected happened.

As I parked on the street outside the music center, the scripting stopped and the worrying began. Ryan quickly surveyed the music center and in a not so happy, more ogre, less donkey like voice, he grumbled, "This can't be it. This is not what I expected." Turns out, in Ryan's mind, a music center for a vocal camp should be held in a school or a church, not in a turn of the century house...where there is an unexpected dog and an unexpected window air conditioning unit that blows his hair and freezes him to death.

You could physically see Ryan's body react. His latest sniffing tick became more rapid. His eyes darted around inspecting this unexpected location for perceived danger. I swear if that boy had his driver's license, we would have been back home where it was safe...where everything is as he expected. It took some persuading to get Ryan to accept the unexpected, but, he did and he is LOVING vocal camp....in a house, not in a church or a school with a dog who just lays around and does not jump on him unexpectedly.

Some days, when Ryan is not expecting the unexpected, opportunities are missed. One day last week, Ryan's friend called and invited Ryan over to his house to play video games. I wasn't sure what to expect, at this unexpected invitation, but, I had a pretty good idea. "Hey Ryan, your friend wants you to go hang out at his house." "Great, when?", Ryan asked. "He wants you to go over now." In an utterly dumbfounded and amazed voice Ryan bellowed, "What?! Right now? Oh no, no, no, no, I can't go now, I wasn't expecting that. I will go tomorrow, when I am expecting it." Unfortunately, Ryan's friend wasn't expecting a play date for the next day, and already had plans, so, the play date didn't happen. A missed social opportunity because Ryan wasn't expecting the unexpected.

The unexpected is difficult for Ryan because processing too many things at once is hard for him. When he knows what to expect, he is better able to prepare his body for the sensory overload, he is better able to anticipate social interactions, and he is better able to develop a script in his mind about forthcoming conversations. Ryan's brain just needs a little more time to process the unexpected. A little more time, helps Ryan better prepare for the change coming at him, a change that may seem ever so subtle to you and me, but, to Ryan feels like an unexpected person hiding in the bushes that immediately transforms him from a sensitive, kind, little boy into a grumpy, "get out of my swamp" kind of ogre. 

Just like all of us, the unexpected can be quite an assault on our system, so, don't we all function better when we are prepared? When the system is taxed even harder by autism, it makes perfect sense that Ryan would rather avoid that assault altogether by playing it safe, regardless of missed opportunities.

Ryan continues to work so hard to expect the unexpected in order to keep the ogre at bay, but, in his world that is filled with so many things hiding in the bushes, it is hard for him to throw down his pitchfork and let his guard down. As Ryan gets older and develops more scripts, more scenarios and more "what if's" in his constantly building repertoire, the unexpected will become expected and although the ogre may always hide deep in the recesses of his brain, Ryan will have the skills that will make him more "prince" and less "ogre".

I may not know how Ryan's fairy tale will end, but, one thing I can promise you is, that if a fair maiden ever catches Ryan's eye, chances are high that my little prince will never lie waiting in the bushes to scare the daylights out of her because Ryan will never see the humor in such unexpected entertainment. No, this unknown, 20 years in the future, fair maiden will never have to worry about expecting the unexpected with my little prince. Chances are, she will always know what is lying right around the bend and what, or who, will not be hiding in the bushes by the front door. 

Now, as for what this fair maiden can expect from her future mother and father-in-law, well, that's an entirely different, completely unexpected, yet relatively entertaining fairy tale. I just hope she doesn't pack heat.

Ahhhh....the end of July, that glorious time of year when the kids are constantly bickering and ready to rip each other's hair out and you have finally perfected the summer time skill of blocking out the madness with the beautiful image of that big, yellow school bus driving down your street. It's that point in summer where yes, technically there is still a month of summer left, but, yet, you feel the tide turn. Something definitely changes.

As you sit in the backyard gathered around the fire pit, the kids are no longer bugging for smores, in fact, chances are, they are all inside watching television, the novelty of warm summer nights gathered around the fire has faded with the embers of the June flames. The iridescent glow in the backyard that in early June was filled with fireflies, becomes dimmer and dimmer. The nights, although a subtle change at first, are becoming shorter and cooler and every retail establishment has long since abandoned the racks of shorts, bikinis, and tank tops and replaced them with jeans, sweaters and jackets. 

With all these signals of summer slowly coming to an end, nothing is more telling in our house than an empty swimming pool. For some reason, when the calendar is flipped from July to August, the long, lazy days of lounging by the pool do not flip with it. 

The first summer after the pull went in, I thought for certain Dan was going to buy a time clock and hand each one of us a time card, forcing us to clock in and clock out each and every time we entered through the pool gate. All that money that literally gets dumped in your backyard, better be money well spent, so, by all means, the kids must swim all day, every day. The only allowable exception to swimming that first summer was if a low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, and as long as that distance appeared to be ten miles away or less.

One of the main reasons this worrying, whacko mother agreed to have a large body of water placed in the backyard was because Ryan, the most sedentary child on the planet, loved to swim. In fact, I wrote a blog last summer, http://www.awenestyofautism.com/blog/my-fish-out-of-water about my little fish out of water and his love of the quiet peacefulness he discovered in a muted, calming world 8 feet under water. Swimming, was hands down, the best, and quite AWEnestly, the only, form of exercise my boy got, so a big, deep hole was dug in my backyard and filled with money....I mean, water. And for the past three summers, Ryan enjoyed that pool all summer long, until the calendar flipped from July to August of course.

So, you can imagine my surprise and my heartache that on this last day of July, my little fish has not so much as stuck his big toe, or should I say big fin, in that pool. The closest Ryan came to "getting wet" was filling a water gun up to squirt the dog. This boy, who once upon a time would have willingly traded his lungs for gills in order to spend half his summer underwater, has now opted for dry land and as of the writing of this blog, he has no intention of "getting in" anytime soon. I am dumbfounded.

As I have done so many times over the course of Ryan's lifetime, I quickly pointed the finger at autism for this drastic change in my boy's behavior. I first assumed that it was a sensory thing, so, I told Ryan if he didn't want to swim because he hated the feel of the icky, sticky sunscreen, he could swim in the evening when sunscreen wasn't necessary. Ryan assured me that he did not hang up his gills due to sunscreen.

I then wondered if there had been one too many bee sightings, even though we purposely did not plant flowering bushes around the pool. Autism tends to make Ryan's anxieties, bugs being at the top of the list, somewhat consuming, so it stood to reason, autism and "killer bees" were to blame. Yet, Ryan, who once needed me to walk past the azalea bush to cross the porch, no longer needs my hand as he bravely, albeit rarely, enters outside. This threw the bee theory out the window.

It also crossed my mind that perhaps with puberty in full bloom, maybe Ryan felt awkward about his changing body. When I carefully inquired about this new line of thinking I was told, "I'm perfectly fine with my body.". Scratch that theory too.

I told Dan, Kyle and anyone who would listen, "Ryan has something stuck in his head about swimming, some new fear, phobia or idea he is perseverating and obsessing about. Curse that autism." I just felt certain it was autism that was keeping my boy from jumping off the diving board and I was determined to push him back in that pool one way or another.

Ironically, my knee jerk reaction (perseveration) to immediately point the finger at autism regarding Ryan's new found avoidance of the pool, made Ryan move even farther inland. You know the saying, "When you point your finger at someone, there are three fingers pointing back at you"? Yeah, that.

My constant nagging and non-stop barrage of questions in an attempt to decipher why Ryan wouldn't get in the pool, as well as treat bribes, and the occasional threat of diminished screen time, in order to get his butt in the pool, only backfired. My desire to find out "why" only caused Ryan more stress about swimming which has made him dig his heels even deeper into dry land. Pointing the finger at autism, really did point all the other fingers right back at me.

Refusing to look at those other three fingers pointing at me for making a situation much worse, Denial and I told Ryan we were going to take back his new swim trunks, which all still have the tags on them, as a last ditch, "that oughta show him" resort, to which Ryan very calmly responded, "Yeah, go ahead, they were a waste of money." WTH?!!

I just didn't understand it. Why would autism take swimming away? Friends, yeah, I get it. Parties, yep, totally understand that too, but swimming? I just couldn't wrap my head around it. Why take something away that Ryan loved so much? Then after asking Ryan for the 150th time, why he didn't want to swim anymore, he finally looked at me and said, "I'm over swimming, it just got boring." I finally put my aging, non-manicured, pointy finger down. If autism could smile, and say, "na nee na nee poo poo", it totally would have. Ryan should have done it for autism instead.

It seems that if I choose to point the finger at someone, if there has to be someone to blame, I needed to stop pointing the finger at autism and start pointing it at Father Time. Was Ryan's lack of swimming as simple as something he outgrew? Sure, many kids still like to swim as teenagers and even adults, but, Ryan has always been his own guy, not worrying what others do, or what others expect. 

When Ryan stopped playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine trains, I didn't point the finger at autism, I just chalked it up to growing up and losing interest. When Ryan gave up Blues Clues for Spongebob, I didn't point the finger at autism, I just accepted that Steve was no longer as funny as Patrick. So, I guess when it comes to swimming, maybe Ryan has decided that there is more exciting things to do on dry land than there is in an 8 feet deep swimming pool. As a mother who "goes under" and actually soaks my hair about four times a pool season, and who prefers to float atop a raft with a well designed cocktail holder, one would think I would get it.

I guess old habits die hard. Denial pops in for a brief summer time visit and I am quick to point the finger at autism for anything about Ryan that seems "different". 

It's time I retire that pointer finger (the middle finger will continue to remain active, since as of yet, I have not found anything else more suitable for the a** who cuts me off on the highway) and take a look at the three fingers pointing back at me. I need to accept that Father Time will transform my boy into a teenager in just a few short weeks and along with that change, more changes will be on the way. Changes that I may see coming and changes that may knock me off my raft and get my hair wet. Changes that have little to do with The A Word.

Rather than pointing the finger at autism, I am learning to be grateful that Ryan has come so far and is able to make choices, decisions and have thoughts that are in no way influenced by autism. Most days, the choices Ryan makes are made just because he is Ryan, not because he has autism. 

So, as the summer days slowly come to an end, I will need to tear up Ryan's time card for the pool time clock because it appears he has hung up his swim trunks this summer. Just in case he has a change of heart, (very doubtful since it will be August tomorrow) I will keep at least one of the three new swim trunks I purchased this summer. 

If the swim trunks still have the tag on them by winter, I will hold on to them, just like I have held on to all the Thomas engines as well as the VHS Tapes of Ryan's beloved Blues Clues. Some things I must let go of and some things I will always hold on to....things that are bittersweet reminders of days gone by, days that are fading as quickly as the summer sunsets, days that have had nothing at all to do with autism, but, days that have been filled with choices, changes and progress. 

The only finger pointing for such change and progress should be at Ryan. He has made the changes and the choices, not autism. The only finger Ryan should see is his own, shimmering in his reflection of the boring, backyard pool that he refuses to swim in anymore, regardless if there is still nine hours left until we flip that calendar from July to August and the "Pool Closed" sign is hung up for the season.

As I watched the announcements for the 2014 Emmy Award Nominations, I jumped off the couch like Tom Cruise and gave a "woohoo" when I heard Uzo Aduba's name (which I have no idea how to pronounce) as a nominee in the category for Outstanding Guest Actress in a comedy. Uzo Aduba plays Suzanne "Crazy Eyes" Warren in Netflix's Orange is the New Black series and she is crazy....and AWEsome!  

After I calmed down and realized how pathetic I was, I couldn't help, but, daydream just a little....ok, fine, a lot...about perhaps one day, when I'm old and gray...ok, fine, older and grayer...sitting on my couch and woohoo'ing after hearing Ryan's name announced as a potential Emmy Winner. Chances are it would not be in the comedy category, since, although Ryan is freaking hysterical, he rarely tries to be or rarely gets his own humor. Now that I think about it, that might actually make him funnier and more believable, thus more Emmy worthy.

It's not like I think an Emmy is eminent for Ryan because he has extensive acting experience (His only theatrical production was the role of Hippo in a second grade play...he was an outstanding Hippo) or because he has expressed interest in the theater (besides sitting in a movie theater seat watching the latest kid friendly movie with a bucket of popcorn), but, for a boy who can memorize just about anything, who can imitate any sound he hears and who can sing his heart out, a future actor seems like a good fit. Which most assuredly will lead to an Emmy nod.

Like any good actor or actress, Ryan can memorize lines. In fact, he has spent his entire life doing just that...using lines he hears elsewhere to communicate. Very rarely does Ryan use his own words, his own script, or his own lines when communicating. There is very little ad libbing and improvisation going on with this future Emmy Nominee. If it's not in the script, it's not in the show.

Most of Ryan's language is comprised of lines from television shows, movies, video games, or from the lips of yours truly. Even when my boy plays with the dog, it is my lines, my silly voice, my puppy love songs, my facial expressions, and my body language. However, since Ryan is so AWEsome, and because a 45 (what?) year old woman singing to a 90 pound lab looks a little like Crazy Eyes, it sounds and looks so much better when Ryan does it. Even though it may be unintentional, my boy totally upstages me and I am left back stage, alone, during the curtain call.

One of the telltale signs of autism is deficits in verbal and nonverbal communication, so it seems illogical that I would think Ryan has a future on the stage where language, verbal and nonverbal communication are essential. The thing is, an actor or actress is playing a role. They are not chitchatting with friends, trying to understand the social nuances of peers, or figuring out the appropriate response to a vague, hard to understand question, unless of course the role calls for that, and if the role did call for such situations, there would be a script telling the actor what to say and how to say it. Ryan would nail it.

During Ryan's first ever evaluation, I remember telling the folks from Early Intervention that Ryan rarely used his own language, almost everything he said was language he had heard elsewhere. This was the first time I heard the word "scripting". Ryan "scripts" lines, he has heard elsewhere, but, ironically is able to use them in just the right manner in a conversation. 

Whether it's Jim Carrey as The Grinch or Mike Myers as Fat Bastard (Ryan calls him "Fat B" because he isn't allowed to swear until he is 16...I swear I have no idea where that rule came from), Ryan has comedic impersonations down to a science, yet, over the years as Denial and Clueless sat next to me in the "audience" listening to Ryan's scripting, I was not laughing, applauding or enjoying the show, instead, I was wringing my hands and worrying. 

I would say things like, "Fat B" is freaking hysterical, but, I think Ryan is even funnier. Can I hear Ryan talk now?". To which "Fat B" would respond, in a near perfect impersonation, "Maybe. It did sound a little wet there at the end." Did I mention Fat B loves potty talk? Too bad Ryan is not a Ryan Gosling fan, he'd have all the girls at school swooning. 

At Ryan's most recent evaluation, his "scripting" and language deficits were at the top of my concerns and it turns out, I was right (sometimes I hate being right...not very often, but, sometimes). Ryan greeted the doctor and her staff in the most amazing British accent which had them all smiling, After the evaluation, the lovely doctor, in a very nice, professional manner basically told me that with as many kids as she sees, Ryan's language is poorer than most kids who walk through her door. Ryan's scripting, his verbal and non-verbal communication might just have peaked at the age of 12 and chances are, it's a good as it's gonna get. I felt like I was going to throw up. 

I believe this wonderful psychologist was typecast perfectly for her role. To deliver such powerful lines, in a very kind and compassionate way to this worried freaked out mom, could have easily won her an Emmy. This kind doc was doing her job and she had memorized her lines and played her role beautifully, but, Denial and I still wanted to exit stage right and silently hope the curtain fell on her head.

The doc had her lines down, but, sadly, I did not. There was no script for this worried mom. Being told that my beautiful leading man will always struggle with communication, as his critically acclaimed (let me have my moment please) supporting actress, I didn't know what to say or how to act. In that moment, all of the lines I had memorized over the years vanished, and I sat in that office with a serious case of stage fright.  

Even though I have spent hours trying to understand autism, and even though, I have always been told that autism is a "life long disability", with Denial wiping my tears and repairing my makeup, I recognized that this supporting actress, this director, this stage mom had always hoped that the antagonist, Autism would exit stage left and never, ever be cast in a performance of Ryan's again. 

I smiled through my tears and thanked the lovely doctor. I knew this kind psychologist was not the antagonist in this scene, nope, that role belonged to autism, and it always had. Talk about being typecast. And even though I felt like I had read and heard this script before, with a different cast, in a different scene, it still felt raw, new, and horribly painful.

I came home and cried and sulked just like poor Susan Lucci, who needed 19 Emmy nominations before finally winning the coveted award. In my heart, I believed that Ryan could still make progress, that he could find different scripts, different directors, different supporting cast and different settings that will enable him to do a lot more ad libbing and improvising. Just like directors have the ability to bring out performances in their actors and actresses that lead to Emmy Awards, with proper direction, Ryan may outperform any actor who has stood on the stage before him. 

Ryan is the protagonist of his production, as well as the executive producer and although he may steal lines from other cast mates, as well as upstage them with his charming AWEsomeness, I believe Ryan will never let the antagonist, Autism, steal the show. Ryan will continue to act out his scenes, and I will do my best to direct him to a happy ending. There will be production problems, creative differences, long intermissions and quite possibly the occasional strike, but, no one, not even Autism, can predict Ryan's upcoming scenes. No one can say how Ryan's story will unfold or how it will end, but, between the two of us, we can make a beautiful production that we will continue to share with others so they can see, that the protagonist can overcome whatever obstacles the antagonist puts in their way and that good guys do not always finish last.

This is not a dress rehearsal, this is the real, sold out show. I refuse to let anyone predict the script...not doctors, not therapists, not experts, not even Autism. Whether Ryan's performance is held before a live audience or in the comfort of friends and family, I promise you, that during the last scene, when the final lines of the script are spoken, and the audience demands a curtain call, I will quietly exit stage right, and watch my star receive his much deserved standing ovation. And quite possibly that Emmy.

A recent trip back to my childhood hometown for a baseball tournament, unearthed a slew of memories that I had not recalled in quite some time. Isn't it funny how a certain place, a certain smell, or a certain sound can transport you back in time? Perhaps some of those memories are best repressed in the deep recesses of your mind, while others, make you smile and long for days gone by. As I willingly shared many childhood moments during my drive down Memory Lane with my three kids, I found out my kids wished that most of my childhood memories remained buried along with how to multiply and divide fractions, in a place forever lost, never to be exhumed again. 

As the kids and I drove past one memory triggering landmark to the next, I would giddily shout out, "Look kids, that's where Mommy and her friends would sneak out of the pool at night and get into trouble!". Then as I swerved slightly off the road in a childhood flashback, "Oh, and that road right there is where we would go to kiss boys.". As I almost missed a stop sign, "Hey kids, put down your iPads, iPhones and iPods and look just past those trees is where we would go to rumble with other girls." (Kyle almost vomited that I said "rumble".). As we quickly approached out destination, "Check out that building right there, that's where Mommy and her friends use to go and listen to bands and go dancing.". My kids were not impressed, in fact they were mortified. 

Kyle tweeted, "Driving through my mom's town where she grew up and she showed us where she made out with boys." Ryan, while covering his ears, shouted, "Please stop talking, you are burning my ears with your inappropriate childhood!". Emma, who was the only one not embarrassed by my lack of filter sharing, was most intrigued by where I went to dance and the fact that I did dance. Poor innocent thing, was picturing her young, wrinkle free mommy wearing a tutu and a leotard while dancing across a stage like a sugar plumb fairy in The Nutcracker, not like a head banging groupie with big 80's hair wearing a black unitard and cut off Levi's. She did get the stage thing right, however, in her vision, I'm sure she didn't see the bouncers tossing me off the stage as I tried to grab the microphone.

I have always loved a good song to dance to...back when I was young and even today. Just a couple of weeks ago, a good ole' 80's Aerosmith tune came on Pandora and without missing a beat, I got my groove on in the kitchen horrifying Kyle, once again (the joy I feel embarrassing my teenage son is indescribable), and pinching a nerve in my no longer 21 year old neck. All those years of head banging has done quite a number on my cervical spine, so I grabbed the Aleve and kept on dancing. Regardless of age and the amount of damage to my C2 vertebrae, I still love to dance, but, like any good 80's/90's headbanging dancer, you want to mix up the music, hear a different song. Some songs, however, people like to play over and over again, no matter how many times you have tried to get them to change the music, feel a different beat, it always ends up being the same old song and dance.

Last weekend, as I danced down Memory Lane, Ryan wanted to turn the van around, due in part to my "inappropriate childhood", but, also because once the road trip is over, Ryan is ready to head back home. Ryan loves traveling to see family and friends, but, upon arrival he struggles outside his comfort zone. Kyle's first baseball game was at the park where I swam at the public pool during my middle school and high school years. As I sat back quietly looking around and regressing, Ryan sat next to me quietly (at first) and struggling.

It was hot and sunny and the only place that offered shade was underneath a pavilion where all the fans from both teams were sitting, yelling, cheering, and clapping for their team. In other words, poor Ryan thought while Mom was so busy driving down Memory Lane, she must have missed a turn and drove him right to Hell. 

Too much heat, too much sun, too much noise, too many people and two wasp sightings were already taxing my boy, then an accidental Powerade spill all over his shirt and shorts, just about threw him over the edge. Ryan wanted his exact same shorts and shirt dried immediately, he wanted the game to end, and he wanted his extended family, who came to watch the game and who love him to pieces, to stop trying to make small talk. He became angry, cantankerous, and withdrawn. My trip down Memory Lane came to a screeching halt as I quickly made a U-turn onto Present Street.

With all four of Ryan's 80 year old grandparents at the game, Ryan refused to give up his chair to one of them. He ignored the questions, suggestions, and hopefully, the stares, judgement, and remarks as he moaned and whined for most of the 7 innings. For friends and family who don't see Ryan often and who don't "get him" or get Autism, some believe that Ryan has "gotten worse". Those same people believe Ryan's behavior is a direct result of not enough discipline and "spoiling him", in other words, poor parenting. As his parents, if we just "grabbed him by the shirt collar and made him move out of that chair", Ryan's autism, his sensory overload, his stubborn behavior, and his struggle with communication would disappear as quickly as my headbanging dancing days. 

For friends, family and baseball fans who don't "see" Ryan and who don't know him well, they don't see that the comfort of the chair he always sits in, regardless if his 83 year old grandfather does not have a chair, is the one familiar thing that feels like home to him in a strange place filled with sun, heat, wasps, shouty baseball fans, and wet, sticky Powerade. This chair is the one thing Ryan can count on not to disrupt his routine and make an already taxed out, overloaded sensory system, even worse. People who don't see Ryan believe he should not be catered to with special chairs, special routines, special food requests, special brands and special excuses because they believe Ryan will "get over it", "outgrow it" and "eat when he is hungry". 

No matter how hard Dan and I try to educate, advocate, and explain how important it is for people who don't see Ryan to change their way of thinking, to see the world through his eyes instead of their own, to finally change the music, it's the same old song and dance. And even after all these years of dancing, my feet still get sore, my heart still gets heavy and my soul still gets weary as I desperately long for people to play a new song.

I have heard from many other parents loving a child with an ASD over the years that they too get tired of the same old song dance. They get so frustrated with family members and friends who just don't get it. People who judge instead of understand. People who criticize instead of support. People who blame instead of accept. These are the same folks who blame sensory overloaded outbursts on lack of discipline. The ones who blame picky eaters on parents who spoil them. The ones who think Ryan's struggle to communicate is an act of defiance. The ones who compare a child with an ASD to a neurotypical child and who don't understand why your child is so stubborn, argumentative, bad, (insert any negative word here), and why Little Johnny is so good. The ones who are so quick to judge, so quick to disregard and so quick to blame. The ones who are the first to say, "It must be the parents fault.".

I try to understand, particularly for the older generation, that autism didn't always exist, but, neither did rock and roll, headbanging, hip thrusting and Elvis, yet over time these strange new ways, although still misunderstood by some, have been accepted by many. I wonder if Elvis' mom felt the judgmental stares of a generation boring through her as kids across the world started pelvic thrusting on the dance floor. Like any mom, I bet Mrs. Presley's shoulders were big enough to bear it. Regardless of the size of our shoulders, the weight of judgement and misunderstanding is still incredibly heavy.

In order to alleviate some of this misunderstanding, there are many websites where parents can get business cards made that say "My Child has Autism" so if their child is struggling they can hand these cards out to the judging eyes of others. I understand why parents feel they need such a card, but, it makes me sad that such a card is necessary. When a two year old is having a meltdown at the check out line in Target because she can't have the toy that is purposely placed directly at child eye level so you will buy said toy to avoid said meltdown (retailers are such schemers), the mother doesn't need a card which says, "My Child has the Terrible Twos" that she feels compelled to hand to the shopper behind her rolling her eyes at such a "spoiled" child.

My days of dancing on the stage (and subsequently being tossed off by the bouncers) may have come to an end due to my unitard and Levi's no longer fitting me and the arthritis forming in my old headbanger neck, but, my days of educating, advocating, and supporting my son and kids like him have only just begun. I will continue to dance in my kitchen where I can quickly find the Aleve and I will continue to advocate for children and families living with Autism in the hope that one day, a My Child has Autism card won't be necessary. 

I hope that in time, for those folks who insist on continually dancing to the same old song, over and over again, that they will at the very least, one day change their tune and that the judgments, the stares, and the misunderstandings will disappear as quickly as my 1990's big hair, headbanging, dancing days. The song they hear, is truly making them miss out on the beauty of the dance.