Ahhh...do you hear that? It's the sound of children banging around in the kitchen trying to make their own breakfast while you try to sleep off your Orange is the New Black binge watching hangover. As you curse the sound of Fruity Pebbles spilling all over the floor you remind yourself it's not the end of the world because first of all, you are not wearing an orange jump suit and serving 8-10 years, and second of all, since there is nowhere to go you can just continue to lie in bed and let the dog clean up that rainbow sugary mess. No, it's not Mother's Day or your birthday, it's summer. Let the love/hate relationship with the season I love/hate the most begin!!

Summer is warm summer nights, popsicle sunsets, staying up late, bathing in the pool instead of the bathtub and no homework. Praise God there is no vague writing assignments, no common core math and no tardy slips for rolling into school 30 seconds after the bell rings. Thirty seconds, seriously...cut me a break...again...please?!

Summer for my autistic son is also a love/hate season. Ryan is ecstatic that summer is upon us, yet, anxious that the school year has come to an end. There are mutiple reasons why these hot summer days bring us both joy and anxiety. Here are just a few:

1. Bugs. Big ones, little ones, flying ones, crawling ones. Summer equals warm weather (love) which unearths the bugs, which we now call "things", and these unearthed "things" equal anxiety (hate). 

2. Hooray, there is no schedule (love)!! Oh dear God, there is no schedule (hate)!! Yes, not as much running to and fro certainly equals less screaming to "Hurry up before we are tardy (again)", but, not as much to do is NOT necessarily a good thing for a child who craves routine, who loves a schedule and who always wants to know "what to expect" next. 

3. No more packing the EXACT SAME SCHOOL LUNCH EVERY SINGLE DAY (love), but, figuring out what to feed him since that lunch is for school only, causes my chest to constrict (hate). No, we cannot eat Little Ceasars Pizza every single day for lunch (can we?).

4. The pool is officially open so some days the pool becomes one big bath tub (love) so there really is no reason to shower. Ever. Just like his brain takes a break over the lazy days of summer, so does his hygiene (hate). I mean, if we have nowhere to go, why is cleanliness even an issue?

5. No reason to brush teeth ever. See number 4.

6. Ryan struggles so much to "fit in", so, summer time means a temporary freeze on many awkward social situations (love), but, the end result is a summer spent in his room alone (hate). 

7. Thunderstorms. Summer means cool fronts clashing with warm fronts which means the wonderful smell of a summer rain (love), but, if there is a greater than 80% chance of a thunderstorm someone is NOT going outside (hate). Good bye plans for the day. It's that time of year we consider blocking The Weather Channel.

8. Summer means increasing his building expertise and using his imagination as he creates new worlds in Minecraft (love), but, it means way more freedom to withdrawal from this world into the world of Creepers, Zombies and Spider Jockeys (hate).

9. More time with mom means I continue to learn more and more about his incredibly unique mind and his beautiful heart (love), but, as much as I love it, I know he would much rather be walking the mall with a group of teenagers. Summer can be very, very lonely (hate).

10. Summer means time for vacations, time to explore somewhere new (love), but, for a kid who likes routine, leaving his comfort zone and trying somewhere new is usually met with a great deal of grumbling and resistance (hate). If it ain't the beach, he ain't going.

Ahhhh...yes, welcome summer. I love to love and hate you.

Orange is the New Black begins right about the time I start comparing Ryan's bedroom to the SHU (Segregated Housing Unit for those of you unfamiliar with Litchfield Penitentiary) as he spends much of his time in solitary confinement.

There are plenty of reasons why summer and autism clash. The lazy days of summer are too lazy, too carefree, too unscheduled, too much. So, there are plenty of reasons for me to despise summer, but, rather than focus on the bugs, the weather and the smell of boy seeping from under his bedroom door, I try to focus on all the reasons Ryan and I both love summer because even on the hard days, even in the tough moments, we both know the seasons will change almost as quickly as he does.

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".

We just returned from four days at the beach. The beach....it's great to say the word "beach", type the word "beach" and think of the word "beach" and smile a real, genuine, feel it in your heart, smile. The word "beach" always makes me smile, however, for a few years, my smile went on a brief vacation to Siberia whenever The B Word was mentioned.

My smile didn't head north because I don't love the beach, oh no, I am, and always have been, a beach girl at heart...as long as it's not raining and the water is above 76 degrees and shark free. I have always loved the sand, the sun, and the waves, and believe me, I've got the wrinkles and sun damage from my carefree, SPF free days to prove it. However, once you have kids, days at the beach change. Carting kids and kids' beach essentials make the carefree beach days, not quite so carefree anymore. 

As young, carefree 20 something, I use to laugh at all the crap parents toted to the beach when I happily stepped onto the sand with a chair and a towel. Then I became one of them, sort of, in a way...not really. When you add a dab of autism to the sunscreen, swim diapers, shovels, pails, boogie boards, beach chairs and endless please keep them from whining, bribe them with anything regardless of the sugar content snacks, the once cool ocean breezes can feel as fiery as the gates of Hell.

When Ryan was little, The B Word, was almost as bad as The F Word. The sun, the sand, the wind, the sticky sunscreen and the shrill, ear piercing sound of the lifeguard's whistle was more than my sensory overloaded boy could take. You would think as a mother I would feel so badly watching my son meltdown as quickly as his overpriced Ice Cream Man popsicle, that I would have scooped him up and taken him back to the safety of his temperature regulated, sand free, ocean breeze free beach house, but, I didn't. Remember how I said I LOVED the beach? Well, come the fiery gates of hell or storm surge high water, this beach girl was determined to make my son love the beach too.

Year after year, as we endured tears and whining, bribes and threats, and after exhausting each and every possible distraction that would not make the sand feel so sandy, the sun feel so sunny, and the wind feel so windy, I would think, "Next year, he will learn to love the beach. Next year". 

Yes, each and every year, as the car was packed up and the beach gear was dragged up from the bowels of the basement, with the remnants of sand and dried tears (both Ryan's and mine) covering the shovels, the pails and the boogie boards, I would silently pray, "Let this year be the year my little man finally gets what all this "down the shore" fuss is about. Amen.".

For many years, my prayers went unanswered as I sat on my beach chair holding my sand covered boy in my lap as he burrowed his head into my chest and grinded sand into my second and third layer of skin in his attempt to protect himself from all things beachy. 

As I futilely attempted to remove each and every grain of sand from Ryan's stressed out body, I would see those "other mothers" and I can AWEnestly say, I kind of, sort of, really hated them. Those "other mothers" who sat in their beach chairs happily watching their children frolic in the surf and bury their siblings neck deep in the sand. 

Those "other mothers", whom I believed took for granted the perfect beach day. The mothers who stood along the shore, camcorder in hand proudly capturing such beautiful moments so that in their golden years they could reminisce these perfect child rearing memories in the years to come. As I stood by, tears streaking my sand covered face, silently and selfishly hoping a giant sand sinkhole would swallow those "other mothers" and their perfectly recorded memories up. Yep, I hated them.

Ryan oblivious to my tears, because he was literally blinded by his own sunscreen infused tears, would rub his eyes, which of course only made his wails of "burn, burn, burn" grow louder, didn't even know anyone else existed on the beach, let alone his feeling sorry for herself, trying to suck it up, mother. Ryan was too busy trying desperately to survive the onslaught of sensory stimuli, while I shot daggers at mothers I didn't even know and Ryan's big brother Kyle jumped in the waves....alone, hoping one day his little brother would join him. 

Little did I know, that my time, as a mom happily enjoying the beach with all her children, and Kyle's time (having a brother body surf the waves) was coming, we just had to be patient and wait. I hate waiting.

Being the beach lover that I am, as much as I wanted Ryan to frolic in the ocean like a dolphin and scurry across the sand like a crab, in terms of sea life, my son was more like an oyster than a dolphin or crab. 

Like an oyster, Ryan had a hard to penetrate shell that he used to protect himself from things unfamiliar trying to enter his safe, closed off haven. Over the years, Ryan has slowly allowed unfamiliar and foreign stimuli that are horribly irritating to him, inside his protective shell. And just like an oyster's natural reaction to a foreign substance entering it's shell, is to cover up the irritant to protect itself, Ryan too tried to protect himself by closing up to all things beachy. 

However, just like a pearl takes years and years to develop inside the shell of an oyster, over time, that once irritant that broke through Ryan's shell, has no longer become something to fear, but, something to behold. In an attempt to protect himself from outside stimuli, Ryan was creating something beautiful within the walls of his shell, something that I couldn't see from the outside. The beauty that lied within the shell needed time to grow and develop so that it could turn into something so exquisite and so rare, that was absolutely worth the wait. 

Finally this year, my oyster revealed the beautiful pearl that had been forming within. Yes, he whined about how long we were on the beach, and yes, the water wasn't his desired temperature, and yes there were too many "annoying people" around, but, this year, I sat on my beach chair like all the "other mothers" and smiled as I watched all my kids enjoying the beach. Unlike those "other mothers" though, I recognized the rareness of the moment and although we captured it with digital media, those moments are forever ingrained in my heart. Moments that were definitely worth the wait. 

Turns out, I wasn't the only mom harvesting oysters on this particular beach trip. Right down the beach was a group of mothers, who, chances are, at one time or another, hated all those happy smiling "other mothers" with their beach loving neurotypical kids like I did.  It just so happened that the same week we were at the beach, so was Surfers Healing http://www.surfershealing.org/, an organization that provides surfing opportunities for kids and adults living with autism. 

I watched as these kids who fight so hard to keep anything from seeping in between the cracks of their shell, open up just enough to experience something AWEsome. Many kids went into the waves closed up tightly and protecting themselves because they were afraid and unsure, but, they all came out shining beautifully to the applause and cheers of an entire beach. Yes, that day, I watched the shoreline shimmer with beautiful pearls who found pride and joy in the ocean waves while standing up on a surf board. While their parents looked on at the precious and rare gem that outshone any other.

Ryan may never love the beach like his mother, which will probably decrease the signs of aging and his risk for skin cancer, but, for this beach girl, there was just something different about this beach trip. There was a peacefulness about what is and not so much concern for what could be. Maybe when I finally stopped worrying so much about my little boy's protective shell, I could finally see the pearl that had been forming and growing inside all those years. I just had to sit back and wait. 

And just like a string of cultured pearls that takes a single grain of sand an entire decade to form, only time enables the exquisiteness of such beauty to shine forth and be appreciated in the precise color, shape and size it was destined to be.

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.