So I had a moment. This past Monday, September 9, 2013 I was invited to introduce The AWEnesty of Autism to the Central PA area via a new television show called, Good Day PA! on abc27 news. Ironically, it was also Jenny McCarthy's first day on The View. Two moms loving a child with autism (oh, wait, I'm sorry, her son has "recovered" from autism) making their big debut. While sitting in The Green Room waiting for Good Day PA! to begin, I got to watch balloons rain down on Jenny McCarthy and watch Jenny and Sherri Shepherd show Barbara Walters how to "twerk". Sadly, I did not have the opportunity to twerk on Good Day PA! and chances are I would have fallen down while twerking since getting the microphone up the back of my dress was difficult enough. Even though there was not a sea of balloons and Michael Buble was not on set to sing to me, the people at abc27 news were amazing. They helped me relax, they made me feel comfortable and Amy Kehm made me feel like The AWEnesty of Autism Blog was as worthy of air time as any former Playboy Playmate showing Baba Wawa how to twerk.
So, I had my five...well actually, about three, minutes of fame and I rode it. I did not wind up looking like Cindy Brady.....
The Brady Bunch. Paramount Television
....but, I doubt I will be asked to replace Whoopi when she retires from The View or Jenny McCarthy if she is fired for "twerking" during daytime television. Still, it was a fun morning and I was riding that celebrity feeling until it all went down hill...fast. Off came my less than three minutes of fame hat and on went my taxi driver hat, homework helper hat and dinner fetcher hat. Apparently, a small town starlet burns out quickly, and unfortunately, with the final lingering embers of said starlet, the entire house went up in smoke with her.
The official time was 7:17 PM, on September 9th when my red carpet high was extinguished. It occurred at the exact same time that Ryan's official middle school "honeymoon period" was snuffed out too. It wasn't a coincidence. Apparently, middle school honeymoon periods have about the same life expectancy as a local wannabe celebrity. Yes, the changes, the demands and the novelty of middle school had vanished for Ryan, taking my red carpet dreams with it. Boy, sometimes reality sucks...unless of course you are filming a reality television show. Unfortunately, we are not.
The end of the middle school honeymoon period was signaled by several emails from Ryan's teachers just hours after my live debut. "Ryan is not completing his work"...."Ryan seems to be spacing out"...."Ryan is the last student to get started"....and, "This is an accelerated class, and Ryan needs a good bit of direction and re-focusing". Crap. Ryan had been working hard on his own and I kept asking if he needed help and he proudly yelled, "not at all, I'm just fine". So, I thought with his new found independence Ryan was indeed doing "just fine". I tried to loosen that cord a bit, which as a mom, I have a hard time doing, but it seemed I left the cord too loose and my guy was close to hanging himself with it. By the end of the night, I was ready to hang myself too.
The official time was 7:17 PM, on September 9th when my red carpet high was extinguished. It occurred at the exact same time that Ryan's official middle school "honeymoon period" was snuffed out too. It wasn't a coincidence. Apparently, middle school honeymoon periods have about the same life expectancy as a local wannabe celebrity. Yes, the changes, the demands and the novelty of middle school had vanished for Ryan, taking my red carpet dreams with it. Boy, sometimes reality sucks...unless of course you are filming a reality television show. Unfortunately, we are not.
The end of the middle school honeymoon period was signaled by several emails from Ryan's teachers just hours after my live debut. "Ryan is not completing his work"...."Ryan seems to be spacing out"...."Ryan is the last student to get started"....and, "This is an accelerated class, and Ryan needs a good bit of direction and re-focusing". Crap. Ryan had been working hard on his own and I kept asking if he needed help and he proudly yelled, "not at all, I'm just fine". So, I thought with his new found independence Ryan was indeed doing "just fine". I tried to loosen that cord a bit, which as a mom, I have a hard time doing, but it seemed I left the cord too loose and my guy was close to hanging himself with it. By the end of the night, I was ready to hang myself too.
I asked Ryan why he wasn't finishing his work and he told me, "I don't understand and it makes my brain hurt". I asked Ryan why he wasn't paying attention and he said, "It's hard to listen for so long". I asked Ryan if the accelerated math was too hard and he said, through tears, "No, I just don't like to show my work because the answers are all in my head." And with that statement, the tears began as Ryan begged me not to put him in "easy math" because math is where he is confident, math is where he excels, math is what makes him feel smart. Writing and reading comprehension are difficult for Ryan and always have been, but what Ryan failed to see, was that the good old elementary school days of just using the "I didn't understand it" excuse were long gone and that now, in middle school, unfinished work is just that, unfinished work. Unfinished work equals a less than stellar grade, so we set out to get his homework completed....together. And that's where it got UGLY.
It was a simple science poster. Write down a science vocabulary word (that was in his book directly in front of him), write down the meaning (also, right in front of his face) then draw a picture of the word (ok, drawing he hates). The word was observer. I told him to write down the word and the definition (did I mention it was all right in front of him?). Then we looked up Jane Goodall on the web as an example of an observer. I explained that Jane Goodall was a scientist that OBSERVED and studied gorillas then I drew this fabulous piece of art work (yes, an adult drew this picture). Feeling quite pleased with myself, giving Ryan all the visual cues he needed I let him at it. Fifteen minutes later, the poster was as blank as the expression on his face. We went through it all again....and again....and again. Still nothing. I could feel it coming, that moment when my sweet, perky Cindy Brady celebrity persona was about to be replaced with Linda Blair from The Exorcist.
In an attempt not to freak out, through gritted teeth I asked, "Why haven't you written anything down?" to which Ryan responded, "I dunno." "What do you mean you don't know? I have given you everything you need and you still have 6 other words and pictures to finish and it's 9:00!", in my almost Linda Blair voice. "I don't get it.", he responded dejectedly. AWEnestly, what is not to get? I found a great example, I gave him visual cues and I gave him time to process the information. In fact, I practically did everything for him....and there in lies the problem. In Ryan's black and white mind, me helping "too much" is cheating, me not helping enough is leaving him out to dry and since Ryan does not see anything between black and white, sometimes when it comes to homework, we are as doomed as Linda Blair's priest.
I'm pretty sure Ryan sees it coming...this transformation from good mommy to bad mommy. He probably notices the steam coming from my nostrils and with his innately sensitive sensory system he probably feels me trembling from across the room. I try to count to ten, but I barely make it to three before I shout, "I give up! You are on your own!" and stomp out of his bedroom in tears while Ryan sits at his desk drying his own. I hate these moments. My frustration comes out from my inability to reach him, my inability to help him. Sometimes, autism has a hold on Ryan's brain that is so strong, no matter how much love, patience (some days more patience than others), and effort I put forth, I cannot release autism's stubborn grip.
You know those moments when as a mom you watch your child escape a near disastrous injury or accident? A near miss of fingers in the car door, a close call from a car while chasing a stray ball out on the street, or an almost skull fracture along the side of the pool when they slip while running even after you have told them a hundred times not to run by the pool. Many times our first instinct is to scold and yell...."I told you not to run in the street!"...."I told you to walk along the side of the pool!"...."I told you to BE CAREFUL!" even though the fear coursing through our veins is quickly replaced with gratitude that our child is safe. That instinct to yell is out of frustration, out of fear, out of our lack of control. We quickly snatch our perfectly safe kids in our hands and say, "I'm sorry Mommy yelled, I was just so worried about you." And that's it in a nutshell. I am so worried, especially in those moments when I can't "reach" Ryan. I know he is frustrated, I know he is confused, I know he is hurting and I know I feel completely helpless. As a result, sadly, sometimes I yell first, cry second, and apologize third. It's a frustratingly heartbreaking pattern.
As I slammed my bedroom door shut and crawled onto my bed, through my devil possessed, heartbroken soul I wondered, where did that perky, excited mom who looked like she had been hanging out with "Molly" (FYI, "Molly", is the latest ecstasy drug so if your kids tell you about their new friend "Molly" ask to meet her and see her birth certificate) ten minutes before show time go? You know the one who is always filled with excited energy and uses humor to share her son's autism journey so as not to be the Debbie Downer at every neighborhood block party? Well, I will tell you that some days, Linda Blair's head spinning beats the crap out of Cindy Brady's perkiness. I'd like to say it's the work of the devil, but sadly, it's just some days, even the most AWEnest, careful moms, slip off the side of the pool and hit their head while running.
I'm pretty sure Ryan sees it coming...this transformation from good mommy to bad mommy. He probably notices the steam coming from my nostrils and with his innately sensitive sensory system he probably feels me trembling from across the room. I try to count to ten, but I barely make it to three before I shout, "I give up! You are on your own!" and stomp out of his bedroom in tears while Ryan sits at his desk drying his own. I hate these moments. My frustration comes out from my inability to reach him, my inability to help him. Sometimes, autism has a hold on Ryan's brain that is so strong, no matter how much love, patience (some days more patience than others), and effort I put forth, I cannot release autism's stubborn grip.
You know those moments when as a mom you watch your child escape a near disastrous injury or accident? A near miss of fingers in the car door, a close call from a car while chasing a stray ball out on the street, or an almost skull fracture along the side of the pool when they slip while running even after you have told them a hundred times not to run by the pool. Many times our first instinct is to scold and yell...."I told you not to run in the street!"...."I told you to walk along the side of the pool!"...."I told you to BE CAREFUL!" even though the fear coursing through our veins is quickly replaced with gratitude that our child is safe. That instinct to yell is out of frustration, out of fear, out of our lack of control. We quickly snatch our perfectly safe kids in our hands and say, "I'm sorry Mommy yelled, I was just so worried about you." And that's it in a nutshell. I am so worried, especially in those moments when I can't "reach" Ryan. I know he is frustrated, I know he is confused, I know he is hurting and I know I feel completely helpless. As a result, sadly, sometimes I yell first, cry second, and apologize third. It's a frustratingly heartbreaking pattern.
As I slammed my bedroom door shut and crawled onto my bed, through my devil possessed, heartbroken soul I wondered, where did that perky, excited mom who looked like she had been hanging out with "Molly" (FYI, "Molly", is the latest ecstasy drug so if your kids tell you about their new friend "Molly" ask to meet her and see her birth certificate) ten minutes before show time go? You know the one who is always filled with excited energy and uses humor to share her son's autism journey so as not to be the Debbie Downer at every neighborhood block party? Well, I will tell you that some days, Linda Blair's head spinning beats the crap out of Cindy Brady's perkiness. I'd like to say it's the work of the devil, but sadly, it's just some days, even the most AWEnest, careful moms, slip off the side of the pool and hit their head while running.
After I exorcised my devil, I apologized to Ryan and as I dried both of our tears I explained to him that Mommy gets "mad" because my brain can't figure out how to help his brain because his brain is so much smarter than mine. Ryan loves this, by the way. I tell Ryan, I am never angry with him, just with myself and that it's Mommy's job to help him and it makes me sad when I can't find a way to do that. So we finished the poster at 10:37PM and I tucked him into bed. I proceeded to text Dan and let him know that the woman he watched on TV today was as phony as all the other three minute of fame celebrities and that I had burnt out as quickly as Cindy Brady and MC Hammer. Dan said, that woman wasn't phony, "she was AWEnest". Some days, being AWEnest can be exhausting.
"Different, not less" I believe with all my heart, but "different not less" does not mean, "different" is easy. In fact, some days, "different" is really, really tough. And even on the tough days, when I have my phony mommy moments, when I go from Cindy Brady to Linda Blair before a live audience or in the sanctity of our crazy home, I still prefer my mom hat over my three minutes of fame celebrity hat. Unlike Jenny McCarthy, my big television debut will quickly be forgotten...."Kate who?". I will not be discussed in autism forums, I will not be tweeted, I will not be twerking and I will not be trending. As my "celebrity" moment fades away into the abyss of time (like as soon as I walked off the set) I hope bigger, better moments lie ahead for me as "Mom". And although there will certainly be some damage that I do along the way, hopefully, my kids have fabulous careers which will afford them a great therapist as well as a great plastic surgeon for good OLD Mom, just in case Jenny's twerking doesn't quite make the grade and The View does in fact come calling.
The "moments" that mean the most are typically the least celebrated.
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