Once again, I dropped the ball. I swear, the older I get, the busier the kids get, the more balls I drop. Along with balls dropping, trees are dropping at record breaking speed, due in part to the inordinate amount of paperwork that is sent home with elementary school students. There is hope, people of Sherwood Forest, the high school sends nary a piece of scratch paper home....all reminders, upcoming events, progress reports, etc. are done electronically, and as long as you remember to check the website from time to time, not a tree need fall. There is literally an acre of forest sitting on my kitchen table, in a bin where I supposedly organize it (yeah, and Robin Hood and his Merry Men didn't steal either) and on Ryan's desk in his bedroom....which I never see....until it's too late. And with the sun setting on the innocence of elementary school, an oak wood tree or two has been sacrificed in order to prepare students and their parents for this next big change.
Ryan is in fifth grade. The final year of elementary school. I'm not sure who is more of an emotional train wreck about this chapter ending, him or me. As his mother, elementary school has been this safe nest where all the baby birds are protected from the big, nasty predators that lie in wait for them to stumble and fall out of the nest while mama bird is out scrounging up a worm or two for dinner. To me, middle school feels like a swift kick out of the nest to the waiting bully's, I mean, predators, down below. Ryan is not so concerned about snakes or bigger birds eating him for dinner, he is stressed about change. Kids on the autism spectrum crave routine and sameness. If a change in the decoration of the tissue box stresses Ryan out, leaving the school that he has grown and thrived in (thanks to the nurturing of wonderful teachers and a daily, predictable routine), then middle school is going to feel like an entirely new planet to him. In fact, when I mentioned at the beginning of fifth grade that next year he'll be off to middle school, Ryan quickly replied, "I think I'm smart enough and won't be needing any more FORMAL education after 5th grade." Oh, how in some ways I wish that were true. What ever happened to the boys needing to learn just the basics of education then quit school in order to help Pa plow the fields and tend to the cattle? Unfortunately, we have no fields or cows, so I guess Ryan's "formal education" will continue.
Prior to throwing our babies to the wolves, sharks and king cobras of middle school, the elementary school spends an afternoon preparing these kids for the BIG change that often occurs during the fragile middle school years. That rite of passage when our sweet angelic baby's pituitary gland hits the on switch and releases a tumultuous wave of hormones we so lovingly call puberty. Unlike the "old days" when I was a kid (OMG, I just typed the "old days" and I wasn't referring to my grandparents' era) we learned about the birds and the bees on the original information super highway, the school bus. Since there were equally as many "viruses", misguided information, and so called "experts" sharing mixed messages as today's internet super highway, the elementary school now takes on this oh so embarrassing conversation (God bless them) to make sure each child learns the real deal.
For fifth grade students, they separate the boys and the girls and talk about the different ways their body is changing or about to change. THE actual birds and bees talk where they discuss what happens when those changing bodies end up on a date together doesn't happen until next year (something for me to look forward to). It's funny, I can recall a very distinct moment in the hospital about 36 hours after Kyle was born when I looked at Dan and said, "What will I do with a boy when he hits puberty?". Dan reassured me that by the time puberty rolled around, I'd figure it out. Wrong. Kyle is 15 and although I read all the books and websites on how to have THE talk with your kid (in the car when there is no eye contact has been tried repeatedly), Kyle would stop me short every time utterly mortified that I was even trying. AWEnestly, just a week ago we finally had a bit of a discussion where he actually let me finish what I had to say. Ryan, however, is an entirely different child and throw in a little autism black and white thinking, and I figured this conversation would need to go at a much slower pace, over a longer period of time and that visual aids would be necessary. I wanted to do everything I could to help prepare Ryan for THE talk and that's where I dropped the ball....again.
Of course, I knew the puberty talk was coming up and I wanted Dan or myself (preferably Dan) to brief Ryan a little bit before being shown a movie and having an open discussion in a classroom full of other equally embarrassed and horrified children. I planned on asking the nurse or the guidance counselor if I could review the curriculum ahead of time to help prepare Ryan. Well, guess what? The school sent home a note with the website and information on the when and where of THE talk a few days before it was to take place and I found it in the middle of the forest on Ryan's desk a few days after THE talk had happened and the ball came crashing down on my head.
As I said before, Ryan does not like change. He likes routine, sameness and feeling like he has some type of control over the world around him. Clearly, no one shared this tidbit of information with his pituitary gland or his hormones. For a child on the spectrum who has an overloaded sensory system, trying to anticipate any changes that may feel like an assault on their system is vital. Puberty unleashes a deluge of changes to the body and there is no control over it. Hair starts popping up in places where only a few months ago there was nothing but soft, smooth skin. Emotions, that are so often easily triggered for a child on the autism spectrum regardless of hormonal surges, roll over their unsuspecting, can't plan for it body like a steamroller. And for boys, well, what's going on "down there", is certainly something no social story can prepare them for (or their poor mother). Let's be AWEnest, boys regardless of age, stage of puberty, different ability, etc seem to always have their hands "down there". They always have a reason or excuse for it too which is kind of funny. Maybe that list of excuses is given out at THE talk as well.
Suffice it to say, that as Ryan's mother I am completely freaked out over these impending changes and the effect it will have on my sweet, unsuspecting son. We have begun explaining the easy stuff, like body hair, bigger muscles and voice change, but I have decided I will leave the more uncomfortable discussions for Dan or Kyle. Yeah, I have no problem throwing my 15 year old under the bus and letting him handle this job. After all, I'm a girl, I can't begin to explain what it feels like to go from a boy to a man. I have different parts and different hormones so I only think it's right that the members of my house who have similar parts have this discussion.
I know the hygiene part of this change will fall on me. I will have to be the one who explains to Ryan that shower nights now have to be every night of the week not just on the current Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday schedule and listen to the complaints of how this change in schedule will effect his entire life. It will be good old mom's job to explain that even though putting on deodorant is "tickly" and that the new hair growth in his arm pits may make the application of deodorant feel tortuous his smell without it will be the demise of any social acceptance by his peers (which quite frankly Ryan could care less about it). And when I suffer tremors from the PTSD of potty training days, recalling the horrific fear Ryan had going from pooping in diapers to pooping in the potty, I will summon my patience when I explain that if he is careful, a razor will not cause him to bleed out in the bathroom sink and that although the shaving cream may feel horribly sticky, it makes the chance of blood less likely (AWEnestly, if he knows there is a chance of blood, he will probably be able to fill in for one of the ZZ Top band members, because that razor isn't goin' anywhere near his face).
And most importantly, it will be mom who calms Ryan down as the emotions and feelings he has never experienced before take over his poor pubescent body when his guard is down leaving his already taxed out sensory system vulnerable. This vulnerability will leave Ryan feeling utterly and totally without control in a world where change is not only difficult, it is down right scary. And when the snakes, sharks and bullies whose body changes evoke a surge of testosterone and meanness, hurt Ryan's feelings, pick on him or kick him out of the nest when he isn't looking, it will be me that soothes Ryan's fears, remind him how exceptional he is and provide him a bigger nest where regardless of his size or the changes that have taken over his unsuspecting body and child like soul, he will always, always feel safe.
Yes Bob Dylan had it right when he sang,
"Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changing."
Little did Bob Dylan know that my boy is a very strong swimmer and in the moments where Ryan feels like he may "sink like a stone", his mama with her bruised up face from taking hits from those proverbial balls she drops from time to time, can make for one unsinkable life preserver. So Mr. Pituitary Gland, when you release your torrent of hormones on my boy, he will be wearing his soft Hollister t-shirt for comfort, holding on to his life preserver mama for safety, gripping his razor in fear of itchy, scratchy, bleeding whiskers and praying that the new muscles in his back and chest give him the strength to withhold the unstoppable changes from boy to man.
As I said before, Ryan does not like change. He likes routine, sameness and feeling like he has some type of control over the world around him. Clearly, no one shared this tidbit of information with his pituitary gland or his hormones. For a child on the spectrum who has an overloaded sensory system, trying to anticipate any changes that may feel like an assault on their system is vital. Puberty unleashes a deluge of changes to the body and there is no control over it. Hair starts popping up in places where only a few months ago there was nothing but soft, smooth skin. Emotions, that are so often easily triggered for a child on the autism spectrum regardless of hormonal surges, roll over their unsuspecting, can't plan for it body like a steamroller. And for boys, well, what's going on "down there", is certainly something no social story can prepare them for (or their poor mother). Let's be AWEnest, boys regardless of age, stage of puberty, different ability, etc seem to always have their hands "down there". They always have a reason or excuse for it too which is kind of funny. Maybe that list of excuses is given out at THE talk as well.
Suffice it to say, that as Ryan's mother I am completely freaked out over these impending changes and the effect it will have on my sweet, unsuspecting son. We have begun explaining the easy stuff, like body hair, bigger muscles and voice change, but I have decided I will leave the more uncomfortable discussions for Dan or Kyle. Yeah, I have no problem throwing my 15 year old under the bus and letting him handle this job. After all, I'm a girl, I can't begin to explain what it feels like to go from a boy to a man. I have different parts and different hormones so I only think it's right that the members of my house who have similar parts have this discussion.
I know the hygiene part of this change will fall on me. I will have to be the one who explains to Ryan that shower nights now have to be every night of the week not just on the current Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday schedule and listen to the complaints of how this change in schedule will effect his entire life. It will be good old mom's job to explain that even though putting on deodorant is "tickly" and that the new hair growth in his arm pits may make the application of deodorant feel tortuous his smell without it will be the demise of any social acceptance by his peers (which quite frankly Ryan could care less about it). And when I suffer tremors from the PTSD of potty training days, recalling the horrific fear Ryan had going from pooping in diapers to pooping in the potty, I will summon my patience when I explain that if he is careful, a razor will not cause him to bleed out in the bathroom sink and that although the shaving cream may feel horribly sticky, it makes the chance of blood less likely (AWEnestly, if he knows there is a chance of blood, he will probably be able to fill in for one of the ZZ Top band members, because that razor isn't goin' anywhere near his face).
And most importantly, it will be mom who calms Ryan down as the emotions and feelings he has never experienced before take over his poor pubescent body when his guard is down leaving his already taxed out sensory system vulnerable. This vulnerability will leave Ryan feeling utterly and totally without control in a world where change is not only difficult, it is down right scary. And when the snakes, sharks and bullies whose body changes evoke a surge of testosterone and meanness, hurt Ryan's feelings, pick on him or kick him out of the nest when he isn't looking, it will be me that soothes Ryan's fears, remind him how exceptional he is and provide him a bigger nest where regardless of his size or the changes that have taken over his unsuspecting body and child like soul, he will always, always feel safe.
Yes Bob Dylan had it right when he sang,
"Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changing."
Little did Bob Dylan know that my boy is a very strong swimmer and in the moments where Ryan feels like he may "sink like a stone", his mama with her bruised up face from taking hits from those proverbial balls she drops from time to time, can make for one unsinkable life preserver. So Mr. Pituitary Gland, when you release your torrent of hormones on my boy, he will be wearing his soft Hollister t-shirt for comfort, holding on to his life preserver mama for safety, gripping his razor in fear of itchy, scratchy, bleeding whiskers and praying that the new muscles in his back and chest give him the strength to withhold the unstoppable changes from boy to man.
In the blink of an eye....
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