A year ago I was just coming out of a period of depression that turned my understanding of myself upside down and left me feeling raw and exhausted. To celebrate my recovery, I wrote my first set of New Year's resolutions since adolescence: Adventures In The Fog: Ring out the old...
Revisiting them today, I am pleased to say I manged to stick to most of them, although five and six still elude me. I guess I'm just not ready to be ruthless and organised yet. I still need that cushion of too many possessions and insurmountable mess to protect me from the big, bad world.
It has been a tough year in many ways, but after getting through 2011, 2012 has been a doddle. So, no resolutions this time, just a simple wish for a better year filled with good friends, good times and the strength to survive anything life might throw at you.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
Christmas at Chaos Central
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And so another Christmas has passed. This time relatively peacefully, with very little fuss and no major meltdowns. I would call it a success, but an expensive one. Not financially, but emotionally.
I wish that Christmas and birthdays could be just another ordinary day. That we could just periodically buy the boys gifts whenever the money is available with no thought to the date on the calendar, but just because they deserve them, want them or we want to give them. But they know about Christmas and birthdays. They know these dates mean balloons, decorations, presents and cake (and sometimes guests) and they would be outraged if these conventions were not adhered to.
We tried really hard this year to get the balance right between making Christmas "Christmassy" enough for our younger son, and trying not to over-stimulate his older brother. I didn't for one minute think that it would be the younger one who would find it more difficult; He was so happy and excited that it was finally here.
It's exhausting trying to stay ahead of all the potential stress points, it's also impossible to deal with them all, but it is so absolutely worth it when things are going well and they're excited, happy and staying just the right side of overwhelmed. The trouble is, even when you prepare them ahead of time, introduce the decorations slowly (keeping them fairly minimal), try to arrange it so that they get a few things they really want rather than lots of unexpected and exciting things and try to spread the excitement out over a few days so it's not quite so overwhelmingly-different then straight-back-to-normal...they struggle.
So anyway, the boys had a good day. We had no conflict, no jealousy over who got what.They did the most wonderful job of sharing and turn-taking right the way through from 6am to dinner time. But then it all caught up with them. The older one retreated into the internal film show that seems to be constantly playing just behind his eyes and the younger one got "cross and disappointed and tired and lonely" and sat on the stairs throwing his Story Cubes around before lining them up along the centre of each of the first nine stairs.
He didn't know how to get himself away from this feeling and couldn't explain why he wasn't happy anymore, so I gathered up the Story Cubes and took him to his bedroom where we shut the door, put his "Keep Out" sign up and told each other silly stories using the cubes as a starting point. I love spending time with him, doing the kind of things we both like, but I always feel guilty that I've so far been unable to find something equally enjoyable I could do with my older, strange, beautiful and unpredictable boy, who I struggle to understand but love just as much.
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
"Your Assessment" (child report)
Something arrived in the post today that we've been waiting a long time for. The envelope was addressed to me and my partner, so I opened it.
Inside was a covering letter and, behind that, a report addressed to our younger son. The results of the series of assessments he has been attending recently in a simplified form, phrased so as to alleviate some of his fears (bearing in mind that his older brother was diagnosed with an autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) at the age of three and has some very real difficulties with speech, social skills, frustration & anger and sensory needs).
As it was addressed to him (and I already knew more or less what it said) I put it back in the envelope and quietly fretted while pacing up and down in the school playground, waiting for him to come out so that I could tell him it had arrived and see how he felt about reading it.
As we walked home together, I told him that a letter had arrived from the people who were assessing his strengths and difficulties. He looked a bit anxious at this, so I asked him if he wanted to read it on his own, or did he want me to read it with him. He said he didn't want to read it until Saturday "when we can have some alone time."
I told him he didn't have to read it today, but that I could tell he'd been extra anxious ever since starting the assessments and that maybe knowing what they found out would make him feel better. Also, we would have enough alone time before his brother got back to read it and talk about it, or not, whatever felt right for him. He thought about this all the way home.
When we got to the door, he said "OK. I don't really want to read it, so will you read it to me? I'm not much good at reading letters. And you might need a hug after."
It was a lovely report: Pitched perfectly for him to understand exactly what his diagnosis means (and doesn't mean), reassuring him that he is not affected in the same way (or to the same extent) as his brother and spending most ink in telling him about his strengths, while not glossing over his difficulties. His favourite bit (apart from the list of things he is good at) was this sentence:
"We predict that as you get older, and with the right help and support at times when you need it, you will be much less affected by these difficulties in the future"
He wriggled and hid his face the whole time I was reading it, but afterwards he said " So I was right. I DO have autism. They said lots of nice things about me. I'm blushing. When can we see them again so I can tell them all about me like before, only this time they can help me with my focus and concentration."
My boy is back!
I'm glad we did this today. I'm not entirely certain whether I pushed it more for his sake or mine, but he does seem to be much happier now that he knows he has "a high functioning autism spectrum disorder" And we will arrange to see Darren, Reeta and Josselyn again some time in the New Year.
My kids are amazing. No more or less amazing than anyone else's, but they sometimes frighten me with just how special they are, and how much of my heart belongs to them.
Inside was a covering letter and, behind that, a report addressed to our younger son. The results of the series of assessments he has been attending recently in a simplified form, phrased so as to alleviate some of his fears (bearing in mind that his older brother was diagnosed with an autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) at the age of three and has some very real difficulties with speech, social skills, frustration & anger and sensory needs).
As it was addressed to him (and I already knew more or less what it said) I put it back in the envelope and quietly fretted while pacing up and down in the school playground, waiting for him to come out so that I could tell him it had arrived and see how he felt about reading it.
As we walked home together, I told him that a letter had arrived from the people who were assessing his strengths and difficulties. He looked a bit anxious at this, so I asked him if he wanted to read it on his own, or did he want me to read it with him. He said he didn't want to read it until Saturday "when we can have some alone time."
I told him he didn't have to read it today, but that I could tell he'd been extra anxious ever since starting the assessments and that maybe knowing what they found out would make him feel better. Also, we would have enough alone time before his brother got back to read it and talk about it, or not, whatever felt right for him. He thought about this all the way home.
When we got to the door, he said "OK. I don't really want to read it, so will you read it to me? I'm not much good at reading letters. And you might need a hug after."
It was a lovely report: Pitched perfectly for him to understand exactly what his diagnosis means (and doesn't mean), reassuring him that he is not affected in the same way (or to the same extent) as his brother and spending most ink in telling him about his strengths, while not glossing over his difficulties. His favourite bit (apart from the list of things he is good at) was this sentence:
"We predict that as you get older, and with the right help and support at times when you need it, you will be much less affected by these difficulties in the future"
He wriggled and hid his face the whole time I was reading it, but afterwards he said " So I was right. I DO have autism. They said lots of nice things about me. I'm blushing. When can we see them again so I can tell them all about me like before, only this time they can help me with my focus and concentration."
My boy is back!
I'm glad we did this today. I'm not entirely certain whether I pushed it more for his sake or mine, but he does seem to be much happier now that he knows he has "a high functioning autism spectrum disorder" And we will arrange to see Darren, Reeta and Josselyn again some time in the New Year.
My kids are amazing. No more or less amazing than anyone else's, but they sometimes frighten me with just how special they are, and how much of my heart belongs to them.