The New Face of Artsy Seattle Mama

It's been a long while that I've left this blog lie dormant but I think it's time to bring it back and bring to it the new life we have -- not only of balancing art and career and parenting  but adding the autism diagnosis into the mix.  I will need this blog to help me process all that, and hopefully there will be things helpful here to other mammas and daddas of autistic youngsters.  To introduce us to the new face of the blog, I've copied here the text of an email I recently sent to a few trusted colleagues who are also parents.  It presents the balance I try to strike.

Hola.  Maybe part of what follows is just venting, but hopefully not much.  Most of you know my three-and-a-half year old is autistic, and I have been really fascinated recently with how this new life has started to affect my teaching.  I also think these thoughts can be of interest for ANY parent of typically developing kids as well, because we are always calling into question the never-attainable balance of our lives and we probably wonder why we do this.  Here is my list of the shitty stuff, the awesome stuff (for context), and the ways my teaching has shifted, composed over the past several days.  I thought a few of you would find value in it.  Hopefully I’ll continue evolving my list and find better ways to articulate what I learn from my son.

The hard parts:

1. My son does not say "I love you" unless you tell him to, does not hug unless you tell him to, etc. 
2. He can't answer a simple question like "how are you", or anything other than a yes or no question. 
3. He can tantrum for hours.  Sometimes in the middle of the night.
4. He can refuse to pee until he can't hold it anymore and just wet his pants.   He can refuse to poo until the middle of the night when his body can't hold it anymore.  Often accompanied by tantrum.
5. He doesn't play with toys.  He analyzes them and moves their parts.  He will push a car or a train, but won't imagine where it's going.  He won’t build a train track.
6. He demands attention from adults at all times, but has severe anxiety around other kids.

8.       We're exhausted.  We're isolated.  Sometimes the whole family is in tears.   Unless you're in it, you really don't get it. 

9. We often can't have a conversation with him in the room, because he'll tell us not to talk and start freaking out.

9. We can't just call up any old babysitter and go out.  We can't plan a vacation the same way you might.   My expectations for daily life and life goals have shifted dramatically, partly because of the need to have such a predictable schedule and routine.

10. I question my parenting skills and my identity ALL the time.   It feels like I know nothing, and progress is so very slow, so I don't know if I'm being effective at all. (but simultaneous to #4 in “awesome”)

The awesome parts:

1. My son has a great sense of humor and we can just die laughing from a tickle fest, from turning regular phrases into songs, from jumping around the house.

2. We are forced to be present in every moment and focus on the little improvements and celebrations of each day.  He poured imaginary tea for a little girl at the coffee shop.  He started doing hand motions in circle time at preschool.   Such major breakthroughs.

3. He puts my face in his little hands and looks at me with love even if he can't put it into words. 

4. We are constantly in a "beginner's mind" about parenting and we discuss openly our questions and frustrations and our thoughts about the books and lectures we digest.  We are learning every day, and devoted deeply to this journey.  It’s great to feel so much more knowledgeable than just a few months ago, and definitely more than a year ago.

5. Hudson will jump up and down with pure joy if you offer him peanut butter and jelly, and he will shout "pea-nut butter and jell-y!" in time with his jumping.

6. Watching potato bugs and bees for hours.

7. Throwing rocks in the lake for hours.

8. Knowing that we are automatically stronger, more patient, more compassionate parents than most people out there.

9. He knows how to take his plate to the kitchen counter.

10. Sometimes he actually won't throw a tantrum if you tell him we're out of raisins, and he will actually accept an alternative.   Those are awesome days.

How my son makes me a better teacher:

1. I fully understand the need for breaking down skills into small (really small) steps, and for presenting information in visual, written, and verbal formats (simultaneously!)
2. Students with focus issues ACTUALLY can't control their brain the way some people can, and I never truly believed or understood that before.

3. I am willing to be much more flexible with students and their accommodations.   My overall understanding of the diveristy in brains has expanded.

4. I’m constantly reminded of the importance of praise and of "catching" good behavior that we want to continue.  I’m more interested in giving rewards/reinforcers.
5. My understanding of discipline is much stronger than it used to be. 
6. My willingness to talk to parents about their kids has increased.
7. I know how important even small chunks of learning and practicing can be, no matter your level of cognition. 

8. I am understanding the importance of routines for all kinds of learners, not just autistic kids.  My willingness to be direct and explain “the right way” has increased.  Sometimes black/white is necessary.

9. Connecting personally with students one-on-one rather than through the group dynamic of the classroom is becoming even more of a priority. 
10. I find myself getting more excited over smaller victories in the classroom, and more willing to celebrate them.  With that comes a deeper compassion  for the exhaustion students feel when school is just relentless. 

If life and work flow into one another, this is my contribution to the discussion.