I'm Back...And Have Great News!

Classes are winding down, but I cannot contain my excitement. Even though I want to talk about my own successes, first and foremost, I want to crow like a happy, proud Mommy for my oldest son, Andrew.

During the big silence here on this blog lately, my son has survived a whirlwind of activity. First came the Youth Summer Job Program workshop and job fair. Then came the week away with DORS (Division of Rehabilitative Services) for a career assessment. We are still waiting on the report from DORS, which usually takes a month or two. We do know that he passed all the assessments with flying colors. That alone makes me very hopeful.

The summer job workshop wouldn't allow parents to even go into the room, which made me very upset. Even though the program was slanted toward children with developmental disabilities, it didn't seem like the program leaders knew anything or had any training in actually placing children with autism or learning disabilities in the job market. Then came the fiasco of a job fair that left my son stressed and turned off. Over 1000 children showed up, crowding the hotel lobby and walkway. We never received the time allocation call, so we showed up first thing in the morning (8:00am) only to find out that he didn't need to be there until 11:30am. By the time our allotted time came, the place was packed and we couldn't even find the end of the line. By this time, my son was visibly stressed and pacing. I decided that the whole atmosphere was not conducive to a good interview and left. If he couldn't be seen in a positive light, what was the point of seeing anyone?

Having a child with high-functioning autism requires a lot of groundwork. Nothing is ever just off the cuff. If neuro-typical young adults need to practice for interviews, it is imperative that young adults with autism practice early and often. For weeks ahead of time, Andrew practiced the right pressure for a handshake. Not too firm to crush their fingers and always more gentle with women, a little more firm with men. We worked on making that eye contact, which was very hard for Andrew to maintain. I literally counted off seconds so he could understand how long to hold a gaze. Low emotional expression is the norm for him, so we practiced flashing those pearlies at least once every minute or so. Even if he just tugged at the corners of his mouth that was better than his usual dead-pan look. He hates smiling, unless there is a joke, so I told him to think of something funny, but don't break out in laughter. He thought that was funny!

Finally we went through a whole series of interview questions, a body language overview and what to do with his hands. Even though his step-dad was with him during the interview (I let him know that having parents was unusual, but that for his first time out, I thought it was necessary), he was to look, listen and learn how interviews go.

After about a week, we got a call asking if Andrew had gone on any interviews. We said no. She mentioned a car painting warehouse. I explained that Andrew has high-functioning autism/Asperger's and also that I had allergies (he couldn't come home smelling like paint or chemicals) and was mobility impaired. I know it came out like a mouthful, but there wasn't anyway to get around it. We needed a miracle.

Well, never underestimate God when you ask for a miracle.

Last week, we got a call to see if Andrew would go out for an interview at a furniture manufacturer in a nearby town. It was for furniture assembly. I pictured sawdust everywhere. I was concerned about glues or stains, but felt like it was better than all day painting. On the day of the interview, I tucked his resume (that I had expertly typed up for him) in an folder and told him to hand that to the person who interviewed him. My hubby took him down and I crossed my fingers.

Well, he came back, saying that they wanted him to come back again to meet with the CFO of the company for a possible office job. I was simply ecstatic! Trying not to make him antsy, I tried to stay calm, while I told him I had hoped for something like this.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against working on the warehouse floor, but I don't know a single child with autism that likes noisy, dusty environments with a lot of people (my son hates everything like that from movie theaters, amusement parks to malls). He will do what I ask him to do, but after awhile, you will see the strain in his behavior, mood and body. Plus he would be on his feet all day long and he has low muscle tone in his hands and arms. I knew that initially, he would do okay, but eventually, he would begin to suffer from it.

Well, today, was the interview. I sent him out in his taupe pants and his office blue shirt. He looked just like an office employee, and at six feet tall now, he makes an impressive entry. I prayed he would get that job.



And, he did!

Monday of next week, he starts as assistant to the accounting office, and working directly with the CFO of the company!

I am so excited, I could cry and scream at the same time! They are even negotiating whether he can be paid more due to the different nature of the job from the summer program. He will work 30 hours a week to start and if this works out, he may have the opportunity to return next year during school and the summer after that.

Out of all the hardship we have endured lately (we are financially quite strapped, trying to provide all the special care everyone needs in here), this was a godsend! Andrew is very thrifty with money, so I know we won't have to worry about him squandering it all (he still has gift cards from Christmas!). This will give him experience and confidence.



He participated in our annual community clean-up this last weekend. As he road off in a truck with the other men to pick up items from the elderly, I realized that I am saying good-bye to my little boy. He went off and didn't even look back. Monday, when I drop him off to work (the office is literally 10 minutes from our house!), I am sure he will do the same thing.

It will hurt, but in the end, I'll be okay. I raised him to do just what he is doing; growing up confident and able.

BTW, one line for me. I got a 99.4 in Project Management and 100 in Image Editing.

SAT and Beyond

I am sure to my son, it felt like Death. For me, I felt helpless at first, and then, determined, once again.

I won't know the grades for some time, but I just wanted to post that we both survived the SAT this weekend. We arrived 20 minutes early (I hate to be late!) and sat in our car to talk over any last minute things. My son never understands those talks. He always wonders why I give them. Somehow, the nervousness escapes him. He knows he has a big test in front of him, but that is no reason to talk about it 15 minutes before he has to go through the door. *Sigh* There are still days that I don't think I reach him. Days that he is still so distant and far away.

We stood in line. There were only a few other parents there. I went up front at one point to ask about his extended time, and was brusquely told that he was not on the list! What!?!

As I numbly walked back to where he was, I debated on whether to scoop him up and whisk him back home just out of protest. This was always our life. Mix-ups and promises that weren't fulfilled. Why did my son always have to do things the hard way? And, why did I always have to double-, triple-check EVERYTHING and EVERYBODY!?!

As usual, he sensed there was something wrong. How uncanny that he has this ability! For a child who is supposed to NOT know how others feel or sense the outside world, he can always sense my moods; my tenseness, my joy, even my tiredness.

"What's wrong, Mom?" he asked, in his lovely monotone.

"They are not giving you extended time. You will be doing the test with everyone else. That was not the way it was supposed to be!" I answered sharply.

"Well, I will just have to work faster," he replied, nonchalantly.

When did my little boy grow up to be so unflappable? You know, I can't remember the last time he had a meltdown. Challenges, changes and rearranges come, and he just adapts. Who is this young man next to me, sprouting a mustache and goatee?

I watched him go into the hallway with the other kids. I couldn't go with him. He walked down without a backwards glance. I choked back a sob. Goodness! It is hard to let your children grow up!

He took no snack. He told me, he could make it without it. Yet, when I picked him up, he looked tired and hungry. I admonished him again about the lunch I packed. He countered that he thought it was for me. We went through our usual dance of words, where I explained, why would I want a lunch, if I was going back home? Again, we came to the conclusion that he had not understood. I wondered my usual thoughts of how much more would he misunderstand in this world.

I asked him how he thought he did. He say "poorly on the math." I bit my lip. I knew the math was not his strong point. Unlike so many other Aspies, my son struggles with math and science, and loves English and reading, despite his mix-ups with semantics. With Math being 50% of the SAT grade, I knew this was not going to go well. And, with no extended time...

As calmly as I could, I told him that this was exactly what I wanted. As he stared at me with widening, incredulous eyes, I spoke the words he has heard from me so many times before for so many years.

"Now, we know where to start working."

Updates, Updates - Part 3

Well, next up is my oldest son. At the wonderful age of 16 (going on 17), he is the wonder of the family. How he got here, please don't really ask me. I do not have a degree in child psychology or development. I probably made so many mistakes along the way. But you need some background...

It is a mother's instinct that knows something is not right with her child. He was my first, but it was my mother who began to point out little things only a month or two after he came home. I had seen it too, but didn't know what to make of it. He needed to be swaddled. He hated bright lights and hot environments. We could never find a formula he liked and he couldn't grasp breastfeeding.

By a couple of months, he was sleeping in the basement (yes!) in a stroller. No noises with the close walls of the stroller made him relax. I hated it. The empty bassinet with custom sewn covers sat empty next to my bed, while I listened furtively to a child monitor late into the night.

But it didn't take long for me to realize. This kid was like clockwork. In fact, by the time I went back to work when he was almost a year, I handed the babysitter several sheets of paper, outlining everything he would do.

When he pooped. When he ate. How hot the bottles had to be. How thick the formula had to be. When he would sleep. I stressed to her: keep to the schedule and you will have a perfect day. Don't, well, just keep to the schedule.

Now, she must have thought I was crazy, but after two days, she said incredulously, that she had NEVER had a child stick to a schedule so perfectly in all her experience.

He began to talk. Clearly, everyone remembers "tank you" and "pease" at just around 12 months. He walked on time. Everything was going well.

Then suddenly, he began to go quiet. He rocked a little. He stopped looking at you when you called him. Soon, he stopped responding at all. You had to go up to him and talk to the back of his head. After awhile, he flapped, sitting and rocking in a baby rocker he was way too old for. He never picked up any crayons, pens or markers and doodled. He played with the manual can opener. He became preoccupied with trains.

In NY, parents start their little ones off early. By 2 1/2, he was in a daycare/preschool. Within six months, he was out. Wandered around too much, they said. Just left in the middle of class. Nearly left the building. We were back to babysitters.

By 4, he only whistled, grunted and pointed. Growled when you couldn't figure out what he wanted. He wore the same clothes until I hid them and said I couldn't find them, hoping he would attach himself to something new. Went to bed like clockwork and woke the same way. There was no eye contact, no kisses and never a hug. No smiles. He was never aggressive or hurful. Just a little wandering robot playing with his fingers.

At this point, I have to interject that this was the lowest point of my life as well. Within six months, I would lose my job, my marriage, my parents (seven weeks apart) and come to realize that my boy may have something called autism, something I saw on PBS late one evening. Oh yes, and I was pregnant with my 2nd son.

I am going to fast forward through the really hard years, raising two chldren as a single parent for 10 years. My son not accepted in various schools for very long. He had such problems with sensory sensitivities-the bells, chairs moving, people scratching their pencils on paper-drove him crazy.

We moved twice, saw loads of doctors who spat out lines like jackpot slot machines. Lines like, he may never improve (remember this was '95-'96), he would need years of therapy (not covered by any insurances) and you need to get on this or that waiting list for services. And, oh yeah, file for disability. *Sigh*

I remember asking God for one thing. Give me five good years, Lord. Give me five good, long years, and I will prove this kid could learn.

We finally landed in Maryland in 1999. By this time, I had the single mother thing down to a science. And, I knew how to ask questions. "Where does everyone else go?" "Who has a good program?" We ended up at Kennedy Krieger. Test after test finally revealed a diagnosis. PDD/Austism. It would be several more years before it was upgraded to Asperger's Syndrome.

In between is a blur I don't completely remember. Every moment, I poured something into his little thin body and mind. Language, music, news, jokes, colors; anything that got him to make eye contact, make a sound, ask for something with words, we repeated over and over.

One story always sticks out. Sorry, I wish I could remember exactly how old he was, but it escapes me. I remember a class assignment on the number zero. The assignment sheet was a lovely scene of grass, rocks, clouds. The questions asked how many rocks, how many clouds and how many sheep. The correct answer was zero sheep. He kept shouting 5. Over and over again, I went through the explanation. Still 5. Finally, I said, "Well, if there are five, tell me where they are?" He answered, "one is behind a rock, one jumped in the water to get a fish, one wandered off to look at a buttercup (!!), and two went home because they were tired."

I remember staring. Then it hit me. He added! HE ADDED!! And, he talked in BIG, LONG SENTENCES!!!

So, I quietly asked, "If all that is true, everyone's gone. How many sheep are left?"

"ZERO," he announced confidently.

Just imagine so many more years of that, and you have an idea of what went on. Fractions meant measuring cups with food coloring and water. Reading literature meant acting out the scenes or searching the internet for related videos and pictures. Homework took hours, broken up into little chunks. Storytime was always punctuated with extra dialogue and sounds. So much so, he was disappointed when he finally began to read well enough to only discover that all that extra stuff was not written in there. Mommy made it up. It kept him focused.

This is getting long, so I won't go into having to bring an educational lawyer in so he could have an assistant from 5th grade through 8th. How I changed things constantly to build in a tolerance for sudden changes (no meltdowns now, just lots of questions! Why, why, why!) How we still struggle to find volunter work for his community servce hours needed in high school(he is still very reclusive, and it is harder now to break routines).

We have the help of our local DORS (Department of Rehabilitative Services). (DDA wouldn't touch him. Our case manager literally told me I did too good of a job) He will have a driving assessment in March, two weeks of career assessments in June and 4 months of living on their campus when he graduates (2010). We have a social skills group he can go to, but with his brother's illness right now, this, unfortunately, has had to take a back seat.

Today, he is a tall, lanky, talkative fellow. One who follows rules to a tee, never forgets his chores and loves animals (future career, we hope!). He will graduate on time with a diploma. He is on no medication (none were found to alter his behavior; we did do trials). He understands he has "something called Asssspergers (he thinks this is funny), but revels in being different.

He is my wonder. I marvel every day. And, thank God, for an answered prayer.