I'm the Proud Parent of an Aspie

April is Autism Awareness Month and today, April 2, is World Autism Awareness Day. Seems like the perfect time to share our family's story.

You know those bumper stickers? The ones that say "I'm the proud parent of an honor roll student?" Or some crap like that?

Facebook has become the auto bumper of parenthood. And our status updates are the bumper stickers.

Now I realize that I'm just as guilty as other parents for filling your timeline with tales of my children's triumphs. I too share videos, photos, and updates about my two amazing kids winning chess matches, singing on stage, and well ... practically everything else they do.

After all, LJ and Julianna are incredible kids, and despite my best efforts to ruin them, they are going to turn out just fine.

But something changed in our family a few months ago that has given me a very different perspective about what parental "pride" is and how we identify our children's true successes.

In December, LJ was diagnosed with Asperger syndrome, which is a developmental disorder that is considered to be at the "high functioning" end of the autistic spectrum.

Anyone who has met LJ knows what a smart kid he is -- but they also might have noticed that he's shy, often withdrawn, and might even seem rude -- sometimes he won't make eye contact, shake your hand or answer your questions. He often gets along better with adults than kids his own age.

We've been searching for answers for awhile, which for years came as a long list of diagnoses from a longer list of doctors -- ADHD, OCD, SPD, dysgraphia, and general anxiety disorder.

Finally, in December, it all came together when a doctor told us he wanted to evaluate LJ for Asperger's.

Every single day is a challenge for LJ: keeping organized, making and keeping friendships, following instructions, working with others, waiting his turn, noisy cafeterias at school, crowded hallways -- all of this creates an unbelievable amount of anxiety for an Aspie.

Teenage drama is hard enough for the average kid. For one like LJ it can be unbearable.

Through it all, LJ has shown unbelievable character and resolve.

He has played in the band, slogged through two advanced classes, found a hobby in electrical engineering, and carried himself with grace and dignity when his peers fail to understand him.

And he got his first-ever D last quarter.

And I don't care.

My respect and love for my son are not impacted by his test scores, his chess trophies, or his stats on the basketball court.

Every night when we get home from school, I am thankful for his smile, his perseverance, his desire to "know more about himself", and his pure, innocent heart that aches to not be "different" anymore.

I'm convinced the world needs more LJs -- "quirky" as he may be. It sure would be a boring place without kids like him.

Yes, I am the proud parent of a child with Asperger syndrome.

I think I'll put that on a bumper sticker.

I Can Do Anything You Can Do ... Better

We all want to be better parents than our own were. It's human nature that we hone in on the little things our parents "did wrong" ... things that, as parents ourselves, we vow to do differently -- BETTER.

My parents made two enormous, perhaps even unforgivable, mistakes when I was a child:

1) I didn't always have clean socks to wear.
2) I wasn't allowed to eat sugary cereals.

GASP! 

Now, as an adult, I realize how ridiculous it was that these petty things seemed like such injustices years ago.

At the time, of course, it was all about me and what I wasn't getting, not the abundance of everything that I did have.

I am acutely aware of my own shortcomings as a mom -- I yell too much; my eyes roll back into my head when I'm forced to watch the Disney channel; I'd rather chew glass than clean out the guinea pig cage; and I'll buy a new pair of pants before I'll learn how to sew on a button.

And, yes, there also have been plenty of times when LJ and Julianna have frantically searched for a pair of clean, matching socks as we should be leaving for school.

But last week, with Jack out of town and me scrambling to remember which day of the week it was (much less worry about clean socks for the kids), Julianna gave me an early morning wake up call I won't soon forget.

As I was on my way upstairs to finish getting dressed, I heard a cry from LJ, who was downstairs in the kitchen. He had spilled a whole glass of milk on the counter and desperately wanted my help to clean it up.

I muttered something under my breath, and turned toward the stairs so I could go to LJ's rescue.

Julianna, who was right beside me, grabbed my arm and firmly said: "Mom, STOP! He can do this himself. He NEEDS to do this himself."

I was stunned ... mostly because my daughter was absolutely right. 

I smiled and said: "You know what, Julianna, you are 100 percent correct. He can do this himself."

"You see, Mom," she said. "I've learned that sometimes you have to clean up your own messes, both physically and emotionally."

Spoken like a typical 9-year-old.

I yelled down to LJ that he should take care of it, and of course, he did.

As I finished getting ready with my little girl nearby, I said, "Julianna, I hope you know that someday, you are going to be a much better mom than I am."

And I meant it.

Julianna may not care about sugary cereals or clean socks when it comes to her own kids, but it won't matter.

She already knows what I should have been focusing on all along ...

Sometimes refusing to hold your child's hand every step of the way is the very best thing you can do to support them.

When Pigs Fly

Everyone has an Easy-Bake Oven. You know - the brass ring you couldn't quite reach as a child. The one thing you just had to have that you never got. It didn't matter how much you begged and pleaded, bartered or prayed -- it wasn't going to happen.

My parents, nor Santa, nor the Hanukkah Fairy were going to deliver the goods. The Easy-Bake Oven was my "Dream Deferred", my Raisin in the Sun.

Okay, maybe that's overstating it a bit.

But when Julianna approached me about a month ago asking for a pet rabbit, I knew I was in trouble. The Easy-Bake Oven was lingering in my mind.

At the ripe old age of 9, Julianna says her goal is to be an animal researcher, and she believes that having a pet of her own will allow her to study and learn more about the behavior of animals. To make her case, she produced a PowerPoint and presented it with great confidence to me and Jack.

When her rabbit research revealed that bunnies do not make ideal pets for children, she quickly turned her attention to rodents. And she eventually settled on guinea pigs as the pet du jour.

I initially said no. Nada. Not on your life.

And then she cried.

Hard.

Real tears.

And I caved.

It was that damn Easy-Bake Oven. I could practically smell the freshly baked cookies that never had the chance to melt in my mouth.

Oreo and Cinnamon the guinea pigs are now part of the family. No big deal, right? Tiny little creatures that hardly need a thing, I thought.

Until yesterday. Julianna became alarmed when Oreo was struck with a sudden fit of sneezing. As usual, I turned to my trusty friend, Google, for advice on curing the cavies' ailments.

EMERGENCY! PIGS NEAR DEATH! GET THEM TO A VET AT ONCE!

A trip across town to the "Exotic Vet" and $150 later, our pigs are now on antibiotics for upper respiratory infections. Apparently the twice-a-day dose of cherry-flavored Septra is a life-saving measure to ward of pneumonia of the cavia porcellus kind (Pig Latin, for those of you wondering).

As I waited in the vet's office for our furry friends' stool sample results to come back (really), I thought about the Easy-Bake Oven and whether all of this trouble is really worth it just to satisfy the childhood feelings I had clearly  projected onto my sweet daughter.

Of course it is.

The smile on her face as she cuddles those little critters makes it all worth while ... even as I'm shoveling pig poo into the trash can and chopping cucumbers for the sake of snacks.

And if I had to do it all over again, I would.

When pigs fly.

Clothes Make the Man

As LJ marched into the gym for his fifth grade graduation ceremony last Friday, I couldn't help but notice that -- although he looked extremely handsome in his brand-new shirt, first "real" tie, and freshly ironed pants -- he was the only boy in the entire grade who was not wearing a blazer.

Or a belt.

And he was probably the only boy sporting navy socks with his black pants and black loafers.

It was actually a minor miracle that LJ was wearing pants at all that morning. Suddenly, his black pants no longer fit him. And these were the same pants that, when I bought them just months before, were so big his ankles were practically swimming in the cuffs.

Now, just 30 minutes before he needed to be at school for the culminating experience of his elementary school career, we couldn't even get his pants to button. 

Zip, yes -- never mind it required a metal captain's hook and the strength of 10 oxen. But the button just didn't want to budge, and I had serious concerns that I would tear the button from its tenuous threads if I pulled much harder.

Divine grace intervened ... or perhaps God just got tired of hearing me curse in Yiddish ... and the button somehow found its way into the hole.

After I made LJ swear that he wouldn't cough, sneeze or bend over until after the graduation reception, I handed him his belt.

Now, I should have known the belt -- which I bought more than a year ago -- wouldn't fit anymore, but it simply didn't cross my mind until it was too late.

And the navy socks? Well, I can't really explain that, except to assure you that I will be having my annual eye exam sooner rather than later.

As I helped LJ get ready that morning, I found myself panicked that we wouldn't make it to school in time, or if we did, my son would be sans pants.

But then, as I watched Jack show LJ how to put on his first "clipless" tie, I realized that these clothes did indeed make the man. 

Baggy pants to barely buttoned.

Brand new shirt that hardly stretched across his broad shoulders.

Belt that was more suited to my waist than his.

My oldest child is hardly a child at all anymore.

Despite his lack of a blazer, belt, and matching socks, LJ didn't miss a beat at graduation. He confidently strode in with his classmates during the processional, glided across the stage to receive his certificate, and even turned to the camera and posed when he shook the Head of School's hand -- just as he had been instructed to do during rehearsal.

For those of you who have been through a "milestone" experience with a child, you'll understand why I had to choke back the tears as he processed in and out of the gym. And you'll also commiserate with me on the "how did time fly so fast" sentiment. It may be cliche but could not have rang more true last Friday.

It's also true that LJ's first 11 years have gone too quickly. I haven't taken enough photos, scrapbooked enough pages, or captured nearly enough memories. I am, however, comforted by knowing that we still have Middle School and Upper School ahead of us. That's seven more years of moments I have to look forward to and memories to make ... and it's plenty of time to get him a pair of pants and a belt that actually fit.

Photos by Steve Abrahams

'Tis the Season

A couple of days ago a mysterious letter arrived in the mailbox. I say "mysterious" because I couldn't imagine why I was receiving a type-written, stamped letter from my 8-year-old daughter. And it was addressed to "Mrs. Penny  Rogers". Quite formal ... and rather curious.

I quickly made the connection that her third-grade class was learning to write persuasive letters. Still, I was amused - and mildly disturbed - by the letter's content.

Dear Mom, 

Please, please, please can I have an iTouch. I am almost NINE YEARS OLD! ... It's only fair that you let me have the iTouch. You say yourself that I am very mature!!" I promise I wouldn't let Indy get it ...

Julianna & Indy

With Christmas just around the corner, Julianna wasn't taking any chances. She wanted to cover all the bases and make sure she got her point across to the ultimate gatekeeper of gifts. She knows that going straight to Santa isn't enough ... I've made it pretty clear that I have a direct line to the Big Guy and that ultimately, Mom & Dad make the decisions about what St. Nick delivers under the tree.

Julianna's letter -- which is pictured in its entirety at the bottom of this post -- was creative if not persuasive, and it now hangs on our refrigerator.

It will stay there through the holidays, and maybe even longer.

Her letter hangs there as a reminder. It's a reminder of all the blessings I have in my life. Health, family, home, job, food ... the list goes on and on.

(Notice I did not include the Newf on this list. He still rates as more of a curse than a blessing. Did you know that both Christmas tree ornaments and dreidels make fabulous doggy snacks?)

But I digress ...

The arrival of Julianna's letter particularly struck a chord with me because, earlier in the day, she delivered a holiday gift to her teacher. We attached a note to the gift that said, in the teacher's honor, we had made a donation to the Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina.

These two notes -- Julianna's letter and the holiday gift for her teacher -- were very much at opposite ends of the spectrum.

My daughter, despite her eloquent and flawed argument, does not need much of anything. And she needs that iTouch just about as much as she needs any of the other gifts that Santa will be bringing to her this Christmas ... which is to say, not at all.

But there are little girls her age across our nation, some who also have fabulous curly hair and big blue eyes, who do have real needs this holiday season, and year round.

According to the Food Bank's website, "in central and eastern North Carolina counties alone, more than 500,000 people struggle each day to provide enough food for their families". The small donation I made in honor of my coworkers and my children's teachers will provide 200 meals for those in need. But this is only a fraction of the 1.4 million meals the Food Bank hopes to raise for its Holiday Meals Drive before Dec. 31.

The way I figure it, for the same cost as an Angry Birds download or a few iTunes songs, I can make an impact that will spread beyond the virtual world and into the real one.

Happy Holidays to all of you, and if you can give even a little bit to the Food Bank or your favorite charity, I encourage you to do so.

We have much for which to be thankful, and after all, 'Tis the Season!

Julianna's letter