Dog-gone days of summer

I will admit (only once) that I was one of those annoying people that complained about the looooong Canadian winter.  It is hot.  The a/c decided to up and break.  I’ve got three irritable kids who happen to have an irritable Mom.  It is hot.  We are hot.  Two are boooored.  One just happens to have autism and is constantly needing to be engaged and wanting a bath.  You heard right.  Repairman coming not soon enough!

I’ve been holding off writing because I have been waiting for something positive to say…and I had an epiphany.  Autism in this house isn’t always pretty, or nice…it can be plain old ugly sometimes.  Last week during a home therapy session, Timothy beat on me pretty good, left some bruises-more inside than out.  Today he hit and kicked another little boy who just happened to be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time and also attacked his sister.  We all have scars from autism in this house, many of them emotional, a few physical.

Now if you are reading this and thinking I am looking for your pity you are very wrong.  I, we, are damned grateful for everything we have and although I don’t mention him often- the Daddy I picked for my children couldn’t be any better.  While the future remains unknown, I respect him as a father and every day that respect grows.  We struggle financially, emotionally and physically, trying to provide the best we can for all of our children, but still we are grateful.  What for, you ask.  We have choice.  We have therapy, we have resources, we have hope for better days ahead. Its because of that hope that we can go on…another day, another hour, sometimes only a few minutes.

Tricia Rhynold's photo.

I respect the hell out of any special needs parent.  Its not a highly sought after job with awards of merit and the like; often lonely and isolated but the perks of this position can bring you more satisfaction than any prize.  A few words or a small gesture often bring me to tears.   We fell down the autism rabbit hole and learn as we go.  Every day is trial and error.  We “specials” are a different race.  Not better, just different.

Yours, Trish.


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