All I want for Mother’s Day is to sleep in, till about 10:00 a.m. or so. No breakfast in bed, please! I just want to be served straight up, uninterrupted, really deep sleep.
Don’t get me wrong: Flowers would be lovely and all, but sleep is what I dream of. When I’m able to get quality sleep, that is. I’m usually up till midnight or so working or doing chores. Max usually wakes up in the middle of the night and tries to crash in our bed. On weekends, the kids are up and at ‘em around 7 a.m. or so, but lately Max has had this lovely habit of rising at 5:30 in the morning.
Earlier this week, I asked Facebook friends what they’d like for Mother’s Day, and I’m in excellent sleep-deprived company: sleeping in, “a nap” and “uninterrupted sleep” were the most popular contenders (with a few chocolate-covered strawberries thrown in). Looks like moms of kids with autism have the same thing in mind! I’d also like a few hours in the house alone, but I think that’s maybe illegal to suggest to the kids as a MOTHER’S day activity, and could result in years of therapy, so I won’t be mentioning that.
Actually, the majority of things on mom’s wish lists cost no money whatsoever—see how easy it is to please us, Dads and Significant Others?! Here are some things moms of kids with special needs want most this Sunday.
All I Want for Mother’s Day Is….
“For someone to clean my house and fold all of the laundry.”—Deborah Walker
“A day of peace—with no agenda, fighting or selfishness. A day when my entire family can think about something other than themselves and time slows down to a calm & relaxing pace.”–Jennifer Lee Black
“Flowers, a meal made by someone besides myself, and a nap. In that order.”—Sunday Stilwell
“To one day hear my son call me Mama. Whether it be this Mother’s Day or in ten years from now. I’ll be patient.”—Nicole Bellefleur Valdron
“Acknowledgment.”—Rachel Maurer
“For my children to be healthy and happy!”—Jennifer Sellers Campbell
“A meal that I don’t have to cook or clean up from, and that I can actually eat without jumping up every 5 seconds to get someone something.”—Cindy Turner Detlefs
“To be able to spend a lot of time with my own mom.”—Jenny Saul-Avila
“For my kids to put something back from where they got it.”—Chrisa Hickey
“Positive attitudes all around me.”—Amanda Evangeline Cleland Maddox
“An afternoon snuggling on the couch with a movie.”—Amanda Guyton
“I am going all out with this one. I want a whole 24 hours to myself! That would include uninterrupted sleep, meals and at least one hot bath.”—Jessica Hamilton
“A housekeeper or a gardner. Either one would be great!”—Kate Anders
“An uninterrupted meal! Any meal!”—Sonia J. Lopez
“Honestly? Something—anything—that lets me know my kids still like having me as their mother. They’re 18 and 23, but I’d settle for a short note on lined paper.”—Laura Raymond
“For my kids to go one day without having a fight that turns into a major meltdown!”—Amy Benton Bradley-Hole
“A morning snuggling with the kids over books or The Wizard of Oz while my husband gets up and makes breakfast. And a Bloody Mary—or a Mimosa, I’m not picky.”—Helena H
This is a post in the weekly Autism Hopes series by Lisa Quinones-Fontanez, a mom who blogs over at AutismWonderland.
Sunday is Mother’s Day and when I was growing up, my mom used to say that all she wanted was peace and quiet. She never asked for anything or expected anything more than a card from us and/or my dad. Now that I’m a mom, I feel the same way. Just this morning I told my husband not to buy me anything for Mother’s Day. Well I actually said, “Please don’t buy me clothes because if you buy something too small, I’ll feel bad.” (I’ve gained weight and my husband, though incredibly thoughtful, is known for buying me the clothes two sizes too small.)
Last night I posted a question to my Facebook page. I asked what autism moms what was on their wish list for Mother’s Day. I loved all the responses so much I’m sharing my favorites below:
A Day Free From Housework. Wouldn’t that be lovely! If I walked in and found someone else cleaning, I’d be one happy mom.
To Hear “I Love You.” Kids with autism don’t often express themselves spontaneously. Norrin rarely says “I love you” on his own, I always say it first. And kids who are non-verbal, cannot say “I love you” at all. If you know a mom with a non-verbal child, maybe you can help them make a special card to give as a gift. If a child is verbal, maybe you can prompt them to say “I love you.” (Typically, I’m not a fan of prompting “I love you” but in some cases – I’m okay with it.)
A Mani/Pedi. YES PLEASE! Autism moms rarely treat themselves. A mani/pedi would make her feel pretty and rejuvenated.
A Day Out with Girlfriends. Every mom needs girl time. If your bestie is an autism mom, give her a call and take her out for a cup of coffee, a walk or a mani/pedi (see above!).
Dinner & Dishes. Give an autism mom a break. Cook her a nice meal and do the dishes. Let mom kick back on the sofa.
A Movie. While mom is relaxing after that delicious meal you cooked, let her watch her favorite movie in total peace.
A Good Book. If movies aren’t her thing – give her some time to curl up with a glass of wine and a good book.
SLEEP. You want to make an autism mom happy on Mother’s Day? LET HER SLEEP. Seriously. Close the bedroom door, keep the kids busy and just let her sleep. Let her wake up on her own. It could be the best gift you give her.
I’d be happy with any of these things on Mother’s Day. What’s on your Mother’s Day Wish List?
This is a post in the weekly Autism Hopes series by Lisa Quinones-Fontanez, a mom who blogs over at AutismWonderland.
Yesterday was the last day of Autism Awareness Month. But for us autism awareness is year round. Over the last five years (since Norrin’s diagnosis) autism has become part of our normal and it’s been easy to take it for granted.
I expect to come home from work and find a therapist working with Norrin.
I expect Norrin to be in school twelve months out of the year.
I expect him to be a small class of six kids and three teachers.
I expect IEP meetings, evaluations and social workers showing up at our door.
I expect him to have difficulty transitioning from one routine to the next.
I expect him to have difficulty with socialization.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: I’m used to autism by now. I’m used to way it has altered our lives.
But still there are moments when I forget.
Like this weekend when went to a kid friendly amusement park. And right before leaving, we walked into the gift shop. Norrin stood at the door, scanning the store before he saw what he wanted and made a beeline for it.
It’s a chunky yellow school bus. In big bold letters I see: 18 months – 4 years old. A “baby” toy. (Norrin is seven.)
Norrin’s been eyeing this school bus the last three times we visited the park. And each time I’ve said no.
And I was ready to say again.
I know. I know. I know I shouldn’t care about these things. I know to look beyond time tables and milestones and age appropriate toys.
“He asks for it every time we come here. Who cares about the age,” my husband said. And I gave in.
But I refused to give Norrin the school bus in the car. He would have to earn it. I told him he could have the bus when we got home, after he cleaned his room.
As soon as we walked in, Norrin took off his shoes and socks and went to his room and moments later came back out. “I’m all finished,” he proudly proclaimed. He grabbed me by the hand and I followed him into his room.
All the toys were picked up. His books were put away. I could tell he was trying so hard to stand still. He was smiling, his big brown eyes sparkled. And while his hands were at his sides, his fingers were wriggling. His eager anticipation made me smile.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“You did a good job. I feel proud.”
When I handed Norrin the school bus, he quickly ripped it out from its box and gathered some of his toy figurines to place inside. I watched him as he held the school bus at eye level, his free hand flapping with excitement.
“How about we play like this,” I said. Then I showed him how to spread out his figurines all over his room. And then I showed him how to drive the school bus around, picking up the figurines for school. While Norrin was wheeling the bus, we sang “Wheels on the bus.”
I watched as he played with this school bus appropriate for a child years younger than him and he still needed help. We still continue to work on Norrin’s imaginative play skills.
Suddenly, it was like a blue light bulb just went off. And autism had become very real for me. I needed a moment to be aware of it and accept it. I’ve had these moments before. And I suspect I’ll have them again.
I like to think that I am autism aware on a daily basis. But sometimes awareness catches me by surprise.
Does autism catch ever catch you by surprise? What are your moments of autism awareness?
I’ve watched this video of Jack Carroll auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent again and again. Throughout the routine the 14-year-old, who has cerebral palsy, poked fun at himself and the challenges he faces, opening with the line “Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking: Harry Potter has had a nasty Quidditch accident.”
Jack is genuinely funny, and he’s got great timing, too. One of the judges called him “a comedy genius.” As I watched him perform, I kept thinking: I hope Max can someday make fun of his own cerebral palsy.
If that sounds weird, I can assure you, it’s not something I’d ever put down as one of Max’s therapy goals. But here’s the thing: Jack is able to own his disability. As he said, “A lot of times in comedy, your strengths are your weaknesses.” If you yourself display “the elephant in the room” (as he called it) then it makes people more comfortable.
I think of the gapes and stares Max gets from other kids. And how, if he were able to be self-deprecating, it would make kids more cool with him. Right now, he’s at the stage where he’s becoming aware that he has cerebral palsy. I don’t know when and if he’ll have the awareness to joke about it, I just hope he does.
Yes, I do mind when comedians make people with disabilities the butt of their jokes. That may sound contradictory, but consider this: When a person with disabilities can poke fun at himself, it makes him less of a person to be pitied, less of a victim. He can bust clichés. He can shift the power.
And I want my son to have all the power he can to charge through life.
Before I could answer, Norrin pointed to the television and said, “It’s a sad movie.”
I pulled Norrin closer to give him a hug and kiss. “Yes, baby. It’s a sad movie.”
These are the moments I am grateful for autism. Norrin is blissfully unaware of the horrific act of violence committed on April 15. The world – his world, anyway – is still a peaceful place. Norrin’s innocence is preserved another day.
It was only a few weeks ago, we were standing in a crowd of runners, waiting for Norrin to run his first race. I was nervous then – thinking of what would happen if Norrin slipped out of my reach.
And when I see that Mister Rogers meme “Look for the helpers” shared and liked all over my Facebook feed, I can’t help but think of Norrin and other kids like him.
We live in New York City. My husband is training for the New York Marathon. I cannot keep Norrin sheltered. We are constantly in crowds, taking public transportation, living our day-to-day lives. We do not and will not live in fear.
But what would happen to Norrin if he was caught in the middle of such violence? Norrin may not understand what’s going on around him. Norrin has no sense of danger. He may not be able to tell someone his name, to say that he’s lost and needs help.
As a mother, my heart aches for the Richard family, and for the men and women of Boston. But I am in awe of the humanity and compassion that reveals itself during such a tragedy. I am inspired by their resilience to keep running.
Norrin may not know to look for the helpers in a moment of panic. But I have to have hope and have faith that the helpers will look for Norrin.
