24 hours later

What a difference a day makes.

Last night, in tears, I told Elmer he had to go to school in the morning. He didn't have to like it. He just had to go.

And this morning he went.

Oy in the Vey

Image via WikipediaThere's only so much supermom -- or superkid -- can do.

We've been doing a rapid ramp-up to a new school. Today was to be Day One.
Elmer has been masterful at managing his anxiety; naming it, claiming it, coming up with coping strategies on his own. Even after a tough time sleeping last night, he scrambled to be ready for the bus at 7:20.
Which didn't come.
At 7:40, I called the bus company, which admitted and apologized for their error, and promised to have a substitute bus here ASAP.
Meanwhile, anxiety is eating away at Elmer like bedbugs; a worried face, intestinal distress, diarrhea and more diarrhea. When the bus finally arrives (30 minutes later), he is still in the bathroom. The bus idles,the gut churns, Elmer gets as far as the stairs; then anounces, "Nope. Not gonna' happen."
And so the best laid plans of Anonymom succomb.

Concrete Cooking

Image by avlxyz via FlickrNow that's something Elmer would enjoy cooking: concrete.

That's how my Aspie likes things. Concrete. Without nuance or fudge room.
So as I've been pressing him to cook his own meals, I've had to stiffen my own recipes.
When Elmer asked, "Milk or water?" while preparing scrambled eggs this morning, "Either" was the wrong answer. Ditto "If you like" to his question about adding butter to the pan.

So "How high should the flame be?" needs a marker written in stone. Ditto for "How much water in the pot?" I can do this. I can give concrete directions. I will be a walking, talking cookbook.

Mind you, following recipes never helped me. I still can't cook, despite James Beard-worthy directions. I can dish it out. I just can't take it.

Untitled, unschooled, unhappy

Image by kla4067 via FlickrThis blog is as much about me as it is about Elmer. And I am in a bad way. Glum as Gary. Downcast as the weather. As sad sack as can be.
I want my own Mom to take care of me.

When last I wrote (August 17), Elmer was in fine shape, looking forward to school. Which, it was soon apparent, was not working. A moment here, an hour there, a morning missed, then a day. Then two. I raised a red flag; said, "Yoo hoo! Things aren't working."
"Hello, team! Best we take action sooner, rather than later."
"Elmer is at home again. Help."
True to form, the school moved slowly....too slowly; the upshot being Elmer at home, unschooled, for a month now.
At first, I coped well; "Elmer, we'll figure it out. We've been through this before. We'll get through it again."
By the time his school team had a plan in place, Elmer was so deeply mired in gloom, that he could not bounce back. Unsticking him will be slow and painful.
And when Elmer is mired, so am I. Chained in glue. Stuck in cement.
I berate myself: "What could I have done differently? I called IEP meetings. I asked for support, interim plans. Should I have yelled louder, made scenes, called the Special Ed Director sooner?"
We're back in autism land and I don't like it.

The prodigal son

Image by Getty Images via @daylifeHe's tall, he's tan, he's home.
And so together, his stammer has disappeared.
All my anxiety about the quality of camp slipping or Elmer dissatisfied with his experience?
Not according to Elmer.
He's as cool as cucumber.
And he learned to water-ski.
His 2-year-old bar of soap came home, too, barely touched, 'though he swears he showered regularly.
So I'm counting my blessings, which are many.

T-minus 7

Seven days till Elmer comes home from camp.

I've become accustomed to being alone, but I don't like being lonely.

Not that a teenage boy is ideal company.

'Though if the past is any guide, he'll come home cool-as-a-neurotypical-teenager.

Which is quite a package.

What will be, will be.

Message in a bottl-e-mail

Two weeks have passed since I've had word from Elmer at camp. For most folks, no news is good news, but Anonymom is a Professional Worrier.

So I commissioned another Mom to spy on him at Visitor's Day, from which the boy himself had banned me.

Here is her message:

Package delivered, happy boy... All is well!

Took pic and will email you when I'm back home

Have a great weekend.

Sent from my iPhone

Hooray. Toss me a bone and I am happy.