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| Photo credit: Image adapted from a photo by KRISnFRED on Flickr |
In the mothering world, compliments are hard to come by. Oh, sure. You'll hear, "Your kids are so cute!" But that's not really about you, or even (usually) your kids. It's one of those generic statements, like "have a nice day" or "how are you." You much more often hear from others when they disapprove of your parenting or your child's behavior (which usually means, by extension, your parenting). This seems to be doubly the case when you have a child with autism.
For example, I have yet to hear from my son's school when he's doing a good job. They wouldn't call me up on the phone and say, "Hey, your son ran in to save a puppy from a burning building! What a hero!" That wouldn't even warrant a note or an e-mail (unless they wanted to complain that he ran back in after being told not to). I'd find out about it from some other parent, or child, or the evening news, or maybe even my son. But let's say he, oh, I don't know, calls the teacher a boogerhead? We get instant calls from the principal on my husband and my cell and home and work phones. It's an emergency! Drop everything! Your son called the teacher a boogerhead! (Oh, man. I'm sorry, but I think that's kind of funny.) At this point we are expected to DO SOMETHING. Do something! Right now! Give him a lecture! Make him change! (If he ever breaks his leg at school, I'm in trouble, because when my caller ID lights up with the school number now, I just roll my eyes and think, "Good lord, what's the crisis now? Did he giggle in class again?")
Recently, we stopped by the home of a neighbor to drop off a gift for her new baby. When we were invited in, I knew we were in trouble. The polite thing to do (I think. I'm not great with etiquette, but that's another post) would be to go in when invited and see the baby, and my daughter was dying to go in. My son, however, had no interest. So, I did what I usually do in such situations: ignore social norms and do what works for us. I left my son outside and went in with my daughter to see the baby. He ran around in circles and hopped up and down outside while we ooed and ahed.
Our neighbor offered us snacks, which my daughter, never one to turn down tasty looking treats, happily accepted. I went to the door to see if my son was comfortable enough to come in now. He was. And we confronted what is always our thorniest social situation: food. It's amazing how easy it is to overlook how integral food is to social situations unless you are someone or know someone who has difficulty eating. Food as a universal good is so ingrained in society that it positively shocks people to see it vehemently refused. They simply don't expect it. So, he refused, and I tried (as usual, unsuccessfully) to intervene, "No, thank you very much. He won't eat it. It's all right. He really doesn't want it. It's very kind of you, but please, please, don't even offer it." This is a scene that's been repeated many times over the years. I babble ineffectually over his screams of terror as the host or hostess pleasantly presses on, "Don't you want some? Look, cookies! Everyone likes cookies! Here, just try a little bit."
Having turned down the food, my son took to jumping off the furniture and then lying on the floor, refusing all polite offers of a chair by the baby's grandparents. Throughout, I tried to be patient and soothing to my son, who was clearly (to me) scared and uncomfortable. I asked him if he wanted to wait outside again, but he didn't. I told him he didn't have to sit on a chair, but that other people really don't appreciate having their furniture jumped off. I told him I knew he was nervous and anxious about being someplace new (we'd never been in the neighbors' house before), around new people (he'd never met the grandparents before and rarely saw the new mom). I told the grandparents and the new mom that my son got very nervous around new people and in new situations, and that this was the way he acted when he was scared and nervous. And then, as he was rolling peacefully on the floor and I was chatting while waiting for my daughter to finish her snack, the most extraordinary thing happened. The mom turned to me and said, "I really liked the way you handled that situation."
I wanted to kiss her. Really? My son wouldn't come in to your house and then came in stood on your couch and jumped off your furniture and rolled on your floor and frowned and grunted at you when you offered him food. And I didn't DO SOMETHING. I just told him that I understood, and told you that he was nervous, and that was admirable? In seven years, with two kids, no relative stranger has ever told me I'm doing a good job with my kids. They've stared and frowned, and told me a lot about how I'm doing it wrong. But no one has ever seen a little snapshot like that and told me I'm doing it right.
I felt so relieved, like the weight of the world's expectations and judgments had been lifted from me. Those things don't always bother me, but I'm always conscious of them; I still carry them and feel their weight. How nice to have that weight lifted for the space of a snack and a visit with neighbors.
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