It began on a night when all seemed right with the world. With Eric out at an away football game, Mother and I took the kids to do a little window shopping. Well, mostly window anyway.
This was the absolute best evening. No problems, meltdowns, or other issues. I walked out of Target feeling like maybe I'm NOT the world's most cranky mother! The cheeseburger was even correct in the kids' meals on the way home. Cheese and catsup only... and he gobbled it with not so much as a blink of displeasure or contest.
We drove into the carport at the end of the about forty-five to fifty minute journey home, piled out, and changed into pajamas. In my haste, I messed up one little nighttime thing, but went back and fixed it and put the kids into bed.
Two steps out of the boys' room, and it pierced my head.
This is one of those places where it's strange. Unique, maybe is a better word. It takes a hammer and chisel to the cords of patience at my very core. And at the same time, I'm rejoicing.
Opposite ends in the same mind and heart at the same time.
He screamed for me. Bloody-murder, like there must be either a fire in his bed or a marauder rapping on the window. Over the next two hours, he would do this about every eight minutes. Never gave a real reason. I brought him to the kitchen, gave him water, showed him the slow-in-the-dark shirt in his closet wasn't a real skeleton, re-did lip medicine (his term for chapstick), talked, prayed, and everything I could think of. I re-explained where his daddy was, although he's grown up with Dad out on Friday nights in the fall.
In the end, it was "Ryan, I don' like the game we're playing. You need rest, I need rest. You have to calm down and trust that you'll be okay and sleep."
Or something like that. Honestly, I was so fried I don't remember exactly what it was. But I know it wasn't my most patient moment. I was tired and in tears, and in complete disbelief that my boy who had gone to bed without issue from the time he was three was now screaming and crying for me at the top of his lungs.
Knowing from reading some of your blogs, Facebook posts, etc. that sleep problems are often part of autism, panic set in. How in the world are we going to deal with this? A thousand things ran through my head. He shares a room with his brother! How will Richie react? What if I'm setting a precedent every time I walk through that door? What if I'm marring him by firmly telling him (after checking over and over) that he's okay and needs to rest?
After a few days he figured out that Mommy was not game. Once Daddy was home more and began putting mim to bed more often, it became Daddy's turn.
It took about three weeks, all told, to iron this out. And we're not sure we're done.
The whole experience reminded me of one of my favorite bible passages, as I heard on a Mark Lowry bit one time. Here goes... this is profound, and you don't want to miss it.
"And it came to pass..."
It came to pass. Nothing comes to stay, no situation good or bad. It may be a moment, a day, a week, a month, or years, but it too will pass.
What will remain from the good and the bad is what we learn. What we enjoy. What we hated so much that it lived as a catalyst for change in our lives.
I don't know how long it will take to work through the current fascination we have with YouTube. I don't know how long we will be scouring the world for elevators to avoid. I have no idea how long I will have to hold on to and watch my now-eight-year-old like he's three.
But I know that he was put here for me to enjoy, learn from, teach, guide, protect, and love. All our kids were. I know that he was made fearfully and wonderfully, in God's own image just as we all are. And I know that in the end, we will rejoice together in ways we can't yet imagine.
As frustrating as life can be for him, each frustration does pass, even if just for a time.
Thanks be to God.
This was the absolute best evening. No problems, meltdowns, or other issues. I walked out of Target feeling like maybe I'm NOT the world's most cranky mother! The cheeseburger was even correct in the kids' meals on the way home. Cheese and catsup only... and he gobbled it with not so much as a blink of displeasure or contest.
We drove into the carport at the end of the about forty-five to fifty minute journey home, piled out, and changed into pajamas. In my haste, I messed up one little nighttime thing, but went back and fixed it and put the kids into bed.
Two steps out of the boys' room, and it pierced my head.
This is one of those places where it's strange. Unique, maybe is a better word. It takes a hammer and chisel to the cords of patience at my very core. And at the same time, I'm rejoicing.
Opposite ends in the same mind and heart at the same time.
He screamed for me. Bloody-murder, like there must be either a fire in his bed or a marauder rapping on the window. Over the next two hours, he would do this about every eight minutes. Never gave a real reason. I brought him to the kitchen, gave him water, showed him the slow-in-the-dark shirt in his closet wasn't a real skeleton, re-did lip medicine (his term for chapstick), talked, prayed, and everything I could think of. I re-explained where his daddy was, although he's grown up with Dad out on Friday nights in the fall.
In the end, it was "Ryan, I don' like the game we're playing. You need rest, I need rest. You have to calm down and trust that you'll be okay and sleep."
Or something like that. Honestly, I was so fried I don't remember exactly what it was. But I know it wasn't my most patient moment. I was tired and in tears, and in complete disbelief that my boy who had gone to bed without issue from the time he was three was now screaming and crying for me at the top of his lungs.
Knowing from reading some of your blogs, Facebook posts, etc. that sleep problems are often part of autism, panic set in. How in the world are we going to deal with this? A thousand things ran through my head. He shares a room with his brother! How will Richie react? What if I'm setting a precedent every time I walk through that door? What if I'm marring him by firmly telling him (after checking over and over) that he's okay and needs to rest?
After a few days he figured out that Mommy was not game. Once Daddy was home more and began putting mim to bed more often, it became Daddy's turn.
It took about three weeks, all told, to iron this out. And we're not sure we're done.
The whole experience reminded me of one of my favorite bible passages, as I heard on a Mark Lowry bit one time. Here goes... this is profound, and you don't want to miss it.
"And it came to pass..."
It came to pass. Nothing comes to stay, no situation good or bad. It may be a moment, a day, a week, a month, or years, but it too will pass.
What will remain from the good and the bad is what we learn. What we enjoy. What we hated so much that it lived as a catalyst for change in our lives.
I don't know how long it will take to work through the current fascination we have with YouTube. I don't know how long we will be scouring the world for elevators to avoid. I have no idea how long I will have to hold on to and watch my now-eight-year-old like he's three.
But I know that he was put here for me to enjoy, learn from, teach, guide, protect, and love. All our kids were. I know that he was made fearfully and wonderfully, in God's own image just as we all are. And I know that in the end, we will rejoice together in ways we can't yet imagine.
As frustrating as life can be for him, each frustration does pass, even if just for a time.
Thanks be to God.
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