BOBBY

Dear Persons,

I know Bobby because my brother-in-law used to do respite care with him. 

He often brought him to brunch at our house on Sundays. Bobby was eternally grateful for the food I cooked. He would play with my son, games most kids his age would have scoffed at. 

Bobby would hug us so tight when he left.  He had a sweet side for sure.

Bobby’s not his real name.

Bobby must be in his early twenties by now.

He’s sitting on his front porch most days when I drive by on my way to town. 

He’s trying to quit smoking.

He’s gaining weight.

Sometimes I see him in town with a “helper.” I say “Hi” and check in on whether he’s quit smoking yet.

I never see him with anyone else.

My daughter—when she sees me tear up when we drive past him—says, “Mom, that’s not going to happen to [G], he has you and he has me and you’re a good mom.”

Bobby’s mom is probably a good mom too. (Or his parent/guardian[s] is [are] good, in their own way[s].)

Do any parents not love their kids and want the best for them?

Is every life not a worthwhile life?

What can young adults DO in this small town with few young people and fewer opportunities?…And if they are on the spectrum? 

Bobby’s on the spectrum.

Even in bigger cities, with more opportunities, more diversity—are human beings with differences getting lost in the mix? I’m betting they are.

What are the components of a decent life? From my perspective, they would include community (however that is defined, in a way that makes sense for each individual), meaningful work or some sort of activity that contributes, health, the freedom and opportunity to pursue one’s interests and goals.

From my perspective, Bobby’s life seems terribly lonely and sad. 

But it’s unfair to make assumptions about someone else’s life.  And maybe he wouldn’t agree.

I think he deserves better.

Maybe he wouldn’t agree. There are certainly many things I don’t know about Bobby’s life.

I do know that I don’t want a life like his for my son.

Maybe my son wouldn’t agree.

Soon, the time will come for that conversation. I will help him in any way I can to make his dreams come true, but at a certain point* he will become more and more—or even entirely—responsible for his own life. 

I hope he’s seen and understood enough of the world by then to make healthy, positive, proactive choices, both in terms of how he wants to live and as far as what he needs to do to live that life.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* When will that be, dear fellow parents of children with differences? A tough question, with as many answers as there are children…

 Welcome to Voices of Special Needs Blog Hop -- a monthly gathering of posts from special needs bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Mommy Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about having a special needs kiddo -- from Sensory Processing Disorder to ADHD, from Autism to Dyslexia! Want to join in on next month's Voices of Special Needs Hop? Click here!

An InLinkz Link-up

SUGAR, DEAR

You do keep Dear Sugar in your bathroom, yes? So that when you wake up first thing in the morning and think “I can’t do this day,” or when you get that precious three minutes where you sit on the toilet ALONE pretending to poop, you can take the book in your hands and Sugar can be your oracle and give you exactly what you need to open the bathroom door and emerge human and more whole just by opening up the book and reading? 

If not Dear Sugar, what is your DEAR? What shows you TRUTH, on a bed of laughter, with a chiffonade of tears? HOPE, wrapped in brutal honesty, with a core of sweet, sweet love? PERSPECTIVE, nestled in a can of whoop-as$, with a side of I-get-it-though?

Ideally, everybody should have something like this, a tiny escape-comfort that is always there when needed. Maybe for you it’s music, or cooking, or...? Books have always been that thing for me, as they are for my son. Even at parties. 

I was recently invited by a Very Big Deal Agent to write a book proposal for her agency. I am still struggling with the requirements of the proposal, above all, the selling-of-self. But I think that very quality of being there for others in a very honest way makes this writing worthwhile, and makes a book a valid proposition for this blog. So I am doing my best to get it done.

At the same time, summer is looming. I see people posting on facebook about how they “can’t wait,” and I try to share their enthusiasm, and heaven knows I want my children to have those idyllic summers of which people speak, but—but...: I’ve never had a chance to not be working in the summer, which makes things sometimes quite rough. This year I at least had the foresight to coordinate what few camps the kids attend (hey, both kids in camp during the same week: my big insight from summer 2014!), so that I will have some time to work while both kids are having summer fun. (Have people noticed that camp often costs more than one can earn? What’s up with that?)

Like so many of us, I also hope that I too will get some glimpses of summer fun. That during the times when I am with my kids, I will actually be with my precious kids, rather than being physically present while mentally worrying constantly about keeping us afloat or getting other stuff done, such as The Proposal. I guess that would be a form of practicing mindfulness.

Ever wonder, though, why it’s so hard to remember to be mindful? Perhaps it’s because one’s mind is...full? In those full-brain and heavy-heart moments (big and small), I know Sugar will help. Mostly, she’ll remind me that it’s on me to make things right, to feed the good wolf, to see clearly and be present and not take things personally. Basically, you know, to be mindful. But she says it in a way that I can really hear, my dear, dear Sugar does.

Well, my friends, I am heading out now for the last-day/half-day* pickup rounds. Here’s wishing you plenty of whatever Sugar-esque entity feeds your soul this season and beyond. Summer...starts...NOW!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Wee tad of a rip-off there?

SWEETYPOO

Um...warning: You might not want to read this if you are new to yoga.

For nine years I was a yoga teacher, co-owning and co-directing yoga centers in New York City’s East Village and New England with my ex-husband. For a variety of reasons, I came to dislike that world. My neurology leans toward the literal -- and black and white distinctions -- and I was chronically unable to reconcile what I saw as rampant hypocrisy by yogis, especially yoga teachers (not to mention yoga studio owners!), with the practice and philosophy of yoga. I came to feel that people in the “yoga community” – most egregiously those in positions of authority -- often used what they knew of yoga philosophy to justify their actions: cruel actions were “awakening people to their own egos,” greed was “removing other people’s attachments,” stuff like that...

But in terms of the teaching itself, I think my biggest obstacle came down to this: while I would be saying the first part of the instruction in a sweetypoo way, I would be thinking the second part (in italics), like so:

“Feeeeeeeel the bliss of being in the present moment…because we are all going to die.”

Sometimes it got worse. Even though I liked and even loved most of my students, there would be pairs like this:

“Let gratitude suffuse every fiber of your being…You know what? You are so totally privileged to be here at 9am in the morning when everybody else is working or worse, and yet you still complain!”

Or:

“Be kind to yourself. Lift the corners of your mouth. Give yourself a hug….we all know that as soon as you leave this room you’ll pretty instantly turn right back into the total beyotch [bastahd] you were before class.”

When I got divorced, I left everything but the kids behind, including the yoga center my ex and I had run together for almost ten years. I haven’t had the time or money to attend yoga classes since becoming a single then working (of the non-running yoga center and teaching yoga variety) mother. Instead, I’ve been practicing at home, which I very much enjoy on those rare occasions when I am able to make the time for it.

The big news for me is I’ve just started back to taking public yoga classes -- on a super-limited basis (two classes in three months)…Guess what? I am having a very hard time with it! Every sweetypoo thing the sweet, sweet teacher says sounds inherently vapid to me, and I keep adding those dreadful non-sweet codas to the sweet sentences the teacher utters: “Now, just let go of all those thoughts…[Oh...Really? Do you think we should just be able to do that so easily? Have you ever actually truly suffered? Been worried about putting food on the table? Worried about being harassed just for the color of your white skin?...Do your children, if they are lucky enough to have enough to eat, get bullied???]”

I know this is totally unfair. I probably even sound bitter and evil! The funny thing is, the rest of the time – when I am not in a yoga class -- I am usually thinking pretty kind thoughts. TRULY! Also, I know the teacher is probably sincere.

Yet the thoughts keep popping up. It’s like when someone tells you not to think about something and you Just. Can’t. Stop.  

So, even though I always secretly criticized people for viewing yoga as a physical thing, I’ve decided to try to just focus on the physical for now -- the breathing and the movement and precise alignment of the body -- since I am clearly still disillusioned with the spiritual side of the yoga world after so many years of seeing people not “live their yoga.”

There’s a tradition of practicing silence in yoga known as Mauna. With Mauna, one practices clearing the brain and mouth of chatter, bringing clarity and peace and spaciousness to life. I’ve actually gone on Mauna retreats (back in a very different reality) and loved them. But for now, I am just trying to be as mentally and philosophically silent as I can in my practice.

What does this have to do with the Full Spectrums? Recently G has been getting up to no good at school. Being sneaky and lying about assignments to avoid the whole new academic success program we have him on. So that he doesn’t fail out of 7^th grade? (That’s another post). And Z has been up to some of her old RAD* tricks too.

As I revisit the whole sweetypoo yoga thing, it occurs to me that I am a talkative, and, yes, sweetypoo mom. Despite my ramblings herein and my scoldings to them, I always think my kids are fundamentally perfect and am prone to telling them so. And G’s teachers and the ex, even Pardner, are sometimes incredulous about my inability to really see and accept the more trifling aspects of G’s behavior and/or character. Z is better at “passing” for healthy outside of the home, and hiding her behaviors, but she, too, could improve her act at school and at home.

It occurs to me that the kids are – consciously or not – adding on to the exchanges we have. Clearly, I am not always getting through to them, as evinced by their actions, eye rolls, &c. -- and perhaps it’s because there’s too much sweetypoo talk! Here, the italics are their add-ins:

Typical praise-fest:

Me to G: “Wonderful Junior, I just can’t believe how much I love you!...Mmm hmm, that’s because you’re my mother.”

Me to Z: “My very own darling daughter! You are so fun to have special time with!...Give me more sugary treats now!”

Here, too, it gets worse, especially with my “famous” advice:

Me: “[G], make sure you remember that if someone is mean to you it is because they are hurting inside...blah blah blah. Heard this before.”

G: Yes, Mom...yeah right”

Me: “[Z], always, always listen to your teacher!”

Z: “Sure Mom...except when you’re not around...”

If it’s my fifteenth philosophical exhortation or admonishment for the day, what should I expect?

OTOH both children truly are happy most of the time, and seem to be on the right track in most areas. They’ve been told enough times which fork to use, and when to say please and thank you, and to wipe, wipe, wipe....At a certain point the ball is in their court, right? So I’ve decided it’s time for me to can it a little bit with the yapping. Dare I say...Let go a little?

You see, the second halves of my yoga sentences above are true. People who get into yoga are usually looking for healing on some level, and they are flawed and broken just like the rest of humanity. Perhaps many yogis are seeking because they are more hurt, broken and flawed than the average person. And then yogic practices can take some time – not hours or days, but years, even lifetimes - to be effective. So teachers and students alike aim with their sweetypoo words toward what they hope is true...yet we do not necessarily live that truth in all our thoughts and actions.

The first parts of my yoga sentences above are sweet...and potentially insipid; the second parts are ugly...and real. Same with what’s going on with my children’s sentences. And I want to change that. Call it Parental Mauna: I want to try to be more mentally/philosophically/verbally frugal (silence being impossible for the obvious reasons) as I can in my practice of parenting.

So here’s my PLAN:

Less talking, more showing.

Ideally, less thinking.

More listening.

In place of lavish praise - more hugging.

Keep it simple.

Let’s see if they notice.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

P.S. Dear readers, feel free to share your own such sentences in the comments section below! I would LOVE to hear them.

*RAD=Reactive Attachment Disorder