Susan Senator

I am not a joiner. I don’t get into trends, I don’t like groups that much. I like to pick and choose whom I spend time with. But there are times when I feel like I’m missing something. Particularly when it comes to trends a lot of women go in for.

My friend Nancy Bea just did a blog post about the real importance of book discussion groups: it’s all about the socializing, the connections. I totally agree; but I have never been able to find one I enjoy being part of. I guess the closest I’ve come is my Writer’s Group, which is just three women, and we meet sporadically, as our schedules allow. One of us just had a third baby, so she’s a bit strung out; the other just got a second book contract and a column at the Globe Mag so she’s crazed. And I? My babies are growing up and my second book contract is merely brewing. The Globe doesn’t return my queries. D’oh, d’oh, d’oh! I am living in total suspension, waiting for people, just waiting for them to get back to me! Why am I always in this position? I should just get a normal job, rather than this roller coaster I’m on called a writing career.

Speaking of position, and of things I have not quite been able to get, I’d like to talk for a minute about yoga. For years I have been hearing about how great yoga is, how relaxing, how it is really strenuous, how it is great for meditative purposes, how it is a hot trend, etc., etc. I was not attracted to it in the least, because why would I want to spend an hour just stretching and breathing? You stretch to warm up for a real workout; you breathe to live! But — yoga clothes are cute, and I belong to this snazzy new gym, so I figured I’d give it a chance. On Sunday I went for my first class, with my friend Miriam. She gave me the choice of spinning at 9 a.m. or Kripalu yoga at 11:15. It was Sunday; enough said!

I got to the gym early and did some weights and stretches. Then I did about twenty minutes on the Stairmaster until I saw it was time. I rushed downstairs to the yoga studio. Inside, there were little sticky pastel mats spread out everywhere. I put my stuff on one that had no stuff near it, and a woman came over and said, “Uh, that’s my mat.” I walked away with a stupid expression on my face, having just given away the fact that I was the yoga newbie, and I went over to the shelves which housed mats, foam blocks, bolsters, belts, and Navajo blankets. Whoa. What kind of kinky stuff were we in for? I took the belt and went to the back in the sunny spot no one wanted.

My friend showed up late and lay down next to me. We were assuming the “corpse pose,” which is as you imagine it to be. The instructor was a lumpy woman in her sixties, who had a soft voice I could barely hear. She instructed us to relax every part of ourselves. She named part after part, and I found myself thinking, “But you missed my knee! And my thigh! And my chest!” And then, as I concentrated on relaxing, an oxymoron if you ask me, I found that I could not relax my arms. They were sticking out on the sticky mat and all I could think was, “RELAX, DAMN YOU! BEFORE SHE COMES BY AND SEES THAT YOU’RE NOT RELAXED!!!”

I must have tricked her. She jostled my feet a little; perhaps they were even more un-relaxed but I don’t know. Feets is feets. Anyway, then she told us to turn over on our sides and — rest! My friend whispered, “Now we have to rest!” And I laughed, which seemed all wrong for the mood. I thought, “Is she going to make me laugh for the whole class?” And I got all tense but also excited because it seemed like fun.

Then we had to stick our arms out, and suddenly my friend said, “Am I crowding you?” I said, “No, I’m fine!” And then she moved somewhere else! I thought that was funny, too. But it helped me concentrate on the class.

All through the class, whenever we had to stand, I found myself unable to hold the pose, not because it was strenuous, but because my feet were sweaty and slipping off the mat! By the end of the class, I ached just from trying not to slip around.

And that night, I had a terrible pain in my knee. Not my right knee, either; my LEFT knee!

I guess I can’t even do yoga right!

Ned said, “It’s too mellow for you. With belly dance, you get to be girlie and work out really hard. It’s perfect for you!” And there’s no sticky mats.

News Announcements

A few things: Max has moved his blog to a new site. He loves getting blog traffic so check him out!

I hate Blogger, the software I use to make this blog. Yesterday it would not let me publish my blog until I had signed in with my “new Google account,” which I do not have! Blogger wanted me to move to their “beta” version, which is actually no longer in beta, and when I tried to do that, it would not take my blog because it said it was too big! Way to go, Blogger! Talk about chasing your own tail. The only way it all worked out is that Maxie fixed it for me somehow, (he knows the same magic as Ned) and so I made him a heaping plate of mashed potatoes, his favorite. Max or Ned will be working on moving me to WordPress soon.

My belly dance workshop last night was amazing. It was more of a discussion and try-things-out than a dance class. We played different music that we loved and we then figured out how we would choreograph each piece. I brought in the Misirlou, of course, and shared that vision with everyone. Others brought in Dr. John, or Shakira. It was very interesting belly dancing to all forms of music.

But the best part of the evening was the teacher’s attitude. She really treated us like dancers in our own right, rather than acolytes or newbies. It set me free to try things and to feel like a dancer among other dancers. Very empowering.

My bruise is no longer swollen but it has spread over the entire eye, classic “She’d rather fight than switch” black eye style! Looks kind of cool, but I have covered it with makeup so as not to scare or tempt people to fight with me. Although I must admit, I am one tough babe. I have a meeting with the new Superintendent of Student Services (SPED and other challenges) and I’m tempted to say, “Oh, I got this in a fight with a SPED director. You should see her!” But truthfully, you should see my closet doorknob…!

Been on the Induction Phase of Atkins since New Years and I lost two pounds! I am trying to lose eight more, to see if it makes a difference in the mid-section vis a vis dancing.

Nat loves Beyoncé’s “Irreplaceable.” I started singing it, “To the left, to the left…” And I paused and looked at him, and he sang the entire song, in a lovely mellow voice. Be still, my heart.

I also received a phone call from Nat this a.m., for the very first time. I heard a lot of noise in the background a familiar little voice talking very fast. I realized who it was and shouted, “Natty? Hi!!!” He said, “Hello Mommy.” And then I said, “Hi, how are you?” and he said, “Fine, fine, Okay, Goodbye.” And he hung up.

Better than some calls I’ve had to endure from NTs.

I am really enjoying receiving NO COMMENTS. I have been getting daily emails from readers and I can then answer them personally, and it is so much more real than a comment. It suits my emotional makeup far better than the random whirlwind of comments that used to assault me. When given the choice in a relationship, I will always opt for the more intense connection, even if that relationship is blogger-blogreader.

Excellent team meeting today. How often do you hear that? But I felt very proud of the team; we all had our roles to play, and yet we came to an agreement that, give or take a phone call or two, should probably work out to Nat’s benefit. The compromise I have made is that I am now being trained to run ABA-like programs in our home. I am, therefore, dedicating several times during the day when I have to stop what I’m doing and follow a certain protocol to get Nat to respond a certain way, and then take data on the results. This is very non-Susan. But it is the only way to parent Nat, to begin to teach him independent thinking and actions, so that is what I’m going to do.

I’m also going to train Max and Ben to do the same. No one is to get Nat anything without his initiating it, and the way we get him to do that is to stand near him when he starts pacing in the kitchen (that is his signal to us that he wants something). We stand near him and don’t look at him, and he is to go up to us and tap us on the arm and request whatever it is he wants. He is really improving at it, too. For Nat, the issue is to understand what we need from him. He does not intuitively know these things, but once he is taught, he is willing to do it. He is, after all, a Sweet Guy and he is Miniman who does what he can.

But I may be getting some assistance from my school system for additional home training, so that is the piece I am cheering about. That is the part we worked hard at getting. We shall see. But it felt very positive today at the meeting, with everyone on the same page, as they say.

What doesn’t feel good is: I have a black eye!!!! I bashed on the doorknob of my bedroom. What a ridiculous cliché! but it is true! I was bent over, putting on exercise clothes in the dark, and my closet door was ajar. As I straightened up, I smacked right into the hard metal doorknob. I could not believe the pain. I sat with Boo-boo bunny for almost an hour, but I still have a lot of swelling and black and blue, as if I went nuts with the eye shadow.

How do you explain to people that you really did walk into a door? It is only those who know Ned who would believe me!

More news: I’m taking a new workshop with a dancer named Sabrina who is supposed to be wonderful. The workshop is “Improvisational Strategies.” We will learn how to dance to any piece of music. The place is a bit far for me, down in Quincy, but today after our team meeting, Ned showed me how to get there. Sometimes if there is something new I’m to try and also in a difficult town, I get cold feet. I don’t want to start not going to things out of strange fears — been there, done that — so I’m making myself go, full anxiety ahead. Also, what will they all think of me with this eye? I’ll have to pile on the eye make up so no one can tell, but if the workshop is as good as it sounds, I’ll sweat it all off!

I have a black eye!  Here’s what happened… … See my Tabblo>

I am experimenting with a format change to my blog. I have disabled comments, in the hopes that it will alleviate my anxiety. (You see? Here is one of many positive outcomes of disability!) As brave as I want to appear, I must admit that every single time the word “Anonymous” appears in my Inbox, I get a stomach ache. Even with commentors who have names, I never know what I’m going to get. It is like opening Doors One, Two, or Three in Let’s Make a Deal: sometimes you get the grand prize, sometimes you get one hundred cans of SPAM. Or worse. Sometimes I get nothing, and I devote energy to wondering why. I just do not have the constitution to be out there so much, target practice for every blog troll on the Internet.

I will, however, miss hearing from many regular wonderful readers and it is my sincere hope that you will continue to write your responses, ideas, questions, etc., but just use my email address, susan@susansenator.com. Many of you already do that, and I love it. But this way, I can just keep blogging and not have that addtional anxiety over what I’m going to get.

Ned tells me I get 10,000 hits a month. I certainly don’t get that many comments, so that means that most of you simply read it anyway, without the need to comment. Fine. Now I’ve made it official, or at least experimental: no comments. I’ve got to take steps to protect myself. But (friendly) emails are always welcome.

A typical practice.

This blawg post (that’s Bostonian for “blog post”) is going to be about belly dance — for a change! (HAH!) So if you came just for the autism, you might want to skip this one, but it’s all me, and I gotta just sing about what’s in my heart right now.

Last night I watched my new DVD, which is The Heartbeat of Bellydance: Rhythm and Bellydance Combinations for Drum Solos, with Jenna and Raquy. This one is just loaded with instruction, so it is perfect for me at the moment, because it is all about demystifying the drum solo. In addition to teaching three different types of drum solos, the DVD also teaches shimmies. So now I know how to shimmy while doing all different sorts of movements: undulations, reverse undulations, hip circles, hip slides; so it kind of looks like you are making tiny jackhammer movements while making another move.

So I put on a black bikini top and loaded it up with beautiful shiny trimmings that Ned had bought me for Chanukah, as well as a big rhinestone brooch that had belonged to my Grandma, and the ruby red petal skirt, and a black lace shawl tied around my hips (that Ned had bought me from Frederick’s of Hollywood, a great resource for inexpensive belly dance accoutrements, plus the articles are good, too…). This color combination, red and black, was exactly perfect for my mood: intense, focused, astoundingly energetic and happy.

I did the drum solo for Ned and I did it perfectly. It was fun dancing in the skirt, just like Jenna on the video. I was happy to see that she is built a little like me, although she is younger and her belly is just a bit tighter. But I’m getting there (the tighter, not the younger part). Then I practiced the shimmies + isolations and I did a bunch of them just right! I now understand one particular movement I’ve been observing in performances, and I know how to do it now.

Just now I showed Ned. I did a hip pop, hip circle, hip slide + basic shimmy + shoulder rolls. Three different speeds, three different things at once. Four, if you count my smile.

There are many autism approaches under this sun of ours, but they often boil down to basically the same thing: focused interactions with positive rewards. I know this will probably offend the rigid ABA-ists or RDI-followers who read this, and I apologize to them, but this is what I believe. Educating Nat succesfully is all about connecting but is also about familiarity and repetition, and reward (which can be praise, candy, or just letting him go do his own thing after completion). It is no secret that I use bastardized ABA , or Floortime-infused ABA, if you must call it something traditional, teach him many skills. Of all the approaches, strategies, therapies, etc., out there that I have researched or tried (and I have been doing this for 14 years so I have looked into many), this approach, of repetition, breaking a task down into doable steps, and positive reinforcement only, has been the most beneficial for Nat. I don’t live by it, or preach it, because even Floortime-infused ABA has its limitations and flaws. ABA’s origins are pretty dicey, trained dogs, punishment, fudged data, kids who were dropped from the final results, etc. You shouldn’t know from it, as my grandmothers would have said. And Floortime/RDI can be too annoying for Nat; he doesn’t respond well to overly silly attempts to get his attention, which can make him more mischievous or determined to wipe that smile off your face (or that funny hat off your head). Not that there’s anything wrong with it.

No, I don’t believe that any one approach out there will successfully educate a complex human being such as Nat. Education and learning is a shifting and evolving thing, that must be adjusted as a person grows and understands more of the world around him, and as his needs change. That being said, the general ABA style, of positive reinforcements and small steps, is one approach with which Nat is most comfortable, because he knows it so well. He has also benefited from Floortime-ish or RDI-type interactions, which are really just about playful parenting, building connection. But no one approach “works” with Nat, who is a teenager and has his good days and difficult days, and who gets wise to me whenever I try a new relational strategy. He is most comfortable learning with the ABA prompt- do it – reward protocol; he has been exposed to this method for so long that he is an expert at it! Once he gets what it is you are looking for from him, he will perform the task. For Nat it is about understanding what you want him to learn, more than the task itself. (This is why he does terribly in I.Q. tests because he is usually being asked to do something or reason something out that he’s only rarely been exposed to if at all, and so he does not understand what is being asked of him in terms of the test itself, even if he truly knows the material. So frustrating. I hate I.Q. tests, don’t speak to me of them.)

I’ve been running two ABA-ish programs with Nat for the last six weeks, as steps towards independent living: initiating, and first aid. I have had great progress with the first aid program. We are supposed to show him a cut and say, “Nat, I have a cut!” and he is supposed to go find the first aid kit and take care of it. They taught him this at school, with Nat using latex gloves, cleaning the cut, and bandaging it (they draw a cut with red pen, but sometimes they have real ones).

So the first time I did this at home, I began by showing him my cut, and what did Sweet Guy do? He kissed it. I guess the protocol is different when it’s a loved one who is cut. I’d say he got 100% with that one!

The initiating program we have been running is far more complex. This is kind of a psych-out game, I find. Here I’m supposed to stand within 5 feet of Nat when I know he wants something, not make eye contact, so that he will realize on his own that he has to come to me and ask for whatever it is. It is so ironic to me that I am not supposed to make eye contact, that Holy Grail of autism education! That is because Nat has already progressed pretty far in this way, in that he waits for eye contact (expectant look, it is called in ABA) before he asks for anything. But we are trying to get him to come to us, to not depend on our glance! So this is difficult for him to learn or perhaps it is that he does not enjoy deciding for himself? I don’t know.

So when he paces around and comes into the kitchen area, I nonchalantly stand up and walk closer to him, looking everywhere but at him. Yesterday he did it; he must have been really hungry! Today he saw me, but walked away quickly. This could go on for a long time, because this guy would rather pace undisturbed but hungry then have to ask me for something!!! But I think our failure here is because he still does not quite grasp that all is within his control here, that, ironically, what I want from him is for him to tell me what he wants from me!

Our team meeting is Tuesday and I will present this data, such as it is, to them. I am not sure what to conclude vis a vis being able to teach him things on my own. I know that I can; but I am not nearly as organized or focused as a professional would be. I still feel that we need someone who is not Nat’s parents to come in a few hours a week and work consistently on several of these kind of programs to teach him independent living skills. Things get all sloppy and confusing for Nat when we suddenly switch to running programs with him (as in the delightful kissed wound or the elusive retreat from initiating).

But more and more, I feel that Nat is improving in terms of communicating and joining in with the world. This is because he is becoming more comfortable in this crazy world of ours due to development and understanding and exposure. For Nat it is about Repeated Familiarity and Universally Sweet Encouragement, (ReFUSE) and and Fearless Openhearted Repetitive and Caring Exposure (FORCE), more than anything else. All he needs is to become familiar with something, anything, almost, and he will eventually do it and like it. This is what happened with reading him books, when he was a tiny boy (remember the Corduroy story, chapter 1?) taking him to parties and holiday gatherings, with teaching him swimming, with taking him to movies, and now with playing on a basketball team. He is better and better at listening and responding to the others on his team; yesterday Phil passed him the ball and he caught it. He also took a shot and made a basket. Last year was much worse.

And so, I have come to see that of all the approaches out there, ReFUSE and FORCE are my number one autism strategies. Ned and I invented them, and I’m sure many of you are already using them in your own adaptations. That is the cool thing about ReFUSE and FORCE. You can adapt them to fit your own lifestyle and no one feels like an idiot using them! They costs nothing, there is only one book to buy. (Just kidding!)

It is not always possible for me to follow through, but Nat seems to thrive with them. ReFUSE and FORCE are my favorite approaches, not to be confused with “refuse” and “force.” There is no “forcing” in FORCE, and no “refusal” in ReFUSE. They must be practiced with a real smile, hidden sweat, eyes on the kid, employing your spine, your muscles, your heart, and your metaphorical cojones.

There came a sudden darkness, and Joseph, alarmed, stood and looked up at the sky. Mary rose to her elbows. But then as quickly as the dark had come, there came a blinding light from inside the stable. Joseph closed his eyes against it, and when he opened them again, the baby had been born.

— Elizabeth Berg, The Handmaid and the Carpenter

What a fantastic book I have found! I am halfway through Elizabeth Berg’s new novel, The Handmaid and the Carpenter. I have read many of Berg’s books, and most of the time I love her stuff; however, sometimes she makes me choke from her very writerly style. She makes her prose a bit too beautiful and clever and self-consciously crafted.

But The Handmaid and the Carpenteris different from and far superior to even her usual fare. It is extremely well done. (As a writer I am so jealous! What a great idea, taking the story of Jesus for a novel and writing it in your own style!) Berg’s is the story of Mary and Joseph, and then of Jesus, written as a novel. Not having read most of the New Testament, I cannot say whether Berg’s account approaches accuracy, but it feels true. As a Jew I have always found this story very compelling, both from what I have gleaned in comparative religion classes in Sunday school and from Christian friends, because it is that which separates Jews from Christians. The concept of the Virgin Birth is an astounding one; as a non-believer I have always wondered how others could believe in it. (Needless to say, I mean all of this respectfully, of course.)

And I wonder how people of that time felt about Mary, et al.? How did Joseph feel, and why did people believe Mary’s story? In days of being stoned for adultery, why was Mary not stoned? What occurred to make people believe her? I understand about faith, because I believe in God and that takes faith. So it must be for the Catholics.

This book, however, sets forth the story in a way that I can understand how others believe this. Mary and Joseph and their families are drawn as real people. Mary is beautiful and headstrong and very confident; Joseph is traditional, handsome, skilled as a carpenter, and head over heels in love with Mary. He struggles terribly with the news that she is pregnant and wants to divorce her, even though he still loves her (but she has broken his heart with what appears to be her infidelity) but has a vision one night that gives him a kind of permission and strength to continue to love her, despite her alleged flaws.

I can imagine an angel or a vision coming to someone and telling them things. We all have our conscience, our intuition, our ESP moments, our Jiminy Crickets! Call it what you will. I have had no such experience with angels, but I believe that I have experienced feelings that have to do with God. I don’t believe this particular story for myself but now I can imagine how someone raised Catholic, steeped in these stories, would feel its truth on some level, if not literally. That is how I explain the Bible to my kids: it is not, for the most part, literally true, but there are truths and lessons in it that are important. We don’t, for example, believe in Adam and Eve and the Garden literally, as being the first people, because we believe in evolution. But I believe that somewhere along the line in evolving, people became more and more aware of their differences sexually, and articulated those differences, so that eventually they felt that even though something was gained in their knowledge, something was also lost, a kind of innocence. In evolving, humans’ feelings and thoughts and perceptions deepened and became more sophisticated, and at some point people looked back on how how others used to be, their more primitive selves.

We all feel the loss of innocence even as we learn things we want to know about, and we grieve that change even when we celebrate it. I think this is the meaning of the Adam and Eve story. My deeper understanding of who my children are brings with it a joy and a sadness, that I am never to be an innocent, naive, easygoing mom filled with dumb love for her babies. My love is extremely informed and analytical; my knowledge of my children, rife with developmental terminology and observations. I do have unconscious moments of happiness with them, too, but that is not so much in my nature as the other kind.

So with the Mary story, perhaps the meaning intended is that in birth we all get the chance to start fresh, and that in becoming parents we are taking a leap of faith that it will be okay, that we will be okay, and we, too are renewed in that act.

The drum solo is a mainstay of belly dance. In it the dancer adjusts her movements to the beats of the drum, which in this case were eight beat rhythms. This particular choreography consisted in 1) hip drop and sweep; 2) shoulder shimmies front and back; 3) hip lift; 4) chest drop with walking; 5)hip down; 6) freestyle shimmy; 7) interior hip circles with pelvic locks; 8) traveling twist; 9) arabesque and shimmy; 10) 4-step turn and finish. Ned took 132 frames. Then, not content with it being over, he took more pics of me looking at the pics!

And by the way, for all of you Nat fans: he has discovered a new hobby. Watching the practice belly dance DVDs with me, and watching me dance.

See my Tabblo>

This is Nat with his music teacher, Annie. She is fairly new to the school, but with her came an entire music program for Nat’s school and an entire new world for Nat. They put on a talent show; they learn music theory; they sing; and they are learning the scale and the length of notes. And why not? These kids are capable of so much, you just never know until you try. Annie is more than willing to try.

And Nat just loves her. It looks like the feeling is mutual!

This new year hit me heavily. It makes no sense to me having a holiday suddenly and in the middle of winter, the most desperate time of year, which declares that a new year has begun. Most people are totally tapped out in terms of celebratory or resolution spirit, and then we are asked to have another huge celebration and think how we can be better people? Where we think about what we want to change? For Jews doing this is doubly hard because we just did that in October (Yom Kippur), and without food, too! And of course the whole Book of Life threat hanging over our yarmulked heads like a sword of Damocles. (Why didn’t Damocles’ mother ever tell him, “Okay, Damocles, enough with the sword, already! You’re giving me a headache! Go find some scissors to play with!”)

I think the Jewish New Year makes so much more sense, coming at the beginning of autumn. Autumn is the time of real change, when summer yields to fall and kids go back to school. Fall is the time of melancholy nostalgia, the perfect moment to reflect. But the New Year on December 31 feels bogus and manufactured to me. It is completely anticlimactic, falling just a week after the big cahuna (Christmas).

I have certainly thought of resolutions, nevertheless, because I do that frequently. I have not wanted to post them because I am heartily sick of the whole thing. I did my Tabblo “year in review” mostly because I love looking at my pictures and collecting them together. That always lifts my spirits.

But it is, as I said, pressing me down to think about this new year and what it will be like, what I will do differently, what is over, and what is begun. I am listing them now, because I need to.

1) Not to be afraid to be who I am.
2) Switch stage name from Delilah to Shoshana and all that implies.
3) Earn more money (finish second book draft)
4) Find supplementary help for Nat (home program for independent skills, perhaps a friend)
5) Live more moment to moment, even feeling the pain if it is there, looking up from my computer or book.

“You want to change something, you start by changing just one little thing.”

“No fair feeling bad about feeling bad.”

— Ned

The thing nobody tells you when you plan on having kids is how much it hurts. I am not talking about labor and delivery, though God knows that is pretty painful stuff. I am talking about what you feel for them afterwards. I remember the earliest feelings of looking at Nat felt like a pressure in my nose and throat, like wanting to cry. But it wasn’t sadness — not exactly. It was this feeling more like, “Oh, God, I almost don’t want to love you because if anything ever happened to you I could not bear the pain.” I remember feeling like I almost did not want to become too attached to little Nat because I was afraid I would lose him.

This, I feel compelled to explain, is not the same as rejecting one’s child. It is more like the opposite. I was paralyzed by my love for him that I did not know what to do about it and everything came out like tears.

My fears soon translated into crazy behavior. I became a Neat Freak. A Germaphobe. An Obsessive-Compulsive. A Nervous Wreck. I worried that he would become sick at the slightest little thing. I washed everything. I washed my hands so much that the skin wore away in places and didn’t really recover until after Max was born. This was just as well because I was, as they say, totally uncomfortable in my skin, so who needed it anyway?

It is so strange (still) to realize that there was something brewing inside little Nat, a whopper of a thing, and what that means. Was I running away from my earliest perceptions? Or was I just dealing with some of my own twenty-something stuff (Quarter-Life Crisis)? I don’t think I’ll ever really know.

My OCD is long gone but what lingers is the crazy/sad love. I still don’t always know what Nat wants or if I’m doing enough for him. I don’t know what progress is supposed to look like with him. How much of the disability am I to accept, and how much is just a product of my not doing enough?

There was an interesting post in the blogosphere today about parents who will do anything to make their autistic children “better,” or non-autistic. There was also an intelligent discussion over the suggestions in the press that parents and doctors are overdoing the diagnosing. I completely understand the desire to do anything to help your child excel, I just know that 1) you can’t have a balanced family life or life of your own if you are spending all of your energy trying to eradicate your child’s developmental disorder; and 2) I am not convinced it is possible to wipe out autism; and 3) I do not like the idea of working so hard to force my square peg son into society’s round holes.

However, where is the balance? I sometimes despair over the possibility that I have not done enough, because I tend to be scattered, poorly-organized, and inconsistent, all which can be the hobgoblin for growing autistic minds. Other times I am sad because I think, “Natty, you really were this autistic? How can that be? Where did we go wrong?” Oh, God, I am so sorry to say that, particularly knowing that autistic people read this blog. This is not about them. This is about a mother’s grief over the way something turned out for her child. And a wave of sadness washes over me; I can’t help it. I remember the bright golden firstborn son whom everyone in my family couldn’t get enough of. Everyone was jealous of me with my beautiful baby.

I sit there and let it linger and run its course, like a virus.

And then I look at him, and of course he’s pacing and silly talking and snorting (the house is really dry and dusty). His smile is wide and white. His hair is wavy, thick, and blond like ripe wheat, or honey on Grape Nuts. I want to hug him to me, just like I do with Ben or Max, but I can’t just grab them as if they were babies. And I get that old, familiar sad tug in my heart that I still don’t understand.

But what I do realize is: he is still my bright golden firstborn son whom most people love when they meet (bus drivers, teachers, family, friends). I want him to have a great life, not just one that is managed okay. I want him to have it all. I want his brothers to have it all, and they have a real shot at that. I mean friends, spouses, children, the whole nine yards.

But Nat will have a smaller life. And that is still sometimes hard for me to bear.

There is nothing wrong with him. He’s just a real odd duck, not at all whom I thought he was. The best I can do now is quit crying, get off my ass and do some programs with him, or read the Surfing Book with him. Get back in touch with what is good and forget the road not taken (the road not even there).

Just got back from the movie Eragon. I took Nat, Max and Ben. Haven’t done that in a long, long time. Usually I think the movie will be just too boring or silly, or Max doesn’t want to go or has plans, or I’m scared to take Nat for fear of noise/tantrums/hard stuff. But that is so old. I’m a tough old bird and a little silly talk or arm biting just rolls off my steely spine. Let ’em look, I say.

When I was buying them sodas and popcorn, one of the cashiers was clearly giggling about Nat. Too much for me to think she was attracted to his beauty. Because first of all Natty had walked right up to the Counter Girl and then just stared at the soda machine, waving his hands and silly talking. He looks like he could buy his own thing, so why doesn’t he, they must have been wondering. I said, “Two Sprites and a Diet Coke.” But when I said, “Sprite,” Nat said, “orange,” so I switched the drink order to two oranges and a diet coke, and then Ben said, “No, I want Sprite,” so I had to change the order again.

I was so psyched that Nat could tell me what he wanted, right away! But Cashier Girlie must have made a face so the Counter Girlie admonished her to mind her own business. I looked over at Cashier Girlie and I grinned widely, saying, “Boy, I guess it would have been good of me to ask them what they wanted first!” Ha, ha, isn’t life just a jolly giggle! I was ready to say, “Can’t wait until you have some kids!” But I continued to smile kindly, the Benevolent Old Mom Who Has Seen It All. I guess I kind of have. Cashier Girlie then looked at me kind of sheepishly. Nat took his soda and strolled away, silly talking at the top of his lungs, God bless him! I just laughed — a real one this time — and walked after him, Ben trailing after me.

Then there was some anxiety over — you guessed it — the theatre lights, which were still on during the previews!! Thought I’d have to take Nat home, but Max reassured us that they would go off when the movie started, so Nat kept repeating that, quivering and shaking his leg the entire time. Poor darling, he refused to start his soda or eat his popcorn until those &*^% lights went off.

Throughout the movie, all three boys were riveted. I, too, enjoyed it. A bit of a Lord of the Rings rip off, but the hero was cute enough — although he looked a bit too much like Max for my comfort — and so we were all entertained.

I am very proud of us, needless to say.

Remember when I said I am not a hausfrau? Well guess what? I think I really am. I feel so good right now because I cleaned my house! What’s more, I did not do all the work! I had each boy dust his own room, plus Nat did some extra dusting downstairs and I did not even tell him to do it!!!! It is the Swiffer that I have to thank. The Swiffer is a trend that is sweeping the nation! (Okay, I stole that joke from Dane Cook, only mine is not X-rated!) But really, the reason I like the Swiffer is that I just give a boy a cloth and it picks up dust, no chemicals to worry about on their precious hands. Then I go over it with a Pledge-soaked wipe, at least the areas that people will see, plus I like the smell of the Pledge.

Then Nat did his blog post, telling me in his own Sweet Guy way that he was sick of seeing me walk around in my PJs, and that it was time to get dressed. Mr. Routine! You could set your clocks by Nat! And he’s a Scorpio, in addition! So, before showering, I Tilexed the shower! Unfortunately, now I have Tilex in my nose, that I can’t seem to get rid of, so I made some decaf in the hopes of eradicating those fumes. Where is the Cat in the Hat when you need him? Plus Little Cat Z, of course!

I think it is so funny — and no accident — that the Yiddish word for “good housewife” is balabusta, which sounds like “ballbuster!” As Marie Antoinette may have (should have) said in reply to her famous husband’s quip: “La Balabusta, C’est Moi.”

Max and his friend made a podcast that I think is terrific. It really shows you the interior life of the fourteen-year-old (non jock) boy’s mind, or at least, these two wonderful boys’ minds! Max is the main voice and his friend has the softer voice. I love it, but maybe because I’m the proud Mamma?

I think I am going to try to do a podcast, a talkshow that I have been dreaming about: Special!
I would have special needs parents on the show talking to me about their problems, thoughts, epiphanies, solutions. How they have fun. Also, perhaps some non-parent experts to give their two cents. Anyone interested in talking to me on a podcast? Email me (susan@susansenator.com) and we’ll decide if this thing has legs or if it’s just another Libra dream of mine…