My Husband's New Best Friend: a.k.a. Dr. Two

Last Monday was the day we had been counting down to for weeks, if not months at our house. The day Jacob would finally get to met Dr. Two. Her name really isn't Dr. Two, but Jacob prefers that, and we have become so accustomed to it, we have embraced it as her name. It came after visiting Jacob's psychologist and he realized he would be waiting to visit a second doctor who would hopefully be able to help him with his anxiety. And so Dr. Two was born.

Each night at our house before bed, my son panicky from his fears and anxieties would ask how much longer until we would see Dr. Two. For a while he wanted to move her in with us. He hadn't even met her at this point, but with the promises of Dr. Two making him feel better, he was ready to clear some room for her.

So when the day finally arrived, we were all ready. I too had been counting the days, hoping and praying for some help if even a little for my son. Just anything to make each day a little less frightening for him, or a little calmer for all of us.

I can't say Dr. Two was exactly what I was expecting. I'm not really sure what I was expecting. She was probably about my age. A mother of two children, a son who was Jacob's age and an older daughter. I could tell Jacob would like her as she engaged him in his interests of animals and baseball to his delight. I knew I liked her when she talked about her own struggles as a mom and having her older daughter struggle with anxiety and separation anxiety. She could relate to all of my feelings, the struggles I had with whether to push Jacob or pull back and shelter him from anything remotely scary.

But I could tell my husband wasn't won over. He was quiet, and usually my husband is a talker. Instead I was the one answering the doctor's questions about our son, while my husband remained unusually still.

Dr. Two talked extensively with Jacob about the things that bothered him, focusing mostly on fireworks. I noticed how she balanced talking about these scary things until Jacob began to get panicky, and then she brought it back to a safe topic like baseball. After listening and talking for a while, she turned to my husband and I giving us the direction and encouragement we have wanted for years.

My husband and I have always struggled with this to the point of disagreement. He always leaned toward throwing Jacob into situations that made him uncomfortable and scared, where I took the other approach of shielding him from these things that bothered him. I think that is every mother's approach. It is a motherly instinct to protect your child. This difference in opinion between my husband and I has brought many arguments and frustrations for both of us through the years.

It wasn't a big shock when Dr. Two agreed with my husband's approach. Her suggestions? Take Jacob to all those things that bother him. Enroll him in every activity possible. I see out of the corner of my eye my husband's interest peak. Buy season tickets to Jacob's favorite major league baseball team forcing him to watch the fireworks. This time I see the smile spreading across my husband's face. Take him golfing every week having him ride in a bumpy golf cart. Oh, yes, Dr. Two had a new best friend. She had won my husband over!

But Jacob? Not so much.

Where before Jacob was loving the animal talk and bubbly personality of Dr. Two, upon hearing he would be going to a baseball game with fireworks, he immediately hit my husband and me. Dr. Two insisted he sit in time out for hitting, and I observed, wondering how this would play out. Time outs have never worked for Jacob. They become a battle that can at times last for hours, escalating something so small into a major meltdown. I was intrigued. My husband somewhat forced Jacob off the couch to sit him in time out, all the while Dr. Two encouraging him that he was doing the right thing. And there my son sat in time out for all of five seconds when Dr. Two told him he was done. Really?  Five seconds? Apparently we have been doing time out wrong the entire time. Our focus was always on insisting he sit for the appropriate amount of time. You know, the one minute per age rule. We were wrong! The idea is to have Jacob learn to calm himself and learn that control. If it takes five seconds, it takes five seconds. Wow!

Once Jacob was calmed down, she wanted to bring up photos of fireworks on her computer. She gave him two choices, sit and close his eyes or step outside while she showed us the pictures. He chose to step outside her door. She brought up a picture of a large firework, covered it and had him come in the door. Tentatively he came in. This time she had him close his eyes in front of the door while she showed us the pictures again. But it was like a train wreck, he couldn't help but peak and he saw the picture on his computer. I was expecting a little bit of a panic, but there wasn't any. Instead he wanted to be in control, and he went over to assist Dr. Two in googling pictures of fireworks. It didn't take long for him to be pointing to the computer his finger touching the fireworks on the screen.

We left encouraged by Dr. Two that Jacob would soon be over his fear of fireworks, lightning, and balls rolling down our hill. Our homework for each day is to watch youtube videos of fireworks and look at pictures online to desensitize him to the things that bother him. Jacob may always have things that scare him. Hopefully he will just learn how to calm himself and cope with those fears.

And I'm happy to report that for today's homework, Jacob watched 32 seconds of fireworks over his favorite baseball stadium with no problem.

Dear Ignorant Facebook User: A letter in Response to your Statements about People with Autism in the Workplace

Dear Ignorant Facebook User,

I admit when I read your comments yesterday, I was mad. I was boiling mad, and I'm sure my responses made that apparent. But today with a clear head, I have realized that being angry isn't going to help anything. You see, it's not your fault. You don't know any better.

In your mind you have a vision of what Autism looks like. From your statements in response to this article 1 in 3 Autistic Young Adults Lack Jobs, I can tell you believe people with Autism can not communicate at all and are in their own little world. I don't blame you. This is the image typically portrayed by the media and entertainment industries. And for some that very much is a reality of Autism. My heart aches for those families faced with severe Autism, those that want nothing more than a glimpse into their loved one's world.

But what you fail to realize is that Autism is a spectrum disorder. A group of disorders with similar features, ranging from very mild to severe. Where your image is to the far edge of the spectrum, my son falls on the extreme other side. His symptoms are slight and may go unnoticed. Unless you really spend time with my son you wouldn't even know that he has Aspergers. You may think he is immature, naive, quirky, or odd, but your first thought would not be Autism. He would gladly engage you in conversation. In fact, he could talk all day to you without pausing. He loves a captive audience.

My son met all his milestones on time or early, just as probably your child. I was told over and over he was fine, despite my concerns. Many times it can go undiagnosed for years. That is why it is common for adults to get diagnosed for the first time. We were lucky that we caught our son's Aspergers early at age six. The average age for an Aspergers diagnosis is eight.

You stated "Autistic people have no self control or common sense, and that employers can not take that risk by hiring them". What kind of "risk" are you referring to? I'm sorry I do not view my son as a "risk". I do not think my son having a hard time following social ques makes him a "risk".

What you may not realize is there may be people you work with that have Autism, and you do not know. I guarantee there are children in your kids school that have Autism and you are unaware. At school my son receives no para support throughout the day and functions just as every other child in the class. He meets or exceeds the expectations in everything aside from understanding social skills, such as interrupting and personal space.

You also stated, "Like it or not, communication skills are essential in a community. It doesn't do much good to be brilliant if someone cannot handle social interaction" in response to me outlining the things my six year old is capable of doing. Apparently you have never seen the "Social Network" or heard the speculation of Mark Zuckerberg founder of Facebook having Aspergers. I do believe you have no argument there, as he is by far a brilliant successful young man who is socially awkward.

And then you went on to say that maybe there should be special workplaces just for those who are much higher functioning. Umm....really? I think we have stepped back a few generations with that one. Separate but equal ring a bell? Just as my son is capable of going to school right next to yours, he will also be doing the same once he enters the workforce. And again another favorite thing you said, "But it's not just a matter of society just "accepting" all autistic people, as if it's racism." All I can say to that is "WOW"!

I also did not appreciate that you referred to people with Autism as "handicaps". You didn't even say "they are handicapped". Instead you said that you have known a few handicaps. Really? I would have thought that terminology would have gone away a long time ago. I'm not thinking that is quite PC.

And then you say, "it would be ridiculous to just think people need to be more accepting because they are handicapped." Again, really? What would be so wrong with teaching acceptance and understanding? Why is my child less, that he should not be accepted? Why can't people be more accepting of others differences? Why do we all have to fit into some perfect little mold, and if for some reason you see the world differently than you are wrong? That's all it is, Ignorant Facebook User. My son sees the world different than you. He is not less. He is not more. He is not handicapped. He is a child who happens to have Aspergers.

Autism is not going away. Just last month the numbers came out that 1 in 88 kids is diagnosed with Autism. Instead of brushing them aside as they become adults as you imply, we need to ready them with the skills they may be lacking to prepare them for their futures. But more importantly, we need to teach acceptance and understanding to others, so the stereotypes associated with Autism are diminished and people see the wonderful things they are capable of accomplishing.

Later you went on to say "...neither is what I said untrue simply because it doesn't feel fair to you."
My problem with your statements is NOT that I think it is unfair that young adults with Autism are lacking in jobs. I do NOT feel that someone should simply hand my son a job when he becomes of age simply because he has Aspergers. I want him to become a productive citizen and gain employment for his hard work, knowledge, and perseverance. I do not want him to ever use his Aspergers as a crutch. I want him to hold himself to the highest standards and expectations.

I do not know what the future holds for my son. Like any mother, I worry about where his path leads him. But I also know that he will do something incredible. That is not me with blinders on dreaming for a cure for my son to prosper. No, that is me being realistic. My son amazes me everyday. Every day! It will not be an easy road for him. There may be times he veers off the path, or the road becomes too bumpy to bear. But he will remain on that road and he will succeed.

All I ask is that you open your eyes and realize that Autism encompasses so much more than the image you have in your mind. 1 in 88 children are diagnosed. At some point Autism will hit a little closer to home for you, and then maybe you will gain some acceptance and understanding.

Signed,
A Loving Aspergers Mom

Taking off my Mask

I wanted to share this because I love it so much.

We have been there. For years I felt like we wore a mask, keeping Jacob's "problems" to ourselves. Our family knew. Our close friends knew. But aside from that, it was kept pretty quiet. Not that we were ashamed. At the time we just didn't know what it was, and when you are repetitively told your son is fine, you tend to believe it. 

I am constantly on the lookout for others wearing masks. I find myself doing it a lot when we are out. I'll scan the crowd, looking for kids doing something that reminds me of Jacob. Or if we are out where there is a large gathering of kids and families, I look around wondering who else is one of the "1 in 88", wishing there was a way to connect us somehow. Hear their story. Compare. Find out what works for them, and what doesn't. And if nothing else, feel accepted without judgment. But it's hard when many people fighting the same battle as us are still wearing their masks. 

I vividly remember wanting to reach out to another mother last Christmas season, but I just didn't know how. I was waiting in an incredibly long line at Old Navy when suddenly a young boy probably about age 9 or 10, was standing inches from my back. I turned to see him smiling and he said "hi" to which I replied "hi" as well. The mother quickly apologized, and I brushed the apology aside telling her it was fine. As we waited in line, so much of this young boy seemed familiar. The way he laid on the floor, and his mom had to continually remind him to get up. They way he constantly was in motion. The way he invaded my personal space along with others. By the conversations he had with his mother, I could tell he was very bright. But as he spoke, his eyes were fixed anywhere but on her face. His voice somewhat monotone. And then looking at the mom, I could see the look of exhaustion, yet the over-exaggerated smile on her face for the sake of her children. It was like looking in a mirror. How I wanted to reach out. To say, "I understand. I live it everyday, too". But how could I? And what if I was wrong? 

I remember the first time someone I barely knew at the time assumed Jacob had Autism. I was very much in denial and had on a "mask". So when this stranger flat out asked me if my son had Autism, I was completely taken aback and mad. Actually I was beyond mad. "How dare she! As if there is anything WRONG with my son!" I remember thinking. I quickly replied no and ended the conversation quickly. But looking back, I wish I would have responded differently knowing what I know now. Maybe she was reaching out as well. Maybe she needed that connection as she had the same thoughts about her own child. Yet, I brushed her aside fearful of my child being labeled.

It took some time for me to realize that it was ok to take that mask off. For a while it was still there as security as we slowly told people about Jacob's diagnosis. But once it came off, what a relief to finally just be open and honest about it all. To come to a place of acceptance and understanding that there wasn't anything "wrong" with my son, just different.

The best thing about removing our masks, has been finding a support group where others freely talk about the day in and day out struggles with their child. There are no masks there. It is amazing to me how comfortable it feels after only three meetings. It is so familiar as if I have known these people forever. And each time I leave feeling lifted up and inspired with a new found energy to take on whatever is put before us. 

I think about that mom often. The one at Old Navy. Maybe I was wrong about her son. But my gut tells me I was spot on. I hope she has her own place where she can be herself, free of any masks. 

"I Just Don't Want to Be in this World"

"I just don't want to be in this world."

Hard words to hear your six year old say to you. How do you even reply to that? A six year old should never have those thoughts. As I tucked Jacob in bed again, I went through every reason why he should love this world. Everything that is good about this world. And everyone who loves him in this world.

I then went on with tears rolling down my face, telling my son everything that was good about HIM, and all the wonderful qualities he possesses. He really is an incredible kid. I know everyone thinks that of their own children, but Jacob really is special. Aside from his anxiety, he is a true joy. He's funny, creative, and so smart it amazes me. When his anxiety is at bay, that's when he really shines.

It's a helpless feeling when each night your child is terrified by things that you can't even comprehend yourself. Last night he had two things bothering him. He couldn't stop thinking about the sounds that a computer game at school had made earlier in the day. And balls rolling down our hill. Balls rolling down the hill are an every night worry. "Why couldn't the street just be made of grass?" he wondered his eyes so heavy with sleep wanting nothing more than his brain to stop so they could rest. "That would be an easy solution."

But was that what was really bothering him?

As I laid in bed with him trying to calm him listening to him weep, he told me about recess that day. "I wasn't very good today, Mommy."

"What does that mean, Jacob?" I asked. Had he yelled at a classmate? Had he gotten upset at school? There wasn't a note sent home. There was no phone call.

"I lost in soccer."

"Jacob, honey, that's no big deal," I said relieved that's all it was, but not understanding the real problem.

"No, Mommy. I was on the team all by myself and I lost 12 to 1."

"But why were you on a team all by yourself? You can't play on a team alone," I inquired.

"There were three kids on the other team, and just me on my team. No one wanted to be on my team. And it was just too hard, I couldn't do it."

Deep down is THIS what was really bothering my son tonight and not the computer noises or rolling balls? All the times that I watch my son at recess play soccer and think he is being included, is he really being pushed aside? We talked about what he could do next time. How he could handle it. And how the teams needed to be even. Inside I was fuming. How dare these other kids exclude my son. It's not that he stinks at soccer. He is actually quite athletic. And where were the teachers? Oh, yes, the mama bear was coming out in me.

Thankfully after some snuggling time, Jacob was able to settle down and sleep. Me, that was a different story. I couldn't stop thinking about what Jacob had said.

Six year old's should be thinking about Spongebob. They should be counting the days to summer vacation. They should be carefree and worry free. They shouldn't be so consumed with fear and worry that they wish not to be in this world. It terrifies me that at age six, Jacob already thinks being somewhere else is better than dealing with his pain. If he's thinking this at six, what will he be thinking at eleven, sixteen, thirty? I wish this world was easier for my son. I wish it was a world that readily accepted him.  It was hard for me to shake. Sleep did not come easy, and I lent my dreams to a better world for my son.

Each morning when Jacob wakes, it's as if the previous night hadn't occurred. When he woke this morning, there was no mention of balls rolling down streets, strange computer noises, or any of his fears from the last week. Only talk of baseball and predictions for the outcome of tonight's game. And then something was said about recess. He talked again about no one wanting to play with him, and when he asks they all say no. He said instead of playing soccer today, he was going to play baseball. Knowing that "playing baseball" at school meant Jacob would be playing his own pretend game in his mind, shutting himself off to the rest of the world, I tried to persuade him to give soccer another try. I went through all kinds of different scenarios as to what he could do so he wasn't alone on a team. And then he said, "I'll take care of it, Mommy. I got this one."

Maybe he could sense my worry. My desire for him to fit in and have friends. Maybe he thought the last thing I need is my mom calling the school forcing someone to be on my team. And so I let it go with no more mention of recess or friends.

Later as I was driving home this morning from running errands with the baby girl, I noticed it was recess time. I opted to take the longer way home to hopefully get a glimpse of Jacob. There he was on the soccer field running his heart out. I paused just long enough to get a good look without appearing suspicious. (A van parked outside a school playground never looks like a good thing). And as I paused, I saw Jacob smiling and giving his buddy Hank a high five for scoring a goal.

Yes, he was part of a team. He had handled it perfectly.

Cinco de Mayo, Supermoon, and Other Scary Stuff

To say that my son doesn't take to new things is an understatement. Jacob doesn't like anything new or different. It doesn't matter how we try to sugar coat it, if it is new, he wants nothing to do with it.

Last week our neighbor mentioned getting a bunch of people from the neighborhood together for a Cinco de Mayo party. Nothing special, just food, drinks, and gathering together outside. Usually Jacob loves this kind of thing. He's all about yummy snacks and playing with his friends. It is something we do fairly often, just families hanging out together outside on a nice night. But I made the mistake of calling it a "Cinco de Mayo" party.

"I'm not going," Jacob told me.

"Jacob, why?" I asked. "You love when we have parties outside. I'll make something yummy. You can play with your friends."

"NO!" he yelled, "I don't like Cinco de Mayo."

Why hadn't I just called it a party. The word "party" was fine. Jacob new his role. He knew what to expect. It was all familiar and something he enjoyed. I had opened a can of worms, and there was no going back. So for the next hour or so, we discussed in detail the what a Cindo de Mayo party entailed. From already taking two years of Spanish classes, Jacob knew what the words meant. But he was still nervous. He was scared of the Cinco de Mayo party. What if it got dark? What if someone played basketball and a ball rolled out in the street? The worries kept coming. After close to an hour of explaining what the party would look like, Jacob was satisfied enough to go to bed.

The next day I made no mention of the party. Nor the next, or the next. I was waiting as I knew Jacob at some point would bring it up again. He doesn't forget anything.

So the day before the party he asks, "Mommy, what are you making for the Cinco de Mayo party?"

Whew! That was my green light that he was ok with it and had worked through whatever was bothering him about it. The Cindo de Mayo party was no longer a threat.

But there's always something else menacing out there.

Oh yes, the ever-threatening Supermoon was also going to be the same night as our party.

I knew I dare not mention it, despite my son's love of the moon since he was a toddler. Whenever we are out at night, Jacob is always searching the sky for the moon. It becomes a competition to see who can find it first. He can tell me if it's waxing gibbous or waning gibbous. Where I still have no clue, and just say full or crescent.

But this time I knew better. I had learned my lesson from adding Cinco de Mayo in front of the word party. There would be no "super" in front of our moon. So I made no mention of the moon that everyone was talking about. We made our treats for the party, and headed over to see our friends.

Jacob had a blast! He ran around with his friends, tried all the food, and pretended to be the server talking to everyone at the party. He even participated in the parachute which he hasn't done since his second birthday. That was a very proud moment for me seeing him laughing with the other kids as they shook the parachute and took turns running underneath.

And as the day became night, and the party began to wind down some, I went in search of my son. I found him inside with his friends playing the Wii. And that's when the Supermoon talk began. His friend who was anxiously awaiting the Supermoon mentioned something about it, and it set Jacob off.

"What! I don't want to see the Supermoon! No!" he said the panic already setting in. I knew things were about to get out of control quickly, so I phoned my husband who was home putting our baby girl to bed informing him that Jacob would be home soon and of the impending meltdown due to the moon.

"Jacob, it's fine. It's nothing to worry about. There's no moon," I told him as I guided him outside."

"But I don't want to see the moon!" he said loudly his panic rising as we began our walk through the party.

As we walked down the driveway, there was moon talk everywhere around us. I could feel Jacob stiffen in my grasp as I saw the moon brightly shining through the trees. A well meaning neighbor unfamiliar with Jacob's fears  must have heard Jacob say moon, and said to him, "You want to see it? It's right there."

I quickly intervened, "Oh no. There's no moon here in the city tonight. That's just a street light," and as fast as I could I guided Jacob across the street to our house where my husband was waiting, thankful that the tree shielded his view of the Supermoon.

The thing is, had Jacob seen the moon on his own he would have thought it was the coolest thing ever. He would have proudly pointed it out and we would have discussed how awesome it looked. But just hearing that word "Super" in front of it, made it scary. Something was different about this moon to draw so much attention and a new name, so therefore his guard was up. As much as I would have loved to share that moment of looking at the Supermoon with my son, it was better to just put him to bed. As I laid beside him in his bed, his little eyes could barely stay open, yet he continued to cry fearful of a terrifying moon. I can only imagine in his mind what he had envisioned a Supermoon to be.

The day was done with  no major meltdown to mention. They had all been warded off somehow. What would tomorrow bring? Oh yes, that's right.

Thunderstorms!

The Secret Word is...ASPERGERS (shh...)

It's funny how words that before where never part of your vocabulary become everyday words.

Seven years ago I was anticipating the arrival of our son Jacob. Our first baby! A boy!  As a first time mom, I wanted everything to be perfect. His little room was painted baby blue. His cute teeny clothes hung in his closet waiting for his arrival. I couldn't wait to be a mom. Seven years ago my vision was of a perfect baby boy and a perfect family.

Seven years ago I hadn't even heard of Aspergers.

Well, maybe I had. Maybe somewhere I had read it, but I'm sure if I had I skimmed over the article, and was probably unsure how to even pronounce it correctly. I knew a little about Autism just from the parenting magazines I read while waiting to see my obstetrician each week. I knew that more and more kids were being diagnosed with it, but I didn't fully understand it.

And then Jacob was born. He was perfect. As perfect as every child. It was amazing to me the amount of love you could have for something so foreign and new. I admit I had never changed a diaper before my son. I loved kids, but was terrified of babies. My husband taught me everything I needed to know. I am and was a nervous mother. By nature I am a thinker, worrier, over-analyzer. Thankfully my husband's spontaneous nature evens us out some. And so here I was spending my days as a stay at home mom for the first time with this sweet little bundle of joy that I was so worried I would somehow mess up.

But I had a secret. Things weren't perfect. I knew something wasn't right. As a baby Jacob cried a lot. Being a first time mom I looked at myself. What was I doing wrong? As Jacob grew it became more and more obvious to me that something was amiss. Oh, he met all his milestones early. He was a big talker and incredibly bright. But something wasn't right, and I knew it despite everyone telling me my son was fine.

At the age of two while Jacob was singing the alphabet backwards and counting well past 20, I was busy googling like crazy trying to piece together the things that were off about my son. Everything pointed to Autism. Yet some things didn't quite fit. He was very verbal. There was no regression that you read about with Autism. In so many ways he was flourishing. But I continued my late night google searches taking every quiz out there on Autism.

And then one day I happened to stop at a garage sale. I almost didn't stop. They didn't have much stuff, but I saw a stack of books and I couldn't pass that up. There in the stack was a book called "The Sensitive Child" for all of a quarter. Hmm...maybe that fit Jacob. He sure was sensitive. As I went to pay, I asked the woman having the sale if the book had been helpful. She said yes, but I also needed another book. In my hands she placed a book on PDD-NOS and Aspergers. She went on to tell me how that book had made all the difference and she wanted me to have it at no cost. I left with my two books for a quarter, tossing them in the seat behind me.

That night as my husband slept, I opened the book on Aspergers. Little did I know that it would change so much. Little did I know that this word, Aspergers, would become such a big part of my life. This was my son. This was everything Jacob was. It all fit. Finally.

Yet I didn't go out and shout it to the world. Jacob was four and actually thriving at the time in his new preschool, so getting a diagnosis didn't seem urgent. Even though I knew deep down that it all fit, I was still in a lot of denial. Plus my husband wasn't quite at the same place as I was. He was in a much deeper denial at the time and was looking inward thinking all Jacob's problems stemmed from our parenting, not realizing it was something beyond our control.

But that word stuck in the back of my head and wouldn't leave.

Aspergers.

Aspergers.

I left it there for a while. Now I had a new secret word to google. Everything I read continued to confirm my suspicions, but there was little information on how to actually help your child. It also said that getting a diagnosis at a young age was difficult and most children were diagnosed closer to seven or eight.

Slowly over the next few years the word Aspergers became less threatening. It didn't seem so scary anymore. No longer did my heart start to race or my stomach turn just at the sight of the word. Finally when Jacob was six and at the beginning of first grade, my husband and I were both on the same page and ready to move forward with the diagnosis.

Sure enough, it was Aspergers. I've never felt so relieved in my life. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Now we could move forward. And move forward we did. With any diagnosis you have a choice, keep it to yourself or tell people. After much thought, together we decided on the later. There was no shame in Aspergers. And more than anything I wanted to spread awareness and understanding. If I could possibly help just one mother who was up late at night googling Aspergers hoping to find help for her child, it would be worth it. I couldn't do that if I kept Jacob's diagnosis a secret. In time it is a something we will share with Jacob as well, when he is a little older and able to understand more.

Seven years ago I had no idea how one word could change our life. Seven years ago I had no idea how one child could bring so much joy. Seven years ago I naively thought life could be perfect. Now I know that life can be wonderful without being perfect.

Aspergers.

It's ok to say it. It's no longer a secret.

Weathering the Storm

I'm anticipating the school calling any minute.

It's storming right now. The sky is dark. Every few seconds there is a clap of thunder and lightening striking. My baby girl sits beside me watching Bubble Guppies unfazed by the constant interruptions of thunder. The wind is beginning to pick up, whipping the swings at the playground behind our house making the chains clang against the metal posts. There have been storms about everyday it seems this past week. But it is the Midwest in Spring, so it is to be expected.

I have a love/hate relationship with the weather. I guess you could say I am fascinated by it. If I had Aspergers, weather would be my obsession. During tornado season, there is nothing I want to do more than sit and watch the weather play out on the Weather Channel. I know, boring. Tornadoes intrigue me. My friends always joke that you could call me at any time of day or night and I could tell you the forecast. Maybe I missed my calling. But despite my slight obsession, I am terrified by it all. I wouldn't dream of showering during a lightening storm. Snow forecasted, and I don't venture too far from home. Tornadoes, and I begin stacking blankets in our basement and finding everyone's shoes. I've never wanted to project my fear of the weather on Jacob, so I have always been careful to make him oblivious. And for the most part, storms have never bothered him. He had never even inquired about them.

That is until this past week.

All of a sudden, Jacob is scared of storms. Terrified to the point where he panics beyond any reasoning. When I ask him about it, he claims he has always been scared, and it is nothing new. I beg to differ. While other kids would be afraid, Jacob was calm. With his fear of loud noises, even I thought it was odd that he wasn't bothered by storms, but he remained unrattled.

So I've been trying to process this whole new fear. The last few months have been anxiety ridden for Jacob with new fears popping up all the time. It's hard for my to decipher is the fear really what is bothering him? Since so many new fears keep happening, is he displacing whatever is really bothering him onto what could potentially be threatening at the time? His anxiety always gets worse at night, so is it possible that the fear is actually a fear of being alone and separating from us? Or maybe he is simply wanting that reassurance from us that everything is ok, and so he begins to outwardly panic to get whatever comfort he is needing. I really do not know.

What I do know is this fear is much harder and different than the others. Why? With the other fears we can talk him down from the ledge if you will. Calm him some. Help him get "unstuck" and think about something else. Sometimes all it takes is a little baseball talk. But thunderstorms are relentless. They keep coming and coming, making the anxiety and fear grow with each loud clap. And then just as we get him to a better place, another loud clap strikes.

The other night was particularly bad. The storm was very loud and Jacob was shaking uncontrollably. He began crying out to God, "Why are you doing this to me, God?" as the tears rolled down his face. Those are hard words to hear your six year old cry out. Words that many times I have had to force myself not to let surface. "Yes, God, why are you doing this? Why does my son have to be so afraid? Why does he have to have such paralyzing anxiety? Why? Why?" But I try not to let myself go there.

The storm has passed with no call from the school. Tonight's forecast shows a 40% chance of thunderstorms at 5:00, with the next five days clear and not a chance of storms until Sunday. Until then, we will keep on weathering the storms as they come, knowing this too will pass.