*Ants in Pants and Pie Thrower*

Jacob hates getting his hair cut. I mean HATES it.

When he was little, it was a source of a sure meltdown. It didn't matter if there was a promised sucker at the end. Nothing could stop it. (On a side note, I've often wondered why hair shops give kids that are covered in loose hair suckers as a reward)

Anyway, with every hair cut came a fight. I dreaded taking my son to get his haircut. As a toddler, he would kick, hit, scream, and do anything short of getting us bounced from the shop. As Jacob got a little older, and realized it was happening no matter what, the kicking stopped, but instead came the constant wiggles and fidgeting. The hairstylist all but put him in a headlock to keep his head from bouncing all around. Sometimes they are nice and just get a little snip in here and there until it is done, while others you can tell are genuinely annoyed. Many a time you can see where one snip went a little too far compared to the others, and there is a visible unevenness to his hair.

I'm sure in some haircutting database somewhere there is an asterisk by Jacob's name that says "Ants in Pants"!

And I get that he hates to have his haircut. He has Sensory Processing Disorder, so of course it is a MAJOR sensory issue. He very much dislikes anyone or anything touching his head. Getting him to take a shower for the first time was about impossible. He still has to take his time getting his head wet when stepping in the shower. It's as if he coaxes himself into it.

How ironic that the poor boy was blessed with a mop of hair. I mean thick, thick, thick hair that grows incredibly fast. At the age of six months he had so much hair, I would have servers at restaurants trying to give him a kids menu. The kid was barely starting his pureed veggies, and people assumed he was so much older by the hair on his head.

And so each time we begin mentioning that it is time for a haircut to Jacob, we are meet with much resistance. His new thing is he will say, "But I can still see! I don't need a haircut!"

But this time, he could barely see any longer. His hair was so long he had to do a flip similar to Justin Bieber to be able to see.

The other morning Jacob walked into the kitchen greeting my husband and I with a "good morning". He was dressed and ready to go for the day, and I could see he had wet his hair to get it managed for school. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. Jacob was sporting a comb over that even The Donald himself would be jealous of! My husband and I both lost it. It was hysterical. Yes, it was indeed time for a haircut.

Jacob didn't think it was funny and said, "Stop laughing at me!"

We tried stifling our laugh and explained to Jacob that we weren't necessarily laughing at him, but with him. See, that's another thing he really dislikes. Being laughed at.

But who does like being laughed at? No one. I get that. It's more being the center of attention and not understanding what is going on that bothers Jacob.

I remember vividly at Jacob's first birthday party. He was sitting in his highchair with a blue birthday boy party hat on top of his head. All of my family was crowded in our little kitchen around him and we began to sing happy birthday to Jacob. Instantly he began to scream! Of course at the time we were years from a diagnosis.

It wasn't just his birthday party he cried at. Any time the song "Happy Birthday" was sung, Jacob burst in to tears. This went on for years! Just in the past few years have we been able to actually sing at parties in our house.

But it wasn't just parties. Many a time I would be pushing him as a toddler or preschooler through the check out lane. The cashier would be smiling at Jacob lovingly and maybe even make a comment about how cute he was, when sure enough he would scream, "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" Ah...such a cute thing to come out of a 2 year old's mouth.

He used to lunge at, hit, or kick when he thought someone was laughing at him, or looking at him. Thankfully over the years he has gotten over that impulse and can now control it.

Just this past Christmas at our church's service, Jacob wanted to go up and sit for the children's sermon. He had never done it before and I was nervous and proud of him all at the same time. It was something he never would have done a year ago. Heck, he couldn't even make it through a service a year ago. The pastor asked the kids a leading question, one as an adult you know will bring funny responses. Sure enough, Jacob raised his hand super high and got called on. And sure enough, his response got a laugh from the congregation. I watched as that all too familiar look came across Jacob's face. He looked around wondering what was so funny because to him, his answer had been quite serious. In just a split second I said a silent prayer, hoping that he wouldn't scream out, or worse yet hit the pastor sitting next to him. Thankfully the congregation laughed at another child's response and I saw Jacob visibly relax in front of me.

So yes, for the most part he can control it. But every once in awhile, something still happens.

My husband had volunteered to take Jacob to get his haircut. Not sure if volunteered is the correct word, and I do admit that this task is typically reserved for him. He made a reservation so it wouldn't be as long of a wait.

It didn't take long, and they returned, Jacob with a pretty good new hair cut. At least no major chunks taken out.

"How was it?" I asked my husband.

"Well..."

He went on to tell me how Jacob was wiggling all over. Wouldn't sit still and they were having a very hard time cutting his hair. And then right in the middle of it, a huge crash came from the backroom. Apparently the entire shelving unit holding all their hair products completely fell over. I'm sure it was a huge crash, and probably made Jacob even more unsettled than he already was. So then the hair stylists where all laughing and discussing it, when Jacob got upset and yelled, "Stop laughing! I'm going to throw a pie at your face!"

Yeah...he's not exactly the best at knowing what to say when upset or frustrated.

I'm sure they had no idea what was up with this kid or why he was threatening to throw a pie that was no where to be seen. At least "haircut" can be crossed off the list, for a few weeks anyway. I'm guessing they will be ready for Jacob next time, as I'm sure the asterisk was added after he left.

*Ants in Pants and Pie Thrower*

I Have a Dream for My Son and Autism

We talk about differences a lot in our family. I want both my children to grow up knowing that different is not less. Different is ok. In fact, different is better than ok. Different is a reason to celebrate.

Often we talk about how God created everything and everyone, making them perfectly different and special. I want my kids to know that they were made perfect.

I know the time will come when Jacob will realize that he is different. Maybe it will come from his own realization, or maybe it will come at the expense of some other child making fun of my son. I don't know how, but I know it will happen at some point.

What is most ironic about that is, that Jacob longs to be different. In kindergarten he came home from school demanding to know why he wasn't able to speak Spanish like some of his friends in class. Even in preschool at the age of four, he wanted to know why he couldn't have dark skin like his friend.

Just last month after school while getting in our van, Jacob said to me that his friend "L" was different. My response was a simple "Oh yeah?" waiting to see what more he had to say about his friend who he eats lunch with who happens to be African American. "Yeah, L has a peanut allergy! He has to eat at the special peanut table for lunch and asks me to sit with him. Why don't I have a peanut allergy?"

So my son is jealous of his little friends and their differences, wanting for himself to be different. He knows that differences are something to be celebrated. Yet he fails to realize that the world already sees him as different.

Sunday night as we were driving home, I said to Jacob, "I keep forgetting you don't have school tomorrow," knowing that Monday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Thinking it would be a teaching moment, I asked Jacob if he knew why he didn't have school.

"Because it's Martin Luther King Jr. Day!" he announced from the backseat.

Wow! I was impressed he knew the name, and even correctly, but before I could ask more, Jacob went on.

"He did great things to make life fair for everyone, because a long time ago black kids had to go to the bad school, and white kids got to go to the good school, and that was just wrong. Then everyone could go to the same school. And before black people had to sit in the back of the bus, and white people sat in the front, and sometimes black people couldn't even sit, and that was not fair!"

Wow, again! I was shocked that he knew so much. He must be paying attention more in school than I thought. So much for that ADHD diagnosis!

He then went on to talk about God making everyone special.  Such a pure message from a seven year old boy. A boy who many would see as different. Who others would not be so willing to accept.

Martin Luther King Jr. fought for equal rights. Whether at that time he knew he was fighting for my son as well, I doubt it. But Martin Luther King Jr. did help pave the way for my son. Forty years ago Jacob's lack of eye contact would have been viewed as disrespectful. His need to pace the classroom would have been considered defiant. A proper education wouldn't have happened for my son. There wouldn't have been paras for additional support, or IEP meetings to keep him on track. No, my son would have been left behind, pushed aside, viewed as less.

So today I thank Martin Luther King Jr. for what he unknowingly did for my son and others by bringing equality to the forefront. But there is so much further to go. Autism is just in the beginning stages of being understood and respected. Although we have made progress in the last forty years on Autism, the road is still quite long. Inspired by Martin Luther King Jr., I will never become silent for my son and for Autism.

I have a dream of my own. A dream for a world for my son that learns acceptance and equality for everyone. That sees different as more, not less. I have a dream where judgment is replaced with understanding. A dream where someday we will be able to prevent Autism. A dream where someday treatment is affordable and available to everyone. A dream where everyone's hearts are as accepting of differences as my sweet son.

Do you have a dream?

Mommy, Tell Me a Story

"Mommy, tell me a story," I heard just as I turned from tucking Jacob in bed.

"Jacob, it's late," I answered. I was tired, and it was late, or it seemed late. "Not tonight honey." I blew him another kiss and continued toward his door.

"Tell me a story about when you were a little girl."

I stopped. Did I hear him correctly? Was he asking about me?

That doesn't happen. All too many times I have tried telling Jacob about different moments in my life growing up, to which he either doesn't pay attention, doesn't seem to care, or is totally lost in the concept that I was ever a child.

Usually when I do try to bring up something from my childhood, if Jacob is listening, he wants to know if Grandma was my mom and if Papa was my dad. But that is about all he knows or cares to know.

So this was different.

Typically our goodnights don't look like that. Usually it is lots of reminders and redirects, keeping Jacob on task, and finally once he is ready, it all comes together and he heads to bed. There's lots of jumping and bouncing. Usually Jacob is chasing his sister back and forth from room to room, and finally my husband and I divide and conquer, using one on one defense to wrestle each child to bed.

Many times as I tuck Jacob in bed, he is already looking at a book, humming his own little tune. I say goodnight and tell him I love him a few times, and many times there is little response as if he is unaware that I have even said a word.

And if he is talking, it's usually about baseball or some animal fact, or he may be trying to negotiate different terms for playing his Wii, attempting to convince me that it doesn't turn his brain to mush. Rarely is it anything too deep, and if it is, it is usually some new worry Jacob has formed. But never is it him taking an interest in me.

It was an opportunity I could not pass. I walked over to Jacob's bed, knelt beside him to where our faces were inches apart, and began to tell him about myself as a little girl in second grade.

Oh, he laughed when I told him my teacher had been very old and not very nice, and how we called her "Moldy Tower" because she was like a giant. Or at least a giant in my second grade mind.

I told him how I had loved playing in the corn table and doing the "Parade of Colors" song in Kindergarten. I told him how at recess in fourth grade, we would all line up staring at the house beside the school yard convinced it was haunted. I told him how there were no electronics, no cell phones, no computers, and no cartoons other than on Saturday mornings, to which he was mortified!

But the story he loved best was when I shared with him how at lunch in second grade the boy across from me desperate to get a butter sandwich for cleaning his plate, had scooped his broccoli into his empty milk carton to hide it, forgetting that at the end of the lunch period the teachers would walk around the room shaking each carton to make sure we had indeed drank all our milk. Sure enough, that boy had to drink his milk, which by then was a nasty broccoli soup!

While we laughed together, I felt really connected to my son.

Those moments are rare. Sure Jacob loves us, hugs us, snuggles us, and desires to be near us. He talks non-stop, so it's not that there is a lack of words. It's just sometimes those words seem like they are on the surface, never breaking into anything more than baseball and animals.

The other night, my husband desperate to connect with our son at dinner (and also as a ploy to keep him from playing electronics), devised a ten question quiz trying to engage Jacob beyond the typical conversations. It didn't work for much other than keeping Jacob from playing his Wii. Although Jacob did take it serious and requested another quiz the following night.

Last night as I was tucking Jacob in bed, he asked me, "Mommy, do you have any more stories to tell me about when you were a little girl?"

Maybe it was a new stall tactic from going to bed. I don't know. But I'd like to think Jacob really wanted to just be near me and connect. I really want to believe that he was interested and wanted to know about me.

So again, I tucked him in, and snuggled up ever so close and told him the story about how when I was a little girl on my birthday, I went to our annual town's Burning of the Greens celebration where everyone's discarded Christmas tree became a huge bonfire. And one little girl got to be the princess for the night, the one who was lucky enough to find the hidden peanut in her cupcake. And that year on my birthday, I was lucky enough to find a peanut.

"Mommy, do you wish every cupcake you ate had a peanut, so you could be a princess everyday?" Jacob asked me.

"No, Jacob, I'm happy just being a mommy," I told him.

The Day Boo Boo Went to School

This is Boo Boo.

No, not Honey Boo Boo, just Boo Boo. He's been in our family for close to seven years now, before Jacob was even one. He's watched it all evolve, Jacob's Aspergers, that is. And he's helped through many a meltdown.

He's been cuddled and snuggled, lost and found, cried on, puked on, peed on, you name it, he's been through it all. He's been through the wash more times than I can count, with a little boy anxiously waiting for him to emerge knowing that despite his pleas, Boo Boo was going in the water.

He's been used as a ball for baseball when no other could be found, and when desperate measures are needed, he's even been a bat. He's been to many a state, although for the past few years he has strict orders to stay in the house after too many late night frantic searches.

But most importantly. He's been loved.

Saying Jacob loves his bear is an understatement. Even at the age of seven I have to remind Jacob that Boo Boo is not real, to which he says "But he's really a bear, right?"

Shortly before he turned one, Jacob was given a small classic Winnie the Pooh bear. For the longest time Pooh sat neatly on Jacob's dresser untouched. I'm not sure who put him in Jacob's crib first, myself or my husband. I'm sure it was a desperate attempt to get Jacob back to sleep. It didn't take long for it to become our nightly go to. The bear quickly became known as "Boo Boo", a one year old's attempt at saying "Pooh Bear".

At age one when it became clear that Jacob had formed an attachment to this bear, so I did what everyone had told me to do. Found a replacement! I scoured the internet finding a respectable match on ebay to switch out every once in a while to give the other a chance for a much needed cleaning.

It worked for a while.

But we should have known better. Jacob was too smart.

One night when Jacob was sick at about age two, we tried to put him to bed with his bear, he began crying and shouting "no other Boo Boo, other Boo Boo". Yep, the gig was up. Jacob knew there was something fishy going on and he wanted his real bear.

Oh, we tried to keep it up for a while, but finally gave in and conceded. And for the next few years there were two, Boo Boo and Other Boo Boo as they were officially named. Boo Boo was Jacob's constant. Other Boo Boo came and went. I'd pack him away from time to time when Jacob said he was done with him. But then you'd find me late at night digging through memory boxes looking for Other Boo Boo, because Boo Boo was indeed missing his friend.

Looking back on it and now knowing Jacob's diagnosis, I am fortunate that his attachment was to a stuffed animal. Many times kids with Autism can become attached to strange inanimate objects. Boo Boo provided him with the security he needed. He helped teach Jacob how to comfort and nurture.

So why all the background information on just a bear?

Because today Boo Boo went to school.

It started back in December before Christmas break. Jacob came home from school and announced he had used his reward tokens to purchase "Bring a Stuffed Animal to School Day". Jacob was excited. I was....um....not so much.

But Jacob got sick, and stuffed animal day didn't happen. I kind of hoped he had forgotten. No such luck. Sure enough an email came over the weekend announcing that Jacob could bring a stuffed animal to school on Monday. Monday, excellent! Jacob had a doctor's appointment so it would be a half day. Again, no such luck as stuffed animal day got moved to Tuesday to ensure Jacob got his money's worth.

Boo Boo going to school today is huge. I've been nervous all day. Not only because I am terrified that Boo Boo will be lost and I foresee myself going though an entire school looking for a lost teddy bear. But more than anything I am terrified of what his peers in his class will be thinking or saying, as they observe Jacob with his much loved bear.

This morning before school I had a conversation with him about it.

"Jacob, you know that some of the other kids may not have Boo Boo's, so they could tease you about it. So maybe you should just not make a big deal about him."

"You mean I can't tell Boo Boo I love him?"

"Probably not a good idea."

"Can I whisper it to him?"

"Jacob, just think it in your head," I said fearing the worst.

"But I can still cuddle him right, mommy?"

"Right, Jacob."

Oh no!

I dropped Jacob off at school with Boo Boo securely in his backpack. I had nicely tried to explain to him as a last ditch effort while waiting for drop-off that most kids his age did not sleep with teddy bears and if they did, they didn't tell anyone about it.  Of course I told him that he could keep his bear as long as he wanted, but just that he didn't have to share Boo Boo with his friends.

Oh, how I wished this day was over for my son.

All day long I worried about how Jacob was handling this. Jacob is so much more naive and babyish than his peers. We've had many conversations about Boo Boo not being real, and at the end I never really know for sure if Jacob understands it. He struggles with things like that often. It all gets muddied for him where reality and fantasy meet.

Sure enough as I walked up for pick-up, there was Jacob waiting as patiently as he knew how. And there was Boo Boo in Jacob's hand, being waved in the air as Jacob jumped around from classmate to classmate.

As we walked away from his classmates, Jacob said good bye, and then had Boo Boo wave goodbye as well. Oh no! Hopefully I was just witnessing the worst and the day hadn't looked like this.

We continued walking and Jacob yelled out to a girl in his class while she waited in line for the bus. But wait, it wasn't Jacob yelling out to her, it was him pretending to be Boo Boo yelling. As we got closer to the girl, Jacob jumped up beside her with Boo Boo inches from her face. The girl was clearly annoyed and not hiding it by the way she rolled her eyes to her friend standing beside her. Her annoyance was lost on Jacob.

"Jacob, come on," I said urging him toward the van. When we got inside I turned to Jacob and asked, "Jacob honey, you didn't act like that all day with Boo Boo did you?"

"No, not all day," he answered. "Just some of the day."

I knew what that meant. Pretty much the entire day. But Jacob was already in his own little world talking with Boo Boo in the backseat. No need to continue the conversation.

It rings true what I have read about his developmental age being about 2/3 of his real age. It makes sense for a four year old to be talking with a stuffed bear as if it could answer. It makes sense for a five year old to not completely understand the difference between real and make believe. But it doesn't make sense for a seven year old.

"Jacob, I think next time Boo Boo will stay home, ok? Maybe find something else to use your tokens on for next time."

Not sure if he was listening, I turned to find Jacob holding his bear having him dance back and forth across the rear van window. I turned around with a sigh, knowing how much he loved that silly old bear, but also knowing that there are some things that he just has to let me help him with socially because he just doesn't understand. The last thing I wanted was to give fuel to someone who may decide my son is an easy target.

"I'll get starbursts."

"What honey?" Not exactly sure what he was talking about.

"Next time. I'll get starbursts next time I use my tokens."

I looked in the rear view mirror to see him continuing to dance his bear around with a smile on his face. It had indeed been a good day for Boo Boo at school.