Define Perfect

No one, not one thing is perfect.  What does the word even mean?  My son has asked me from time to time.  I can’t say as I really understand how to answer.

And those that think they may know someone that is, typically are the furthest from what I do think perfect might actually be. The word itself gives off a negative connotation.  If you think some one or some thing may be perfect, then you are stating everything outside of that is imperfect.  Then how do we define imperfect? 

It seems as though it is associated with anything that may make others uncomfortable. Out of the ordinary is not necessarily imperfect.  It could be a beautiful display of art, something so unique.  Rather though, it is those that choose to be their ordinary selves that evoke disgust or rejection from others.

I’ve encountered this more than I would have ever like to since my son was born.  While it is to be expected that other kids can be cruel at times, I was not fully prepared to see the cruelty of the school system.  My son entered first grade happily.  He was no doubt, overly stimulated by the loud students, extroverted teachers and large building.  To amend that, I was brought in for observation and viewed a teacher rewarding my son with a light up bouncy ball when he would sit quietly.  Oh yes, let’s provide a 7 year old with more stimulation, then punish him for using it during class, in which was the place it was given to him.

From then on, the phone calls and emails from teachers, principals and counselors poured in.  Berating is the word that comes to mind.  And as a single parent with no one else to take the load, it was border line harassment.  I began providing supports for my son, had him diagnosed (Aspergers at the time), therapy, but I did not understand what could be offered by the school.  That very moment of his diagnosis, the school met with me advising they would place him in a school that suited his needs better.  No special needs coordinator or IEP, just kicked out into a school where kids were put in rooms to be screamed at as though they were in boot camp.  Metal detectors lined the entrances.  My son was horrified, scared and so was I.

I wrote the district’s superintendent.  He agreed, he was angry he was never made aware of my son and his situation and immediately got me in touch with the Special Needs coordinator who taught me all about IEP’s and support classes.  We got him out and  put him in a better environment, but the damage was done.  My son no longer could trust adults, teachers or principals.

Unfortunately, trauma takes time to work through, and as he grew into middle school, he carried that weight.  Teachers frequently report that my son “thinks the world is out to get him”.  And I frequently remind them of what he has been through.  All the while being bullied day in and day out.  Beat up, called retard and receiving death threats to the point where sheriffs provide their cell numbers in case I may need them in the future. Yet the school staff continues to ignore it all, putting the blame of my son’s “bad behavior” on him and I.  And I continue to remind them that they are not following his IEP.  That they will not see changed behavior if they cannot provide a changed environment.  Meeting after meeting, it is only when I pull in another advocate and begin to push back that his needs are ”somewhat” met. 

To further show you just how uncomfortable my son and I make the perfect people at his school, just the other day I received a visit from a social worker with allegations that I am abusive.  My son was scared and immediately stated he would never think this, of course.

The report came in that because my son wears coats, even when it’s warm outside, he must be covering up physical abuse.  They stated that he watches violent videos and his art work is disturbing.  There is no hiding the fact that my son loves horror.  And as long as he is not threatening others or himself, I am supportive of this interest.  He tells stories, creates videos and loves psychological situations, including SciFi.  He is in middle school and can certainly be awkward at times.  He has been wearing coats throughout his years in school because it makes him feel safe and keeps the germs off he says.  As soon as he comes home he takes it all off and is the typical shorts and tshirt kinda kid.  He is that disgusted by school, that he has certain clothes he won’t even touch once he is home.  He is intelligent and extremely observant.  He is imperfect.  However he is very good at reading others moods.  He understands politics and corruption.  Loves history and gaming.  He is extremely out of the ordinary, yet completely and genuinely himself.

So at the end of the day, I ask those that accuse me of being a bad parent and my son of being a bad kid….are you perfect?  I wonder if every time you see someone or something that looks different than you, acts a little odd and might even be a little sarcastic and bold, you judge them?  You tell yourself there must be something wrong with his home, his friends, his use of screens because at the end of the day, it couldn’t possibly be my classroom, my teaching, me that is causing this imperfection?

I don’t know much about the personal lives of these educators, but I do know this.  They don’t have autism.  And the one’s always looking to find things wrong with my son instead of figuring out how to make things right for him (because isn’t that their job, to work with kids and help them learn in their way) don’t have kids that can’t complete a task without zoning out.  Do they have kids at home that are so sensitive that it is a daily struggle just to get them to wash their hair or face?  Not because their kids, but because it is actually painful?  Do they know what it is like to see their kid want to talk about psychology and the study of seals more than wanting to play baseball?  Or to understand that their child needs extra time because they are slow processors?  That they are not able to answer a question within your time frame?  That they need to think and sometimes they over think, obsess and become stuck on one thing.  And if they did have these kids at home, would they not want their schools to provide these supports?  Supports such as time and patience, peace and quiet, the ability to take time to answer questions and use thought instead of being constantly berated to hurry up.   My son’s disgust for school has nothing to do with his education.  He is interested.  But if you are expected to go to a rave to learn about biology, how would you behave?  How much would you be able to absorb and learn?  Let’s throw you into a pot of chaos and then tell you to finish your assignments, not be irritable or distracted. 

I have always believed that perfection is a disgusting disguise of those who judge others.  Anyone not being genuinely who they are with expectation that others act this way as well should be defined as being perfect and held to their impossible standard.  My son and I will continue to be imperfect, lively freely with no desire to be influenced by your preconceived ideas of what a single mother and autistic son should be.  We are our own and I can assure you that we are more honest and loving towards each other than most families with two parents or siblings.  We do it our way and we will no longer apologize for not fitting in your class room.   

Be Your Valentine

It’s been some time since I’ve seen the sun. The smile on my face tells another story. Although the afternoon fills the room with grey, cool melancholy. I feel the warmth of the sun every time I see his face. In my mind, it warms my heart, but when he is with me, it warms my soul. To love someone is all things. The shiny, happy people that exist also do so in the dullness of the passing moments. As we sit together, very much apart he knows he is loved. The existence of it is precious, but not weak. Love is strong and doesn’t fall out of. Once you love, that is it. You have it to give, and you are able to receive. In this instance the love is for my son who doesn’t need a definition. He just knows he feels safe when he is with me. The feeling is not questioned, even in times of frustration. And we wake each day knowing we will always have each other. Nothing else in this world is as matter of fact and given as the act of Love.

We don’t own love nor do we own those we love. In fact love is allowing it to be what it wants. Love isn’t controlled, manipulated or demanded. And the only way to love is through your own. We can only love what we love of ourselves. The beauty of the world can only be seen through the eyes of those who believe there is beauty to be seen. And the only way to believe is to believe in yourself. This isn’t through ego or validation. Both are the opposite of love and will continue our society down a path of hate, anger and self righteousness. As long as everyone is agreeing with us or applauding everything we do, we will continue to confuse love with entitlement. It’s when we are brave enough to apologize, forgive and see that others can do the same when we break these destructive patterns.

When we choose to love ourselves, we choose to accept our flaws and to share our confidence. Accepting is not pushing these flaws on to others, but to understand they are there and feel empathy when they impact those around us. They are like the strokes of the brush that are never seen yet still make up the most magnificent art piece. They must exist in order for the beauty to come through the canvas. In times of struggle, we write sad songs; in times of weakness, we set goals for a better future; in times of anger, we look to ourselves to be more kind. It’s these moments that allow us to appreciate love. Heart ache exists because we love others who are also flawed. Heart break happens when we let ourselves down. Both are examples of why love doesn’t always feel good. What it does though is make us feel. It’s up to us what we do with those feelings. Take a deep breathe, remember you love who you are and go find out who that is.

Marriage Advice from a Single Mom

So I was doing what I do best when I’m home for some time (longer than 2 hours) working on several tasks, staying on top of my priorities while remembering several other things I’ve been wanting to do.  So after putting my son to bed, while cutting strawberries and cleaning up the remains of dinner, in typical Dana fashion I decided to rummage through some old boxes.  Upon opening one I found several concert tickets, beer stickers and old cards from lost loves.  But folded up in a crisp white sheet of perfect resume paper I had found a note to myself not quite 10 years into marriage. Before I even laid eyes on the first word I assumed that it would be nothing more than an angry typed rant, but as I read I couldn’t help but to relate to my 30 year old self.  This brief paragraph takes my hope for what I thought I was doing right for someone into realizing it’s exactly what we should all be doing for each other.  There is no “marriage advice” or “relationship goals” in life.  It simply treating others the way you wish to be.  It’s unfortunate that many of us treat our families worse than our co-workers or those that serve our lunch or pour our beers.  We are a society of taker for granters.  But those that are grateful; these are the happy, the content, the romantic after 40 years people.  Those are my people, they are our true role models.

2/28/2007

I never think I’m “trying” or “doing my best” when I think of  others I love. I believe those are things you say when you are doing something you hate to be doing.  Like someone is over top of you, whip in hand while you row the boat.  When you are doing something you love, it doesn’t involve trying at all.  You don’t try to have a good time when you are in Disney World eating an ice cream cone with people that are happy all around you.  You just do it.  Because you are happy.  Ok so maybe you don’t like Disneyworld, maybe sitting on your front porch with a glass of lemonade is a good time.  There is nothing wrong with being happy with that.  And when we are doing things for other people, we don’t say it either.  Even if you really are just doing your best.  When I try to learn of something that my husband likes, I don’t do it because I have to and I certainly don’t do it just to tell him that I’m “trying”.  I do it because I’m selfish.  I do it because a part of me wants to make a part of him happy.  I want to know that a few of the reasons he smiles (very few) is because he is happy when he thinks of something I did for him.  Maybe I bought pizzas at the store even after spending all day in the kitchen….cold, dead cardboard pizzas.  But he forgets until one day he opens the freezer and is suddenly as happy as the youngest sibling that somehow got the last cookie.  And that’s nice to know, that crappy pizza reminds him of me.  You can’t constantly be asking someone if they are happy with you and how often.  Life would be nothing more than a serious of Cosmo quizzes (do people still take those?).  But instead recognize  it when they smile while eating their lifeless pizza.  Some things are small and some will take time.  It’s really important to know the person you feel this way about respects you and wants good things for you too.  If they don’t, you are pretty much living with someone that always just feels they are “doing their best”.

My First Day on the Blog

All of you single parents going it alone, this is for you.  From the hurried mornings to the impossible school nights, the pile of dishes and unmade beds.  You are here to relate.  Let’s face it, we are the underdog.  There are no communities for single parents where we can pay a fee to have our lawns mowed.  We are it.  Numero Uno.  If you have help, three kids or one; it doesn’t matter.  This isn’t a competition.  We are in this together.  Because at the end of the day we hit the pillow not the couch…alone.  What is a couch?  If you have one I bet you are never on it.  Chances are it’s mostly used for fort building and coat storing.

Even now as I type, I am ignoring my responsibilities knowing I will need to wake one hour earlier than the typical 5:30 alarm to make up for this “free time”.  You know what I’m talking about, all that “free time” our married friends say we should have because on weekends the other parent has our child.  Yes, because going weeks without another human being to help maintain a home and a child means party time for us on Saturday!  Chances are you are frantically getting all the things done you couldn’t because caulking or weeding don’t get done when you are the only one tending to your child.  Running the gazillion errands on your lunch break because you know you can’t leave the house once you’re home.  And maybe you get out a little to see friends or maybe you have a partner.  That takes even more sacrifice because you know for every minute you are doing  something for yourself you will spend making up in late nights or early mornings.  Someone said to me recently, “Dana, you are lucky you get to have a day out with your boyfriend.  When you are married you never get time like that together.”  Agreed, I was married for 16 years; however, I would easily give up that one “free” day to have every night back with a family.

Things that are done by most at the end of the work day, instead wait for us in endless piles until after our kids are asleep because there is no other parent or warm-blooded body at least keeping an eye out.  You can’t even leave your house if you wanted to.  The papers, the schedules, the forms are piled on the mecca we call the counter top.  You know it well.  And thank goodness for it.  We eat standing up on it, finish homework on it, leave things we think someday we will get to on it.  Thank goodness for the counter top.  Because being a single parent means being grateful.  We get it.  We appreciate any help we can get.

We all have our stories and well, this is mine.  My son is on the spectrum.  Don’t worry, I still don’t know what that means.  He is seven, he is cool and he is my favorite human.  There are no choices in single parenthood.  We are the rushed, the frantic, always late; but we are also the strong and the passionate.  We keep our sanity in front of our children and scream or cry when we are alone (and sometimes akwardly in front of people for no reason).  And we make it work someway, somehow so that our kids don’t have to fight this battle as they grow into adulthood.  In many ways single parenthood makes our children stronger, more independent.  We realize quickly how capable a six year old is helping his mom with the groceries or his Dad with the lawn.  They feel more confident that they are part of the team, team household.  And in this day and age of entitlement, I feel no less of a parent just because I am only one.

So hold your head up high when your heel gets caught in the cracks, or you slam your finger in the door.  The bruises will heal, time will Neil6pass and we will come out of this challenge with knowing we have raised good people.