Wow! Once again, I'm Humbled.

First of all, I want to say thank you to my friends who have either written comments, emails, or called just to send their love and support. You are appreciated more than you could know.

I observed SMILE in class today for a district wide activity during which families are free to see their little ones (because even when they are older, heck, they are still our little ones) in class.  So, I got all dressed up in hip jeans, a fitted jacket, and a sassy scarf...I even put on mascara.  I ran through the hall, paused just outside SMILE's classroom, straightened my jacket, and calmly walked in and perched on a chair that was meant for either 5 year-old children or dolls.  I nodded politely at fellow moms. We all pointed to our kids.

And there he was in all his hooded glory.  A quick note here:  SMILE loves hoods. I first realized that they calm him down in new or stressful situations last winter. I noted that  he participated in story times and sat more quietly if he wore a hood.  But he hasn't needed a hood in quite a while, so it was complete luck or divine intervention when I not only put him in a hooded sweatshirt but THE hooded sweatshirt.  My eyes stung with tears when I saw him and it was all I could do to not jump up and kiss his little apple cheeks completely off (Thank God SMILE loves hugs and still tolerates mushy kisses). I'm so proud of him. I was sitting next to a mom I've become friendly with. We've known each other for years, sort of, because her daughters and SMILE often went to the same story-times at a nearby Barnes and Nobles when they were still in Pre-K.  But now, we see each other every day at drop off and pick up and she laughs with me as SMILE runs up to the school door in his blue, floor-length parka (if it's raining) or stares off while I try to get his attention.  Today, I found out that she is studying to be an early childhood education teacher. Her students will be very lucky.

I took almost five pages of notes so I could pass on my observations to SMILE's TSS (therapeutic staff support).  SMILE has transition issues and he needs continual prompting to follow directions. For example, the teacher told the students, at the end of an art project, to put away their crayons, put their papers in their "mailboxes" across the room, and then go sit on the carpet for the next activity.   His classmates did as they were told, but SMILE sat at the table. It was just too much information and it needed to be doled out step by step as he was doing it. I know his teacher usually does exactly that but I did it today. Not surprisingly, when I didn't tell him the last step but, instead, asked him what the next step was, he said it and did it without any problem. That's common, as far as I understand, of children on the spectrum. They hear the steps but they can't deal with more than one step at a time.

But I noticed something about myself shortly after I returned home with SMILE and sat talking to his TSS. The reason I reported "my findings" is that I wanted to prove to her and myself that I'm a good mom. She humored me and listened but I had to control myself so I didn't hit her over the head with my notebook when she seemed unimpressed.  But why would she be impressed by my notes?  She already knows. I already know. I didn't need to scribble away like some sociologist. I didn't really learn anything new about my son. But I had to do it so his TSS would know that I'm smart and insightful and...that I didn't cause this to happen to my son.

So, I took my place on the couch and leafed through a magazine while a near-stranger played with my son . It's been about a month since SMILE'S TSS services started and I love his two TSS's and his BSC (the amount of acronyms is astounding!) but I struggle to not feel displaced in this process.  So, I usually cuddle my dog, who wants nothing more than  to bark at them and bite their ankles, because I can sympathize despite my gratitude. 

It's all a humbling experience.  It didn't help that WINK didn't bring his book report book home today. He didn't forget it.  He put it on his desk, opened his book bag, did some other "kid packing up things," and it was gone when he went for it.  I asked if he had told his teacher.  He said "no."  I asked "Why?"  He said he felt silly.  When I asked why, in the name of all that is good, he would feel silly asking the teacher for help if he can't find his book, he looked at me and said "because it's not like books can just walk away or disappear." 
I actually gawked. "But it didn't disappear, WINK. You couldn't find it so you needed help.  Maybe it fell on the floor?" He then went into a five minute dissertation about the exact positioning of the book and how it was impossible for the book to fall ("because gravity no longer applies?" I wanted to ask.  BUT I DIDN'T.). I asked if another student could have packed it in his book bag by accident.  He said that was not possible since all the students don't all take out the same books. SIGH! I asked if it was possible that someone could have POSSIBLY made a mistake. He said (and I quote), "Only if their eyes were tricking them." I gawked some more. But I really looked at his little face and saw that he's just as confused about this as I am and it broke my heart a bit. Finally, I mumbled something about putting a note for his teacher in his folder, started the car, and drove home. I made sure he got extra hugs once we got there, though.  We both needed them.