tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50935695768039007642024-03-23T14:04:54.990-07:00Not Far From the Treewillafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-55444198530306075932024-03-23T14:02:00.000-07:002024-03-23T14:04:22.756-07:00"I Will Die on this Hill": Where Was This Book Twenty Years Ago?<p><span style="font-size: large;"> (Or any decent reading on autism for that matter. Man, Doctor Google was cruel in the early 2000s!)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>I Will Die on this Hil</i>l was exactly the book I've been needing, as someone who often feels uncomfortably caught in the Uncivil War between autistic adults and parents of autistic children. (With I admit, perhaps from being so late diagnosed myself, a tendency to sympathize with the parents.) It just lays out so perfectly how both sides can listen to and learn from each other, and why they need to.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I want to save some quotes I found especially resonant, in no particular order (and somewhat edited to spare my fingers.)</span></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I live at the convergence of two dualities in which parenting autistic children overlaps with being an autistic person. Sometimes these factors "play" well together. Other times, they seem to compete and/or work against one another. In either scenario, overall society is not as accepting nor as accommodating as we need it to be, and that can be hard. I have learned that being autistic does not magically grant me a sense of comfort if my child is hurting and in need and I can't always discern what's going on so that I can help. Similarly, being a parent of autistic children doesn't automatically conjure up a personal, invisible barrier shielding me from the realities that autistic adults without children face.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Yes. All of this. (A frequent wry moment from my visits to parent support groups -- being the only one there who can't find someone to talk to.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-size: large;">In practice, a social model of disability referencing a relational worldview would treat and autistic child quite differently than we currently do. The social model would explore a child's needs in a way that builds trust... Rather than using deficit-based language that makes children feel bad (yes they hear it, and yes they feel bad), evaluators would use affirming, strengths-based language while identify needed support.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes they hear it, and yes they feel bad" -- oh man, we screwed up so royally in this regard. Take it from me, a person who seems in "their own little world" is still in yours. </span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-size: large;">Autistic adults need to internalize the fact that, overall, non-autistic parents of autistic children are universally whiny, narcissistic 'autism warrior' martyrs who resent their children--even though youmight perceive them as such sometimes. Neither are they inherently angelic 'special' parents who should be lauded for their very existence, even though you might percieve them as such sometimes.... Regardless of how autistic adults might feel about non-autistic parents of autistic children, these parents ain't going nowhere--not when it comes to <i>their</i> children whom they love. No matter how much advocacy you do and how much you care, that parent and their children are a package deal, period. </span></p></blockquote><blockquote><p><span style="font-size: large;">Your values do not have to change, but what <i>can </i>change is your perception of anner of engaging with the people who matter so much to the children in our community--their families, which include non-autistic parents. You must remember that they are human beings, who might not always say things the 'right' way, who are surrounded by hordes of misinformation, navigating circumstances in which they have no blueprint and no intrinsic knowledge, all while trying to ensure their children are cared for and have their needs met.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I don't want this to get unreadable, so going to stop here and hopefully do a part 2 or more. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-24425340306215239272022-11-15T01:31:00.003-08:002022-11-15T01:31:42.261-08:00*phew*<p> I attended a workshop on alternatives to conservatorship tonight and I am just over the moon. For practically the first time, I feel like I got what I needed from one of these workshops. I have resources and information that no one else was able to tell me, and I have a sense of how to move forward and prepare so that my daughter will be supported if something happens to me and her dad. All three of us had found the idea of conservatorship for her pretty appalling.</p><p>I do wish that most of the important people in her life weren't our age or older. That's something we'll have to address. But meanwhile, if we die in a car wreck soon, she won't be left entirely on her own. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-34282558276537203812022-09-27T13:46:00.003-07:002022-09-27T13:46:54.745-07:00Yay, For Once We Weren't Thrown Under the Bus<p> My husband and I went to a show recently, in a city known for its strong disabled community. There were quite a few people there using mobility devices, and he and I, being larger people, both appreciate the wider aisles and large, comfortable seats.</p><p>It took me a while to realize another way in which this venue was disability-friendly: it required vaccination cards and masks. We've been getting out more lately, and that's become increasingly rare. We always wear N95s, but having others masked as well made the experience so much less anxiety provoking than usual. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-47669145687029614362022-08-01T17:06:00.002-07:002022-08-01T17:06:47.952-07:00Ack! My heart is walking around outside my body and it doesn't feel well!<p> My family is away on a road trip and my daughter is miserably sick. (Probably not Covid, though it's hard to be sure.) It hurts my heart so much. She loves road tripping with her dad, but I'm the one she wants when she's sick and it kills me that I can't be with her.</p><p>My husband will probably go to London again later this year and I was pondering whether to go along this time. The thought of the miserable flight and having to be masked nonstop for long was already a strong mark in the con column, but the thought of my child maybe getting sick -- or us getting sick and not able to get back to her -- pretty much finishes that idea. </p><p>We were going to leave her on her own for the first time ever... in March of 2020. Had a schedule made up with all our friends to check in on her and everything. And I definitely think we still should, but maybe stay on the same continent for the moment.</p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-36999865473700279452022-07-12T21:55:00.002-07:002022-07-12T21:55:35.056-07:00My kid on "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle<p> "that was one of the best and worst movies I've ever seen."</p><p><br /></p><p>Pretty much sums it up. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-32597130292736080902022-07-01T10:13:00.000-07:002022-07-01T10:13:15.049-07:00Oh my<p> I asked my doctor if I should do jury duty, given that masks aren't required and I have an immune deficiency. (Not a major one, it's not usually a big deal, but does cause some issues.) And she wrote the fiercest, most scolding medical letter I have ever seen, basically blasting the county for not requiring masks for all to protect at-risk people.</p><p>I have had some issues with her over the last many years but sometimes she just knocks it out of the park and I'm really glad she's my doctor. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-10110824107692671042022-06-29T09:22:00.002-07:002022-06-29T09:22:57.504-07:00Where Do We Go?<p> Bo Burnham's "Inside Outakes" has a bit of a song that's basically just "please don't make me vote for Joe Biden" and oh man, am I feeling that right now. I didn't want to vote for him, but I had no idea what a truly terrible choice he would turn out to be. I'm not talking about inflation and the price of gas, which I don't think is within his control, but the terrible passivity around the destruction of democracy, and worship of now-meaningless "bipartisanship," and the utter disappearance of Kamala Harris, who I actually approved of. Not to mention the plight of children at the border, which has barely improved. </p><p>America really needed to go in a new direction and instead it tried to go back to a comfortable (for some) past and it was a huge mistake that I think will be the end of us. The price of gas will likely get Trump back in and then even "blue" states won't be safe.</p><p>So.... where do we go? Two aging, anxious adults with a disabled and transgender adult child. My husband has useful skills and he can do his job from anywhere, and we own a valuable home, so we've got that on our side. We have relatives in Chile who could help us there, and he has colleagues all over the world who value his skills. </p><p>But against that is the knowledge that right wing fascism is spreading almost as surely as Covid all over the world and we could be out of the frying pan into the fire. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-42932658096098486512022-05-20T12:46:00.003-07:002022-05-20T12:46:35.787-07:00The Times, They Are Kind of Staying the Same<p> One of the, probably permanent, changes in our lives from the pandemic is a deep freezer and a bookcase in the hall that's become a pantry. I just stocked it with a massive amount of pasta, since it looks like the war on Ukraine may make wheat prices go up. </p><p>I got over feeling like I needed to save and use <i>everything</i>, but I'm still bulk buying toilet paper and kleenex (an indulgence, but we all have runny noses) and my husband brings home packages and packages of our kid's favorite foods. Worrying about being able to feed her, with her limited diet, was a huge fear. One that was never realized -- the worst it got was her having to put up with homemade peanut butter cookies instead of chocolate -- but those fears stay with you.</p><p>I guess I'm thinking about fears, because my husband is flying to Germany tomorrow and I'm fucking terrified. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-55887189195787194262022-05-10T10:24:00.002-07:002022-05-10T10:49:04.402-07:00Everythings Going to Be... Pretty Shitty, Apparently<p> (spoilers for season 2 of "Everythings Going to Be Okay") </p><p><br /></p><p>I've watched the first two episodes of the second season of "Everything's Going To Be Okay" and am just beyond furious. I can't believe I didn't encounter screams of outrage about this on Twitter. To create a wonderful relationship between two autistic people, actually played by autistic actors, and then destroy it with the most cliche of sit-com metaphor jokes -- Oh no! Matilida is STRAIGHT! -- is an absolute slap in the face.</p><p>It's not that it's inherently a bad storyline -- both characters are still quite young, it's easy to make mistakes with your first relationship -- but there's a sensitive and caring way it could've been handled and this was the exact opposite of that. </p><p>Then there's the fact that they haven't addressed how seriously her family let Matilda down in New York. There is a scene where she blames them for it, but it's mostly nonsense and is immediately called out as nonsense by her sister, "that's just from some show she's watched." (Paraphrased.) The real truth, that Matilda's family is fairly wealthy and not one person has thought to use this useful fact to get her help in achieving her goals, is infuriating and unaddressed. I understand not having the <i>drive </i>or<i> skills, </i>God knows<i>, </i>but money can solve a lot of problems!</p><p>Finally... it's just bad. Like terrible improv. The characters just stand around being goofy at each other. It's kind of cool that they chose to acknowledge the pandemic and lockdown (I don't know if I would've thought that if I'd watched it when it first came out) but it's still a <i>television show</i>. There has to be a sense of pace and movement and intention. There's absolutely none.</p><p><b>Edited to add </b>-- I've done some further reading and it sounds like they get a lot better in how they approach this relationship, so maybe I'll keep watching. Episode two is just freaking unforgivable though. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-88942028329293721512022-03-28T10:30:00.002-07:002022-03-28T10:30:33.948-07:00Arrgh.<p> Ooof, I messed up the other day.</p><p>We were hanging out at a beach, and my friend's kids weren't into playing, so my kid was feeling really lonely. And I noticed this boy talking to an adult about Legos, who set off my a-dar. He was wandering around, also seeming lonely, so I persuaded my kid to ask him if he wanted to do something.</p><p>It's been so long since I've tried something like this, and I totally didn't take into account how it would feel to an autistic teen. He handled it much better than my own kid would've, very politely, but he was obviously startled and I hope it didn't freak him out too much. (Especially since my kid is huge.) Maybe someone with more experience facilitating could've made it happen, I dunno. </p><p>I feel so bad, setting my kid up for failure like that. </p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-30211082933071902522022-03-07T15:13:00.000-08:002022-03-07T15:13:06.973-08:00Parenting worries<p> I watched "Allen vs. Farrow" yesterday, my stomach in a knot of grief and horror for the people who had to live through that. And anger that I had been so manipulated by Allen's powerful media machine, to the point that I had no idea about this case while it was going on. And also... a touch of fear. </p><p>When family friends talked about how weirdly Allen interacted with his daughter, it hit alarm bells for me. (<b>Note... I'm absolutely not trying to excuse Allen or disbelieve his accusers. The evidence is utterly damning.</b>) Because my relationship with my child often felt weird. She needed attention in unusual ways and she <i>gave</i> attention in unusual ways. (I shouldn't put that in the past tense, it's still true, perhaps even more so now she's an adult.) And I was (and am) always aware of how it might look to the outside world. My mom friends and I, a rather unconventional bunch all around, always used to joke about CPS visits in a way that revealed we were always a little scared it could happen to us.</p><p>When my daughter got appendicitis, the doctors were visibly suspicious about why we hadn't brought her in sooner. Since she was officially diagnosed, they accepted our truthful explanation, that she was under-reactive to pain and not always able to express her feelings, but it was a reminder that our parenting could look weird/wrong/bad. What if she hadn't been diagnosed? I don't know. </p><p>It's still not entirely comfortable. Trans people are under attack in the U.S. My daughter's aide offered to write a letter for us for a "safety file" that parents of trans children keep. I said that now she's an adult, I don't have to worry about CPS anymore, and she reminded me that there's an APS.</p><p>(Which is not a bad thing! Unless the law is changed so we're bad parents for supporting her transition. My heart aches for parents in Texas right now.) </p><p>I told my husband about the show making me feel like this and he got it completely.</p>willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-56579767548746455252020-07-04T13:02:00.001-07:002020-07-04T13:02:55.080-07:00Hard TimesThe other night, in a moment of rage, my kid yelled that her father and I had failed her as parents for her entire life.<br />
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Extenuating circumstances: she had been missing one of her meds. And of course, the world. And she hasn't lived long enough to know that that it's really, really destructive to hit someone you love in their most tender spot during a fight. Maybe she doesn't even know what a tender spot it is. I managed not to make the obvious, unforgivable retort, because I do know.<br />
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But I'm having a lot of trouble forgiving her. I'm angry because I feel like we've done nothing but give of ourselves for her her entire life, no matter what it cost us. And maybe also because, in some part of me, I believe she was right.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-71177286558493592742020-03-12T01:51:00.001-07:002020-03-12T01:51:06.839-07:00That escalated quickly...I'm taking my daughter out of school tomorrow. I don't care if she flunks. They've got their heads buried in the sand.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-39714736551842309502020-03-11T18:38:00.001-07:002020-03-11T18:38:22.556-07:00Tough ChoicesWhen my baby was an infant, I used to do what's called exclusive pumping, because we never managed to make breastfeeding work. Exclusive pumping is really the worst of both worlds -- you don't get that special intimate contact with your baby, but you still have to give up hours and hours of your time.<br />
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My husband didn't work from home back then, so I was alone with the baby and often faced with the dilemma of her starting to cry while I was pumping. I felt I was constantly having to make a choice between her physical health and her psychological health. And I always chose her psychological health.<br />
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Now I'm in kind of the same situation again. My husband and I are both in higher risk groups for the coronavirus. We're lucky that he works from home and "social distancing" is pretty easy. Except... my kid has a regular routine of seeing her friends, at their house, twice a week. And they're not nearly as concerned about being careful as us, and their mom works with the public.<br />
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And once again, I'm going with psychological health. We've made some adjustments -- her respite care worker isn't taking them out to a restaurant as usual. But all this change and disruption is already so hard on her, I can't bear to cut her off from the things that help keep her sane.<br />
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Still debating myself over whether I should go to ballet class and the potluck, which are what help keep <i>me</i> sane.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-11963618233287804742020-03-06T13:35:00.000-08:002020-03-06T13:35:06.313-08:00Gosh, it's been a while...It's been an extremely packed last year for me, especially with my child turning 18 and all the complications that brings for a developmentally delayed person, but this is the only news of particular relevance: my child also came out as trans, so I'll be talking about my daughter from now on.<br />
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My daughter also moved out, though not so very far out. :-) She's living in our "granny unit," and getting some experience at taking care of herself. It's a pretty good arrangement: more privacy for everyone, but we still get to spend time together, and help her with things she's not ready for yet.<br />
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I'm still having some adjustment issues, though. Last night I asked her to get to an evening meeting by bus, because her father and I wanted to spend some time together. I guess I didn't really think she'd have the executive function together to pull it off, though, and was startled when I realized she had actually left, and <i>I didn't know if she'd gotten there okay</i>. It's hard-wired in me to need to know where she is!<br />
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Also... I miss her. Even though she's right next door.<br />
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Letting go is hard.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-75686357580824836382019-04-04T20:29:00.001-07:002019-04-04T20:29:49.023-07:0030 Days of Autism Acceptance, Day 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Day 4: Reactions to 'coming out'<br />
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I don't have much to say on this topic, because mostly I don't. I've told Twitter and my immediate family. My therapist thinks it would be good to tell my doctors, and maybe it would, but I just can't face it. I hate being questioned and I know this would bring on a barrage of questions, and probably a lot of disbelief. I had enough of that when my son was little, and I couldn't get anyone to take my concerns about him seriously.<br />
<br />willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-29063267722420529282019-04-03T12:35:00.002-07:002019-04-03T12:35:49.998-07:0030 Days of Acceptance Day 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My diagnosis/discovery story:<br />
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My story is boringly similar to other adult-diagnosed autistics. I had always felt different and had a hard time connecting to people -- and though I didn't really realize it at the time, was prone to meltdowns. But I had many issues to attribute this to: Living in a counterculture; moving around constantly; a childhood filled with neglect at best and abuse at worst.<br />
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And then I had a child, and endeavored to give him the most secure, loved, comfortably middle-class life possible. Nice home, which he's lived in since he was born. Loving parents. Christmas and Hannukah and Easter and Passover. Plenty of everything, but not to excess. Right out of one of my favorite children's books.<br />
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And nonetheless, he was basically me. The sensory needs, the anxiety, the odd freakouts. Like me, he was very happy and friendly and open when young, and then grew lonely and closed off and suspicious. Like me, he was intelligent, but had some communications issues. (I was a late talker, which no one thought anything of at the time.) Like me, he had a desperate need to chew on things. (I am so envious of what's known and available for this now. I chewed on my hair, the hands and feet of dolls, and pen caps. I hate to think how many chemicals I ingested.) Like me, he had a much easier time getting along with adults than other children.<br />
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He was diagnosed when he was two, so I had plenty of time to read about autism and notice all the ways in which I had been similar. I sought out an autism-friendly therapist, not really sure if it was for him and me. As it turned out, I started seeing the therapist and they diagnosed me. (I sometimes feel guilty about this, for "hogging" my therapist, but I'm not sure my son would be open to it anyway.)willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-14174508039914834702019-04-02T21:18:00.000-07:002019-04-02T21:18:21.739-07:0030 Days of Autism Acceptance, Day 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCBTSBT48SbiK81jl2jWzdbV8H8SFgJLoBEL5C7mZkNJGNNB8_nh3hGHtT_2aPA2GQ5eFDG9w20QVM37_AhhvzsneqpiJu21XCBW1k-yqjadYExfW4pa_D1CYXT_a-UxZbpMTKwau-5LQ/s1600/img_2892.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="656" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCBTSBT48SbiK81jl2jWzdbV8H8SFgJLoBEL5C7mZkNJGNNB8_nh3hGHtT_2aPA2GQ5eFDG9w20QVM37_AhhvzsneqpiJu21XCBW1k-yqjadYExfW4pa_D1CYXT_a-UxZbpMTKwau-5LQ/s320/img_2892.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Day 2:<br />
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What I love about being autistic is... hmmm. This definitely requires some thought.<br />
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I love the pleasure I get from stimming, especially visual stimming. I love sensory experiences, though proprioception issues have ruined some of them for me. (Spinning and swinging both now nauseate me.) I love having a good memory and hate that I'm losing it as I get older.<br />
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And I love having insight into my son's needs.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-61956597827348540472019-04-02T21:13:00.000-07:002019-04-02T21:13:17.149-07:0030 Days of Autism Acceptance Day 1<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRj_E9gb5G5MqB2wYSR-G4SL9EZsiG03CfhfyKVpoOrW_ZI61RjTHhlm4lQekWdtya5VvH6ra7LMBsxMRX_dTwK954j3UuBS0jny6oMFyPnhab5L-sEis_MjwBPpnN7NWLStIvzdXojpSW/s1600/img_2892.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="656" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRj_E9gb5G5MqB2wYSR-G4SL9EZsiG03CfhfyKVpoOrW_ZI61RjTHhlm4lQekWdtya5VvH6ra7LMBsxMRX_dTwK954j3UuBS0jny6oMFyPnhab5L-sEis_MjwBPpnN7NWLStIvzdXojpSW/s320/img_2892.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
(I don't know who to credit for this, but I got it from <a href="https://autisticzebra.wordpress.com/2019/04/01/30-days-of-autism-acceptance/" target="_blank">AutisticZebra</a>.)<br />
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<br />
Intro post:<br />
<br />
I love challenge prompts. Usually I use them for reading, but I hope this one will spur me to do more blogging. I'm already behind!<br />
<br />
I asked my son if he wanted to join but looks like it's just me.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-18639415523936837972018-06-25T17:16:00.000-07:002018-06-25T17:16:19.995-07:00Finding Neurodiversity in... Nonfiction: Encyclopedia of an Ordinary LifeThis is a little trickier than my usual posts, because it's about a memoir. I don't want to create an autistic headcanon for Amy Krouse Rosenthal --<br />
<br />
(and let me take a moment to mourn the deletion of feminist aspie's blog and her wonderful post "A Headcanon Called Autism." I hope she is well.)<br />
<br />
-- but I do think this book has... let's call it an autistic sensibility. Rosenthal, who sadly died fairly young, had a passion for wordplay and interesting patterns. This is apparent in the very form of this book, which is written as a series of alphabetic entries -- they start with "Amy" and end with "You." It's also apparent in what the entries are about... random feelings about life, odd memorable coincidences, observations. Reading the book is like briefly living inside someone's special interest.<br />
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A moment of personal sadness about this book:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<b>1989 </b>Reads <i>The Day I Became an Autodidact</i> by Kendall Hailey. Writes author and receives letter back."</blockquote>
That's a real gut-puncher for me, because I read that book sometime in the 90s and also was also inspired to write to the author... but never mailed it. <br />
<br />
Rosenthal had a policy of always answering letters and she created numerous situations in which readers of her books could be inspired to contact her and participate in something with her. (For example, one reader got to propose a tattoo design, which they both got together.) So that also makes it a bit of a sad read, since she is no longer here to respond. The entire last chapter is a plea to "You" -- me, the reader-- to recognize her ordinary life:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I picked at a scab. I wished I was older. I wished I was younger. I loved my children. I loved mayonnaise. I sucked my thumb. I chewed on a blade of grass.<br />I was here, you see. I was."</blockquote>
I can't read that without crying.<br />
<br />
But most of the book made me smile in recognition... of the fun of wordplay (She tried to get her client Kraft to do a show called the Krafterschool Special,) of those embarrassing memories you can't forget, of just being a person in the world.<br />
<br />willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-70732740203541417052018-06-17T19:25:00.003-07:002018-06-17T19:25:42.949-07:00People Are Exhausting... And YetI finally made it to London, a few months ago, <a href="https://willaful.blogspot.com/2014/03/i-may-or-may-not-be-leaving-on-jet-plane.html" target="_blank">solving the problem</a> by taking all my family with me. It was hard and wonderful and exhausting and awesome. London is probably not my soul's city as I thought it might be, which was a little sad to realize, but better to know, right?<br />
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One of the things I've been pondering since the trip is how strange it was to be around such... distant people. Unfriendly isn't the right term, because I could always ask someone for help if I needed to, but people generally ignored each other in public.<br />
<br />
I don't remember noticing this in New York. I'm not sure if it's because I felt familiar with the pace there, having lived there when I was young, or because we were always in such busy areas it wasn't obvious. Probably the later. Walking around a residential neighborhood in London, the lack of acknowledging nods/smiles was really obvious.<br />
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And if you'd asked me how I'd feel about that, I probably would have said it would be great! Because having to put on friendly normalcy can be <a href="https://willaful.blogspot.com/2015/10/overheard-at-gym.html" target="_blank">really hard at time</a>s. And yet, I really found it weird, and lonely.<br />
<br />
This came up for me today, because I bought shirts for me and my son that say, "<a href="https://www.teepublic.com/crewneck-sweatshirt/1783022-people-are-exhausting-block-magenta-variant" target="_blank">People are Exhausting." </a> And I almost wore mine today and then I realized, it might stop people from making casual chit-chat with me. And though I hate obligatory "how are you"s, I like a bit of chit-chat. I've gotten good enough at it that it's a pretty small outlay of energy, as long as I'm in an okay frame of mind, and in return I get to feel some harmony with the people around me. It makes the world feel more comfortable.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-91148255162818886062018-02-27T14:09:00.000-08:002018-02-27T14:09:05.672-08:00oopsI just discovered that a bunch of comment notifications were going to an email address I no longer use, and I had no idea they were awaiting moderation. My apologies for not publishing or replying!willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-20800658796596011192018-02-07T11:27:00.002-08:002018-02-07T11:27:53.539-08:00More Sadness<b>CW: Death of a Child</b><br />
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<br />
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I've brushed my teeth, made the bed, and written the hardest sympathy note I've ever had to write. Honestly, I didn't even try to say much... I mean, what's the point? When an old person dies, you can maybe offer a little comfort with sweet memories. There's no comfort here. So I basically just said I know and I care and I'm here if you need me.<br />
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I have to try to get some normalcy going, for my own mental health and my son's. This is so hard on him: he feels our sadness acutely, and it's happening at school as well.<br />
<br />
~~<br />
<br />
I've been remembering when I read <i>The World According to Garp</i>, some time in my twenties. I was struck by how much Garp and his wife missed their dead child. I missed my mom intensely when we were apart, but even though we were very close, I never thought about <i>her</i> missing <i>me</i>. I'm not sure if that's because it was her parenting philosophy not to share such feelings -- very likely; I should ask -- or if I just didn't think children were interesting enough to miss, or if it was because I was painfully aware of how much she valued her time alone.<br />
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(One of the worst parenting mistakes I ever made, incidentally, was joking about getting away from my son where he could overhear. That cut him so deep. I shower him with affection, but I don't think he can ever truly believe in it.)<br />
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I also value time alone, sometimes desperately need it (and that's always the day that childcare falls through...) but I miss my son with every fibre of my being. The week my husband and I spent in New York was one of the best times of my life, except for how much I missed him. He's an indispensable part of me. Maybe someday he'll live his own life apart from us and I'll have to learn to make do with phone calls and emails. That's good, if it happens that way. I can be happy with that.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-35592831676596401932018-02-06T11:51:00.002-08:002018-02-06T11:51:47.374-08:00CW: Death of a child, suicideMy husband is reading the last Harry Potter book aloud to me and our son. (We were in the middle of it during the election, then put it away because it was too scary. It's still pretty on the nose but... life goes on.)<br />
<br />
So he read the scene in which the death of Harry's parents is depicted. And it was like a blow. Harry's mom giving up her life for Harry... that's not a stretch. Many parents would do it, if they could. They're <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/251288.Elizabeth_Stone" target="_blank">our hearts walking around outside our bodies</a>, and we put so much into raising them and protecting them and desperately praying, <a href="https://sterlingterrell.net/2017/12/prayer-of-every-parent.html" target="_blank">please outlive me</a>. And sometimes they take that life and throw it away.<br />
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(I'm aware this is not a kind or sensitive way to talk about suicide. I'm grieved and angry and I have to get those feelings out. Accept it or don't.)<br />
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When my son was little, one of the mamas I hung out with had a second baby. She was given a flower name, like her older sister. All the mamas organized and brought them food, and we couldn't wait for our turn to <strike>see the baby</strike> help out. She was beautiful and miraculous, as newborns are, and her head smelled like cinnamon buns. My husband and I freaked my friend out a bit, by how enthusiastically we smelled her head.<br />
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I lost touch with the group of moms but I still ran into my friend and her girls sometimes. I saw the girls performing in a teen improv show about a year ago. It was a lot of fun; they seemed confident and happy. I last saw my friend at open house day for my son's school, beacuse her younger daughter was transferring there. It's small and intimate, a good place for kids who are different and having a hard time.<br />
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But not always good enough. I have no knowledge of what this young girl was going through. My son doesn't connect with people in high school and he didn't remember playing with her as a kid, or make any attempt to get to know her again. All I know is either her mother (or God forbid, her sister) had to find her. That it was too late to help her. That everyone in my son's intimate school is reeling. That someone I care about is going through my worst nightmare.<br />
<br />
Lin-Manual Miranda very appropriately called it <a href="http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/h/hamiltonlyrics/itsquietuptownlyrics.html" target="_blank">the unimaginable</a>. And yet I can't stop imagining it. How my friend breastfed, and homeschooled her daughters for years. How she spent so many years trying to do what's best for them. How she gave them names that go together, and she'll forever feel what's missing when she says her older daughter's name.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093569576803900764.post-28864587153412189862017-07-29T15:46:00.000-07:002017-07-29T15:46:39.976-07:00Finding Neurodiversity in Fiction: When the Moon was Ours by Anna-Maria McLemoreThis isn't canon, or even headcanon -- that is, I'm not claiming any of the characters in this book should be read as neurodiverse. But it did strike me as containing a wonderful metaphor, and one wide open for neurodiverse people to embrace, if we want to.<br />
<br />
(With one caveat... part of the metaphor is so viscerally unappealing to me, I almost stopped reading the book.)<br />
<br />
<i>When the Moon Was Ours</i> is a work of magic realism, a story about claiming one's identity, and a tender romance. It's probably most aptly targeted at a YA audience, but adults will love it too. The plot is so fantastical it's probably simplest not to try to explain it, but here is the relevant part: Miel, a teenaged girl, comes from a family of "brujos and brujas," who have helpful gifts like being able to heal broken bones. But Miel's strange gift is considered a curse: she --<br />
<br />
-- ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh! --<br />
<br />
-- grows roses from her wrist, beautiful fragrant roses that express her innermost feelings. Miel's father believes that anyone who grows roses from their body -- ugh! -- will ultimately turn on their family, and Miel underwent genuine <i>torture</i> from her family's efforts to cure or exorcise her.<br />
<br />
You see.<br />
<br />
Here are some sections that particularly stuck with me (all emphases are mine):<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />"'She loved you,' Aracely said. 'But she got lost <b>thinking that your roses were something</b> <b>outside of you</b>... ' [spoilers deleted] 'She never wanted to hurt you.'</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
'You really believe that?' Miel asked, and she heard in her own voice both skepticism and forgiveness. A suspicion both that her mother had been trying to hurt her and that she had been justified in doing it. </blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
'Yes,' Aracely said. 'I've always believed that. But just because she loved you doesn't mean you deserved what she did. Or what he did.'</blockquote>
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It takes Miel some time to accept that Aracely is right: that her roses aren't a curse, that her mother was wrong, but that she did act from love.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Her mother hadn't hated her. She knew that. She'd feared for her. She'd loved Miel, seen her a daughter she could lose to petals and thorns. She'd been a young mother little older than Aracely, panicked and desperate to hold on to the children she'd made.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What mother could resist a hundred tales of roses that had <b>stolen the souls of sons and daughters? </b>What mother could stand against her husband's insistence that their daughter<b> was sick and needed to be cured?"</b></blockquote>
I hope this doesn't come off as sounding like an apologist for curebie parents, but part of Miel's journey towards accepting herself is believing in her mother's love for her. It helps lift the shame that keeps her from protecting herself against those that threaten her.<br />
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There's also a wonderful, complex self-acceptance journey for Miel's beloved friend and new lover Samir, which adds to the richness of the story. I highly recommend it.willafulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17201963128584310884noreply@blogger.com3