that a child's birthday was a time to celebrate

I used to think that a child's birthday was a time to celebrate.
I didn't understand why the families I worked with hesitated.
Hesitated to throw a party.
Why my party suggestions were met with blank stares.
Not all the time.
Not for every child (especially the wee ones),
Not every year.
But sometimes they just didn't seem to want my suggestions:
   We could have people there to help make it successful.
   Plan activities the child and their peers enjoyed.
That should alleviate any concerns.
But it didn't.

Then this beautiful boy came into my life.
The first birthday he celebrated with me was a joyous event.
Then a year passed.
I cried for the whole week of his birthday.
I knew too much.
I knew what gains he wasn't making.
I could see the struggles ahead.
This wasn't a day to celebrate.
This was a day to morn.
To morn the loss of dreams.
Nothing can describe the pain.
To know that your child will never "get it".
Will never make a years'  worth of gains.
The 365 days that have passed are not filled with milestones.
They are marked by hard work, sacrifice and high costs.

The next years we went through the motions.
I hosted parties. Expensive ones, cheap ones.
Parties that other kids would like and want to come to.
Some years were better than others.
Some years it didn't hurt so much, or at least thats what I'd like to think.

Cake Pops in the park

Each spring I've marked the anniversary of when he came to live with me by writing an e-letter update.
This year I drew blank
I had no words to describe the hardest days I have ever walked through
 - there are battle scars to prove it.
I had no stories of success.
Nothing amazing that has been accomplished in a year.
The only words that came to mind were,
we made it.

This year I threw a different kind of party.
A party in the park. His favourite place.
We painted faces (not his).
We ran and played in the trees and the creek.
We ate cake pops. We sang Happy Birthday.
I told people what gifts to buy - iTunes gift cards!
And everyone celebrated his birthday.
But not me.
I had cried buckets of tears that week.
But at the party I was smiling.
Not a fake smile.
I was celebrating that
we made it!

And it was a good party :)

who I am

I used to think that my biggest weakness was something that I needed to apologize for and work on.

That a successful person didn't tear up when things got intense.

So I worked on it. and apologized. and worked on it. and apologized.

and after 10 years there was marginal improvement.

I tried replacement behaviors, satiation, manding for a break, calm down techniques like squeezing my hands and counting to 10.

Yet still I found myself apologizing

 to the social workers who call me “emotionally unstable”

And then Steve Jobs' biography by Walter Isaacson came out.

I read about how the man who brought us our beloved iPhone 

was known for waterworks in meetings.

This made me think...

A short time later a video of Kristen Bell’s recent appearance on Ellen came across my Facebook page.

Her hysterical reaction to an encounter with sloths made me laugh,

then it made me think...

If these two famous people could cry and yet be successful.

Then why was I apologizing?

Now I’m not saying I plan to go around bawling at everything.

I realize that the sight of watery eyes is disconcerting for many,

it might make you feel uncomfortable.

you might not not how to react.

But if Steve Jobs and Kristen Bell could be so passionate about computers or sloths, then shouldn't things like children with autism and their best interests about also be worth a few tears?

Just because I cry when things get intense doesn't mean that I’m illogical or unstable.

I am thinking,

I firmly believe in what I know.

I am stable,

I’m not going to budge because someone says it can’t be done.

Just look what people with passion can accomplish.

I used to think I had to apologize for who I am.

But now I am just going to start with a disclaimer:
You Tube: Kristen on Ellen

“First thing you should know about me, if I’m not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, I’m crying.” Kristen Bell.

That I was superwoman.

I used 2 think that I was superwoman, 

that I could do it all:

• Work as a behaviour interventionist for kids with autism

• Support, advocate and fundraise for families.

• Run a home-based business.

• Survive being married and divorced before 25, then settle down for "Take 2" before turning 30.

• Finish my degree.

• Travel the globe.

• Be a painter/artist/writer

• Have time to enjoy life, spending it with family and great friends.

Then in 2008 I added:

• Foster a young child with autism.

And for a while I thought I could be superwoman.

Maybe some people think that I am.

But by my standards I've failed. 

Please don't try to cheer me up by arguing this.

When I started fostering I thought I knew what I was getting in to. 

After all I'd:

• grown up with a sister who has special needs.

• worked since 2000 in families' homes, teaching skills to their children with autism.

• seen kids make great gains with intervention.

• done weekend respite for years, even with several children.

• seen challenging behaviours and tough situations.

So it wouldn't be that much different, right? Right!?!

I use to think that I was superwoman, that I could do it all..

And then along came a boy who has taught me about the world, about others, about myself.

If I had known that I couldn't be the iconic figure would I have chosen to foster?

Would any parent choose to have children if they knew the challenges ahead?

Most parents chose to be parents, but the part about their child having autism (or any special needs) gets thrown in.

For parents there is no choice, not really.

I knew this child had autism, and yet still I chose…

But my heart tells me that's not how it was.

It wasn't really a choice.

I saw a boy who needed help, and so I stepped forward.

I didn't choose.

He, this life, it chose me.

So now I've leaned that if I'm going to be anything close to superwoman, I better modify my list! I can't do it all perfectly, but I can do a few things well.

This realization and acceptance leaves me in a reflective place. I decided to share this because, well, selfishly it's therapeutic. And perhaps as I share my realizations, you may gleam something about the world of autism, parenting children with special needs, or being a behaviour interventionist. Or perhaps you know me, and are curious to read about your part in all of this!