Autism – the other Big Red A. I’ve been meaning to get a blog going about our experiences parenting a child with autism since my son was diagnosed at 2 years old. Now that he’s 11, I figure I can write not as the freaked-out mother of a newly dx’d child sucking in the new world through a fire hose, but as the sage(ish) not-as-freaked-out mother who has found peace and happiness in our family’s new normal. I came up with a good blog name and it’s high time I put it to use and get some kudos for my witty and agile sleep-deprived mind. Most importantly, I want to let other interested people know that autism isn’t something that defines a life, defines a person, defines a family, or defines the world. Unlike the WTH video “Autism Every Day”, autism doesn’t drive most moms to suicide and murder. HONESTLY! As I tell my daughter (who suffers from Princess Related Disorder, which doesn’t seem to have a cure either), everyone has a “thing”. That “thing” doesn’t define you. It’s just one part of who you are and sometimes it makes life a little harder, and so we work on it. My thing is being distracted with a quick temper, yours is being bossy, and W’s is autism. The hard part about being parents, grandparents and other adults who love a child diagnosed with autism is you mourn the loss of a kid who will never exist. The child with autism and his/her siblings never knew that child. They aren’t mourning. They’re just confused by the adults acting all weird and sad. As I tell parents new to autism, “look just behind that new label. The child you have loved and planned for is still there like he always was.”

If only I had been able to see all the laughs we would have over the years when we started down the autism path, maybe the path wouldn’t have looked so ominous. The humor has been giggling in the gallows at times, but often just tears-down-the-face, gut-hurting laughter. Like the first day my 3 year old’s bus came to take him to school and I was terrified, even though his amazing special day class teacher had promised us it was time to give it a try. Hearing the bus pull up, I opened the shutters on our picture window to a face full of honking big yellow short bus. I just burst out laughing as my husband said “well, that’s subtle!” Or when I tried to explain to the kindergarten teacher why my son’s penis was blue (New Rule: do NOT turn your back on a kid with indelible ink markers for more than 10 secs). Or when the 2^nd grade teacher called me at work after that unfortunate multi-truck response to the surprise firedrill, letting me know all the fire alarm pulls in the school now had “W do NOT” written above the “pull for alarm” signage. How many other kids get personalized signage so young, eh?! Just child stars and my boy. I figure it gives me better cocktail party chatter than the typical mom, and lord knows I’ve had a few cocktails over the years (usually in my jammies on the couch, but let’s call it a party). And cocktails lead me back to the title, because we all survive with a Snifter of Snark for the Short Bus Ride.