When you start out your day and you want to drown yourself in margaritas (or at least drink them until you might drown in your own drool when you pass out) at 10 a.m., it's not going to be a stellar day.
So, it starts off last night. Kids fall asleep in a configuration on my bed around which I cannot comfortably get in and rest. I grabbed a quilt and a pillow and off to the couch with me. About my beautiful couch--it needs a good shampooing. Not sure if it's cat, dog or toddler urine that I smell...or if it's the smell wafting in from outside, but it's not pleasant. But I was tired, and I didn't have toddler toes in my ribs, so I was good. And I overslept. And I had a lot of work that needed done today.
So, rushing toddlers is never fun. Add to that little equation the autism of one of them and you have a formula for disaster. Perhaps it was just self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever. But it just degraded from there. Colby's routine was pretty out of whack already. Get to daycare and he runs into his room and up to "his" loft. He does this daily. Then he's up there for awhile and then he goes to breakfast in the cafeteria with his "buddies". I've never heard this was a horrible struggle so I assume it isn't a daily issue. Well, today he didn't get his loft time. He wasn't happy about having his shoes put back on him and being taken to the cafeteria. He threw himself onto the floor while I got his chair. There were three tables in the room. One was full of children; one had two children; and one was completely empty. I took the chair to the table with two children. One of the children said, "He needs to sit over there," gesturing to the empty table. "By himself?" I questioned. [In case you aren't aware, children with autism often segregate themselves. Those typical people that love them attempt to limit the segregation.] "Yes, he is bad. He does mean things. He needs to sit over there." I kept saying in my head, "Remember, he is just a child. He is just a child." I, already still pretty tired, almost start crying for the unintentionally cruel words about the light of my life. At this point, the other child at the table says to me, "Tatiana's Mommy? Colby can sit by me." And so I did cry a little because it was so sweet of her to say so. I will also add, the other child is larger physically than Colby--no easy feat. The one willing to have this "bad acting" child sit next to her, substantially SMALLER.
At this point, Colby had decided that he didn't want to sit OR eat. Other children had decided that I needed to hear about what a horrid child Colby is. Again, "Remember, they are just children. They are just children," played through my head. I just tried to tell the children that Colby doesn't mean to act in the way that they believe is cruel and bad, he is just frustrated that he cannot say the words. And, being children, they don't understand.
Luckily, breakfast was over and they got to go outside to play. Colby loves the scooter and on it, he is happy and his laugh and his smile brighten my world better than the sun. As I left and reflected upon the morning, the cloud came over me. This type of lack of understanding is not only his present, it might very well be his future. It makes me sad. Will he have friends around him that take the time to understand him and forgive his moments of frustration? Will he be able to better communicate before the frustration sets in? If I am not there to protect him, will he still be surrounded by love to protect his gentle soul? Yes, this little bear sized boy is nothing but a gentle teddy bear with hugs that heal hurts. But it can't take away the hurts of his autism. And it makes me sad.
