Today was a triumph. I suppose triumph may be an overstatement to some but for this mama I may have earned stars on my invisible cape.
I coach youth soccer for our local club. Since I've played the sport for nearly 40 years (ouch--that hurt just thinking about how old that makes me), I love everything about soccer. I love teaching a child how a ball feels when it touches the right part of their foot. I love seeing them start to understand the concept of running into open space. I love to watch them lose--even though I'm so competitive that the idea of losing actually causes me physical pain--as long as they're learning and growing.
But today I wasn't coaching. I was a mom on the sidelines. I don't ring a cowbell and I cringe when parents coach the team from the sidelines. Our team lost both games by double digits (I think...didn't actually keep score).
I think part of my decision to coach Fischer involved guilt and needing a break. Alder presented with enough behavioral challenges on the sidelines to make attending any soccer game akin to water torture. Then adding a toddler to the mix was like adding bad ingredients to an already spoiled soup. So coaching allowed me to avoid the sidelines and actually focus on the game. There's no rulebook that comes with being a mom. I wanted the chance to give Fischer my undivided attention since I've dedicated so much of my time over the past 4 years helping recover Alder from Autism. Being Fischer's coach allowed me that time. It didn't come without guilt for leaving Jay to chase the other two. Or guilt for knowing it was because I couldn't watch the game unless I wasn't around my other children. Sometimes all we can do as parents is manage the chaos as best we can and hope our children don't hate us later.
Two years ago I dreaded soccer tournaments. Not because of the travel or superfluous expenses involved by dragging my whole family to watch two days of mediocre soccer. I dreaded tournaments because handling Alder on the sidelines was a lot like bringing a dozen beagles to the park and expecting them to sit quietly while rabbits bounced around them. Needless to say, that's not an enjoyable experience or even a realistic expectation for a beagle. And such was our experience with Alder. I'd like to say it wasn't embarrassing to have an out of control child on the sidelines who couldn't appropriately interact with his peers or respond coherently to adults. I remember one tournament where he was so fixated on people taking their shoes off before they'd enter our tent that he melted down out of control and my husband, Jay, had to remove him from the field and sit in the car until the game was over. Or another game where he refused to stop throwing rocks and hit a nearby vehicle. Those days I did not feel triumphant. In fact, I felt like a failure for so many reasons. I failed because I forced him against his will to participate in activities where I knew he didn't feel successful (like hanging on the sidelines of a soccer field). I failed because I couldn't guarantee he would live a "normal" life like his peers running around us playing tag with each other. I failed because I couldn't help him create appropriate or meaningful relationships with anyone. And I was angry and sometimes jealous of parents who's kids played joyfully while they got to actually watch their other child play their game. I feared I may have caused his problems or prevented his progress because that's what we do as moms: blame ourselves for our children's shortcomings. The sidelines of a soccer field may not seems like much of a challenge to you. But for me they were filled with fear, embarrassment, shame, guilt and perpetual failure. My sense of failure was present all around me. For someone so driven to near perfection in my own work and my own life, to have a child who might never actually leave my home to thrive on his own meant that I was not the mother I imagined I'd be. How could he ever live on his own when he can't even sit and watch a soccer game?
Despite my fear and apprehension based on past experiences, I brought all three boys to a tournament 2.5 hrs away by myself this weekend. Jay is finishing a large construction project on our property that's time sensitive due to weather. He needs to put a roof on our giant shed before the snow flies. Alder initially wanted to stay home to "help" daddy but couldn't resist the lure of a hotel pool. To be completely honest I was relieved he didn't want to come. And although that's hard for me to admit, if I 'm being honest with myself then I imagined my weekend would be easier without his meltdowns, obsessions and repetitive behaviors. But when we were literally driving away he changed his mind and said, "I want to come with you, mom." How could I say no? The planner in me panicked. I have nothing packed for him! What's he going to wear? What will he eat? That final question is a doozy. Since we don't eat gluten, casein (the protein in animal milks), soy, artificial colors, flavors and sweeteners, oats, eggs or corn I am constantly preparing and carrying foods to fit our family's dietary needs. I had enough food for 3 of us since Jay and I did 3 hours of food prep that morning before we left. We cooked pancakes, sausage, bean burritos, roasted potatoes, wrapped raw spring rolls with peanut sauce and sliced cantaloupe and apples with cinnamon. Fischer made trail mix with nuts, raisins and chocolate chips. But one more male mouth to feed would definitely present some challenges. "Of course you can come." I looked uneasily at Jay who looked back at me with a confused and uncertain look in his eye. "I would get so much more done..." he said reluctantly. No one likes to admit having a child on the spectrum is hard. I took a deep breath, told Alder to "get in" and off we went while I tried not to overthink things too much as I often do.
The drive was relatively uneventful. The boys mostly got along. I pulled the movie card and allowed them to watch Madagascar 3 which gave me some time to give myself a pep talk about braving the journey on my own. No one napped which I feared would come back to bite me later, but otherwise nothing interesting to report about the boys. I, on the other hand, spent most of my drive wondering what I would do in certain situations. If he starts freaking out on the sidelines maybe Marcy (another parent) would bring Fischer back to the hotel after the game. Where was that health food store in relation to the field? Is my phone charged in case I need to let the little ones geek out on electronics to get through the games. Am I a bad mom if I give them electronics when they should be playing? Do I have enough food and snacks to get through 2 games? Should I leave the field in between games? What's my plan? What's my plan...
We arrived with plenty of time which is an awesome accomplishment for any mom of 3 and my boys teamed up and helped me carry our pop-up tent, blanket, chair, cooler and backpack across the giant sports complex. They didn't even complain. That on its own was a giant win. We set up our mini campsite on the sidelines and the kids immediately engaged with a little boy they know well from other sporting events. They played joyfully and appropriately. There were a couple moments of "he hit me" and "it's my turn with the toy" which is perfectly acceptable and age appropriate play. But otherwise they enjoyed running and playing while I actually watched Fischer play. He even made friends with a boy his own age! Clive was long haired and ferrel looking just like Alder. And they shared a toy, played tag and pretend fought. That was a welcome change from the screaming meltdowns, crazy obsession and constant demands. And I felt like supermom: I totally rocked. Not sure why we feel compelled to take on our children's behaviors as though they're our own. I suppose it's because we're responsible for them and so feel their decisions are a direct reflection of our parenting. That's one of the greatest challenges of parenting a child on the spectrum. They look "normal" and so should behave accordingly. When they don't it's hyperbolically our fault. But I suppose at that moment when things were going great on the sidelines for the first time in our family history, I felt like perhaps I had a hand in it. Pride isn't always a bad thing.
Our sideline success extended into the evening at the hotel. I was nervous how dinner would shake out since most of the team ordered pizza to share in the lobby and my commercial pizza isn't part of our meal plan. I used to feel guilty about not letting the participate in the social aspect of eating. I thought I was permanently damaging their relationship with food and preventing them from experiencing life as typical kids. I used that as my excuse not to implement dietary restrictions even with all the research I'd done on the benefits of specific diets with kids on the spectrum. Part of it seemed like too much work to undertake. And part of it was fear of judgment by my peers and my kids' peers. But I met a practitioner/mom who's had a lot of success in autism recovery and she put it in perspective for me: "What are you actually afraid of, Jill--your kids not getting to eat garbage that makes and keeps them sick?" We made the decision to revamp our diet over a year ago. We eat a plant based diet supported by some animal protein and completely removed the ingredients I mentioned above. We don't halfway do this. We are fully "all in." More on this later as there's a lot of unpacking to do with food in our family. But for now back to the hotel...
I found a health food store within a half mile of the soccer fields and filled my basket with a variety of pre-made salads, some organic salami, coconut fudge and a special ice cream (from coconut milk) treat for the boys who totally rocked the sidelines. We arrived to the hotel and laid our spread across the table from all of the pizzas and I dished each child heaping portions, their plates a rainbow of of kale, quinoa, beets, cabbage, potatoes and carrots. Even though a dozen or so kids were running circles around us, my kids sat (mostly) and ate everything on their plates. A swimming pool is a huge incentive (aka bribe) to get kids willing to sit quietly and eat. A few parents stopped by and commented kindly on our meal choice. At least one commended the boys on their healthy choices. Thanks unidentified parent. You're kind support went miles for me. None of the boys complained. At one point Alder went up to the pizzas. I feared that a meltdown might ensue. But he didn't meltdown. He simply looked and said something like, "that smells good." And when he came back and sat down next to me he said quietly, "but that's not very good for us. What happens to people who always eat like that?" And I said something along the line of "they get and stay sick. But it's not our place to judge other people's choices. All we can do is what's right for us and our family and let others do the same...now eat your dinner so we can swim!" I'm not going to lie--if my life was a little different I would have devoured at least 3 pieces of pizza.
The kids played hard, swam hard and then crashed hard. When we returned to the room after swimming Alder asked to take a shower to "wash off all the chlorine." He continued to surprise me over and over. I put on movie number 2 (wasn't in the running for mom of the year anyhow so go ahead and judge), tucked the two youngest into bed and went into the lobby to relax and have a glass of wine with some other parents and coaches. Fischer was in the lobby and I sent him back to the room on his own. All of the boys actually went to bed on their own. I confirmed this when I went in to check after unexpectedly not hearing from or seeing them for 20 minutes. They slept until 7:30 which is late for us. We brought our breakfast to eat in the lobby and they didn't ask once for anything on the buffet. We transitioned quickly from hotel to field and made it, once again, on time.
Maybe none of this sounds like much of an accomplishment to you. But honestly, this was one of the best weekends in my life. We all dream our kids will become smarter, more successful and happier than us. And knowing it's possible that won't happen for one of my children, life suddenly becomes jaded and hard. This weekend was the opposite. The odds weren't in my favor, but I found hope. Perhaps like the US men's team actually winning the World Cup--unlikely, but possible. Ok I know that's a stretch. Alder's odds are WAY better than theirs. But I defeated the odds. And Alder is defeating the odds. If I can undertake this weekend, Alder can undertake Autism. And for that we both earned a few extra stars on our invisible capes.
I coach youth soccer for our local club. Since I've played the sport for nearly 40 years (ouch--that hurt just thinking about how old that makes me), I love everything about soccer. I love teaching a child how a ball feels when it touches the right part of their foot. I love seeing them start to understand the concept of running into open space. I love to watch them lose--even though I'm so competitive that the idea of losing actually causes me physical pain--as long as they're learning and growing.
But today I wasn't coaching. I was a mom on the sidelines. I don't ring a cowbell and I cringe when parents coach the team from the sidelines. Our team lost both games by double digits (I think...didn't actually keep score).
I think part of my decision to coach Fischer involved guilt and needing a break. Alder presented with enough behavioral challenges on the sidelines to make attending any soccer game akin to water torture. Then adding a toddler to the mix was like adding bad ingredients to an already spoiled soup. So coaching allowed me to avoid the sidelines and actually focus on the game. There's no rulebook that comes with being a mom. I wanted the chance to give Fischer my undivided attention since I've dedicated so much of my time over the past 4 years helping recover Alder from Autism. Being Fischer's coach allowed me that time. It didn't come without guilt for leaving Jay to chase the other two. Or guilt for knowing it was because I couldn't watch the game unless I wasn't around my other children. Sometimes all we can do as parents is manage the chaos as best we can and hope our children don't hate us later.
Two years ago I dreaded soccer tournaments. Not because of the travel or superfluous expenses involved by dragging my whole family to watch two days of mediocre soccer. I dreaded tournaments because handling Alder on the sidelines was a lot like bringing a dozen beagles to the park and expecting them to sit quietly while rabbits bounced around them. Needless to say, that's not an enjoyable experience or even a realistic expectation for a beagle. And such was our experience with Alder. I'd like to say it wasn't embarrassing to have an out of control child on the sidelines who couldn't appropriately interact with his peers or respond coherently to adults. I remember one tournament where he was so fixated on people taking their shoes off before they'd enter our tent that he melted down out of control and my husband, Jay, had to remove him from the field and sit in the car until the game was over. Or another game where he refused to stop throwing rocks and hit a nearby vehicle. Those days I did not feel triumphant. In fact, I felt like a failure for so many reasons. I failed because I forced him against his will to participate in activities where I knew he didn't feel successful (like hanging on the sidelines of a soccer field). I failed because I couldn't guarantee he would live a "normal" life like his peers running around us playing tag with each other. I failed because I couldn't help him create appropriate or meaningful relationships with anyone. And I was angry and sometimes jealous of parents who's kids played joyfully while they got to actually watch their other child play their game. I feared I may have caused his problems or prevented his progress because that's what we do as moms: blame ourselves for our children's shortcomings. The sidelines of a soccer field may not seems like much of a challenge to you. But for me they were filled with fear, embarrassment, shame, guilt and perpetual failure. My sense of failure was present all around me. For someone so driven to near perfection in my own work and my own life, to have a child who might never actually leave my home to thrive on his own meant that I was not the mother I imagined I'd be. How could he ever live on his own when he can't even sit and watch a soccer game?
Despite my fear and apprehension based on past experiences, I brought all three boys to a tournament 2.5 hrs away by myself this weekend. Jay is finishing a large construction project on our property that's time sensitive due to weather. He needs to put a roof on our giant shed before the snow flies. Alder initially wanted to stay home to "help" daddy but couldn't resist the lure of a hotel pool. To be completely honest I was relieved he didn't want to come. And although that's hard for me to admit, if I 'm being honest with myself then I imagined my weekend would be easier without his meltdowns, obsessions and repetitive behaviors. But when we were literally driving away he changed his mind and said, "I want to come with you, mom." How could I say no? The planner in me panicked. I have nothing packed for him! What's he going to wear? What will he eat? That final question is a doozy. Since we don't eat gluten, casein (the protein in animal milks), soy, artificial colors, flavors and sweeteners, oats, eggs or corn I am constantly preparing and carrying foods to fit our family's dietary needs. I had enough food for 3 of us since Jay and I did 3 hours of food prep that morning before we left. We cooked pancakes, sausage, bean burritos, roasted potatoes, wrapped raw spring rolls with peanut sauce and sliced cantaloupe and apples with cinnamon. Fischer made trail mix with nuts, raisins and chocolate chips. But one more male mouth to feed would definitely present some challenges. "Of course you can come." I looked uneasily at Jay who looked back at me with a confused and uncertain look in his eye. "I would get so much more done..." he said reluctantly. No one likes to admit having a child on the spectrum is hard. I took a deep breath, told Alder to "get in" and off we went while I tried not to overthink things too much as I often do.
The drive was relatively uneventful. The boys mostly got along. I pulled the movie card and allowed them to watch Madagascar 3 which gave me some time to give myself a pep talk about braving the journey on my own. No one napped which I feared would come back to bite me later, but otherwise nothing interesting to report about the boys. I, on the other hand, spent most of my drive wondering what I would do in certain situations. If he starts freaking out on the sidelines maybe Marcy (another parent) would bring Fischer back to the hotel after the game. Where was that health food store in relation to the field? Is my phone charged in case I need to let the little ones geek out on electronics to get through the games. Am I a bad mom if I give them electronics when they should be playing? Do I have enough food and snacks to get through 2 games? Should I leave the field in between games? What's my plan? What's my plan...
We arrived with plenty of time which is an awesome accomplishment for any mom of 3 and my boys teamed up and helped me carry our pop-up tent, blanket, chair, cooler and backpack across the giant sports complex. They didn't even complain. That on its own was a giant win. We set up our mini campsite on the sidelines and the kids immediately engaged with a little boy they know well from other sporting events. They played joyfully and appropriately. There were a couple moments of "he hit me" and "it's my turn with the toy" which is perfectly acceptable and age appropriate play. But otherwise they enjoyed running and playing while I actually watched Fischer play. He even made friends with a boy his own age! Clive was long haired and ferrel looking just like Alder. And they shared a toy, played tag and pretend fought. That was a welcome change from the screaming meltdowns, crazy obsession and constant demands. And I felt like supermom: I totally rocked. Not sure why we feel compelled to take on our children's behaviors as though they're our own. I suppose it's because we're responsible for them and so feel their decisions are a direct reflection of our parenting. That's one of the greatest challenges of parenting a child on the spectrum. They look "normal" and so should behave accordingly. When they don't it's hyperbolically our fault. But I suppose at that moment when things were going great on the sidelines for the first time in our family history, I felt like perhaps I had a hand in it. Pride isn't always a bad thing.
Our sideline success extended into the evening at the hotel. I was nervous how dinner would shake out since most of the team ordered pizza to share in the lobby and my commercial pizza isn't part of our meal plan. I used to feel guilty about not letting the participate in the social aspect of eating. I thought I was permanently damaging their relationship with food and preventing them from experiencing life as typical kids. I used that as my excuse not to implement dietary restrictions even with all the research I'd done on the benefits of specific diets with kids on the spectrum. Part of it seemed like too much work to undertake. And part of it was fear of judgment by my peers and my kids' peers. But I met a practitioner/mom who's had a lot of success in autism recovery and she put it in perspective for me: "What are you actually afraid of, Jill--your kids not getting to eat garbage that makes and keeps them sick?" We made the decision to revamp our diet over a year ago. We eat a plant based diet supported by some animal protein and completely removed the ingredients I mentioned above. We don't halfway do this. We are fully "all in." More on this later as there's a lot of unpacking to do with food in our family. But for now back to the hotel...
I found a health food store within a half mile of the soccer fields and filled my basket with a variety of pre-made salads, some organic salami, coconut fudge and a special ice cream (from coconut milk) treat for the boys who totally rocked the sidelines. We arrived to the hotel and laid our spread across the table from all of the pizzas and I dished each child heaping portions, their plates a rainbow of of kale, quinoa, beets, cabbage, potatoes and carrots. Even though a dozen or so kids were running circles around us, my kids sat (mostly) and ate everything on their plates. A swimming pool is a huge incentive (aka bribe) to get kids willing to sit quietly and eat. A few parents stopped by and commented kindly on our meal choice. At least one commended the boys on their healthy choices. Thanks unidentified parent. You're kind support went miles for me. None of the boys complained. At one point Alder went up to the pizzas. I feared that a meltdown might ensue. But he didn't meltdown. He simply looked and said something like, "that smells good." And when he came back and sat down next to me he said quietly, "but that's not very good for us. What happens to people who always eat like that?" And I said something along the line of "they get and stay sick. But it's not our place to judge other people's choices. All we can do is what's right for us and our family and let others do the same...now eat your dinner so we can swim!" I'm not going to lie--if my life was a little different I would have devoured at least 3 pieces of pizza.
The kids played hard, swam hard and then crashed hard. When we returned to the room after swimming Alder asked to take a shower to "wash off all the chlorine." He continued to surprise me over and over. I put on movie number 2 (wasn't in the running for mom of the year anyhow so go ahead and judge), tucked the two youngest into bed and went into the lobby to relax and have a glass of wine with some other parents and coaches. Fischer was in the lobby and I sent him back to the room on his own. All of the boys actually went to bed on their own. I confirmed this when I went in to check after unexpectedly not hearing from or seeing them for 20 minutes. They slept until 7:30 which is late for us. We brought our breakfast to eat in the lobby and they didn't ask once for anything on the buffet. We transitioned quickly from hotel to field and made it, once again, on time.
Maybe none of this sounds like much of an accomplishment to you. But honestly, this was one of the best weekends in my life. We all dream our kids will become smarter, more successful and happier than us. And knowing it's possible that won't happen for one of my children, life suddenly becomes jaded and hard. This weekend was the opposite. The odds weren't in my favor, but I found hope. Perhaps like the US men's team actually winning the World Cup--unlikely, but possible. Ok I know that's a stretch. Alder's odds are WAY better than theirs. But I defeated the odds. And Alder is defeating the odds. If I can undertake this weekend, Alder can undertake Autism. And for that we both earned a few extra stars on our invisible capes.
Jill. You're inspiring and raw and devoted and vulnerable. I love you, pal. This post got me in the heart. My eyes watering. Wow do I get how big your weekend was. Congrats, gold star mama!
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