Dear Cashier,

Sound the alarm!  We were out of milk.  Now, this is a big deal to any family with five kiddos...or four...or any... but, to this special guy, this is a big deal.  You see, his main food group is cereal.  Honey Nut Cheerios to be quite exact.  He was hungry, and he wanted some cereal.  As I lovingly told him we were out of milk, my dear hubby offered to run to the store.  Titus decided he wanted to go too.  Alarms were now sounding off in my head.  What if the store was busy?  What if the line was too long, and he got overwhelmed?  The list of "what if's?" gets long quick.  After a moment's hesitation and a deep breath, my amazing hubby told Titus he could go.  A few moments later, they were off in "daddy's car", and I started praying for their quick trip.  Frankly, I held my breath until they returned. 

After about twenty minutes they returned, milk in hand, with a few stories.  Of course, the store was all decked out for Christmas, and Titus bounced around noticing all the "Santa" stuff.  This was the first year he even knew of the existence of Santa, and it was fun.  Richard told me of the bank teller's noticing his cute antics, and smiling at the cute little blond with his daddy, yelling, "Ho, Ho, Ho!" in his robust "Santa" voice. 

After successfully finding the much needed milk, they got in line.  The cashier noticed the four gallons of milk, and commented on how much milk it was.  Richard said something about the need to eat cereal plus five kiddos.  "Cereal? It's a little late for cereal!"  Titus picked up on the conversation, and made a slurping sound, rubbed his tummy, and exclaimed, "Yummy, cereal!!"  At this point, the cashier realized our son was a-typical, turned her head down, and finished the transaction as quickly as possible-not to say another word.  Part of me is glad I wasn't in the store with them.  Part of me is sad I wasn't there.  Not to lecture her, shame her, or let her know how disappointing her actions were, but to learn how amazing our boy is.  Not too long ago, he would not have made it through the store, let alone the check-out line.  Believe me when I tell you, I've had many "well-meaning" adults threaten to have my son, "clean the store" or "stay here without mom" or let me know what they did to kids in the "olden days."  And then, he did so much more than just survive a trip-he engaged-with words!  The magnitude of amazingness that is is almost impossible for me to share.  I just celebrated his third Christmas saying, "mom".  He is almost 6.  He couldn't even engage with his own mother for the first 2 1/2 years of his life, and now he did with a cashier. 

So, dear cashier, I understand you were uncomfortable.  Maybe you were afraid to offend.  I get that.  Maybe you have a painful story in your past-a family or friend who you watched struggle, and it stabbed your heart.  I get that, too.  Maybe, well, there are a thousand different scenarios that could fit here.  I want you to know I am not embarrassed of my son.  I am so proud of him, my heart feels like it could burst.  I am so grateful for how far he has come, for who he is.  I have five miracles in my life, and he is one of them.  And know this, if you had engaged him, he would have smiled at you, and probably come around the line and given you a huge hug.  And, for the record, he came home and had a huge bowl of cereal.  He had, after all, braved the store for just that. 

Ripping Off the Bandaid

The past few months in our home have been quite intense.  They have been surprising, painful, exhausting, wonderful, and so many more adjectives.  My special guy has been amazing.  The return to school was difficult, but he adjusted quickly.  His transition to full days, five days per week was remarkable.  Since the beginning of the school year, he has only had a handful of morning meltdowns-a stunning improvement.  In fact, he loves school so much, he actually will ask to go on Saturday's.  Not only this, but his love for his new sister has been such a pleasure to watch.  He will ask to kiss baby Chara.  He will say how sweet or how cute she is.  There never seemed to be a jealousy issue-perhaps confusion about where the little thing came from and how long she might stay, but not the crazy jealousy I was so afraid of. 

Then, therapy started.  The funding I had worked so hard to obtain came in, and we began his in-home therapy.  The first two months were easy.  It was the "data gathering" phase.  They followed him around our home, played whatever he wanted, and just worked to become his trusted friend.  As they "played" the therapists began to define his "maladaptive behaviors."  (I'm beginning to learn the clinical terms...)  In the past few weeks, they have defined these behaviors, and set in place areas to begin working on. 

For the past two and a half years, I've worked on figuring out how to stop melt downs.  I've learned the warning signs, and will stop in the middle of a sentence/action/activity to curb the coming storm.  Once a meltdown has started, I will use certain techniques to calm the situation.  In the past two weeks, therapy has seen the signs, looked them square in the face, and let them come.  They have things to accomplish, and their goal is not to calm him, but to help him learn to cope with stressors.  In the past two therapy sessions, we have seen two huge meltdowns-worse than I've seen in months.  After the second episode, I looked at his senior therapist and asked her if this was "normal" or expected.  She looked at me, as calm as could be, (reminded me of privacy laws), and said that they have seen this behavior before.  But, as momma, it is gut wrenching.  It's worse than taking off those nasty post-surgery bandaids.  I see him suffering, and I suffer with him.  I want to jump in and make it stop.  I want to protect him.  Unfortunately, though, all I'm doing is opening the "shell" for him.  Just as a baby chick has to open it's own shell to live, so must my son break open his own.  Now, this does not mean that I don't pay close attention to make sure he isn't pushed too far.  This, in no way, takes any responsibility away from me to watch over my son.  There is a process, though, that requires pain.  Just like I will never earn my first medal for finishing my first 10K without a lot of hard work (probably some tears, too...), so does he have to train for an even bigger event...life.  This is not just for a momentary pleasure like a medal, but this is so my sweet and amazing son can better function in his daily life for the rest of his life. 

It is humbling to watch him.  As difficult as it has been at times to be his momma, his work is SO much harder.  He has to learn to speak a language that is not his "mother tongue."  He has to learn to quiet his body when it wants to be "socially inappropriate."  He has to learn not to allow the overwhelming pressure of over-stimulation make him run.  This little boy is one of my heroes.  I'm so grateful the Lord chose me to be his momma.  I have this amazing gift running around my house, teaching me to cherish every single moment, and to never take anything for granted.