I can still remember the first time that my sweet-faced, doting, little princess ripped my heart out. She was two.
How can I allow my school-aged child with autism to still play with a toy designed for a toddler? Doesn’t that go against the very nature of my job?
The bizarre humor that rushes through my head is decades below my own age group and doesn’t even need an audience to spring up.
Will there be overwhelming events for my non-verbal son? Sure. Will there be judgmental people? Definitely. Are they the norm and do they define who we are or what we do? Not at all.
Every family has their own language. It’s made up of words or phrases that no one else would understand. Every person contributes. Every person speaks it.
There are certain pieces of advice that make us roll our eyes. The old adage about the best things in life being free can be put into that category.
The hardest thing about my non-verbal son’s first day of school was sending him alone on that bus.
“What time do you guys fight Santa?”
I want her to believe that she’s the best artist on Earth. Why? Because she is.
I forced myself to ride the exercise bike for at least 30 minutes and did a series of weights afterwards. With each rep, I seethed with anger.