I want to impress potential agents and publishers with my social media prowess, so I resolve to write at least once a week in this thing. I love to write. I really do. Unfortunately, I can’t blog about what’s always on my mind, which is my kids. I mean, I can blog about them a little bit, but I’m forever trying to find the right balance between what they’ll be fine with my sharing and what they won’t be. A couple years ago, my now 8-year-old son requested that I not talk so much about him on Facebook. It’s fine if I share a few snippets of his life, as long as I’m careful not to post anything that will embarrass him. That isn’t always easy to discern. The boy has no problem with peeing in the front yard before God and all of suburbia, and he proudly announces his toots, but he’s become upset overhearing seemingly harmless things said about him. My daughter is 6 now, and starting to glare at me suspiciously when I start typing on my phone after she’s said something funny, so I’m pretty sure she feels the same way as her brother.
I would love to blog all about them and my struggles and joys raising kids. Writing helps me process. I have a lot to process with raising these two, especially regarding my son, who has autism. He is a truly radiant human being and makes me so happy, but sometimes it’s difficult to figure out why he does some of the things he does. What’s harder than that is trying to explain him to a world of other people who like everything and everybody well behaved and predictable. It freaks them out to see a child who doesn’t fit a familiar mold. Honestly, coping with other people’s expectations is the hardest part about raising a child with autism. There are shiploads of good, kind gentle people in the world, and there are a few handfuls that I would like to smack when they give my sweet boy judgmental looks. My problem is that I think too much about the ones I’d like to smack.
I keep a journal, but it’s not the same as putting my thoughts out there into the universe for someone else to read and relate to. Also, my kids are hilarious, a veritable gold mine of pithy quotes and poignant episodes. It’s torture to have to think long and hard about what I will and won’t say about them, especially as I’m a very open person. It took me the better part of 40 years to develop the little bit of filter that I now have. However, I love my kids, and part of loving is respecting, so I’ll try to balance respecting their wishes with who I am. If I suspect I’ve crossed the line, I’ll do as my friend Beth suggests and “put another dollar in the therapy jar”.
Until Next Time,