Not every day is as fun as a Dr. Seuss storybook though.  Last week, as the kids were piling in the car so I could drive them to school, Ronan began to struggle. He’d woken tired and cranky.  It had already taken me a few extra minutes to change him as he snuggled deeper under his covers.  Once I’d finally gotten him dressed and ready, Ronan refused to get into the car.  Instead, he attached himself to my leg while holding onto the doorknob.  This preventing us from taken another step and raised both of our frustration levels.

Careful strategy and baby steps got us safely to the car.  We were now running very late, and Ronan was still upset.  My other kids, already buckled in and waiting patiently for their brother to calm down, offered encouraging words.  “Ronan, it’s okay.”  “Mom, should I sing him a song?”  “Ronan, here.  Do you want a book?  It’s your favorite.”  I shushed the kids thinking their extra chatter might set Ronan off again.  But as Ronan reached for the book Little Buddy was handing him, Big Sis began quoting his favorite pages.



Thank God for Dr. Seuss!  He helped us out in a jam that day.  Quickly calming Ronan before he got agitated again, we all joined in the Cat in the Hat read aloud.  Ronan smile got bigger.  Then we heard him laugh.  This may not have been perfect behavior strategy on that very rushed morning, but knowing how to redirect Ronan with one of his favorite book passages gave the rest of us a feeling of accomplishment.  My hopes were once again lifted up.  Things were going to be okay. 
And then they got better.

Half-way to school that morning, and after we’d said our morning prayers, the kids began talking about their last week of school and the fun events being planned.  In the midst of the excitement from my four typical kids, I heard something else.  “Look at me…”  Keeping my eyes on the road, I moved my rear view mirror to try to get a glimpse of my kids’ faces.  “Who said that?  WHO?!”  Little Buddy smiled.  Both little girls squealed.  With the proudest smile Big Sis calmly said, “Mom, it was Ronan.”  And it was.  I cocked the mirror a bit lower and saw that Ronan was pointing to that sentence on his favorite page.

“Look at me…”

Look at me.  A sentence.  A breakthrough.  A step closer to typical and where I hope Ronan one day will be. 

What an exquisite thing to hear after what could have been a traumatic morning.  It’s so meaningful, too.  Meaningful because this has been something I’ve been screaming for years now:  Look at me!  Look at what happened!  Look at my kid!  Look at what’s happened to him!  Please, just LOOK! 
But, in that moment when Ronan said, “Look at me,” it wasn’t the time to be frustrated.  It wasn’t the time for me to be in mama warrior mode.  It wasn’t time for me to envision marching down the streets of Washington, D.C. waving banners of protest.  It was time to stop, to look and to believe again—to believe in Ronan and what he can do.

Through his eyes, parts of Ronan’s life must be very difficult.  But through his eyes, I will open mine. 
 



Cathy Jameson is a Contributing Editor for Age of Autism.