More Than a Rubber Hose- Introduction To Our Family and How I Named My Blog...

Driving north on Hwy. 35, just as the sun was starting to set, we were all exhausted. It was the kind of exhausted that feels almost post-surgical. A level of exhausted that drains a mom of two (only two at that time) hot, hungry kids who were heading home after a last minute emergency trip to the craft store. I don't remember why, but I recall that it HAD to happen right then. This was the event that sent him over the edge. We had already run too many errands for the day, it was an outrageously hot Laredo, TX day, meaning we were sweaty, which never improves anyone's mood. We made it to the car before his sensory overload had a chance to reach its boiling point. He EXPLODED! She knew it was coming too. There was nothing his big sister could do to help curtail the situation. This was the kind of overwhelming exhausted that occurs when a mom with a precious little boy on the autism spectrum realizes how much it sucks for her amazing, patient older child, who is the princess of flexibility and wisdom, who seems to have a super hero-like ability to disengage and go to her "happy place." Oh man... the happy place. I looked back and could see that she had indeed, checked out. She had a fixed gaze out the window- once again.

This explosion was nearly a daily ordeal, errands or not. Many days it occurred more than once. This is the kind of tired that feels like I might never recover, the guilt rolls in on me. I tell myself that if I were a better mom, a better planner, a better whatever... this wouldn't happen to either one of them. It's not fair. It's clearly my fault. I believe it is. Another round of the "what's wrong here" immediately begins to replay on the old tapes and video reels in my head, though barely audible above his repetitive gurgling screams. There was nothing I could do, not to prevent this or stop it once he starts up.

Heaviness from the pits of hell weigh in. Dread screws it's heavyweight fists straight into my heart and stomach. There is almost nothing left in me- I'm sad and drained. I realize at that moment that I am unconsciously holding my breath. I try to breathe, it hurt, literally painful. I think I should pray... I force a big breath and try to clear my head.

I put my blinker on, check my mirrors...I need to change lanes. I realize that am driving too fast.

"God, PLEASE" I whisper as I attempt to regroup and slow down, "please, help us."

I don't even realize for a few minutes but the little one has started to calm down. The sun is in my eyes and I reach over to find my sunglasses. I see that the older one is drinking from her juice box.

A sudden quiet stings my ears. The only sound is an occasional snotty ragged involuntary breath, he is settling down now. I suppose he'll be asleep by the time I get him home, which will throw us off our normal schedule. But what can I do?

More silence. Seems like normalcy has resumed.

My mind begins to wander. It's like it never happened, we can move on, now. The van is starting to cool off, that helps, too. This is a typical evening trip home. Our nerves are shot. The thought of cooking dinner seems huge but we are hungry and I know Sean will help out. My thoughts are focused on what to feed my family and how I can get it done in a hurry.

Just then a sincere, husky, verklempt little voice speaks up from the seat behind me, "Mom, I love you... more...than a rubber hose". I can tell he was trying to talk past a lump in his throat. These were very different tears- completely different.

He was fully in touch with his emotions and his tone was sincere. This was from his core- he meant for his words to be honey for my soul.

The entire mood in the car shifts.

I am stunned. Amused. I have to open my mind -wide. I choose between teetering emotions... If I look at the older one we'll both start laughing. I look away. I'm trying to keep myself together, never had he ever said anything so profound to anyone. I can not laugh, but it is funny! "A rubber hose?"  I feel a chuckle rattle up from my stomach. If I were to start laughing I would hurt him and I would never try to hurt him. These kinds of moments are rare with him. I would not blow this for anything. He felt every drop of what he said.

"Jackson, thank you. That means a lot to me. I love you, too." I say as sincerely and gently as I had ever said anything in my life. Oh my goodness, my heart is exploding. Love floods my soul.

I feel revived. Amused. Hopeful.

I am thinking fast. Wondering. How do I solve the puzzle of the rubber hose? Do I try? Should I just ask him?

"So, tell me... how much do you love a rubber hose?" I manage to ask without a drop of silliness in my voice.

"A lot" he replies with a sturdiness that reemphasizes how sincere he is. This child is like steel.

"That's great," I say. "But, why do you love rubber hoses... specifically?"

"Because, they save people lives when the firemen come. Rubber hoses bring water, and we all need water. You can do dishes and wash babies with a rubber hose. There is nothing more useful as a rubber hose when things get out of control. Rubber hoses are very important." he says through thoughtful tears.

I suddenly remember his alter ego, a super hero named Jack-dragon, who is a water (not fire) spewing dragon. Jack-dragon is a fabrication of his own imagination, his imaginary hero partner. I get it now. He has really thought about this. There is no higher compliment he could give me. I feel honored, truly.

"Wow! Thank you Jackson. That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever told me", I manage.

I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

These are the moments that change everything.

I peek. The older one has her hand over her mouth and she is looking right at me. She is cracking up but manages to contain all evidence. I love her so much. I hope she can keep it together for just a moment longer. There is much to savor. She does. She knows him well. What a great kid. Where does she get this strength? It was as if she had just reached a new level of maturity at that very second. I understand completely. It is funny. What he said was extreme.

He loves me.

Hannah loves us both.

He understands at a deep, deep level, that I love him and that I try.

She understands at an even deeper level, still. Somehow she knows that I am needy for his kind words.  She has allowed this moment between her brother and I, but then her giggles give way. He is unharmed. Her laughter is that of a proud sister.

He is in there.

She emerges.

Thank you, God, for rubber hoses. I like them, too.

-L

That was a long time ago. The day I am writing about was a turning point for me. I am happy to report we are all in a much better place these days. When I lose perspective during the normal ups and downs of life, I will try to think about the rubber hose day and everything seems to slide into perspective. 

This is a blog that is meant to inspire and encourage other parents whose children have hidden battles. Join us for more stories about living in a family with awesome people- who also happen to have Asperger's Syndrome and ADD, and whatever else.

 I didn't mean to have such a serious start. I have tons of really funny stories, too!