Some days, life’s a beach; on others, it’s a workout, you sweat and come home muscle-tired, but with that toned feeling that carries you through. That’s us this week.  Here on Day 4 of vacation, not that I’m still counting, we SURVIVED the first relatively unstructured few days!  Yay!  Despite near-100 degree heat, thorny behaviors and too much work stress and work.  Brief lessons for this mom:

• Ask for help – don’t know what I would have done without a most favorite, capable respite person.  The visiting behaviorist also shows promise, although like all ABA there’s a temporary increase in parental jobs associated with data collection and behavior plan implementation that adds to the To Do list.
• Offer choices – it makes me feel so good to hear my sons say No when I offer an option, and to have them choose from among destinations for purchasing-program trips or free time pursuits.
• Listen to the behavior-language – it talks, and as parents of the autistic we have to learn to hear it with the same listening deeply that we apply to the spoken word.  After my prohibiting access to the side of the house with the bathroom, since I was sick of his multiple disrobes, W. proceeded to have his first toileting accident in five years.  Lesson for mom:  many behaviors start from genuine bodily needs, sensory or otherwise, even if I read them as protests or simple devilment.
• Celebrate the small stuff.  The above pic represents a blissful moment when we used a new gym membership together, helped by the above-mentioned wonderful aide.  Each guy did purposeful 5-min workouts on treadmill, eliptical and stairmaster.  To others, these would be trifling.   For us, considering the workout was done by both boys together, outside our basement, each really trying and able to block out the auditory overload of a big room and the workouts of others nearby, it’s the seed we’ve planted for more.

Some days you work it; some days it works you; and others, you endure even more because of the strength you built from sweating the small stuff – literally.

Inspiration comes from many places.  Here’s mine. 

What a better metaphor for the vision we gain from summiting an autism moment – and for the sweat and often grueling slog up the hill that makes it all worthwhile.

As anyone who knows me outside my pseudonym, I love hiking.  We discovered it one sunny summer day when the boys were about 6 years old.  It made them sleep, it was a family activity that everyone could join, and it offered immense rewards:

• Sleep for the parents. (listed first for a reason.)
• Accomplishment.
• Grins from ear to ear for the boys, who loved the views from the top, the breezes and the rewards we built into the journey, like Cheez Jax at the top, and a restaurant dinner at the end.  I’ll never forget W’s dance of joy atop Mt. Eisenhower, our first 4K peak.  It spoke to thrill beyond words – and the power to transform a life, one step at a time.

I so loved the above photo, taken last weekend, that I made it my iPhone wallpaper.  That’s one of the best things I’ve done in recent memory.   It’s my daily reminder of something I found in which my guys excel – which connects them to the neurotypical world of likeminded people – and which has helped them grow.

Two days ago we bagged peaks #37 and #38 of NH’s Four Thousand Foot or higher peaks.   There are 48 in all, and we are aiming to complete them so we can join the Four Thousand Foot Club.  Over 10,000 hikers are members according to a recent article, and while no one keeps official records on such things,  our goal is that the boys become members, which will make them one of very few, if not the first, autistic members.  I used to value that possible “first” more than I do today.  Now, when we have only VERY challenging peaks left, mainly between 10-18 miles long each, it’s all about the journey.

And isn’t that the truth, my friends.  With autism and in life, it doesn’t matter the end you journey toward – the journey is all that matters in the end.

Tomorrow starts our 3-week vacation journey, as in no school for 3 weeks, and no daily structure of the known.  I use the word journey quite mindfully. When we hike to a mountain I check the weather, vary the gear, refill the body fuel (ie. snack) supply.   WIth this vacation mountain, I’ve made vows, scribbled lists of my objectives and structures for the week, tried to get staff and helpers scheduled.  I said prayers too, because only God knows how I’m going to work, manage the boys and deal with respite worker cancellations which constantly mean I am in a tizzy trying to do all things for everybody.

But no matter what – there is some mountain ahead of us, and this blog as well as my iPhone talisman are my reminders that we will reach that summit – and with it will come new skills, joy, and peace.

So come along daily with me for the next three weeks.  Check back, and join us – no matter where you are on your path.   We will enrich each other’s views from the top.

The commercial “What’s in your wallet?” inspires every Mom to ask “what’s in your bag?” My sons’ teachers gave the best Mother’s Day gift last week.   It was a hand-colored bag filled with everyday items, each taped to a strip of paper on which the child traced a sentence.

A candle to light your way when things seem their darkest.
A marble to replace the ones you’ve lost.
A hair elastic to remind you to stay flexible.
A Band-Aid to help hurt feelings.
An eraser to remind you that every Mom makes mistakes.
A toothpick to pick out the good qualities in your children.
A cotton ball to get you through life’s hard times.
A Life Saver to remind you that it’s OK to ask for help.
A candy kiss to replace the ones you’ve given away.
A Starburst candy to give you that extra burst of energy.

Words of wisdom, surely.  This weekend helped me refill the bag.  I fear I might need that Starburst for real soon.  There’s so many unsaid words to be typed here, so many things left to do in our remaining hours away.  So much living to cram into the next 24 years with the hubby.   So many skills to be taught to the lovely kiddos remaining at home, awaiting us.

Science tell us that entropy is a more natural condition than order.  I suspect my house will typify entropy, in more ways than one, when I return.  – Yes, we have to return to our real lives, not simply watch ripples glimmer on the lake as if calm is our daily condition.

I’m freeze-framing an elegantly arching pine tree on a little island in the distance.  It’s arching so gracefully left.   It’s simply just one lone pine tree, and yet it anchors the entire shore.  I snapped a picture, and tucked it into my bag.